P Stands for Pariah
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and therefore, I own nothing, not even my precious Percy *sigh*
Summary: Why Percy returned the jumper that Molly had sent him for Christmas
Warnings: Angst
Author's note: This is my first fanfic ever, so reviews are very much appreciated, don't hold back, I can take any kind of criticism, especially since this story is probably the most awful thing you'll ever read. It's unedited too and I'm a terrible writer, there are so many better Percy stories out there, but I just can't help it, I love Percy to no end.
The ink on his fingertips would never dry. It was always fresh because he was always writing. That's the only thing he seemed to be able to do lately. Write. Write useless report and dull paperwork. The words didn't have any meaning. Never was there a purpose to anything in his work and Percy Weasley, the Junior Assistant to no one but the Minister of Magic himself, knew that very well, but regardlessly he was as always an eager worker. What else was he to do all day?
Ever since he was small studying and readind and working and writing was all he knew, or rather, all he was good at, something that had always isolated him from his family and put him into the unfortunate position of being "the odd one". Perfect prefect Percy, as they called him has never felt very much included in his family, now ever less than ever, but that, one could argue, had been his own choice.
He let out a sigh. His family.
He was on the right side of the argument, that he was sure of. It didn't even matter wether or not You-Know-Who was back. He was on the right side because his father didn't trust him. And if he didn't trust his own son, then what business did Percy have still belonging to that family?
His family. He had no right to call him his family anymore.
He hated to admit it, and often times, he wouldn't even admit it to himself, but he missed them. He had always missed them, even before he left. He knew it was hard to explain and that it was completely irrational. But back when he was still somewhat a part of the Weasley clan and he had sat on the table where everyone was happily chattering with eachother and enjoying themselves, never giving him any notice, back then he had missed them so much he could barely take it. Nothing could compare to the pain of missing someone that's sitting right next to you. Missing the time where they were still a family. A real family. But those times had ended long ago, long before he had made the decision to actually step out on them and never look back.
He knew they hated him now, but in a way, they always hated him, he was just making it easier for them to admit it and he was sure in some ways, it was a relief for them. Now, even if he wanted to, he couldn't come back. But he didn't want to go back. They didn't want him. This way, it was easier for everyone. And besides, hurting them now only equaled sparing their feelings in the future. Because he knew he was going to die someday and then they wouldn't be as attached to him anymore, they would've forgotten him completely and no one would be hurt.
It was a ridiculous thought, but it seemed justified to him.
So he continued working on his report. On Christmas Eve. In a cold, neat and tidy flat. Lonely.
Suddenly, an owl came through the window, it was carrying a package and Percy recognized it immediately. His mother had sent him the usual Christmas gift. She was hoping that he would come back to them. Apologize for the things he had said in a rage, the words he had regretted soon afterwards. She had sent him a Weasley jumper, to show him that he was still part of this family.
A red jumper with a big capital "P" on it.
But only now he realized that the "P" didn't stand for "Percy" or for "Prefect" as the twins had often joked.
The "P" stands for "Pariah"
It had been his destiny all along.
And he knew he couldn't come back.
Return to Sender
He could feel tears stinging behind his eyes.