Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I profit off of Harry Potter and co.
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"Percy's freaking me out," Ron stated bluntly in the little, mutinous Weasley pow-wow gathered in Ginny's room. Ron's room was too orange, and the twins' room too… Dangerous.
"He spoke to you?" Fred asked, looking a little too eager for information, and Ron wondered when Percy had become the equivalent of the house ghost.
"Yeah," he replied shortly, "Though he wasn't really all there, if you get what I mean."
"He was acting like he was on Calming Draught, like last year when Mum dosed him for a week after he was made Prefect," Ginny put in, "Remember how he was all flat and weird? He just did his chores and slept without saying anything unless you made him."
"Not that it was much of a difference," George joked bitterly, but admitted with a little reluctance in his tone, "He was like that when I talked to him, too."
"It's different," Ginny scowled. Percy had never been her favorite brother; that was Bill. In fact, he only really ranked above Ron, and only occasionally above the twins when they were being particularly obnoxious, but he hadn't been completely awful lately. She couldn't remember the last time before… all this when Percy had spent so much time wiping tears and snot and giving awkward, tight hugs, but here he was, trying. At least, until he went mad while arguing with George.
"It is," Fred agreed, sending George into a quiet scowl because he couldn't seriously argue against it, "But what can we do about it?"
Ginny drew herself up, because she had a plan. A terrible, Terrible Plan that Percy may never forgive them for, which would require them to risk the sanctity of their cheeks and get scolded for their manners. But she knew there was one person who Percy never dared to disobey.
She explained, to great protest from her brothers that eventually died down to a sullen resignation. It was the Only Way.
Percy, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware of his siblings' mutinous plans, only hearing the quiet murmur from downstairs, but unable to muster the energy to be suspicious. No screams, no problem. Besides, the floors could really use a good scrubbing… Thus it was that Percy was blind-sided, on his hands and knees and completely mussed when his Great-Aunt Muriel strode into the room.
Even through the induced haze there was a quiet ping of panic.
The Only Way rose a single, judging eyebrow and… sniffed. Condescendingly. "Percival," she greeted, and Percy scrambled to his feet, unrolling sleeves and pant legs and hastily jamming his robes back on over the work clothes.
"Ma'am," he replied, sketching half a bow before he nearly fell over, trying to straighten his appearance and observe proper manners at the same time. She continued to look him over, and Percy felt the calm slowly regain control, but fought to maintain proper posture. He wasn't entirely sure why she was here, but he felt letting on he was anything but normal would result in something unpleasant.
She hooked a finger under his chin, tilting his head and peering sharply into his eyes. The next second she'd cuffed Percy upside the head, and he was stumbling a step back to escape the light blows.
"You idiot boy!" she scolded, finally abandoning her assault, "What are you using?"
"Nothing," Percy lied, but she fixed him with a look that had him amending his answer out of the memory of habitual terror rather than the actual emotion, "Just a bit of tea."
Muriel's expression slackened ever so slightly in shock, "You're using her setup?"
"You knew, too?" Percy asked, rather than respond to an obvious question with an obvious answer, "Who didn't know?"
She shook herself, drawing up to her full, intimidating height, "You, Percival, are going to march into that kitchen and bring me that kettle, right now."
"…No," Percy said slowly, and heard an intake of breath from the landing, where his siblings were evidently eavesdropping. He turned towards the sound, "To your rooms!" He heard obliging footsteps but couldn't be sure they wouldn't quietly double back, so he lowered his voice, "Ma'am, I have to keep my temper. It's really better this way."
With a sigh, Muriel did something she hadn't done in many years and let the indignation that carried her rest for a moment, taking in the earnest expression and the slightly glazed eyes of her admittedly favored grandnephew. She smoothed a stray cowlick on his head, "Have we expected too much of you, Percival? Should we reconsider this arrangement?"
"No!" he said, eyes wide, before he added belatedly, "Ma'am. I can handle it, I swear."
She nodded, almost to herself, noting the emotion that had crept through what Percy had done to himself, and drew her strength around her like a curtain again, "Then you had better get me that kettle, boy." A bit of betrayal sparked her direction from the boy, but she could handle it, "Now."
"You don't understand," Percy tried, but Muriel would have none of it.
"If you want to keep these kids together, Percy, you are going to fetch that kettle," she interrupted in a sharp, low voice, and Percy startled slightly at the change in address before he finally, reluctantly went for the kettle. He didn't doubt she would make good on that threat if he didn't. He'd… he'd just have to figure out something else. From his siblings' eavesdropping, he could only assume one of them had called her, and as he poured the remaining water out of the kettle, he wondered at their motivation. Surely, they'd known they were safer this way? Percy returned to his great-aunt and hesitated; he could probably figure out how to duplicate the effects of this on his own – hedge magic wasn't exactly complex, just delicate – but…
"Who flooed you?" Percy asked, knuckles white on the kettle.
"That's for me to know," Muriel replied curtly, holding out a thin, wrinkled hand for the kettle, her typically long, painted nails forming an expectant claw.
The words came out in a whisper, because if they were any louder, Percy would have to feel them through the lightening haze, "…They didn't feel safe, did they?"
A considering look, "And that's something you already know." The kettle finally hung from her hand, and she nodded at him sharply, "I don't want to hear you've been misusing your mother's gifts again, Percival."
"Yes, ma'am," Percy murmured, whatever fight he might have had gone from him, gaze firmly on her pointy-toed shoes.
"You don't need to punish yourself for this mistake, Percival; the headache will be punishment enough." Her tone was wry. Still, Muriel cupped his chin in one spidery hand, bringing back the eye contact, "Floo me. You impetuous child. You are not alone unless you choose to be."
A nod, then, because Percy was out of words for today, thank you.
Muriel turned back for a moment at the floo with a weighing look, as if not entirely sure she was going to say her next few words, "And do show your face at next month's tea, dear."
With that, she and the kettle were gone, and Percy was left in an empty room with his dignity in tatters at his feet. A quiet shuffle and a hissed hush had Percy squeezing his eyes shut and scrabbling after the last of the soothing calm haze. Let's make that not exactly empty at all, then, shall we?
"When this wears off," he announced, too pleasantly, gesturing vaguely at his head, "you're all in trouble." There was a part of him that was pleased at the sudden cacophony as his siblings made their escape, but a bigger part was annoyed there was even a need for it. Yes, Percy was definitely coming down hard from the last, morning dose. He put his hands over his face and took a deep, ragged breath. He couldn't wait until Muriel's predicted headache hit. His hands slid almost involuntarily from his face, clapping together in front of him. There were things to do before he likely ended up incapacitated for who knew how long.
Percy just really did not want to do them.
Still, he thought as he gathered himself like the impending storm of busywork he soon would be, they must be done. He had to prepare at least three days' worth of food and give the house a cleaning that could take it through that time without falling apart at the seams or giving Ginny an allergic attack. The girl did not deal with dust well and yet didn't lift a finger to save herself from the ever-looming threat. He attacked his tasks with a vehemence born from necessity, pouring the anger at himself, his great-aunt, his siblings into the tasks and hoping to all that was holy that he wouldn't run out because the sick, slick decaying feeling of guilt ran under it and through it. He'd only been trying to keep his siblings safe, hadn't he? There was an element of betrayal, there, that the sick feeling reminded him he wasn't entitled to have. They didn't feel safe, he repeated to himself, and the betrayal died down, leaving the guilt raw and bare.
Maybe he had taken the easy way out. Percy certainly was not enjoying the return of emotions more tumultuous than he'd even realized they were before they'd buggered off for a bit. Hours into his mental list of necessities, he was still spinning uselessly around the same cycle of guilt, anger, betrayal, guilt, when the headache hit him like a train. He groaned aloud, putting down the last meal and struggling through the preservation charms through sheer force of will. He'd check the damn meals for magical interference when he served them but for right now… Percy sank into a crouch, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes with another low groan.
"Great-Aunt Muriel wasn't joking about that headache, huh?" came a smug voice Percy really did not want to deal with from the door of the kitchen. He didn't bother to look up at George or shoo him off when he heard the boy walk closer.
"I'm fine," he spat through his teeth, even his own voice grating on his nerves with the onset of this fresh hell. At least the ghoul had curled up somewhere to sleep and stay quiet. He didn't think even its light crooning would be bearable right then.
"Yeah, you look it," was the wry response. George's voice was no improvement and Percy kept himself from making a rude gesture with practiced politeness. A hand abruptly gripped his forearm as Percy was hoisted to his feet, "Come on, you prat."
"You called Muriel," Percy decided, the conclusion suddenly blindingly clear, "Only you would want me in this much pain."
"I could drop you, you know," George reminded him, before correcting with relish, "And it's Great-Aunt Muriel, Percy. Don't be rude." As if he ever practiced proper manners without being forced, the cretin.
"You still called her," Percy muttered mutinously as George half-forced him up the steps, "Traitor."
"No, that'd be Ginny," George informed him, seemingly increasing in pep with every inch deeper into suffering Percy sank.
"…Ginny?" His voice was aghast. Ginny was on his side. Sometimes. A little. Alright, so Ginny had her own side which she did not usually share with Percy, but she hadn't been intentionally antagonizing him lately. He bit back another moan as the world swayed suddenly near the top of the stairs, gripping George tightly and standing stock still until the sensation passed. A quiet accusatory whine, "Muriel didn't mention the spinning."
George snorted, evil being that he was, and forced Percy up to his room, dumping him unceremoniously on his bed. Maybe he wasn't entirely evil. Despite himself, Percy realized he needed to set out lunch and check the food to see if he'd contaminated it with his feelings, and he attempted to get back up. Only to be pushed back down.
"I have to check the food," Percy protested, one hand moving towards the door as if to pull himself there past George's restraint, and his brother rolled his eyes.
"It'll be fine," he drew out the words as if talking to a two year old, "We can deal with that."
"N- no," Percy managed to say, the pain spiking for no apparent reason, "It might be hexed."
"You hexed it?" Someone squeaked from the door, but Percy was beyond distinguishing between Weasleys at this point and he waved the very idea out of the air.
"No. It's probably been marinating in my feelings and I have to go talk it out," he explained. Or tried to explain. The expressions he could still parse were coming across as mildly incredulous. "This is a thing. It's a real… thing." He groaned again, gripping his hair, as the insides of his brain seemed intent on freedom.
"Fred?" someone said, uncertainly.
"I'll get it," another replied, and Percy buried his head in his hands. His eyes were obviously just functioning as doorways for demons to wander through, burning everything in their path, so it'd be better in the long run if he just kept them closed.
An indeterminate amount of time later, after Percy ignored his siblings' questions into submission, the someone who'd left returned and made some papery noises. Or flipped through a book. That made more sense.
"We can use Lockhart's diagnosis charm," the voice turned accusatory, "Now that someone's come clean on how the Trace works."
"I said I was sorry! I forgot! It's not like Percy would've let us anyway!"
"Yeah, alright," the first voice replied, "Let's go try it out."
There was a sound like a quiet stampede and Percy whimpered. It was only when it ended that he remembered to whisper, "If they use magic, they are so grounded."
"Your priorities amaze me," someone said, close beside him, and Percy jumped, lifting his head from his hands and meeting… one of the twins' gazes. Honestly, he couldn't focus on freckles right now.
"Go away," he moaned, immediately burying his face back in his hands and turning away, "I can't even identify you right now."
"…Really?" The tone was far more speculative than Percy was comfortable with. He found himself glaring into his own fingers before the vulnerable undertone registered. Very close to screaming in frustration, he kept himself from ordering the twin out again and just waited to see what he'd do. He'd expected there was going to be some sort of reckoning from one of them going mad eventually and he had always wanted to die in his own bed. Granted, he'd imagined that death to be of old age, but he supposed if anyone deserved to kill him at this point, it was his family.
God, his head hurt.
With these and similarly disjointed thoughts scattering off through his head, he flinched when a hand wrapped loosely around his wrist and just… stayed there. As the seconds ticked by without the grip tightening or jerking his hand from his face, Percy found himself losing tension against his own will. It was as close to holding the hand of one of the twins Percy had been since they learned to cross streets on their own.
"I miss Mum," the twin beside his bed said softly, "and Dad and Bill and Charlie, and you were going to make me miss you, too, huh? Just because you freaked out at… one of us. You didn't actually hurt either of us, you know?" Percy wanted to protest that he hadn't been about to leave or die, but he wasn't completely lacking in wit under the pain and he understood what was meant. He wouldn't have really been there, either. "It's not as if I always like having you around," was the next confession, and Percy had a sneaking feeling which twin was beside his bed, "You can get so condescending I just want to wipe that holier-than-thou expression from your face and that's not what I meant to say." The tone was a little frustrated, and a deep breath was taken before probably-George continued, in a small voice unlike him, "I just- I don't want you to go, too."
The long, drawn out groan was probably not the response he was hoping to get from that moment of vulnerability, but before he could gather himself to be offended, Percy had turned and, with the speed of a lashing snake, yanked George onto the bed and into his chest. "You are such a terrible child," Percy muttered into his hair, subduing the half-hearted struggles by holding on tighter, "I don't know how I'm going to keep from murdering you until you turn 17." At that convoluted declaration of his intent to stay, George stilled, hands still curled against Percy's stomach where he'd been trying to push away. Not understanding his own subtlety with the pain washing through his skull, Percy clarified, "I'm not going anywhere."
For just a moment, George relaxed against him, but very soon after he was tapping out, "Alright, let me go before anyone sees."
"I don't think you believe me yet," Percy murmured, keeping his brat of a brother trapped with a very real mischief buoying up somewhere under the pain.
"I believe you," George protested, beginning to struggle again, but he hadn't quite hit his growth spurt yet and, beater muscles aside, Percy was still the physically superior brother.
"No, I think you're just saying that," he managed a grin that was more a bearing of teeth, "but I'll hug you until it sinks in." The grin became slightly more evil than pained as he added, "George."
George took his turn to groan in exasperation with flair.
"The food was hexed," said probably-Fred as he entered the room, but a snort of laughter cut off whatever else he'd meant to say, instead continuing in an amused tone, "You got too close to Percy-in-a-mood. That's inadvisable."
"So I've been hearing," Percy muttered, wondering again when that had become a noun to his siblings and then wincing as the gnomes pouring firewhiskey in his head found another keg. He'd think about it later.
"Help," George said, abandoning all dignity and squeezing a hand out of confinement to wiggle at his twin.
"What do we do to unhex the food?" Fred asked, ignoring his twin's heartfelt plea with the ease of the soulless monster of which he was half. The other half was currently cursing their practiced apathy to another's suffering.
"I gotta do it," Percy admitted in a quiet whine, releasing George to leap out of arm's reach unhindered, and pushing himself up again from the bed, "I think."
"I just dragged you up here," George whined back, and Percy let his eyes open into slits, to glare his direction.
"I can make it myself," he sniffed, but his carefully low tone to avoid agitating his own headache made the veracity of the claim uncertain.
Fred held up a hand, trying to stop the flow of events, "Why don't we just bring the food up to you?"
Unable to immediately shoot it down because his brain just wasn't working that quickly, Percy thought it over and shook his head, slowly, "We need the kitchen."
"Because that makes sense," George nodded at him, and it looked like he was agreeing with him, but it didn't sound like it, and Percy could not deal with the cognitive dissonance right then, so he waved off the whole thought, to his onlookers' confusion, and waveringly stood.
It was halfway down the stairs, one twin hovering in front and behind him nervously, that Percy remembered an important detail and waved a finger at Fred, "You're grounded." Fred, being behind him, did not hinder him in any way when he stopped dead in his tracks to demand an explanation and justice and something… Percy wasn't listening, and George only sputtered incredulously for a moment before halfway succeeding at biting back a laugh and continuing down in front of him, so he was able to keep moving towards the kitchen, anyway.
"I don't know what I just grounded him from," Percy muttered to himself, entering the kitchen and holding onto the counters in case the world moved again, "I'll make something up later." Of course, now Ron, Ginny, and Harry had joined George in the theatre audience, so he had to use his dismissive waving again to make them stop talking so he could think straight. He could deal with maybe one of them speaking at a time, but he wasn't able to communicate this right now, so he'd settle for none of them. Now, he had to unhex the meals, as Fred so eloquently put it. Percy turned to his rapt audience, "Do you mind?"
"No," Ginny chirped from where she sat cross-legged on one of the counters, Ron and Harry beside her, swinging their feet and probably getting mud on the drawers. When Fred slipped in to stand mulishly beside George, he had the complete set.
"Well," he huffed peevishly, before remembering that wasn't the right direction to move his feelings in and turning away from his audience to pretend they weren't there, repeating more tiredly, "Well." It wasn't as if he hadn't plenty of practice being humiliated. Taking a shaky breath to steady and prepare himself to power through the pain and embarrassment, he began. "I get it. I really didn't want to, but I get it. You lot didn't feel safe with me like that, even if you were-" he cut himself off, tried again, "I'm not…" Angry anymore? This was ridiculously hard to say, even facing the plates alone. He could feel them staring at his back and he pushed the embarrassment into motivation to get it done and over with, "I'm not going to be upset with you about this, because it's my own fault. I'm-sorry-and-I-love-you." The last words were quick, smashed up against one another and hopefully indecipherable. His knees weakened under another wave of hot, pressing pain and he caught himself on the counter, gritting out, "That should do it." Hopefully.
Fred leaned around him and cast the diagnosis spell.
"Two weeks," Percy said, immediately, and Fred gaped at him, both of them ignoring the food that lit up in normal, non-hex colors.
"Come on, that's what you meant? That's rotten!"
Opening his mouth to explain that Fred had just broken the law in front of him, he stopped himself and patted Fred's cheek, "Yeah, you're right." When Fred only stared at him, Percy flicked his fingers irritably, the other hand going to his head, "You're free. Fly away, little bird."
Slowly, so as to not scare away the rare moment in which Percy showed mercy, "You… mean I'm…"
"Not grounded," Percy muttered, "Unless you keep pushing it."
"Yes!" Fred exclaimed, pumping one fist into the air in triumph before abruptly paling and saying in a much quieter tone, "Sorry, I didn't mean-"
Percy inelegantly put a hand over Fred's entire face, "Shhh." The shush was cut off mid-word with a grunt as Ginny slammed into his middle. She buried her face into his shirt and mumbled something he couldn't understand, even if his head wasn't killing him. "What?"
"You're back," she repeated, a little louder, "And you sort of promised not to kill me."
He'd only said he wouldn't be upset with them. But yes, that was implied. Percy stooped slightly to hug her back, and received another sibling as Ron insinuated himself into the motion.
"Fred and George can't be trusted with hugs," he muttered, somehow projecting the air of a world-weary veteran into the words. Percy didn't want to know. They separated, and Percy awkwardly patted the tops of their heads, receiving eye rolls from his loving younger siblings and a snort from Fred before they snatched food from the counter behind him and fled. They'd each taken from different platters so there went that symmetry. That… was probably why they'd fled. Fred had taken an extra plate, presumably for George, who had… vanished and Percy was left in the kitchen with a fidgeting Harry.
He put a hand on Harry's head, slouching to be eye level, "I'm sorry you're caught up in all this, Harry. We must seem completely mad to you."
Harry hesitated, and then said, quickly, "It's fine. I- I missed you, too," and attempted to dash past him and pretend he'd never said anything but Percy was, if nothing else, very quick on the grab and Harry found himself very suddenly in a Hug. Which, to Harry, deserved the capital. He wasn't quite sure what to do – with Hermione, he just tried and failed to return it until it was over – but Percy didn't seem to mind, patting him on the back and releasing him.
"Go ahead and eat," he said, nodding towards the food, "The rest of them already ruined the scheduling, so you can have what you like."
Harry scarpered, and Percy mournfully and quietly added him to the mental list of responsibilities that had been building since his mother died.
Since his mother died.
The shock of having thought it so plainly cut through the pain like a knife and Percy let himself slide from standing to crouching to a seated position on the floor. He had to do better. He was screwing up left and right lately, and there was no safety net if he pushed things too far. Taking a deep breath, Percy laid it out for himself. It was against the rules to touch his siblings when he was angry, or to have his wand in his hand. He was not to serve food angry. He mustn't take their grief personally. Three meals a day. Keep the house clean and together. Keep the family clean and together. Harry's face might as well find a place with the rest, because heavens knew Percy couldn't just let him be. Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster had practically thrown him back into his lap. Though they may not have seen it that way.
Ow.
Yeah, okay the pain wasn't pausing for his interior monologue, and Percy paused to make sure the preservation charms on the remaining platters were intact before dragging himself back up the stairs, more crawling than walking to avoid falling over. He deposited himself on his bedroom floor but couldn't quite find the energy to pull himself onto the bed, so he settled beside it, curled as if to ward off the pain with posture alone.
"I brought this on myself," he gritted out the reminder, trying not to let the self-loathing at the thought morph into anger because he couldn't stand it if his head began to throb, too.
"Perce?" Fred ventured, standing at the door, "You in here?"
"What?" Percy groaned. What could possibly have gone wrong in the minutes since he'd seen everyone last? Was the ghoul making trouble? A glance to his left, and Percy discounted that. It was still dozing under his bed, spread eagle and snuffling slightly in its sleep. There was probably a fight. Percy just knew there'd be a fight. It had been less than five minutes so it had to be.
Meanwhile, Fred was peering through the gloom of the room and locating where Percy had stashed himself. Upon discovery, he took Percy by the arm, forcing him to stand only to fall onto his bed again, and appeared to be restraining himself from poking his older brother curiously. Percy didn't typically do sick like the rest of the family did. When Percy got sick, he usually swaddled himself in blankets and that was the end of it. He'd shuffle through his obligations without complaint, a mass of cloth and mucus, and then curl up somewhere dark like a wounded animal seeking shelter until he passed out and someone dragged him back to the couch, where their mum could keep an eye on him. Very quiet, very prim, oddly collected.
Percy, right now, was quietly complaining that Fred was breathing too loudly and could he please darken the hallway before Percy ripped his own eyes out to stop the light. Honestly, it was weird. Percy complained about them not about… feelings.
"In a minute," Fred conceded, "Do you want something to eat?"
"I want to die," Percy replied automatically before the words caught up with him and he added, "No, thank you."
"Okay," Fred said, hesitating by the bed for a moment, unsure if there was something he could do to help, before Percy pulled a pillow over his poofy hair and face and repeated his complaint about the light in a higher, nasal pitch.
Fred really had no idea where Percy's uniquely voluminous hair had come from.
But that wasn't the point! Right! Fred hastily turned off the lights before Percy could threaten grievous self-harm again. Percy, for his part, muttered a thank you, despite the pillow over his face making it impossible for him to actually see the difference. A mystery no one will ever solve, Fred thought, quietly leaving the area in deference to Percy's sensitivity.
As his footsteps faded, Percy swore to himself if he heard anyone tap anything that sounded like it could turn the lights back on, he would throw the nearest object at them, and hang the consequences. Oh, Percy bit back another groan. He really hoped his estimate of three days of this was pessimistic.
It wasn't.
His siblings occasionally stopped by to make sure he hadn't vanished again – he assumed – and Fred or George sometimes brought food that Percy would refuse. The water, however, was appreciated. Actually, Percy couldn't quite remember the last time he'd actually eaten a meal. He wasn't hungry, though, so he'd likely be fine.
Of course, Ginny didn't seem to think so.
"You should eat something," she worried, sitting on the edge of his bed and not doing the studying she'd used as pretext to bother Percy, "You're going to die."
"I'm not going to die; don't be dramatic," Percy denied immediately, hands still over his eyes, "I don't hear a quill."
From the pause before she started writing again, Percy assumed she'd scowled at him, "Why can't food be transfigured?"
"…Are you looking at the wrong textbook?"
Ginny flipped through some pages, closed the book, and made a "huh" noise, adding, "Yes."
"None of your brothers studied before their first year," Percy tried, desperately hoping she'd take it as reassurance and let him die in peace. Which he meant entirely figuratively. Regardless of Ginny's concerns.
"You did," Ginny pointed out, but Percy waved this away.
"Where's this coming from? Are you really concerned with how you'll do?" He wouldn't want to dissuade her if she was actually interested in academics, unlike every Weasley before her- barring Percy, of course. But he was fairly sure this sudden interest was a ploy.
"A little," she hedged, "But you're up here, refusing to eat and I'm worried." The last word she drew out into a whine, and Percy obligingly winced.
"Ginny, I just can't eat right now; any sort of flavor mixes with the pain into nausea," he explained, for what had to be the millionth time but this once he could hear her being determined. Becoming determination. Determining to be determined and force food down his throat.
Percy was not on his A-game right then.
"I will make you flavorless food," she declared, standing from the bed and abandoning the textbook, paper, ink, and quill as she swept from the room with all the ominous drama of something about to go very, very wrong.
For the sake of practicality, Percy had lifted the kitchen ban – not that they had entirely honoured it, anyway – but now he sat up, keeping his eyes shut and calling after her, "Wait! Don't! I'm banning you from the kitchen again! I un-un-ban you! Ginny!"
Reluctantly, Percy knew this was a problem for his eyes to help with, and he grimaced as he peeled them open, only getting a little flare of pain from the mostly darkened room and making his unsteady way to the hall and down the stairs. He felt a little… wobbly in a way that had nothing to do with the intermittent dizzy spells, and he conceded inwardly that Ginny might have had a point about the food.
Passing through the dining room, Percy dragged a chair after him. If he couldn't stop her, he would at least supervise. She was already pulling out ingredients from their diminished pantry – Percy needed to get Charlie or Bill on the floo soon – with Harry and George hovering awkwardly in the general vicinity.
"You don't want that," Harry interjected, pushing Ginny's hand back into the pantry where she deposited the rejected onion, "It would enhance flavour."
Ginny glanced at Percy, who nodded in his chair, eyes squinted and a hand limply shading them. Close enough.
"Check for words," Percy reminded them, and there was a slight pause before they were overturning pots and flipping cutting boards to make sure they weren't about to drug Percy with something else.
"Are there any potatoes?" Harry suggested when Ginny and George seemed at a loss, and this time George dug through to emerge with several, from which Harry selected the one growing the least and began scraping the roots off with his fingernails, "Can you handle a boiled potato, Percy, or mash?" He seemed… actually quite in his element, and Percy lost a few moments just watching the boy move with rare confidence, before Harry glanced up at him and the flash of green brought him back to himself, "Percy?"
"Yes," Percy shook himself, no need to make Harry feel self-conscious in the only thing besides flying Percy had seen him do with an air of being in control, "Boiled will be fine, I think."
"Peelers, please," Harry held a hand out to George, who rummaged quickly through a series of drawers before Percy pointed at the right one, and the peeler made it into Harry's hands.
"I could do that," Percy murmured and as one, the three other occupants of the kitchen shot him a combined Look. "Or not."
"You're as quick as Mum," Ginny complimented, when Harry had made efficient work of the potato and she produced the pot she'd been preparing.
"Thanks," Harry said quietly, a hint of the wariness that followed him around creeping back in as he added the single, lonely potato to the pot and Ginny whisked it away to the stove. She held a hand out and George slowly placed his wand into it, which she tapped against the stovetop to start it and handed back.
"We need to take you for a wand," Percy realized aloud, and Ginny, instead of rolling her eyes or telling him off for just realizing, quieted.
"I was kind of hoping…" she hesitated, "I was hoping I could use Mum's."
The Aurors had given it back, of course, and Percy had put it in the small safe in his parents' room along with their various legal documents and health records and put it from his mind. He didn't want to see it again. But that, he reminded himself, was selfish and a tad ridiculous, too. The pause had apparently drawn on too long, though, and Ginny appeared to deflate.
Percy sighed, glanced at George to see what he thought of it, but George was as inscrutable as was inconvenient and his face resembled nothing so much as a brick wall at that moment. "If your brothers will agree to it, and you're not horribly mismatched with it, then you can."
She brightened, "I know I'm alright with it; Mum let me try a few things last year while you were all at school." Blatant favoritism strikes again. "It's weird when you say 'your brothers' like that, though."
"They are," Percy drew out dryly, willing the conversation to end. He was going to take back his permission if he had to keep thinking about it. He didn't want to see that wand again, but he didn't want it damaged, either. Immediately, he felt bad at the thought. Ginny wasn't going to treat their mother's wand poorly; she'd been looking forward to a wand of her own her entire life, and if anything, she would treat her mother's wand better than Percy treated his. He just didn't like it. Not that he had to.
"Well?" Ginny prompted, batting her eyes ridiculously, and clasping her hands in front of her.
George scowled, but ultimately capitulated, "Fine. You've got to take care of it, though."
"You sound more like Percy than Percy does," Ginny chirped, and George sent her a glare that she responded to with a cross-eyed expression. She smiled at Harry, "Two down, two to go."
"Alright," he said neutrally, refusing to be involved, "The water's boiling. Get a lid, please."
She saluted him, in a much better mood than before, and darted off to obey.
"You seem very comfortable in a kitchen," Percy prompted, trying to look trustworthy and knowing without fully opening his eyes. It wasn't entirely successful.
"Yeah," Harry said, and the three Weasleys stared at him for the non-answer until he elaborated, "Aunt Petunia had me helping her out sometimes."
"That sounds… awful," George ended decisively, "Your relatives are awful and any time spent with them was probably awful."
"It could have been worse," Harry shrugged, but didn't exactly deny the claim. Percy attempted to share a look with George, but gave it up as bad business when he could barely focus enough to… Actually, now that he was looking at him, this might be Fred.
That made a great deal of sense.
A great deal of sense.
God, Percy could not wait for this to be over.
Fred seemed a bit concerned at the lack of denial, anyway, even without a knowing look from Percy. It would motivate them all to stick to the plan next summer with the… the calls and… Percy felt a bit woozy.
"I'm just going to…" And he was out.
When he came to, Fred was patting his cheeks with some force and the ghoul had wandered in and somehow ended up leaning against his legs, crooning sadly. As the world came into focus, Percy could make out Harry and Ginny at the stove doing something, and Fred's somewhat exasperated expression.
"If you fall out of this chair and hit your head, it'll be another few days before you can do things again," he was saying in consternation, "Stay awake, Percy."
Percy patted Fred's cheek, more gently, "Definitely Fred."
"Of course," he said, almost offended, "You can always tell us apart."
"I'm a little woozy," Percy admitted, fingers a centimeter apart to demonstrate, "Ginny wasn't entirely wrong."
"Thanks for that," Ginny produced a plate with a single, boiled potato on it and pushed it into Fred's hands, "Maybe we should set him at the table."
"Yeah," Fred agreed, hoisting Percy to his feet with a well-balanced pull and directing him to the dining room while Harry anxiously guarded the plate in Fred's other hand from tipping, as the boy wasn't giving it up.
"I flooed Great-Aunt Muriel," Ginny revealed casually, as if this wasn't cause for Percy to scramble back a step, in turn making Fred stumble, and Harry snatch the plate from his hand before it could meet an untimely end. "She says hello and told me you wouldn't be so bad off if you had eaten."
"When did you-" Percy squeaked before swallowing and repeating in a more normal voice, "When did you floo Great-Aunt Muriel?"
"This morning," Ginny replied innocently. Before the scheming, then, and the fake interest in studying so Percy couldn't directly turn her away. Their great-aunt might have even suggested it. No, that was unthinkable; Percy did not want her second-hand scheming in the house. How would he even sleep at night?
"That's nice," he forced through his strained vocal cords, and Ginny smiled at him, gesturing at the nearest chair to the table.
"Why don't you sit down, Percy?"
Following this suggestion, Fred pulled the chair out for him in a display of courtesy he had probably never shown before.
"You can't be Fred or George," Percy said in bewilderment and Fred rolled his eyes, reaching out for Percy's shoulder.
"Alright, down you go," he pushed Percy into the chair without ceremony and Harry put the plate in front of him. This is when it truly became awkward. The boys had grabbed silverware on the way out, but now Percy was sitting between two standing boys and across from his silent sister as they all watched him expectantly, waiting for him to pick up a fork.
"Could you… not stare at me?" Percy asked futilely, and Fred grinned.
"We've got to make sure you eat, don't we?"
So, sadly and with great reluctance, Percy ate his flavorless boiled potato under the insistent gazes of his stubborn audience. He was rather proud of himself for not immediately bringing it all back up, and swallowed the nausea determinedly.
"You should take him to bed," said a young, female voice from behind him, and Percy whipped his head around so fast he felt his neck protest.
"Let's just drag him back to bed," Fred decided, seeing Percy was now jumping at shadows, and pulled his brother up from the chair, Harry tucking himself under Percy's other arm to 'help.'
Percy didn't ask if they'd heard that because they clearly hadn't. He followed their manipulations blindly as he quickly, hastily re-examined his own memory. No, it hadn't been words, had it? Just the house settling, and he'd misheard for a moment. The noise hadn't sounded like a human voice, something wooden and creaking, rather. Percy shook his head rather violently, as Fred and Harry dumped him onto his bed and left him for dead. Or rather, left him to sleep off the sudden rush of sustenance into his system, which was surely all this was. Percy frowned, something seeming off about the explanation, but felt too oddly… sleepy to…
He'd deal with it in the morning.
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