i have just edited it just the once, which is unusual for me, so i hope there aren't a lot of super noticeable mistakes. i'm a little tired but i wanted to update before i fell asleep. cheers.

Little Glass Houses

Chapter Twenty-Three

Bruises

"I'm so sorry, Mr Weasley. I didn't tell you," Audrey's voice was slurred and quiet and honeyed, sweet and soft. Percy could feel the soreness in his throat, the ache in his shoulders, but the events of the table incident remained fuzzy. Every time he tried to remember, his mind felt like cotton, and then all he could think about was that bright, illuminating light. "But…well, I have a mate around in the intensive care. And I've tried to tell him that we should try weaning him off, and he said that—well, that it wouldn't work. And it hasn't worked for the past few weeks, but I just wanted to try one more time today and it…it went alright." Her cheeks were flushed, pink, as if she'd done a horrible thing by weaning him off the ventilator and feeding him biscuits.

"He shouldn't actually be eating any biscuits," Audrey admitted. "But it's just…he's really wanted them."

Percy nodded his head, as if to confirm her story. When he opened his mouth, he couldn't think of a single thing to say. Hello, his mind reasoned. Hello, but it didn't come out of his lips. All he could do was think of all the questions they'd have for him, and that was enough to seize his muscle and made his jaw feel taut.

"He's just eating the icing part," Audrey prompted when nobody said anything. "So, it's still soft."

Percy didn't dare look up at them. He was paralysed. Questions swirled into his mind, questions that he never wanted to answer in his life. They all came rushing at once, barricading his vacuum. 'Why haven't you ever said anything? Did you really think that we're that bad that we wouldn't believe you? How long has this been going on? What's happened between you two?'. Even if they didn't ask him that now, they were thinking about it. And even if he didn't ask, he could still feel them thinking about it, wondering, wondering, wondering. And the prospect made him want to hide under the covers for the rest of his life.

"How did the trial go?" Audrey asked, looking up at them with a soft expression. "I'm…I apologise for not being there. Yesterday was the day that they announce the verdict, didn't they? Did they…"

Trial? A nightmare was coming to life right in front of Percy's very own eyes. A trial, there had been a trial. A series of events that had happened when he was asleep that he'd never be able to catch up with. He had now been firmly smacked into a sequel of a book that he wasn't even sure if he liked. Then a shudder, a thought, a vivid light came; whispers of people talking about things that had happened in the privacy of his own flat. He could imagine them stood there, staring at him with tut-tut-tut expressions, their opinions plastered on their faces about what they thought that he was, about what they believed had happened. He imagined not being able to get a carton of eggs without people staring at him. There went that bloke; his identity being morphed by the things-that-people-heard-about just like how George had become the-surviving-twin and Harry was the-boy-who-lived. Then suddenly, the icing sugar on his tongue tasted bitter and sharp.

"There was a trial, love," Molly whispered to Percy's ear. "And…well… why don't we talk about it after?"

When was it going to stop? Why did things have to be so painful? Percy nodded his head. He'd like some time to himself, but he didn't think he could articulate that.

"Thank you," Percy said to Audrey, offering her back her custard creams. He'd sucked the icing out of one of them. The glob of sugar was stuck to the roof of his mouth and he could barely swallow. Then he felt someone reach in to hold his hand and he nearly jerked so fast forward that he might've dislodged the CVP line that he had stuck to his neck. He withdrew his hand away, his heart racing even faster in his chest.

"Oh," Arthur looked a little embarrassed. "I…I apologise."

Percy looked up at him and there was a genuine shock about the room. Like they'd turned up there and expected him half-dead. He'd heard from the healers that they were expecting to pull the plug on him, and even his family was becoming persuaded to do it. He supposed they didn't really assume they'd be coming in here to see him sitting and breathing—well, with assistance of the high-flow nasal cannula he had on at least.

It was so tense in the room that Percy felt like he could count every breath he'd exhaled.

"H… hey, Perce," Bill finally broke the horrific silence and sat down on the bed next to him. Percy was curled up so tightly into himself. Trying to make himself as small as possible was a difficult feat for a six-foot-tall bloke, but…well, he'd attempted it, nonetheless. "How are you?"

Percy nodded his head, as if that were an answer to that question.

"Sorry about-about that. We just didn't expect that we'd be talking to you," Bill honestly answered.

Bill smiled softly, and he looked like he was racking his brain up for more questions.

"I suppose that…you've expected that I'd be…" Percy's voice was hoarse. He gestured towards the bloke right next to him, who was attached to a ventilator and breathing through a tube. "Wouldn't you sit down?" he suddenly asked. It was rather strange having his whole family circled around him.

"Perce, we're really glad that you're not…" Charlie's eyes wandered to the bloke next to him. "Like that."

"Yeah," Ron said, eying up Percy in a way that made him feel self-conscious. "We were going to pull—"

"Well, it doesn't matter now," Molly said a little hurriedly.

"I…I know," Percy brought up. That they were going to pull the plug.

The room lapsed into silence. Percy could smell the antiseptic solution from his wounds, feel how uncomfortable the sheets were, hear the murmurs of machines.

"Um, Mr and Mrs Weasley, he knows about the—um…" Audrey stammered. "He knows you were going to pull the plug is what he means. He says that he can remember something about that—well, he shouldn't but he did …so I've told him about it. Well, I didn't want to but he…well…I'm not really the best liar and…"

His family had gone paler than the cot sheets, as if they'd committed an atrocious sin by thinking about it.

"Oh, we…" Arthur looked alarmed. "We weren't—we thought that…"

"We didn't want to," Bill thought to say, as if Percy would've believed that they did. "They said you'd never wake up. We didn't think that we'd ever see you again."

When he hadn't finished the sentence, Percy ducked his head. "It's okay," he meant it too. If he looked anything like the bloke sat next to him, he'd understand why they'd want to pull the plug.

"Is there…" Molly paused, as if trying to compose herself. "Is there anything you want to say, love?"

When everyone was sat down, Percy realised that they were waiting for him to talk again and he wasn't much of a talker these days. As evident by the fact that the first question he'd asked was a quiet, shy, "Um… how's the weather?"

George whipped his head up and looked stressed, as if he were in an exam. "Balmy, I think."

"Nice breeze," Charlie added on. "A little hot I'd say."

"Cold," Ginny added on. All of them contradicted each other. "I…I think it's going to rain."

"Honestly, we…we hadn't really noticed," George said, rubbing his neck. "Merlin, do you really want to know about the bloody weather, Percy? You just woke up from a one-month coma. You've nearly died."

"I know," Percy answered. "But I did want to know." He didn't really get much these days. "It sounds nice," he closed his eyes and tried to imagine a balmy morning with a nice, cold breeze with looming clouds over the pale-blue sky. He'd like to be out there, to feel it on his face.

Then they just lapsed into silence again. He supposed that he couldn't think of anything to ask other than the weather. They all looked tired, even more tired than he felt. Weighed down by the harrowing experience of what had happened to him. He was used to it so he didn't feel as bad he thought. He tried not to think of what they knew about him. Because if he did, then it made him feel so filthy, just sat there with all these people knowing all those things that had happened.

Putrid. Disgusting. He'd rather not stare at himself, not look at the sheets and the thin, translucent gown that barely covered anything. Barely think about the fact that he wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"Percy, can…can I hold your hand?" Arthur asked this time, his voice a little softer than usual.

Percy didn't really want anyone to touch him. "Okay," he pulled his hand out and let his father clasp it—gently at first, but then he squeezed it tightly. As if he were amazed that he could feel Percy's fingers curling up, as if it were something that he'd never thought he'd feel ever again.

"Why haven't you ever said anything?" Arthur asked, but he looked rather shocked it actually came out of his mouth.

Percy took his hand back, staring down at his lap. He'd thought about what to say if someone had asked him for a long time. The truth wasn't a good enough reason.

"Dad," Bill placed a hand on Arthur's arm and then leaned in a little closer to Percy. "You don't have to answer that, Perce-really," but he really wanted Percy to, and you could hear it in his voice. He sounded desperate. "But we really want to know why…why you've never told us," he said it so softly, so nicely that Percy felt like he had to answer. "We would've believed you; you know. Of course, we would've..."

Percy nodded his head and he sat with his shoulders hunched over and his wonky-looking hands gripping tightly onto his knee. "I know," was all that he said.

"You know that we would've believed you?" Ron looked surprised. "I thought that—well, after…after the thing I've said at dinner that night, about the…" Percy shook his head. "Well, that doesn't make any bloody sense then. You were afraid to tell mum and dad about having to cancel the wedding or-or you thought that we might not have believed you or-or…why don't you talk? Why have you stopped talking?"

Percy used to hate the quiet. Years before, he was afflicted with a constant barrage of why-did-she and what-have-I swarming into his mind twenty-four-seven. But with years, his head had become without substance, a chiasm. Numb until the sparks of anxiety lit them, fires ablaze in seconds of things that he'd not thought of in years. And he did not do well with fireworks or thunderstorms, or things that went bump in the night. But the quiet, slow and unrelenting, made things seem vibrant in a way. The sounds of young children laughing outside, the colours of a wall he'd passed by a million times before, the tartness of his marmalade…

"Ron," Ginny sounded meek, as she shook her head. "Perce, you don't have to…"

But he did. They said that he didn't, but they really wanted him to, and because of that, he felt so obliged to. But he knew the answer to that question wouldn't have been an open-and-shut case. He thought of hazily watching Penelope leave with that sunflower tote and her strappy heels, her gleaming lippy and corkscrew curls. They wouldn't understand if he said that he missed her. He ached to see her, ached for the crutch of familiarity in a way that none of them would ever understand, ached with this sickening grief.

"If…if I answer," Percy stammered, "Will you answer my…my question?"

Arthur didn't look like he expected that answer because he very energetically replied, "Yes, of course! Of course, we will," then he looked uncertain. Afraid of what the question might be; Percy reckoned.

Percy didn't think that Arthur would want to answer his question if he knew what he wanted to ask.

"Because—well, because you'd…you'd have wanted to separate us, wouldn't you?" he didn't think he'd be able to tolerate the idea of being separated. Still didn't. He supposed they just assumed that he'd been stuck into his relationship with Penny like that out of paralysing fear. But Percy needed her so desperately. He was frightened of marrying her, the finality of it was just so…terrible, but at the same time, it wasn't like he'd ever been planning to leave her. "I suppose we are now…separated," there was a lilt of wistfulness in his voice that would probably send terror quaking through his parents' second-hand boots, but it was as true as You-Know-Who being back. As true and blue as the sky, as true as Peter had been in his hands, honest without a fault.

They looked stunned, as if they hadn't expected that. Why would they? "Of course, you're separated! She's tried to kill you, she did," Molly answered back hotly, and Percy flinched. "Oh, love, I'm sorry, but… darling, it's not…I don't…" she sounded confused. "Why would you…?"

"What's your question?" George cut their mum off, which was suicide usually. "You said you'd ask dad a question." He was beginning to think maybe he shouldn't. "What did you want to ask him?"

Molly just nodded her head at George. "Ask anything you want, love," she said.

Percy doubted they'd want to answer. "Where's Penny? Is… is she in Azkaban? Did they take her away?" he could feel Arthur stiffening. "Where is she?" as if he'd expected her to be there. Deep down, he did.

Penelope was a constant in his life.

"No," Arthur answered rather stiffly. He was holding himself, because it sounded like he wanted to rattle off some expletives instead. He was clenching his jaw so tightly a vein in his forehead started popping. "I don't really know where she is. But…" his voice trailed off. "Merlin, Percival, what do you want to see her for?"

"I miss her," Percy answered back, as if he were talking about Peter, as if he were talking about Fred.

He knew that was the wrong answer even as he said it, because there was a flash of incredulity in Arthur's face. As if he genuinely couldn't believe that Percy had said that. "She nearly killed you," he said, as if Percy didn't know.

It wasn't the first time. "But I always went back to her," Percy answered back weakly.

"Well, I don't know how to help you then," Arthur didn't mean what he'd said, Percy knew, but it was still painful for him to her.

He didn't know what to do. He could imagine her standing there, rattling all the answers for him instead of…

"It's not his fault," Audrey suddenly sounded out. She'd been quiet all that time. Her voice was so warm, so gentle and he found himself falling into the falseness of it all.

Arthur looked like he'd just realised how he came across. "Of course, it's not," he said. "It's just that…"

Percy and Penelope would be listening to the radio now as she chopped up the carrots for her salad. Percy would be watching her hand work, her smooth, painted nails glittering. He remembered one morning she'd very coldly asked him to stand beside her, and she 'showed him' how to chop tomatoes. I have to show you how to do everything, she'd said. You can't be trusted to do anything right. He'd ended up going to the emergency room that night, with gushes of blood and tomato juice everywhere.

"Percy," Audrey broke him out of his reverie. "What…what do you miss about her?"

"Seeing her," he answered almost immediately. His mind was replaying their morning routine, her in her new fresh scrubs that smelled like they'd just been out of the laundry. Her hair, curly, soft, tied up into a bun. Flecks of gold in her blue eyes, the way that her skin flushed a little in the morning as she sipped her coffee, which she made with sugar-free caramel syrup and fat-free squirty cream. "Her voice." He closed his eyes tightly. He even missed the way her lips went tight before she'd tell him that he was a waste of space, that he should feel lucky. She'd be at her parents' house. He knew.

"I have to see her. I'll…I'll just be a couple of minutes," he said, as he turned to get out of the bed which he wasn't allowed to do.

That was when he'd nearly cracked open his skull when he realised that his legs, which weren't used to moving in a month, had given away when he'd tried to swing his weight out of his cot.

"Percival!" Bill sounded like he was more of his father than his brother with how furious he was.

Charlie had caught him before he fell and had put him back onto the bed like a doll in a shelf. "Godric, what were you thinking?" he chided, and then caught himself for the dismissive tone he'd used. But that was the tone that left Percy feeling a little more relaxed. Penelope had that kind of tone all the time. "Seriously?"

"Love, you…you aren't meant to be walking," even Molly was struggling to keep her tone calm. "Sit down."

"Oh," Percy realised his mistake then, but he'd supposed that was after giving everyone a heart attack. They were ready to turn off his ventilator that morning. It wasn't like they were ready for him to be walking out of his own bed. "I…I apologise," he did want to see her though. Would the hospital staff let her visit him? Would he hear her voice again? Would he see her in that nice pink lippy that he liked?

The nurses had come around and given him a good talking to, before they'd fixed up the wires on him. They looked at the amount of people that were jammed into the cubicle and said something about them having to go because of how crowded it was.

Percy stayed there for another week. He'd asked not to see anyone (but Penelope Clearwater, that was a P-e-n-e-l-o-p-e C-l-e-a-r-w-a-t-e-r he spelled it out softly when the nurse stared at him quizzically). He felt like he'd been dumped, all he could think about was the hole in his chest. Why hadn't he listened? Why didn't he enjoy sex? Why didn't he do all the things that she told him to do? And then his parents had gone on with a trial. She was probably done with him, sick of him, never wanted to see him again. Not to mention that he woke up feeling alright before the embarrassment dawned on him. Strangers knew details about his body. It was enough to made you feel ill. He was gutted when they offered him the sponge bath, and every moment he spent in the water in the nude was agony. It made the whole world look so much bleaker. It was like washing up with swamp water. When he was shifted to the ward, his room become filled with flower arrangements. Fluffy orange-yellow-red-purple-pink-blue petals erupting from stalks and stems. A window he cracked open when they weren't looking just to hear the chirping of birds and feel the heat flush his cheeks.

The weather was balmy for a few days, and then it got hot. There were no clouds most days, just a clear sky with no colour. Percy wanted to ask for underpants to wear under his hospital gown but didn't know how to.

Two weeks afterwards, he was discharged from the hospital, and he went home without owling anyone in the Burrow. There was a wave of guilt, but it disappeared the second that it hit him. It wasn't a crime not to tell them, was it?

Percy went back to his flat that same day. First, he went into the shops to buy cleaning solutions, a carton of milk, eggs, a slab of Honeyduke's and a fresh loaf of bread before he realised he didn't have any money. He left his shop in the middle, embarrassed and flustered at his mistake. When he got into the flat, he had to beg the landlord to wait a couple of weeks for the rent, when he no longer had a job. He found a sickle wedged into his sofa that he used to buy a copy of The Daily Prophet. He circled menial jobs that wouldn't be able to reject his resume. He had his resumes sent out by the time that it was four. He threw away shattered glass pieces and accidentally cut himself on a piece. Then he spent the whole day trying to clean the kitchen floor. Siphoning charms and cleaning charms didn't do much with one-month-old congealed dried blood on his floor. He splashed old cleaning solution on the floor and wiped it down with towel after towel.

By seven at night, he'd finally made a dent into it. He felt light-headed with the sweet metallic smell, and his shoulders ached even more. That was when he'd heard a knock on the door.

Percy dropped the sponge and towel into his bucket of expired cleaning solution that smelled arid and pungent. His eyes watered. He washed his face. Dread overcame him before he'd even opened the door because he thought that it was his father, or his mum, or his brother, or Ginny, stood outside waiting for him and it left him shaking in his old Christmas socks.

Instead, he had been pushed to the wall by Penelope.

"What's wrong with you?" she said, and he felt a sense of familiarity dawn on him when he heard her voice. Smelled her perfume, felt her curls brush against him. "Why couldn't you just die? Why did you have to make everything so bloody difficult?" she was holding onto him so tightly that it was painful.

Percy stared at her with soft blue eyes. She wrapped her hands around his neck and squeezed it tightly. He closed his eyes and just succumbed to it, shoulders becoming lax with submission.

"Good boy," she said, as if she was praising a crup. But then she gave up a few minutes into the hold, when he'd started to become lightheaded and drowsy. She moved her hands away from him and gripped onto his shapeless old black jumper. "You've finally listened," she said, placing her hands on his face and pressing her lips into his. She kissed him for a few minutes as he sunk into the wall, felt her chest against his, her body. "Finally," she'd decided to say, as she stroked his waist. The praise was so nice, so unexpected, so…

"But I don't want you anymore," the rejection was more brutal than he could take. "You're like…there's nothing of you. It's like being with a rock." She scoffed a little, but he supposed that everyone felt that way.

"Okay," Percy answered back quietly. What was he going to say? Beg her to take him back after everything that had happened? He stared back down at her, broken hearted. He lingered in the moment for a while longer. He inhaled that lily perfume that haunted him wherever he went, the feel of her hand, the way that she made her coffee, the look of stunned disapproval she had when he was himself. His lip wobbled.

"Goodbye, Percy," she turned around, and he watched her curls fall onto her shoulders.

Her shoulder slouched down, and she walked off, quietly, into a puff of lily perfume.

He let out a breath that he'd been holding in and went back to the kitchen. He picked up the rag and immersed it into blood-tinged cleaning solution before he went straight back at it. Big, fat wobbly tears started to form into his eyes, but he tried to wipe them away. A loneliness settled into him, and flashes of things-as-they-had-been just kept rolling into his brain. Them holding hands over the breakfast table, the sight of her fluffy slippers torn across the room, her twirling a curl absentmindedly as she talked…gone, disappeared. A life before him, vanished, faded into ether. And the ache of loss, bottomless and so entirely paralysing, just overcame him. He didn't know what to do.

Another knock, but he'd left the door open, slightly ajar. He could hear the shuffling of shoes, his father's. The same shoes that he used to wear when Percy was a little kid. Percy squeezed his sponge tightly, and stared at the floor, hanging his head in shame.

"Percy?" he heard his mum's voice. "Percy, are you here? They…they said you've left the hospital and…"

"I'm in the kitchen," he replied though he wasn't sure if anyone could hear him. Fortunately, his kitchen door was open, and his flat was so small that they probably would've been able to hear him even if he'd been whispering. "One moment. I'll make the tea."

"We don't want any sodding tea! The nurses said that you didn't want anyone seeing—" Ron started rattling on, as he walked into the kitchen. Percy froze in his position, realising how it must look like. Having to clean up your own blood from a month ago when you were just discharged from hospital. The blood just drained straight out of his face. "What in Merlin's name are you doing? You…you…"

"Ron, come on!" Ginny sounded annoyed. "This is exactly what went wrong the last time." She came in and she'd gone white too. She was trembling after she saw that blood on the floor.

Percy looked down at the floor. "It wouldn't go away with cleaning charms," he whispered. "I'll bring the tea out in a second."

Ron nodded his head mutely and then grabbed Ginny to take her out of there.

"What's he doing?" he heard Ginny say to Ron. "That's…there's got to be…"

Percy did put the kettle on, but he was speedily working his way through the bloodied floor. He'd managed to get it all out in less than fifteen minutes when he really put his back into it, and then put away the bucket of blood-coloured dirty water. He'd throw away the rags and the sponge afterwards. As he heard the kettle whistling, he'd realised that he had forgotten to put the tea bags in. And then he realised he didn't have any tea bags. He dumped in coffee, low-fat creamer and sugar. He tasted the mixture and realised it was passable at the very least. Percy opened the cupboards, searching for biscuits and came out with gingernuts that Penelope had bought and forgotten about.

It was nearly half an hour later, but he'd bought out the tray and tried not to look at his own family who had come to see him. Percy sat down onto the ground when he realised that the seats were occupied. It was then that Bill had gotten up, but Percy shook his head. He was not sitting wedged in between anyone that was for sure. He sat near the tray. "There wasn't any tea left," he'd said as if it was a disaster. "So, I've made coffee."

"That's alright," Arthur said. And after a few moments of silence, George reached out and poured himself a cup just to do something. The sound of the pouring liquid soothed him. "I think we might've…might've frightened you last time," he offered a sad smile. "When we've come in, they'd always said that you'd-you'd rather be left alone," he'd explained. "And when we came in this morning, they'd said that you've gone home." He had a twinge of disappointment in his voice. Disappointed that Percy didn't tell them right away that he was out of the hospital when they'd been labouring about him for ages.

"I'm not good at conversation," Percy whispered. He wished he could stop talking. He wished he knew what to say. He didn't know how he was going to get through this one and this one was timed; a couple of hours and he could be in his bed for once. He was hoping that he had a Dreamless Sleep somewhere.

"You don't have to answer anymore questions, "Arthur insisted softly. "Just…can you please come home?"

Percy's head snapped up. "The Burrow?" he repeated as if the word was foreign.

"Yes, the Burrow," Molly sweetly replied. "Love, where else would we mean?"

The thought of going back to the Burrow made him shudder. He hadn't had a single good thing happen there in years. He could see the wallpaper patterns in his sleep, hear the creaking of the floorboards, the loud dinners that went on for hours. Chills went down his spine, but did they really expect him to refuse?

"Alright," he said, already defeated. Even if he did say no, they'd just try to convince him. It was easier this way. He'd gotten too tired of fighting that he couldn't even consider the idea of one.

"Alright," Bill echoed with a raised eyebrow. "Alright as in you want to go or alright as in… I don't really want to go but I'd better agree anyway type of alright?" he'd asked.

His head already felt so heavy most days, so jumbled for something that was so empty without them asking him if he'd really wanted something. Percy just nodded his head, his eyes impassive as they stayed fixed onto a wall. The time he'd see that wall. The pastel hues of his flat.

"Percy?" Bill asked softly. "Perce, you haven't answered my…"

"Please don't ask me anymore questions," Percy finally started begging. His voice cracking as he spoke. "I can't answer them." He didn't want to talk about Penelope, his relationship, his flat, his job, Peter, Fred, he didn't want to talk about a single thing. He'd rather just make polite conversation about the tea—well, the coffee, but even then, his mind had gone blank. "Please just…" his voice was getting wobbly. His desperation was rather pathetic. He closed his eyes, buried his head into his hands for a few moments and took a few sharp breaths. When he felt like he was back to normal, he looked up to meet Bill's eyes.

His mental breakdown was fortunately just met by silence. Comforting, Percy thought. Warm, familiar.

After he'd composed himself, Percy's cheeks reddened.

"I apologise," he said a little softly. "I'll go pack my things." He gestured towards the pot and biscuits. "Please help yourselves."

When Percy went to pack his bags, a swell of pain filled his chest. He wanted to stay there so badly that his body ached. He wanted to relive his regular morning routines. The feeling of familiarity was rapidly slipping way from him. He stuffed his clothing into his bag and pulled out the photograph of him and Penelope from Bill's coat pocket. He smoothed the frayed edges over, watching the beginning of an era and something that looked like it should've been love. He stuffed it back into the coat, and then crouched down to the floor as he emptied the last bit of his closet. Peter. Peter's things. He held Peter's sleepsuit so tightly that he could practically still feel him, his sweet little baby into his arms.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up and saw Arthur staring at him. "Do you need any help?"

Percy shook his head and stood up, feeling how weak he was. He looked mental, as he picked up Peter's baby bag and threw in his old sleepsuits. He felt Arthur's eyes on him, but he couldn't tell what he was thinking. He shoved Peter's bag into Bill's hands, but his hands were a little shaky. "This is for you."

"Oh," Bill looked stunned and pale. "Perce, are you sure?" to which he just nodded his head.

Heading into the Burrow didn't feel like he was going back home.

Percy stayed in the living room, not sure if he wanted to go up to his room. He curled up onto the couch, burying his head into his pillow. He closed his eyes and fell asleep to the sounds of his family talking and laughing in the upstairs. When he woke up a couple of hours later, all the lights were out. A thick heaving blanket laid on top of his body, and he rose, breathless as he panted into the stale, stiff air. The silence consumed the Burrow in an unnatural way, as he heard the tick-tock-tick-tock of the Weasley family clock. He looked up and saw the reflection of a ghost; a faint shadow that he recognised some time before staring back at him in his own mirror. Little glass pieces from little glass houses.

Percy reached in to rub his neck, and he heard a sound from behind him. "Perce?" George sat across from him. His eyes were bloodshot too. He couldn't sleep either. "Perce, what happened to your neck?"

He could recall seeing the faint finger-shaped bruises around his neck when he'd gone to the bathroom. Did anyone else know?

"Mum went to get you some blankets when she found that you fell asleep," George explained. He was in Fred's flannel pyjamas, and it looked uncannily weird on him, even if they were the same size, same height, same face, same everything. But that obnoxious red rarely looked as good on George as it did Fred. Percy didn't understand why. "And when she put them on you, she noticed…" he placed a hand on his neck, right where Penelope was just choking him hours before. He felt like he'd escaped something he shouldn't have.

"She almost screamed Perce, but she didn't want to wake you up when you were so exhausted."

Percy stared at him. He knew when he'd come back that, despite what his father said, the questions weren't going to end. They were only going to really start to begin. Why didn't you tell us about it? Percy could imagine them saying when they were all awake and he felt himself shudder.

"For fuck's sake, Perce," George sighed. He already knew the answer to that. "She came back?" only for Percy to respond with a tentative nod. "And the bloody nutter tried to fucking choke you? Why…why haven't you said anything?" he looked genuinely frightened.

"There was nothing to say," he replied.

George looked like he was about to burst into tears. "Perce, we nearly lost you," there was this overwhelming desperation in his voice that made Percy feel guilty. "How could you let this happen again? Do you know how hard it is for us to see you like this?"

Percy hung his head down, strands of bright hair falling in front of his eyes. When had it gone long again?

He moved to feel for his hair, and relaxed when he realised that it was still short but not as short as he usually kept it with his near crewcut. "She left me," he explained. He shuddered to think of this woman who had shared his body with him for years, who had ruined him, violated him, and now, she didn't want anything to do with whatever was left of him after she'd chewed him out and spat him out. Percy couldn't bare to look down in case he'd have to face the reality of what he looked like.

He wrapped his arms around his chest. "I never wanted a trial," he admitted.

George looked up, a little confused. "Yeah, Perce, and I know the verdict is…" his voice trailed off. "Look, we believe you, and a lot of people do, just because they didn't all agree doesn't mean that…" he paused, reading the expressions on Percy's face. "Wait, that's not it? You're not upset about…about people not believing you, right? That's what you said," he paused for a few moments. "Is it just because you didn't want Penelope to be in trouble, is that it?"

When Percy didn't answer, George just continued to blather on. "Because Perce, you…look, you never wanted to punish us when you were Head Boy, but it doesn't mean that we didn't deserve it." He paused. "Sometimes," he smirked. "And you know, we've never beat you to near death or anything so…"

Percy shook his head. "That's not it," he then managed a smile. "And you did deserve it most of the time."

George scoffed. "Then…then what is it?" he relaxed into the conversation. If it's not any of those things?"

"Well, I didn't want the whole of the Ministry to know about my marital problems," Percy admitted, his cheeks colouring in. "And I would rather that they not know about all the…promiscuous things either."

George looked a little stunned. "Merlin, Perce, none of us thought of it like that." He sounded truly apologetic. "Because…look, now that you mention it, I can't imagine I'd want anyone to know what I've done in bed either…not that I've had any real experiences. It's just the one," George wiggled an eyebrow.

Percy had had enough for a lifetime he'd guessed. "And you've let me know because…?"

"Godric, you're no fun," his younger brother's smile faded away. "But…blimey, Perce, I'm sorry. I don't think that-that was helpful now, was it?" his lip twitched a little. "To have everyone just know?"

Percy ducked his head. "It's alright," he didn't know if it was, really. "I don't have to work in the Ministry. It's not like it's what I've wanted since I was a child or anything of the sort." He smiled, but he was disappointed. Stricken really.

"Nobody thinks of it that way, you know," George whispered. "And those things get out anyway. Not…not that they should I mean, but…" Percy nodded his head mutely, but he didn't really believe it. "Look, Perce, this doesn't mean that you can't go back to your job…especially when I think that dad himself would probably kill anyone that even says anything about you." Percy's ears went red. "And I doubt that Kingsley would be ecstatic about it either. You know if someone were to even dare to be an arsehole to you…"

Percy felt a little better. The swirly circle wallpaper didn't look so swirly, and the clock didn't look so daunting and foreboding. The air felt thinner, and homier almost. He let himself relax.

When George left to go to bed again, Percy took a Dreamless Sleep out of his bag, and then went back to sleep.