i just want to say this may need re-editing, but i don't think i'll ever post if i have to edit this for the 4th or 5th time. i've added a few more paragraphs since the last edit, but i'll post with hopes that there aren't too many glaring mistakes. thank you.

Little Glass Houses

Chapter Thirty

A Numb Existence

"Now, now, young lady," Percy gave Molly a very stern look, to which she returned with her head up high. "What do we do when we wake up every morning?" he asked, lips pursed together into a tight line.

Molly's face was filled with concentration before she beamed at him. "Kiss!" she shrieked happily.

Before Percy could say that she should wash her dirty little face, she'd smacked her lips over his cheek and gave him the wettest, sloppiest kiss in existence. Alright, fine… maybe he didn't mind that dirty face so much. Molly wrapped her spindly arms around him. "Morning!" she laughed happily.

"Morning," he'd curled his arms around her so firmly, breathing in the scent of her hair. "Now, let's go for a wash."

"No!" Molly cried out unhappily, frowning at him but it wasn't as much of a struggle as usual to get her into the bath. Her inhibitions had been lowered. She'd thought she'd gone away with that one! He'd kept the door open to keep an eye on sleeping Lucy, who stayed awake for most of the night and slept through most of the day. He'd really looked back at that room and thought that it felt almost like a tiny little sanctuary.

Within thirty minutes, Molly had left the bathroom starkers (as children did) and hobbled onto their room with wet hair. Percy opened the closet and let her choose whatever artful amalgamation of colours she wanted to wear. After wrestling into a pair of tights that Percy warned would be too tight on her, Molly huffed and puffed until she had her green starry tights and then put on a vibrant frock. She looked like she was advertising for George's shop. And at her insistence, she'd chosen his clothes. There was a green jumper with more red stitching on it than Percy would like and then a pair of checked woolly red pants. "Kissmass," Molly grabbed Lucy's smaller hand. "Sister," she'd told Percy as if trying out all the words that she knew.

Percy nodded her head and was coerced into letting Lucy into a red-and-green frock that was a little big on her. He'd put on a white sleepsuit underneath. "Like elf!" Molly cried in excitement. Everything she said was filled with so much delight that it was hard for Percy not to feel the same excitement too.

"Molo," Lucy pointed at Molly. "Molo."

That, of course, led into the rest of the morning being wasted with Molly trying to teach Lucy how to say her name. Lucy, puffed cheeks of determination, kept repeating the same word to her. Percy fed her pureed vegetables, which had her full face in green as Molly ate crumpets and tried to continue her little teaching session. The room was abuzz with loud children and teenagers talking about how they didn't have to go back to Hogwarts, or Beauxbatons or whatever wizarding school that they'd been going to.

"Percy," Mabel's voice had made Percy snap his head up so that he could look at her. She looked a little flustered. "Is it… is it okay if Dany stays with you for the day?" she glanced back at her daughter. "Or…or do you have to go to work?"

Molly and Dany exchanged a mischievous look to each other.

"I can take them with me," Percy insisted. What was a couple of toddlers left to run amuck to wreak havoc on a joke shop when there were about ten every day? "My brother runs the shop. He wouldn't mind." At least he didn't have a say in it after the customers he'd been flocking at him all of yesterday. That meant that he might as well take Lucy too, and that was exactly what he'd done.

When he'd come in, Ron was already fumbling with the register. Dany had reverted to being shy, but Molly stomped up to the register as if she were the one that owned the place.

Ron looked down at Molly, raising an eyebrow at her before looking across the room. Percy approached him and Ron's eyes zeroed in on little Lucy in her pram. "It's not one of yours," Percy told sleep-deprived Ron.

According to their mum, Ron and Hermione had gone on to have two children themselves. There was one-and-a-half-year-old Rose and eight-month-old Hugo. Before getting married that is! This generation! Molly had told Percy. Percy casually brought up that he'd had children with Penelope before marrying her. Her? Oh, if you've married her, Percy, then we'd be right into the Wizengamot courts again. As painful as that thought was, he knew that she was right. There would be custody battles alike and his whole world would look a lot bleaker. Still, there here wasn't much she could huff about because she loved Hermione so much and thought that Ron was lucky to get 'a broad like her' (Hermione wouldn't have appreciated that term, Percy believed).

"Blimey," Ron rubbed his temple. "How did dad do it?" he then noticed Percy stood there. "How do you?"

"Brother," Molly announced, tugging at Percy's sleeve. "Brother."

"Yes, this is my brother. Your uncle Ron," Percy told her. Molly nodded her head at the new information. "And we don't tug at people's sleeves, darling. It's rude." Lucy was leaning forward on her pram with her mouth open. "Go on. Take a nap," he told Ron, who looked like he was about to drop dead. "I think George has a couch back there. He's been leaving me alone and sleeping during the rush hours I'm pretty sure." He'd pulled out a mangled cerise blanket that he'd had under Lucy's pram (you'd be surprised at the things he'd shrunken and kept in that pram as in case of emergencies) and shoved it towards him.

George had gone red. "You know about that?" he shook his head. "Merlin, you're like mum. You know everything."

Percy raised an eyebrow at him. "Of course," he said. "Who do you think mum taught all her tricks to?"

The shift was one of those eerily quiet ones where they could've heard a quill drop. Dany whispered things in Molly's ears, who every now and then shrieked out words at the top of her lungs to make up for all the noise that Dany wasn't making. Lucy was the lowest maintenance baby ever. He'd fed her. She spent most of the time staring at the shop door waiting for someone to go in and made delighted sounds when they did. As if they'd come for her. Every time a customer came in, she became talkative (much to a couple of teenagers' chagrins). George stayed quiet for most of the shift, which was unusual for him, but every time Percy thought to ask him about it, a customer came in or Molly almost broke something. A couple of minutes before closing time, Percy found George gawking at him as he changed Lucy's nappy.

"Is that hard?" George asked him all of a sudden, sheepishly rubbing his wrist.

Percy looked down at Lucy. She was sat on the makeshift changing mat that he'd shrunken and kept into her pram, legs kicked up high as she flung her arms everywhere.

"Changing a nappy? Hmm… well…it's not exactly Ancient Runes now, is it?" Percy, who was holding a fresh nappy in his hand, shoved it to George's chest. "Why don't you try it for yourself?"

George, who had gone seriously white, reluctantly moved towards Lucy.

As George turned to Lucy, Percy nearly had a coronary when Ron placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Perce," he sounded groggy, like he'd just gotten up from his nap. It must've been a couple of hours since Percy had sent him off. "I forgot to…"

"Yes?" Percy raised an eyebrow.

Ron wrapped his arms around him and hugged him so tightly that even Percy found it hard to think. When he felt hot tears run down Ron's cheeks, Percy couldn't help but hug him back.

"It's alright," Percy told him. Ron was holding him so tightly that Percy thought he'd break him in half. "It's okay." He'd melted into the warmth of Ron's body.

That Tuesday evening, Percy had shown up at the Burrow with the littler ones. He hadn't seen Hermione in so long that he almost hadn't recognised her. She looked so much older. He'd seen Ron grow but he hadn't quite managed to realise that that meant that Harry and Hermione were no longer first years bickering about things that first years generally did (though he doubted that Harry and Hermione fell into the category of normal first years). Harry had grown up to look so handsome with his sharp cheekbones, sleek nose and vibrant green eyes. He had given him such a respectful nod and shake of the hand. He was also nice enough to act like nothing had changed since the last time that he'd seen him. Hermione was much more out there, trying to say that if he needed any help…

It was strange to hear those words from her. Hermione, in his mind, was still a little girl. Even if she were "the brightest witch of her age", a part of him still couldn't fathom ever possibly going to her for any help.

"You know," Ron told him as he walked into the room. "There's not much difference between us anymore. I mean…our ages," he'd tried to say it offhandedly. "Look, I can see the way you looked at Hermione when she said that she could help." But he looked serious. "But she can. She works with stuff like that all day in the Ministry." He'd looked down at his feet. "Okay, fine I don't know what she does, even though she keeps talking about it all the time but… I'm sure that she can find someone that can do something for you."

"Ron, I don't need someone to do something for me," Percy shot him a pointed look. "Except maybe get a real job." That had come out of his mouth before he'd had a chance to think about it.

But he knew that he didn't want to live in the shelter forever. His part-time job at the joke shop wasn't going to be reigning in enough for him to live on. Lucy was growing at an alarming rate, and he didn't have Molly's old clothes with him on hand if she suddenly couldn't fit into her too-big frocks and tights. Similac was making him skint, even though Lucy was eating more pureed vegetables and fruit than ever these days.

"Kingsley told Hermione that he needs some help in the Department of…something-something-something," Ron waved his hand around erratically. "Maybe he has something for you. Why don't you write him?"

Joy. Percy blinked at him. He didn't think Kingsley would be pleased to see him. "I'll see."

"Molly? And Lucy?" His mum had walked inside the room, looking a little flustered. "Oh, I didn't expect that you'd bring them after…" her voice dropped. "This is so very nice."

"That's your gran," Bill, who had just either apparated or walked in, said to Molly, who was bouncing in her spot. "She likes to give so, so many biscuits." Molly beamed. "Though I'm sure your father will object."

"Very much so," Percy gave Molly a stern look. "How many biscuits are we allowed every day?"

Molly was grumbling to herself. He'd proposed a biscuit allotment after a box of dark chocolate digestives had her in pain all night a couple of days back. "Five," she mumbled, when she knew that wasn't the answer.

"Two," he reminded her. Molly grumbled. "Unfair!" she said. "Dad eat five!"

Percy felt himself flush. "Well, I'm a lot bigger than you!" he reminded her.

Of course, he didn't have time to consider his foray into the world of real jobs and work. Because within the hour, Ron promptly announced to the whole family that Percy wanted to go back to work. Soon after, he was being pushed into writing an owl to Kingsley, who probably wouldn't be keen to hear from him after what happened last time. He doubted his expertise in the post office intrigued his former employer. He doubted that his part-time stint in the joke shop did anything for him either. But it was not long before he'd received back an owl with a scheduled meeting (the efficiency of that man, or that man's new secretary, was quite astounding).

"What are you looking so weirded out about?" Ron asked him when Percy stared agape at the note in his hand. "I thought you had twelve O.W.L's, and a load of qualifications nobody but you and him even care about."

Percy glared at him and huffed in response.

Dinner that night was heaving slabs of roast duck with a sea of mash and vegetables that were so buttery they were almost slipping out of Percy's fork. Molly had given him his plate first, which was so heavy that he'd thought that he was carrying a massive cauldron instead of his weekday dinner. His little Molly, with her healthy appetite, had demanded a similar sized plate and was tucking in like it was a personal goal of hers to get through one of their mum's roast dinners. He'd fed Lucy mouthfuls of mash first, and then a bottle of Similac. By the time that it got to him eating his dinner, it was cold and insipid. His usual, of course.

It was nice evening. Percy listened into the conversations at the table casually as he ate. They talked about so many things that Percy had a hard time remembering, but it included Arthur discussing how the Ministry had been doing (dropping names of people Percy used to know), Ron talking about how he and Harry were going to some retreat in Burkina Faso (that apparently neither Ginny nor Hermione knew about from the looks they were giving them) and even down to how the weather had been like these days (Percy couldn't remember, and that was strange because he noticed every insignificant detail in a room). Percy had felt very much relaxed into the conversations, and he didn't feel like an outlier like he used to. But he knew that was because nobody was talking about him, looking at him, hadn't made the slightest inclination towards him.

When everyone had left the table, Percy still had Lucy in his arms. He was trying to polish off a slab of jam roly-poly in custard. He'd fed Lucy some custard, but she wasn't really keen on it. Molly, being a speed-eating machine, had already wolfed down her share and had gone to the couch to sit with Bill. He was sure she'd rattle on about how her day had been (of course, mentioning details that even Bill would know about, such as what they had for dinner.) Percy met Hermione's face from across the room and she smiled at him, mouthing 'if you need anything' to him. It suddenly made him feel so small to be recognised like that. Would this always be the case? And what if it wasn't? Why was both reactions a distressing thought to him? How could he dread being talked about and never being talked about again?

Arthur sat across from him and he could feel his anxiety starting to mount up.

"Percy," Arthur reached in to hold his hand, squeezing it as hard as it he could. "You look good."

Percy smiled back at him. The swelling on his face had gone down, and his bruising was now changing in colour. He could eat and seemed to be functional in confines of society, but there was something about the idea of possibly being confronted that sent him into a state of absolute panic.

"Thank you," Percy answered meaninglessly.

Arthur reached up and stroked Percy's cheek. "Are you going to be okay?" he'd asked.

And when he'd asked in that kind of way, holding his cheek in that really loving sort of way, Percy froze.

"Percy?" Arthur called out again, that ever-concerned parent.

"I don't know," he said plainly, as honestly as he ever had. Lucy reached up to feel his face (was it wet? Was he crying?), and his heart ached so much. How did he ever think that he was going to do this alone?

Arthur had reached in to hold him, and it was strange being held by someone whilst he was already holding his daughter. Arthur held him for a few seconds as he cried and with every sob that escaped his body, Arthur looked like he was in immense pain himself. Percy must've spent at least the whole hour crying, up until the point where he felt like he could fall asleep from the exhaustion. But he was relieved that nobody came in and asked what was wrong, because if it had, he thought he might sink into the earth. Every emotion, from joy to anger to humiliation to disappointment to fear, consumed him. Lucy was wide-eyed and confused.

"Let me," Arthur picked Lucy up from his arms. "Go rest," he said.

Percy nodded his head and numbly made it out into the living room. His little Molly was engrossed into a book with Bill. Had she heard him? He didn't think so, if she hadn't said anything about it considering how blunt his daughter was. His mother looked up from her knitting. She put down the scarf that she'd been working on and placed a hand on his arm as he was just passing her to the staircase. She held his hand and walked up with him as if he couldn't do it by himself. And he felt like such a twat letting her.

He wondered how the sky looked like outside. It felt like it had been ages since he'd seen anything beyond the Burrow's walls. The world had blurred, and he could barely focus on the swirling patterns in the wallpaper or the way the carpet felt underneath his feet. He stammered like he was drunk. She directed him into her and his father's room. As a child, he remembered how soft the duvet felt, how warm it was. It was still soft and warm, just like he'd remembered. The sheets were the nicest thing that he'd been in ages, fluffier than holding a Puffksein in his hands as a child. She'd turned off the lights with a Nox and left him alone.

He thought he might fall asleep, but in the darkness, a flood of emotion hit him. Percy wasn't even sure what he was feeling, what he was thinking, what he just was. Instead, he just cried, really, really cried, the sounds that were coming out of him was so theatrical that even he was shocked that he'd had that inside of him. What was he crying for? He didn't know, but he still cried until his whole body ached, and then felt numb.

Why did she hurt him? Why did he allow himself to be hurt? Why did he think so lowly of himself?

Just as he turned to the side to try and fall asleep, Ron walked into the room. Percy's heartbeat so loudly into his chest that he could barely hear the door open and close. Ron's footsteps were muted and dull. Before Percy could process what had happened, Ron climbed into bed with him. He placed Percy's head on his lap and ran his hand through his hair. The position was so unnaturally comfortable, and Percy felt like every limb was three stones on its own. He could barely lift his body, so he just laid there. He felt so conflicted. He was a grown man with children. Why had his spirit shattered within a couple of hours?

"You can sleep, Perce, I'm not going to stamp 'prat' on your forehead when you take a nap," Ron muttered. "Well, not today." Percy offered him a weak smile and tried to fall asleep.

"Thank you," Percy said, and he wasn't sure if he was thanking him for being there or for not ridiculing him.

Sleep came very easily. When he woke up, Ron was gone which he felt relieved for. He'd climbed out of bed and went downstairs barely realising that he was doing it. He didn't realise how late it was until he'd tip-toed downstairs and noticed that his mum and dad were sleeping on the sofa. Lucy had somehow fallen asleep at the dead end of the night with no complaint. She was in an old cot, and she looked angelic in soft white sleepsuits and bundled up in fluffy, periwinkle blankets. Little Molly must be bundled up somewhere too, Percy supposed. He'd bet in Bill or Charlie's old rooms. He'd have a look when he went back upstairs just to be sure.

When Percy walked into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, he didn't anticipate being joined.

"Let me do that," Molly said as Percy was about to pour some tea into a mug. His mum levitated the kettle and poured two mugs of tea for them and added cream and sugar to their tastes. Percy smiled at her weakly and then sat down by the table. "Have you thought about what to do this Christmas?"

Percy shook his head, rubbing his arm. "I've tried not to think about it."

The stress of the season was getting to him. He'd always gotten Molly and Lucy gifts, even when they were too young to appreciate them. Now, the stress of shopping for his family was making him feel rather ill. And what about the shelter? Did anyone expect gifts too? He'd thought of who he might be giving gifts to, but his mind had come up to a blank. Was it insulting to single out people for gifts? He didn't know.

Molly looked at him with a look of surprise. "Why?" she'd asked.

"The presents," Percy explained in a laboured tone. "I don't…" when it was just Molly, Lucy and Penelope, he was stressed enough without thinking of trying to get something for everyone else too. "I don't actually earn much money at the current moment." He at least wanted to buy something for his little girls. But with what? He could ask George to pay him early, but then George might wonder why he didn't buy him anything. Or anyone else.

"Oh, Percival," Molly looked disappointed. "You should know nobody cares about any gifts." She shook her head at him. "Nor do they expect them! We just…well, we want you to be here." She smiled weakly. "When was the last time you've had a good Christmas?" she'd asked and winced as soon as she said it.

Percy looked down at his mug of tea. He didn't feel placated by this. Was he supposed to?

"I hate the holidays," he honestly said. Molly looked sorry for him. "And I already wish I could sleep through this one." He had no interest in attending any Christmas dinners. All he could remember was the vile celebrations that he'd been through in the past few years, all ending up with fat tears, broken bones and deep lacerations. The best one he'd probably had was when the twins flung that mashed parsnip at him in 1996. And even that one had been dreadful.

"The only reason I even engaged in holidays because of the girls," Percy admitted. They absolutely loved the holidays. Sometimes, the only thing that made it bearable was the look on Molly's face come Christmas morning. But he still felt exhausted thinking of all the steps he needed to get there. "If it were up to me, I'd be taking a couple of Dreamless Sleep well into the New Year." His admission just made his mother frown.

"Well, this time, it'll be different," Molly assured. Percy didn't feel comfortable refuting that.

He had no interest in making it different. Even if he wasn't going to be ending up in a hospital or the recipient of a fight, he had long ago become uninterested in such things. He had no idea how normal people enjoyed holidays. All he could think of was the countless obligations he had, starting with a stall smack in the middle of the Christmas holidays and ending with various boxes wrapped in gaudy papers and bows.

And it had been different.

That Christmas, Percy had his stall, which had been quite popular. There were hot chocolates and spiced rum everywhere. His favourite part, the decorations, had distracted him from the gnawing pain that he felt in his body every time he reminisced previous holidays. When he walked outside, he saw glowing fluttering snowflakes in the dark, and lights that were so bright you could barely see beyond them. Percy wondered how it would be like to live in a snow globe. He'd given Molly one on Christmas and she shook it every night and made small wishes that she didn't keep to herself. Mostly about how she wanted a bag of chocolate buttons as she eyed Percy with pseudo-contempt. Much to Ron's displeasure and George's incessant amusement, Lucy had come to learn Ron's name, but shouted it out as Won! every time she saw him. Throughout the holidays, Ginny and George tried awfully hard to get her to say Won Won.

Christmas dinner was plagued with a social Lucy babbling and Molly shrieking in excitement every hour on the clock. Percy ate his plate and listened to the conversations with half-smiles, nods and a few 'I suppose so's. By the time that it got to boxing day, Percy spent most of the day asleep.

He was back to a nine-to-five work schedule within a week after that. He was working in the Department of Magical Transportation. He had a small cubicle in the corner at the edge of the world, looking out into a milky sky of nothing. He signed off paperwork, paperwork he could imagine folding into little animals. He stared outside the window sometimes, wondering how it was like to live on a cloud. His clothes felt detached from his body. He barely said anything in meetings, but he'd gotten his work done before five every day. Within a couple of weeks of working, he was praised by his superior.

"Good job," Arthur had said when he'd mentioned the Head of Department talking about how motivated he was. "You should be proud of what you're doing."

"Thank you," Percy replied emotionlessly. If he had heard those words a decade back, he'd have felt like his whole life was complete. Now, those words meant about as much as announcing the weather that morning. What were you now when the very thing that used to motivate you no longer meant anything to you?

There was a nice woman in cubicle five asking him if she'd go have lunch with him pretty much every day. He respectfully declined when she asked. She had the nicest purple handbag. She was a sweet woman.

He was terrified of her.

Percy moved out of the shelter by the following year. The flat he had was in muggle London. It was in neutral shades and was devoid of any personal touch beyond Molly's playthings. Lucy happily crawled all over the carpet most days. Audrey looked worried when he'd announced that he was moving on. Are you sure? her body language seemed to say. He wasn't but he'd never be sure of anything in his life. He wrote his schedule on a muggle blackboard he'd bought with him. Every day, he'd written a new word for Molly to know. Gabrielle came by sometimes, and they wrote out a conversation in French on the blackboard. She was trying to teach him the language, and it was certainly a unique way to do so. He couldn't say that he wasn't learning but his French was limited to how are you's and I'm well. Mabel bought Dany over for playdates, and Percy spent the whole day with them sometimes. He'd bake cakes and watch the telly. He bathed Molly and fed Lucy. He'd go to work, eat, go to sleep and repeat an mindless, numbing cycle.

The world went on, but now, Percy was fairly sure he was no longer on it like he'd thought.