Trigger Warning: Mental health stuff, particularly relating to grief/anxiety/depression.
CHAPTER TWO:
Because he had, of course, forgotten all about the turkey he was supposed to get the night before, Percy was forced to explain the next day how he had managed to forget about the only item on his shopping list.
"It was a blizzard, Mum!"
"Just a bit of snow. Really, Percy."
"And there was wind!"
"Are you a wizard or not?"
"I didn't think it would be so bad, honest. Forgot my wand."
"Well, it was apparently bad enough that you forgot the turkey, and your head too!" his mum scolded him, and Percy felt himself redden. It was rather pathetic, he knew, that he was keeping his date a secret, like he wasn't in his twenties and perfectly allowed to do as he well pleased. But he knew it was unlikely that anything would come of it, and he'd rather keep the sting of rejection to himself. Merlin knew what his mother would say.
Or worse: his siblings.
"Percy!"
Percy jumped as a dish towel slapped his shoulder. "Yes?"
"What are you daydreaming about?" She peered into his eyes. "A girl?"
"Mum!" How does she do that? My deceit didn't last ten seconds!
"Why didn't you invite her?"
"Mum!" Percy rubbed his face. "I'm twenty-two! Stop interrogating me."
"Psh, I'm your mother, I can always interrogate you." She patted his cheek. "When did you meet her?"
Percy glared at her before giving up. "Yesterday."
"Oh. Your 'blizzard.'"
"There was a blizzard!" Percy hesitated. "But yes."
"She's a Muggle, then?"
"Yes, Mum. And before you say anything, it's not like anything will continue long. We're just meeting for tea tonight, that's all."
She was silent for a moment, rubbing an already-dry dish absentmindedly with the towel. "Tea?"
"Yes."
"Tonight?"
"Yes."
"A girl does not invite a boy over at night just for tea."
Percy fervently wished he could Disapparate right then and there. "Mother!"
"Arthur, if I invited you to have tea with me at night, what do you think I'd be wanting?" his mum demanded of his dad as he came through the door, stamping off snow from his boots.
Dad, already red from the cold, flushed even more as he grinned sheepishly. "Not tea."
"See!" Mum wagged a finger at Percy. "Not tea!"
Groaning, Percy buried his burning face in his hands. "I never, ever want to hear another word from either of you again."
"We did not end up with seven children because of tea."
"In the name of everything you hold sacred, please please stop talking about this."
"Talking about what?" Ron galloped into the room, snatching a hot biscuit off of the counter.
"Ronald Weasley, those are not for you, they're for our guests tonight..."
As Mum reprimanded Ron for eating her food, Percy used the momentary distraction to flee.
He never wanted to think of that conversation ever again.
Which, of course, meant that it was the only thing he could think about.
A knot of dread inside his chest, mixing unpleasantly with the anxiety that normally resided there. What does Audrey expect from tonight? Is this a real date?
He shut the door to his bedroom and proceeded to pace the small space. It can't be a real date. She's her and I'm me.
The memory of Audrey smiling at him as she danced came to his mind unbidden, and he accidentally forgot to duck as he neared the sloped ceiling. "Ouch," he muttered, rubbing his forehead.
She seemed interested.
She wanted to dance with me.
She invited me.
Maybe it was a real date.
How long has it been since I've been on a real date? What if I mess this all up?
Then, more angrily, I didn't even want this. Why am I worried? It's nothing. Just a girl.
A beautiful girl.
Oh bloody hell.
I can't have tea with someone like that.
As he swung back towards his bed, his eyes drifted to the only picture in the room: a clipping from the Daily Prophet from the family trip to Egypt over five years before.
The family, whole.
And just like that, the pressure clutching his chest tightened to the point that everything fractured. The acrid taste of smoke rose filled his mouth and nose, and he fumbled for the potion he always kept on hand on his desk as his vision shattered into flashing lights and rubble. Just one night, he pleaded with himself, his body, his mind. Just one night. Mum needs me to be happy. I need me to be happy. Just one night, please. It's Christmas.
He didn't remember sitting down on the floor, but when his heart finally slowed and the tightness in his chest eased, he had his head in his hands and was leaning against the bed. The itchy wool carpet did little to soften the position, but he found himself rubbing a thumb over it, trying to ground himself.
Just one night.
It had been a while since he'd had an attack that severe.
Just one night.
For good measure, he took another swig of the potion.
Just one night.
The front door slammed downstairs, and the sounds in the Burrow grew louder as the first guests arrived - Andromeda and Teddy, it sounded like, judging by the wail of a baby. Time to put on a smile, he thought, and instead sat there for a few more minutes before he found the energy to pull on the new jumper that Mum had knitted him. It was green this time, with a white P.
He did his best to avoid looking at the photograph as he dressed. He didn't think he could handle another breakdown that day.
And yet, even though this hadn't been the first time that the photo had caused an attack, Percy couldn't bring himself to take it down. It was the only one he had of them all. Of the whole family.
The family, whole.
Percy, whole.
Everything he would never have again.
It wasn't my fault. I've done everything I can to fix things. I've done all I can. It wasn't my fault, he repeated to himself. The words didn't really mean much anymore; he'd said them so much they'd lost any significance or weight. But they were a habit, and it was a habit he'd clung to in the months since, since...
The tang of blood startled him out of what promised to be another attack; he'd bitten his thumb nail down to the skin.
Oops. He magicked the small cut away, then checked the rest of his body in the mirror for any evidence of his breakdown. Apart from his unruly hair, which was fixed with an easy wave of his wand, he looked as he always did: tall, composed, stoic.
Unhappy.
He tried to smile at himself in the mirror.
It came out more like a grimace.
Percy sighed and gave up on the smile. It would seem odd for him to have one anyways; he rarely did anymore.
The potion helped, but it wasn't perfect.
Months ago, when he'd sought help, the Mind Healer had assured him that time would be the best medicine for the anxiety and depression. "It's just part of the grief," he'd said. "It'll pass. Just remind yourself that it wasn't your fault, Mr. Weasley. It wasn't your fault at all."
Of course, Percy hadn't believed him then, and he didn't believe him now. Oh, he still took the potion - it helped cut the worst of the symptoms, sometimes prevented him from going back, thinking back. But time hadn't changed anything, and he hadn't returned to see that Healer since.
Dinner was large, loud, and messy - precisely the sort of fantastic party that only the Weasleys could pull off. Even without the fourth turkey, there was plenty of food: homemade stuffing, buttered potatoes, thick gravy, roasted vegetables, sweet cranberry sauce, and decadent puddings were served along with the three crisped turkeys, all of it heaped on platters across the series of odd, mismatched tables that wound through the various rooms to accommodate the numbers.
Though he now visited the Burrow every weekend, Percy was struck, as he often was, by how much he had missed in the last few years. He was seated somewhere in the middle of the string of tables, just near the door to the kitchen and sitting room. From there, he could see most everyone, and he watched them silently as he ate.
His parents chatting intently with Bill and Fleur. Charlie enchanting napkins to fly at an almost-smiling George. Ron leaning over and kissing a blushing Hermione on the cheek as she forked food onto his plate. Ginny helping Harry wrestle a screaming Teddy into a high chair while his grandmother Andromeda relaxed blissfully at the other end of the table. Hagrid turning red as he drank yet another goblet of firewhisky and debated creature care with Luna Lovegood. Neville Longbottom laughing with Dean Thomas as one of Charlie's magicked napkins landed in Ron's plate. There were some others too, names he couldn't quite remember from the rounds of introductions earlier in the afternoon, and their chatter filled the small warm spaces of the Burrow with a joy that hadn't been there in many months.
The family, almost whole.
He lowered his eyes, hating the hollowness in his gut, hating that there was a invisible barrier that separated himself from them, hating that he was the one who'd put it there in the first place.
"Alright there, Percy?"
It was Hermione. She looked concerned, smiling at him gently.
"Perfectly well, thanks," he replied, trying to smile back, but he must have done just as poor a job as earlier because she reached across the table and touched his hand gently.
"Perce..."
He wanted to take her hand and not let go of its warmth, to know that someone was there with him even after everything he'd done.
He pulled his hand away.
He might've hated the barrier between them, but it was there for a reason.
He was grateful when the bottle of firewhisky made its way to him. Ordinarily, he didn't drink much, but tonight seemed like a good exception. Just a little, to cut the nerves, he thought. After all, he'd only be having tea later.
Tea.
With Audrey.
At night.
He reddened, poured some into his goblet, and took an anxious gulp.
The firewhisky seared the back of his throat. Bloody hell that burns, he thought, coughing.
"Alright there, Percy?" Hagrid, who was sitting next to him, helpfully clapped him on the back. The sheer strength of the action made the rest of the liquid in Percy's cup fly out of it - directly into Ron's plate, from which his brother was just extracting the gravy-soaked napkin Charlie had dropped there.
"Oi!" yelped Ron. "Watch it!"
"Sorry, Ron," said Percy hoarsely, but then the anxiety and the ridiculousness of the situation bubbled up inside him and he was not only coughing but laughing as well. He could feel everyone's eyes on him as he spluttered, but couldn't seem to stop. They must think me mad, he thought with some hysteria.
Teddy giggled.
And, just like that, the surprised silence turned into laughter.
Percy, a little out of breath, suddenly felt a little less alone.
"Bit strong for ya, Percy?" Hagrid asked, grinning. "Guess I'll be taking tha' back." He reached for the bottle, only to have Seamus nick it out from in front of him.
"Best share that with you, aye, Hagred?" Seamus said with a wicked grin. "Can't have you drinking all of it."
"As if a wee lad like ya is gonna stop me?" Hagrid snorted. "I'd like to see ya try, Finnigan."
Seamus raised his eyebrows. "That a challenge?"
"It'd only be a challenge if we were equals. Gimme."
"I think no." And Seamus put the bottle to his lips and took a long drink.
"Seamus!" Dean said from beside his friend, looking scandalized by his lack of manners.
"What? He started it!" Seamus widened his eyes in pretend innocence, lowering the bottle. "Really, you can't blame me." But when Dean leveled a narrow-eyed glare at him, he sighed. "Oh, alright. Here, Hagrid." He passed the bottle back to Hagrid, who made a show of wiping off the top before giving him a triumphant look and drinking straight from it as well.
Percy pinched his lips to keep from smiling as Seamus began to protest hotly.
He'd missed many things over the last few years, but some things never really changed.
I don't update often, but when I do... Well, maybe one day we'll find out. Consistency is not really my strong point. *shrug* Anyway, what did you think? Do you feel that my portrayal of Percy's mental health is giving you a better understanding of him? Is he more empathetic? I'm curious to know! I'm drawing on a lot of my own experiences with anxiety and depression, but that doesn't mean I'm doing a great job of representing the depth of them.
Happy holidays!