Living
Author's notes: I hope you read these- They're not too long and they do have some relevance… Anyway, I would like to take a moment to explain that I have avoided most HP fics, and ALL Percy-centric fics, for many months now- since before book 5. I've always identified with Percy, and while reading OoTP came up with this story- it pretty much formed itself around two focal scenes I wanted to write. One will be up next, the other may have to wait a bit. But I would like to point out that any similarities between this story and any other current ones are completely coincidental. I know that some of this has been used before, but… well, I suppose I can explain better after the chapter… Percy says he doesn't like my dorm room because it is too cold. I agree. We've come to an arrangement about the ownership issue- I don't own any of it, but Percy says we can be friends.
you fell into our arms
you fell into our arms
we tried, but there was nothing we could do…
~radiohead
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People died, of course. People died every day. Most of the children he knew had disappeared, quite suddenly, and in retrospect he knew that they'd gone farther than France or America or any of the other fantastical place his mum'd told him stories of. Hell, he'd known even then, a cold certainty that they were gone. Still, he'd never expected David to go.
Bill's departure from the Weasley house was a great blow. Charlie spent all of his time tending a small, slightly illegal swamp 'dragon' (little more than a chain-smoking lizard, truth be told) that Arthur had given him. That left Percy alone with his mum and the newborn triplets. Fred, George, and David were peaceful babies, but the strain of caring for all three was wearing Molly down. One was often passed to Percy to care for, and he held all three in a sort of reverence. As they grew older, they proved their initial dispositions a joke- no longer peaceful, they were boundlessly joyful, full of energy, and for they became Percy's world when Charlie left for Hogwarts.
And in time, of course, Ron was born, and again Molly had too much on her hands. At four, Percy was left almost completely to care for the three little troublemakers. He'd always been an exceedingly responsible child, and now that the boys could walk and talk, sort of, they were relatively easy to care for. Percy became fiercely possessive of them, and devised any number of games to play- creeping under the dusty furniture to look for lost treasure, making shadow monsters on the wall, and telling them the most elaborate stories his young mind could create.
This time Percy recognized the signs himself- again, mum? Still busy with little Ron and now another on the way. He didn't really see the point, when she had five perfectly good children at home with her, but then, he was secretly quite anxious for a sister.
And then, the unimaginable happened. Voldemort was defeated. By a child, of all things- scarcely Ron's age, no more than a toddler. After almost a week of quiet, excited tension, the confirmation came through. He was gone. They could go home. His father could come home.
The Burrow. Percy'd heard of it, fond stories from his mum and older brothers. And his father would be able to live with them, rather than hurried, secretive visits. Best of all- they would be allowed outdoors! The triplets were ecstatic, and proceeded to spend as much time outdoors as they possibly could. And all four of the boys discovered the greatest joy in all the wizarding world- broomsticks.
This, Percy loved most of all- it was a freedom unlike anything he'd ever known, and he was surprisingly good at it. Charlie, now in his second year at Hogwarts, had made the Gryffindor quidditch team, and the triplets, on their tiny toy brooms, were showing unmistakable signs of great talent. Percy, however, had little interest in the sport beyond playing with his brothers. He simply loved spiraling into the sky, pushing the broom and himself to the limit.
And in this most joyous time, it happened. David simply stopped. The boys were outside, the triplets playing at being dragons, Percy high above, lost in flight. He was brought back to reality by George and Fred's frantic screams- David wouldn't get up. Percy dropped straight to the ground and bolted to the boys. He was playing dead, they said. We thought he was playing, but he won't get up. He'd been unconscious for more than ten minutes.
Nobody could explain it, nobody could give any reason. He lay in a sterile bed in St. Mungo's, with the best Mediwizards in the world around him at all times. In the end, it didn't matter. David Weasley died just short of his third birthday.
Bill and Charlie were terribly sad, but they hardly knew the child. Molly and Arthur were deeply grieved, but had to go on- they still had four very young children to look after. Fred and George clung to each other desperately, and Percy was left alone in his anguish.
The triplets became the twins. They didn't remember him now, Percy knew they didn't. They had a vague feeling that something was missing, but they had no idea what they'd lost. But they'd seen Percy, crying, blaming himself. "It's my fault." They didn't remember. But years afterward, they still unconsciously condemned him, resented him. But they could never hate him as much as he hated himself.
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Percy never resented his family's poverty, never. He didn't begrudge David a single second that the Weasley family fortune had bought. He wished, sometimes, that he could explain it all to Ron and Ginny, at least. It hurt them to be so poor, buit he knew they'd understand. Blinking against the tears he could feel building in his eyes, he could see that this was his stop. He may never get the chance to explain, to apologize. Perhaps this was his apology. He sighed deeply as he stepped into the hidden entry of the Ministry of Magic.
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Feet first into the story. I did promise I would start the story, eventually. Anyway, I have been dead convinced, since book one, that Ron HAS to be a seventh son. Has to. So, that means a missing brother. I know it's been done, but damnit, I'm doing it again. RON IS A SEVENTH SON! Besides, Percy's neuroses need a solid root. The next chapter, for anyone who cares, will be wildly out of sequence and will feature everyone's favorite dead guy, Sirius Black. Try to hold the excitement in.