Part Two: The Red Wall (Part Two of Five)

Percy

The day Percy had put up the modern paintings on his wall, Oliver had come over to examine them, and soon the shock was evident on his face.

'But Percy', he'd said, staring at the colourful shapes on them, 'these things make no sense at all.'

'I know', he'd merely replied. Oliver'd looked at him in disbelief.

'But you've always hated things that didn't make sense'.

'I know'.

'Then why did you get these?'

Percy's answer couldn't have been more simple, and yet it had been an enigma to his friend.

'To remind me what life's like.'

---

Percy was sick of his flat, and had been for a long time. It had been the first thing he'd got with his first salary as Junior Assistant of the Minister – before that, he'd been living in the cheapest room at the Leaky Cauldron.

He'd chosen an spacious, completely new flat with grey walls and no history. The opposite of The Burrow – and he could lie to everyone else and say he'd chosen it because it was close to Diagon Alley, but deep down he knew that had been the reason he'd rented it. He hadn't wanted anything to remind him of home – the home he'd abandoned, the home that in the last couple of years had felt more like a prison than anything else. For a long time, Percy had been aware that living at The Burrow wouldn't help him in his career. It wasn't... classy.

So when he had the choice, he rented a place that wouldn't relate to The Burrow or anyone of its inhabitants. The problem was, his whole life was related to The Burrow, so soon the flat became the "home" (could anyone call it that?) of a man with no past. Which had been all right for him, at first. He was more interested in his future than in dwelling in the past. He wanted to sever all ties with his previous life. He wanted to start a new one.

As he spent more time at work than he did at home, he'd never bothered to decorate the flat, and he'd only bought the essential furniture. However, he'd never noticed how empty the place was – not until he'd lost his job (his whole life, actually) and Penelope had long ago stopped coming by. Then the nude walls had seemed to close in on him as he lay on bed dwelling in somber thoughts of shattered dreams.

Then, when cockroaches had invaded Andrew's flat and Oliver had admitted he no longer could afford his, Lorne had suggested them to move in together. Even though Percy and the other two men thought Lorne was easily the weirdest thing they'd seen (not only his clothes were strange enough, but he seemed to be perpetuosly cheerful, not to mention that "reading souls" thing which was downright creepy) they thought it wasn't a bad idea. Or maybe they were all just desperate to get a new place.

They had chosen a Muggle flat because of Andrew, but it hadn't been a real problem for any of them: Percy knew a lot about Muggles thanks to his father, and Oliver was a half-blood. They had, though, made some magical modifications to the place – something that had horrified Percy until he'd remembered he no longer worked for the Ministry. And it wasn't like anyone would bother with the illegal enchantment of some Muggle stuff when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was on the loose.

The reason they'd painted the living room with different colours hadn't been originality, but the painful fact they couldn't afford buying more paint so they had to use the bit that was left after painting the bedrooms. They could have left the walls in its original colour, but Percy had something against white, nude walls and the other two had agreed with him. So Andrew had suggested each one of them painted one wall – and so they had done.

Percy's colour choice had surprised even himself, but then he reasoned that there was nothing as different as white than red, and it reminded him a little of Gryffindor's common room, a place where he'd been happy. Which, now he came to think about it, could have been the reason Oliver hadn't wanted that colour: it'd remind him too much of Quiditch robes.

But Percy had been happy at Hogwarts – there his intellingence had been appreciated, and no one had seemed to care that much about his second-handed clothes, not like people had done once he'd got a job at the Ministry. Percy remembered his first year at the International Magical Cooperation Department all too well. People had stared at his clean but far too used robes with a smug expression on their faces, and sometimes he'd heard them whispering "Oh, but if it's Arthur Weasley's son – the mad Muggle-lover. He's got seven children, you know, and they all dress like that..." Yes, he remembered it too well.

Percy's wall had been painted in a vibrant colour then, covered with bookshelves (because, no matter how much he'd changed, he still loved books) and he'd brought some furniture from his old flat, but only those things (like the armchair or the lamp) that he liked too much to throw away. Then, of course, there was the guitar, which had a story of its own.

The first memory Percy had was the one of his mother singing a lullbaby to him. He didn't remember which song was it, all he remembered was the softness on her voice in his baby ears and how the sweet melody had put him to sleep. When she wasn't shouting, Molly Weasley had a beautiful voice – voice none of her children, not even Ginny, had inherited. Except Percy.

When he was still a young child, he'd tried to imitate his mother's singing and soon he'd discovered that he could calm down the restless twins only with his voice (and for very short periods of time, of course). As he grew older, Percy found out that music was the only entertainment he truly enjoyed apart from his books and he begged his parents for a musical instrument. He'd secretly wanted a guitar or a piano, so it was easy to imagine his disappointment when he received a flute. However, he was a sensible boy so he proceeded to play it with the same enthusiasm he'd sang lullbabies before.

His parents were delighted with this hobby, and maybe because of that his brothers had begun to mock him, telling him that he sounded like an augurey or something worse, but he didn't care. It was only when he was playing an instrument or singing when he forgot all about books and responsabilities.

When he began to have more responsabilities at Hogwarts, though, he'd put aside his flute and after a while he'd stopped playing altogether. Suddenly, getting good grades and becoming a prefect had become much more vital than music.

Many years later, he was walking around Diagon Alley when he saw it. A wonderful, brand-new guitar... the kind of thing he'd always dreamed with. Back then, however, he'd never had the money to buy one of those – but now, with the money Fudge was paying him, he could easily buy two of them. In the spur of the moment he decided to buy it (something very, very unusual) and soon that guitar became his company when Penelope dumped him and he had no work to do at home.

Naturally he'd brought the guitar with him when he'd moved in with Oliver and Andrew. It was the only thing he'd bought with Fudge's money that he felt truly valuable, the only thing from that period of his life he thought it was worthy keeping.

He'd played the guitar for Andrew's and Oliver's entertainment, before they got a radio (and after that too), and soon it became common knowledge at Slayers' School that Percy Weasley was an awesome (according to Andrew, not him) guitar player. One day, Lorne had asked him to play the guitar for him. Feeling terribly self-conscious, Percy'd done so. When he'd finished, Lorne had his eyes closed.

'You're pretty good at this, Carrot's Head. Maybe you should play the guitar somewhere else.'

And that was why he was here now, at a karaoke bar near Diagon Alley which hosted both wizards and demons, playing the guitar. It wasn't the first time he came here. Actually, it became some kind of a weekly ritual walking onto the stage and playing old songs of The Hobgoblins, a popular band of the seventies. When he was playing, he could forget all his worries – he forgot about the boggarts plague that had almost killed them all (why couldn't the slayers-in-training be afraid of rats like normal girls? No, they had to be afraid of hideous monsters and other killer machines), he forgot about all the Muggles He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had killed that day according to the Daily Prophet, he forgot about his family, who wouldn't talk to him yet, he forgot about what a mess he was. In short, he could forget everything for some minutes without needing firewhisky and that was much more than he had had some months ago.

'I like how you play'.

Percy started and turned round to face the owner of that low voice. Standing in front of him there was a young woman, a couple of years older than him. The first thing he noticed about her was her hair, which was dyed in a bright blue that matched her eyes. The second thing he noticed were her clothes – psychodelic coloured robes artistically ripped, like the ones the Weird Sisters used to wear. The third thing he noticed was that she was quite stunning.

'Er... thank you', he mumbled, feeling like an idiot. Her lips curved slightly, as she eyed him carefully.

'Have you ever played in a band?'

Percy blinked, surprised. 'No, I haven't'.

Her blue eyes stared at him thoughtfully.

'Well, maybe you'd like to join one. Here, this is where we rehearse.' She handed him a piece of parchment and, before he could react, turned to leave.

'Wait!' He exclaimed, jumping from his seat. She stopped and turned to face him. 'You haven't even told me your name'.

She raised an eyebrow and shot him a quizzical look, as if he'd asked something extremely odd.

'It's Naoise. Naoise Donnovan'.

'I'm Percy, Percy Weasley'.

She gave him an electrical smile. 'Nice to meet you, Percy'.

And without further explanation, she disappeared into the night.

---

'So, how did it go at the pub?', Oliver asked, once he'd returned home.

Percy shrugged, trying to look indifferent.

'A girl asked me to join a band'.

His friend looked up from the magazine he'd been reading. 'Really?' Then he eyed Percy's expression carefully. 'Was she pretty?'

Feeling himself blushing, Percy nodded. Oliver looked like he was repressing a laugh.

'Are you going to give it a try, then?'

Percy shifted, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable. 'I don't know. She's a complete stranger, and these aren't good times to trust a complete stranger'.

This time Oliver didn't repress the urge to laugh.

'Oh, Percy! It's not like a Death Eater would go to a karaoke bar to recruit guitar players who only know songs that are deader than the Chudley Cannons!'

Percy tried to look offended. 'Hey, you never know. Besides, The Hobgoblins' songs aren't that dead. They're still popular'.

Oliver rolled his eyes, like saying "Yeah, sure".

'So, are you going to give it a try?'

Percy shrugged.

'Why not? It can be fun'.

His friend eyed him, pensive. 'I never thought I'd hear you saying that'.

Percy let out a faint sigh. 'Neither did I', he admitted, but suddenly his attention was caught by something behind Oliver, who noticed this and turned round to follow his gaze.

'Do you remember, the day we moved in, what you asked me when I put those paintings on the wall?'

Oliver nodded, looking at the modern paintings. 'Yeah. I asked you why you'd bought them, when they didn't make sense at all.And you answered that they reminded what life was like, but I never got what you'd meant.'

Percy sighed.

'I'm not sure what I meant back then, but I know what it means now.' Oliver looked at him expectantly and he continued.

'There was a time when I hated things like those paints. They weren't traditional, they weren't structured, they didn't make sense. They went against everything I stood for. And then... then I lost everything, and things stopped making sense. I was lost, trying to find a meaning to what had happened. Now, however', He paused, lost in past memories, 'I'm not sure it it has a meaning at all. Now I think that maybe... maybe life is like those paintings. Maybe things don't always have to make sense. Maybe life's just a senseless explosion of colour, without rules, without structure. And maybe it's better that way.'

Oliver stared at him, his eyebrow raised.

'Blimey, you've gone all phylosophical on me now.'

But this time, in spite of his mocking tone, Percy was sure his friend had understood what he'd meant.