Mikhyel: Yeah, you can bet that family confrontations are much funnier to write than to live through. Anyway, I'm glad you liked the chapter.
db: Thanks both for the review and for telling me about the mortar boards. I wouldn't have guessed it in a million years!
Chapter Four:
'Don't you know I feel the darkness closing in
I tried to be more than me
And I gave til it all went away
And we've only surrendered
To the worst part of these winters that we've made'
'Bed of Lies', by Matchbox 20.
After his mother had to leave, Percy went to Diagon Alley and wandered for hours, still not ready to return home.
He reflected in all he and his mother had talked about. He pondered about the way his brothers and sister were going on with their lives without even noticing he was absent. He dwelled in his past faults. But, most of all, he thought about the reasons his father hadn't showed up.
He couldn't say he'd been surprised. When they'd seen each other at the school, apart from his first greeting his father had showed no signs of knowing him at all. He'd given him the same cold, dettached treatment Percy had used on him when they'd run into each other at the Ministry of Magic. Hell, he hadn't even said goodbye when he'd left...which, considering the way Percy had treated him in the past, wasn't much of a surprise.
And it had been his father who'd been the angriest when he'd left. After all, it was him the one who received Percy's hurtful words, it was him who'd tried to talk some sense into him and got insulted for his concern.
Besides, his father didn't have his wife's temper. Most of the people that knew them thought that Arthur Weasley never got mad, but they were wrong. It was just that his madness was different. His temper didn't rise as easily as his wife's, nor did it calm so fast. Molly Weasley could scream at the top of her lungs for hours, and then forgive instantly the cause of her fury. His father wasn't like that. He rarely got mad, but when he did, his fury was the cold type, the type of fury that lasted for months. And Percy had certainly made an effort to provoke that fury.
He felt horrified when he remembered all he'd said that night especially because, in spite of what his mother'd said, he'd fully meant it, at least back then. In the last months he'd been living at the Burrow, he'd noticed how far his family was from his ideal, and he'd begun to think that they might become a problem for his career. Deep down, he'd known for a long while that some day he'd have to choose between his family and his ambition...and when Fudge promoted him, that day came. The worst part was the way he'd used the unknown return of the Dark Lord as an excuse to get rid of his family. He'd said he was doing it because he didn't believe You-Know-Who was back (well, he really hadn't believed it back then) but in fact it had always been about his damned ambition. And where had that led him?
So he hadn't been surprised at all when his father hadn't showed up, although deep down he'd had the faint hope that he would. A part of him had hoped he'd be able to apologize, that everything would be fixed, and that he'd never see that coldness in his father's eyes again. Of course, it had been silly to think that. His father had no reason to want to see him again, not after of the way he'd hurt him.
Percy kept walking without seeing where he was going. He just couldn't be still when his mind was whirling with a thousand thoughts.
He remembered that when he'd been little his father had been his hero. He remembered following him around, always trying to get his attention. Of course, his brothers had done the same, so at a very young age Percy had realised he had rivalry for his parents' attention. At a very young age, Percy had realised he needed to do something toearn it. Bill was the brightest, Charlie the bravest, the twins the funniest, and Ron and Ginny were the cute little babies, so he had to do something to gain his own place. He decided to become the good one: the one that had the top grades, the Head Boy's badge, the most courteous manners, the one that followed all the rules. That had earned him a place in the family and in his parents' hearts. And when he'd started saying, at seven, that he wanted to work at the Ministry, his dad had been delighted. Finally one of his children wished to follow on his steps.
Only that it hadn't turned out that way.
As a child, he'd wanted his parents and his siblings' admiration; at school he'd wished the same from his teachers and classmates, particularly the former. But when he was at Hogwarts he began to see all the things his family lacked, and secretly he'd started wanting them. That had been how his ambition had started: he wanted respect not only from his family and teachers, but from absolutely everyone. And there was one way to get all that: to become the youngest Minister of Magic ever.
Soon, his ambition replaced the wish of following his dad's footsteps. When he'd joined the Ministry, his ambition did nothing but to increase, as the wish of imitating his dad disappeared when he realised Mr. Weasley wasn't all that respected. If he'd realised that not everyone's respect was important, that just a few were more than enough...
So finally it had all blown up when Fudge had promoted him, and for once his father hadn't believed in him. Percy had felt terribly disappointed at his dad's lack of confidence in him... but probably not as much as his dad had at Percy's lack of confidence in him.
One way or another, Percy had ended up hurting badly one of the persons who cared for him the most, and he hadn't given a damn about it.
Percy blinked when he felt something wet on his nose. He blinked again when another drop of water fell on his head. He looked up at the suddenly grey sky. Great. Now it was starting to rain.
For the eleventh time, Percy pondered about how much he did loathe rain as he headed to his home.
Wesley was striding towards the front door, each step he took longer than the last one, trying to put as much distance as he could between his parents and him.
He heard footsteps following him but he ignored them. He certainly wasn't in the mood to face none of his parents any time soon.
'Wes! Wait!', a voice called after him. He almost ignored it, but then stopped walking and turned round to see Maggie trying to catchon him.
'What's the matter?'
Panting, the woman finally approached him. 'Look, I know it's none of my business, and maybe it never was, but I couldn't help overhearing some parts of the discussion as I was cleaning the room next to the library...'
Wesley repressed a snort. Maggie had found out about nearly everything that was going on under their roof by overhearing conversations, although she'd always been so discreet about her habit that his parents had never found out about her eavesdroping. Wesley, though, was another story.
'I know you're angry with your them, but Wes, they're still your parents'.
Unfortunately.
'Maggie, you know better than anybody the way my father treated me all these years. The insulting, locking me under the stairs...' A pained look shadowed her features, but she said nothing. 'Until now, I've always thought it had been my father's fault entirely. Now I know better: not only my mother knew, but she also condoned it. That's a little too much to take right now'.
He turned again to leave, but felt her tight grip on his arm. Scowling, he turned to face her, but his expression softened after seeing the look of deep sadness and regret in her eyes.
'Please, Wes. At least listen to what I've got to say'.
He took a deep breath. 'All right. I'm listening'.
She didn't need much encouragement.
'God knows that I didn't approve many of the things your parents did, but it was never up to me saying something about it' She shook her head sadly. 'I regret now not speaking up, but back then... Well, what's in the past remains in the past. However, there are certain things that you couldn't see as a child, certain things about your parents that I think you should know'.
Wesley raised his eyebrows. 'I never thought you'd be the one to make up excuses for them, Maggie' He added, in a tired tone: 'I've had enough of those already'.
She gave him a knowing look and shook her head.
'I wouldn't excuse them even if I could. No, Wesley, you won't hear any excuses from me, neither for your parents nor for myself. But still...' Her gaze got lost for a moment a she dwelled in her thoughts. Suddenly she blinked, as if she'd been snapped back to reality. When she spoke, her voice was firmer.
'I've known your mother's family for many years. As you know, your grandfather died when she was young. But what you don't know is what kind of man he was: cold and strict, he treated his family the same way he treated the younger officers at the army. He did not tolerate mistakes or weaknesses' At this words, Wesley felt a déjà vu, but remained silent. 'At his death, your mother, being as young as she was, had to take care of the house and especially of your Granny, who...well, wasn't very strong' That was a bit of an euphemism: Wesley's Granny had been an hypochondriac old woman who was perpetually sick. 'Your mother, who took after your grandfather in many ways, was forced to grow up very quickly and become tougher. She wasn't as intolerant as her father, but she certainly wasn't someone soft. Then she met your father.
'Being the daughter of a soldier as she was, your mother understood the importance of your father's work, and she also understood the importance of tradition. So when your father began to...well, let's call it toughen you up, she accepted it as something natural. I'm not trying to justify her. Just...try to understand. It broke her heart to see you suffer... She couldn't bear it, so she never was there when your father disciplined you. But it doesn't mean that she didn't care, Wes. You've always been the world to her. The only times that I saw her cry were when something bad happened to you'.
Wesley, who'd never seen his mother shed a single tear, reluctantly recognized that what Maggie said spoke volumes about how much his mother cared for him. But it wouldn't heal the wounds that were bleeding now. Maybe, after some time... but not yet.
'I appreciate what you've told me, Maggie. But I'm afraid that nothing you say will make me think better of my father'.
She cast him apensive look. 'No, it won't. Words would be useless. But maybe I can show you something.'
'What...?'
Before he could ask, she grabbed his arm again and guided him down the hallway, until she stopped in front of one of the doors and pulled a key out of her pocket. Wesley stared at her in shock.
That room was his father's private study. But it was much, much more. During his childhood, it had been a sanctuary, a sanctuary where no one apart from his mother and sometimes Maggie could get in, not even the maid. Wesley, certainly, wasn't allowed. Once he'd sneaked inside, in the memorable time he'd taken a spell to resurrect a bird, and the punishment that followed was still fixed in his mind.
The rest of the time, that room was a mystery, full of dark secrets and magic treasures. Years later, when he graduated, he'd been able to get inside a few times – always with his father's invitation as the room was always locked – and had found nothing extremely mysterious about it, except for some ancients books and his father's whisky. However, in his mind he'd always see the place like a forbidden sanctuary, and what Maggie was going to do was a blasphemy.
'Maggie, this could cost you your job...'
She silenced him with a look and opened the door. After turning on the lights, she stepped aside.
'Go in there, Wes. You might find something about your father that could interest you'.
And he did. Hell if he did.
Cursing under his breath, Percy struggled with the keys until he found the right one. He was too used to magical doors that needed no keys to be opened.
He entered the building and walked down a narrow, shadowed corridor. As he walked past several closed doors and felt the dampness surrounding him, he thought the place was quite tetric, like those endless passageways in the black-and-white horror movies Andrew adored. Or perhaps it was just his somber mood.
He reached the stairs (he just couldn't trust muggle lifts) and headed to the second floor, where their flat was...at the very end of a ridiculously long, dark corridor, of course.
When he was a few steps from his flat Percy noticed something strange. There was a thin line of yellowish light coming from under the door, which was a certain sign that someone was in there. But Oliver was working and Andrew had said he wouldn't return until much later, so no one was supposed to be there.
He shrugged. Perhaps one of his friends had returned sooner. Or, very possibly, Oliver had forgotten to turn off the lights again.
This time, he already got the right key clutched in his hand. He opened the door and froze in the frame. Because the person sitting at the white table was neither Andrew nor Oliver, and it wasn't any of the friends they had in common.
Actually, it was the last person in the world he'd thought he'd see at his flat that day...or any other day in his whole life.
'All the times that I've cried
Keeping all the things I knew inside
It's hard, but it's harder
To ignore it
If they were right I'd agree
But it's them they know, not me
Now there's a way and I know
That i have to go away
I know I have to go'
'Father and Son', by Cat Stevens
