Muses9: Hey, there's no need to apologize. All of us has a real life. Or at least something that resembles it. Besides, you always send me reviews. Thank you so much for your support! I hope that you'll soon get over the freezing part. It could have been worse, though. It could have RAINED NONSTOP. That'd been really, really dreadful.
asuki-anani: Thank you! Hope you like this one too.
db: Yep, I can be mean. But stop suffering: here's the last chapter! You know, I'm rather fond of this little universe as well. I'm afraid that I won't like it so much to see the way Percy's portrayed in Book Six...
Chapter Five:'I never thought I'd end up hereNever thought I'd be standing where I amI guess I kinda thought it would be easier than thisI guess I was wrong'
'Sick Cycle Carrousel', by Lifehouse
Wesley stepped into the room slowly, with the same reverence some people would walk into a temple they considered sacred. In an odd way, it was. This was the place where his father spent so many isolated hours, the place where his father reunited with important members of the Council and where he kept his most precious possessions.
The room screamed his father's name from every corner, from the classical wooden furniture to the paintings on the walls. He saw the ancient books carefully kept in special bookshelves protected by glass, along with some valuable magical elements, he saw his father's favourite armchair, the Tiffany's lamp on the desk... The desk.
At that desk, Wesley's father had spent many hours; at that desk, Wesley had always seen his father every time he'd ventured into the study, always giving the distinct impression that he was too busy to really pay attention to whatever his son had had to say, in spite of having invited Wesley beforehand.
Without thinking, Wesley made a beeline straight to the desk. The top wasn't as neat as the rest of the house, the study was possibly the only place in Earth where Roger Wyndam-Pryce allowed himself to be untidy. The desktop was covered in papers, books, broken pens and magazines. His gaze surveyed the desktop, grabbing a book here to read its title, taking a paper there and giving it a quick glance to see what it was about. There was something profane about it, which made it more irresistible and even necessary. His father had always tried to know about every aspect of his life, whereas Wesley had always been forced to ignore a large part of his father's life. He realised this was one in a lifetime opportunity, and he wouldn't waste it.
One of the magazines, which was half-hidden by a pile of papers, caught his eye. It was much more colourful than the rest, and instead of an archaeological discovery or an article about some dead language, it had a famous model on the frontpage.
Wesley blinked and checked again. No, his eyes weren't deceiving him: it was definately one of those magazines that only Cordelia could read. Wesley chuckled bitterly. Who would have thought that the always serious Roger Wyndam-Pryce had a frivolous side?
He put the magazine aside, still chuckling through his teeth, and took instead a framed photograph he knew too well: his parents' wedding. In the picture, they looked not only much younger, but also less stiff and more carefree than usual. His mother's eyes were sparkling with joy and his father, instead of looking at the camera, was beaming at his new wife.
Of course. That was before I was born.
He glanced at Maggie, who was still standing at the doorway. What had she wanted him to see? Here there was nothing (well, except for the magazine) that he hadn't expected to see. Everything in that room represented all he'd always known about his father. There wasn't anything new or anything capable of changing the mental image he had of his father. Why, then, had the housekeeper insisted on showing him all of this?
He was going to put the frame back to its original place when he spotted something. Right behind where the wedding picture had been, there was another framed photograph, one he'd never seen before. Frowning, he left the wedding picture on the desktop and grabbed the unknown one. After taking off the thin layer of dust that covered it, Wesley's eyes widened in surprise.
Wearing a dark set of robes and a mortar board, was none other but himself at his graduation day. Wesley remembered that day well. His father, instead of congratulating him on finishing Watcher's Academy at top of his class like everybody else did, stiffly told him that from that moment on he'd have to be ready to work harder than before, that things wouldn't be as easy as they had been at school.
For once, his father had been right.
He'd never seen the picture before. He reasoned that probably the wedding photograph had withdrew it from sight, and that was why he hadn't spotted it before. However, a sudden suspicion made him to take a closer look at his surroundings, and soon enough he found something that definately hadn't been there the last time Wesley had seen the study.
Hanging from one of the walls, there was a framed diploma... his diploma. I'm hallucinating. He turned to look at Maggie.
'That wasn't there before', he said. Her face was unreadable.
'It's been there for years'.
Wesley was taken aback. His father had framed his diploma? And he had a picture of his son in his study? In which kind of bizarre alternate dimension had he fallen into?
He began to walk in circles around the room, trying to spot other things out of place. And he did.
In one of the bookshelves protected by glass, he found a inexpertly handmade tiny bow. Wesley remembered it well. He'd been six, and he'd spent a whole afternoon trying to make a bow with his clumsy hands, and then he'd given it to his father as a present. It had been a hint: he wanted his father to teach him to use a bow.
His father had examined the bow with an unreadable expression on his face and then, very severely, had said that he'd preferred Wesley to focus all his attention on his studies instead of craftsmanship.
Little Wesley had waited until he was alone to cry for an hour.
His gaze continued suveying the room's walls. Something caught his attention, and in one stride he reached a coffee table, which had on it an embalmed bird as decoration... The very same bird Little Wesley had foolishly tried to resurrect. His eyes were now as round as saucers, and his eyes kept searching...
A particularly difficult translation he'd done at fifteen and for which he'd got full marks was on a shelf... A picture of his father and himself when he was ten... The golden pen he'd sent to his father for his last birthday...
Everywhere he looked, he saw signs of his own presence in a room where he'd always felt unwelcomed and out of place. In a place where his father had always isolated himself, Wesley discovered traces of the things they'd shared together.
He couldn't believe it. Why had his father hidden all these things when Wesley entered his study? Why hadn't his father ever showed that he cared a little bit about him?
His feet headed him back to the desk. He strecthed out an arm and picked up the same magazine he'd thought out of place. Now he took a closer look, he noted that the magazine was some years old.
He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. A small picture, surrounded of a dozen pictures with famous people in them, came to his sight. There was a beautiful, red-haired woman in it, and standing right by her side was himself. He read the caption next to the picture: "Virginia Bryce squired by Mr. Wesley Wyndham-Price, private detective and bodyguard to the stars".
Something fell from the magazine. Wesley looked down and saw a sheet of paper. Putting down the magazine, he picked up the sheet of paper and unfolded it.
He'd thought that nothing could surprise him anymore. He'd been wrong.
Before his eyes, there was an 'Angel Investigations' advertisement, printed right from the old website. Wesley had to look at it twice to trust his eyes. He had no idea that his father even knew what a computer was, let alone know how to use Internet.
Shocked beyond words, he turned once more to face Maggie. Feeling his heart pounding in his chest and a knot painfully forming in his throat, he blurted out:
'But why...why did he hide all this from me? Why did he never show that he..that he cared...?'
She crossed the room towards him and put a hand on his shoulder, a warm look in her eyes.
'Your father's always been proud of you. He's just never been able to say it'.
When Wesley's shoulders began to shake, she held him tight, like she'd always done when he was a small kid who felt unloved by his parents.
The man sitting at the white table looked up, and his eyes locked with Percy's. He felt how his mouth went dry. After what seemed an eternity, Percy walked towards the table, grabbed a plastic white chair and sat down in silence. He had an eerie sensation of surreality.
'Hello, Percy' He said in an even tone.
Percy swallowed.
''Lo, Father'.
A silence followed.
'Oliver Wood let me in. I almost didn't recognize him. He looks so much older now'.
Percy nodded, unable to speak. He felt like he might throw up if he did.
His father's gaze wandered, surveying the walls.
'Looks nice. Very muggle. Not what I expected'.
Percy finally managed to speak.
'One of our flatmates, Andrew, is muggle.'
'But you made some modifications' Percy shifted uncomfortably. His father, noticing this, raised both eyebrows. 'Percy, I didn't come here to arrest you'.
Feeling quite stupid, he relaxed...but not much. His father's words had left an unpoken question lingering in his mind: Why did you come here, Dad?
Apparently sensing his son's uneasiness , Mr. Weasley commented: 'You play the guitar now?' At Percy's nod, he added: 'I remember you always wanted a guitar, but we could never afford it' A shadow crossed his father's face, then disappeared. 'Your mother would be so happy to hear you play. She was always so proud of your musical talent'.
Another silence. 'Have you seen her?'
Percy nodded. 'We talked'.
'That's good'.
Both fell silent again and avoided to look at each other. Instead, his father gaze fixed on the guitar, while Percy's fixed on a point in mid air. He couldn't help wondering how the hell his father and him had managed to do all the talking before all the bad stuff started. He didn't remember ever having any trouble to talk to him, why, then, wasn't he capable of saying two words together in front of him now?
'I should have been there'
Percy looked up. 'Mum said you couldn't make it'.
Arthur Weasley grimaced. 'That's not exactly true.'
Not exactly a surprise, but Percy found that it hurt him all the same. But what could he expect? He'd rejected his own family. Why would they accept him back?
The silence seemed to grow heavier around them, asi if it had physical form. A physical form that asphyxiated both of them slowly.
'I guess I was afraid'.
His father's whisper was so faint that at first Percy wasn't sure whether he'd got it right. 'Afraid of what?'
Mr. Weasley sighed. 'Of seeing you again, I guess'.
Percy's eyes widened in shock. Of all the things he'd expected his father to say, that wasn't one of them.
'Why?'
His father didn't reply right away. He seemed to be pondering the answer.
'I wasn't sure what I'd find. It had been so long, and so many things had happened... I didn't know how much being with people like Fudge had got to you...' He looked at him straight in the eye. 'I was afraid I would no longer see my son again'.
At first, Percy looked at him in disbelief. How could he say such a thing? But then he remembered the way he'd acted all the previous year. How he'd laughed at Fudge's pathetic jokes, how he'd overlooked certain things the Minister did that weren't exactly legal or ethical, how he'd bowed his head in front of people like Lucius Malfoy... A few years back, he'd have been ashamed to do such things. True, he'd always wanted to please his superiors, and sometimes he'd been a little hypocritical in order to do so, but he'd always had certain values to stand for. He'd always had a bit of dignity. Dignity he'd very conveniently forgotten at the prospect of a job as the Minister's Junior Assitant and its incredible salary.
'And what do you see now?', he asked, almost dreading the answer. His father studied him intently.
'I see that I was a fool to believe such a thing. You'll always be my son'.
Percy did not answer. He thought that his father's words should have relieved him, but they had the opposite effect. Words heard long time ago echoed in his mind, coming from another time and place: "I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son". He'd never fully understood what they meant. He thought he did now.
He knew he wasn't like the infamous Prodigal Son of the parable, but sometimes he felt like it. Especially when his own actions and words haunted him. "You just cannot bear the thought that I have been promoted by my own merits, can you Father? Or are you envious because I did better than you?" "Ever since I started to work for the Ministry I had to put up with your reputation... Don't you know that you are a laughing stock at the Ministry, that everyone believes you to be ridiculous? I'm afraid I'm starting to believe that myself" "If it hadn't been for your foolish obsession with muggles and your lack of ambition, we wouldn't have had such a substandard life, we wouldn't have been laughed at by every respectable Wizarding family..." "You are an idiot to side with Dumbledore, can't you see the low image he has at the Ministry? Do you really believe all that nonsense about You-Know-Who?" "If you're going to become a traitor to the Ministry then...then I no longer belong to this family. Do you get that? You're no longer my father, and to me you're as well as dead!"
And all that was just a tiny part of all the things he'd said. There had been a moment when he'd completely lost it and had started to shout all the worst insults he could think of, forgetting for once of his courteous manners and his pompous ways. He just wanted to hurt his father as much as he'd been hurt by his lack of confidence. He just wanted to inflict all the pain possible... because a part of him believed that if he was the one to inflict pain, then he wouldn't be hurt anymore. He'd been wrong.
So many harsh words, so many mistakes. So many things to make up for, so many apologies to say... He didn't know where to start. For once in his life, he didn't know what to say. He knew that mere words wouldn't fix this. Words alone wouldn't be able to erase all the bad memories, words couldn't make the coldness and the emptiness he felt to disappear. Words couldn't reverse time. They couldn't save their relationship.
But words were the only thing Percy'd ever got, and if they failed him, then he'd have nothing left.
'I'm sorry', he simply said. For once, he didn't try to make a speech. For once, he didn't try to sound important. 'There are so many things I wish I could take back...but I can't. I'm sorry'.
Arthur Weasley looked at him, and Percy saw a sad smile curve his lips.
'You aren't the only one'.
Percy blinked. 'Pardon me?'
His father took a long breath. 'You aren't the only one who has many things to regret. I... I was mad at you for quite a long time, see. I was furious for all the things you'd said, but I was even more furious at you for walking away from your family. I thought you had no reason to do such a thing, and that you were just an ungrateful brat. I knew we weren't perfect, but no one could accuse us of being uncaring parents. I could see no reason for you to want to get away from us. We'd always treated you the best way possible. And then, after a while...after a while I began wondering whether that was completely true.'
Percy gave him a questioning look. He felt lost. His father noticed, and he tried to be more precise.
'We took you for granted', he simply said. Which did nothing but to increase Percy's confusion.
'What do you mean?'
The older man sighed. 'You were the one with the good behaviour, the excellent grades. You were the one who never gave us any trouble. And we – well, at least I – took that for granted. I took for granted that you'd always do the right thing, so I felt that it wouldn't matter if every now and then I didn't pay you enough attention. It wouldn't matter if I worried more about your siblings, it wouldn't matter if I left you alone. 'Cause I was so sure you'd always get it right on your own. But I was wrong'.
Percy raised an eyebrow, wondering whether it was an accusation. But his father didn't sound mad; more than anything, he sounded regretful.
'One would think that with seven children I'd have learned a thing or two about raising them, right?' He shook his head. 'I shouldn't have neglected you like that. I saw that your grades were all right, that your health was all right, and I never tried to see whether everything else was all right. I never bothered to learn your classmates names, to meet your girlfriend, to ask you whether you were sad, or angry, or anything. I never bothered to defend you from your brothers' teasing. I took for granted that, whatever problem you got, you'd solve it in your own. I'm afraid that doesn't speak very well of my role as a father'.
There was a pause, during which they both stared at their feet. Percy would have liked to tell him not to blame everything on himself. After all, his father had always had to work so hard to keep a roof over their heads, and he had other six children (including the twins, that counted for four more) to take care of. It wasn't completely his fault if Percy had had to learn to handle things on his own at a young age. And he'd always liked to be independent and not to need anybody's help. Maybe it was true that many times his father hadn't been there to help him, but it was also true that Percy had never asked for his help.
His father was looking at him, his head inclined to one side. 'I should have known better. After all, you've always been a little too much like myself.'
Percy straightened up in his seat, raising his chin. 'What do you mean, Dad?'
And so, Arthur Weasley began his tale.
He'd been young, and he'd been naïve. Much like his third son. And he'd also had a wish: to work as close to muggles as possible.
So he joined the Ministry. His grades at Hogwarts had been excellent (he still got his Head Boy badge) and he'd always been hard-working, so soon his work began to be noticed by his superiors, and he was promoted.
At first, he'd started working at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. However, soon he was offered the opportunity to be transfered at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, more precisely at the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.
Arthur had already been dating Molly Prewett for a long while, and they had been planning on getting married. However, both of them came from empoverished families that wouldn't be able to help them financially, and certainly Molly's salary (she worked as a cook at a fashionable restaurant) wouldn't be enough. In shorter words, they needed the money Arthur's promotion meant.
But there had been other reasons. He was already aware that he'd never get far at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, or at least not as far as he wanted. Because Arthur Weasley was ambitious, although many years later no one would believe it. He didn't just want to earn money so Molly and him (and the children they planned to have) could have a comfortable life. He also wanted to change certain laws regarding muggles, which were much worse than now. Actually, deep down, Arthur Weasley dreamed with being a part of History books as the man who had reduced the breach between the Wizarding and the Muggle world. It was foolish and far-fetched, but he was young, and naïve, and when you're young, you believe you can do anything. When you grow older, though, you get a more accurate perspective of your own limits.
Back then, though, he still was naïve enough to think he'd be able to change thing on his own, and he knew that he'd have few chances of accomplishing it if he kept working where he was. The Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee, on the other hand, had more influence, and if he became Head of that Committee his ideas would be taken more seriously. So, when the time came, he didn't hesitate to take the job offer.
At first everything was great. The salary was better, his boss was about to retire so there was a strong possibility he'd be promoted, and he could work very close to muggles, who fascinated him. But soon things began to get out of hand.
First of all, he was now working so hard that he barely saw any of his friends or family, including Molly, and he was becoming more and more isolated. But that was just the most insignificant of his problems.
After a few months, he noticed that not only his coworkers and superiors didn't share his opinions on muggles (most of them considered non-magical people a pain in the butt) but also abused them anytime they could. With the excuse of erasing their memories, both his committee and the Obliviators took advantage of the unknowing muggles, either to steal money from them or merely to play pranks on them. And there were rumours of what some wizards had done to muggle girls, rumours that Arthur did not want to believe.
Even without paying attention to the most hideous rumours, he witnessed everyday enough things to make him mad. Abusing from their power over the muggle population was an everyday thing at the office. It seemed like the muggles existed only to provide entertainment or easy money to the Ministry employees.
At first, he was both shocked and horrified. He went to talk with his boss, who merely shrugged.
'You'll get used to this soon, boy. After all, muggles aren't like you and me; they don't feel things in the same way we do. And it's not like they remember anything, is it? What you can't see doesn't harm you.'
And then he implied that, if Arthur kept working as hard as he did now and kept his mouth shut, he could get a promotion...but if he talked, well, then he might find himself in trouble.
He didn't know what to do. He couldn't lose his job, and the promotion would be great. After some thinking, he convinced himself that there wasn't much he could do for the muggles anyway. He'd only get himself fired. On the other hand, if he played his cards well now, he'd soon get his boss' job. And then he'd be able to change things. In the meanwhile...well, he'd just have to keep his mouth shut and ignore what happened around him.
Even though that might mean that his friends and family no longer wanted to speak to him. They just didn't understand, but they would see. Oh, yes, they would see the error of their ways.
In the meanwhile, he was left pretty much alone.
'In the end, it was your mother who talked some sense into me. She gave me an ultimatum: if I didn't change my attitude, then she'd leave me.'
Percy was painfully reminded of Penelope. She had never given him an ultimatum. One day, she'd just taken the few things she had at his flat and disappeared. After two weeks, during which he hadn't heard a word from her, he'd gone to see her. And then she'd told him everything was over. That it hurt her too much to be with him. He hadn't a clue of what was going on. Penelope had never given him a warning. Or at least enough warning for his dumbness.
But, of course, his mother couldn't have been the type of girl that'd leave quietly. Oh no: surely Molly Prewett had made quite a scandal. Depressed, Percy thought that he would have preferred a scandal to the silent way Penelope had dumped him.
'What happened next is pretty obvious. Your mother made me realise a couple of things. First, that in spite of what old Wilkes said, muggles were people, not animals, just like you and me. And it wasn't right to treat them the way they did. Secondly...well, secondly I realised that I cared more about my family's and my friends' respect than anybody else's. And thirdly... I just didn't want to lose her. She's always meant the world to me.'
Percy was shocked beyond words. He'd never, in his whole life, imagined his father doing something like that. He'd never imagined his father doing something because of his ambition. If it was a known fact that Arthur Weasley had no ambition! Now, though, Percy realised that he'd been wrong about his father, just as he'd been wrong about many other stuff as well.
'Why didn't you tell me this?'
If he'd just known... If he'd heard what had happened to his father, would Fudge have tricked him so easily? Would things have been different? Or would he have screwed up just the same?
His father sighed, and suddenly he looked years older.
'I felt ashamed. I still do. I didn't want my children to know how stupid I had been. But I guess...I guess that the reason I never told any of you this was because I thought it was the kind of things a person has to learn on her own'.
'And what kind of thing would that be?'
His father pondered the answer for a moment, his gaze lost somewhere else. Then he locked his eyes with Percy's.
'That there's only one thing you can't trade for what your heart desires...and that thing is your own heart' His father hesitated, then he put a hand on Percy's shoulder. 'Son, you made a mistake, exactly like I did so many years ago.. But you have also grown up since then. I know you've changed for the better. I knew it when I saw you at your new job. I know it now I talk to you. And other people will see it too. Just...just give them some time'.
A long silence followed this words. Percy dwelled in the story his father had told him, and once again he wondered whether it would have helped him to know about it last year. He wondered whether it would have changed things. Probably not.
He also thought about his siblings and all the other people he'd hurt last year. Was his father right? Would they forgive him? Percy wanted to believe it, but he just wasn't sure.
But he'd believed his father would never talk to him again, and now here he was. His hand was on Percy's shoulder, just like when he'd been little, and in his eyes there was understanding, and forgiveness, and the faintest hint of something Percy had seen many times, but now didn't dare to believe it was true.
Pride.
It also came to his mind that this was the first time he really felt that his father treated him like an adult. This was the first time he felt that his father showed the same trust (or perhaps even more) he did with Bill or Charlie. For some reason, that thought, together with the warmness of his father's eyes and the weight of his hand on Percy's shoulder, conforted him more than all words in the world.
'You know what's really been bugging me since I came here?'
Percy, pulled out of his reverie, looked up to his father, intrigued.
'What?'
Arthur Weasley smiled, and suddenly he didn't look that old. He turned to point at the TV set Andrew had recently got.
'How's that supposed to work?'
And then, without thinking, without hesitating, they both burst into laughter.
Monday was quite an uneventful day. At the end of it, Percy was at Wesley's office, talking about a vampire nest. Soon the subject was worn out and they both fell silent for a while, both of them absorbed in their own thoughts. Finally, Percy spoke up, but did it in a whisper, as if he was more talking to himself than anything else.
'You never get to fully know them, do you?' He added: 'You think you know them, because you've seen them your whole life... And then, one day, you realise you don't know them at all. One moment you think they're predictable. The next, you're facing complete strangers'.
Percy's words lingered in the air for a few seconds before Wesley reacted.
'Them who?' He asked. This time it was his turn to feel clueless.
With an absent look in his eyes, Percy said:
'Family. I mean... Do you ever see them for what they really are? Or do you just see layers and masks?'
Wesley mused on his mother's deceiving attitude, on the secrets his father's study hid, on the many things he'd always ignored about his parents.
'It's possible. There's confort, though'. Percy looked up. 'In a few years time, it'll be your children who won't understand you at all'.
Percy let out a chuckle. 'That doesn't make me feel much better'.
They both fell silent again, dwelling in family's secrets and unspoken feelings, in untold stories and silent lies.
Wesley didn't have real answers for Percy's questions, that were his own. He didn't know if anybody else did.
And he wasn't sure whether he really wanted to know.
'But I will not sleep in this bed of lies
So toss me out and turn in
And there'll be no rest for these tired eyes
I'm marking it down to learning
I'm marking it down to learning
'Cause I am'
'Bed of Lies', by Matchbox 20.
Author's Note: I've really enjoyed writing this series so far, and I've been delighted at reviews I've got. However, I'm afraid that from now on it'll take me much longer to update. I've started school again, and I find that it kinda of sucks my creativity. Besides, there is other fanfiction I'm working in right now.
However, that doesn't mean that you won't see another installment of Percy's series. I still got plenty of ideas to continue it. As soon as I do, I'll let all of you know. In the meanwhile, see you later!
