Momentary Illusions

Chapter Three

I Have What?

1998

The pub was roaring on Friday night, with celebratory drinks and weepy customers drinking their sorrows. The pub was amassed with the victorious, the grief-stricken, and the inbetweeners. It stunk of cheap ale and sweaty armpits of hard-working men and women. The air was stale and suffocating within a few minutes of being there, drowned by the scent of strong liquor and pork scratchings. Twenty-two-year-old Percy left the pub shaking and shivering, his skin clammy and cool. There were zagged lines forming in his pale almost translucent blue eyes. His polished suit now in a state of disarray, along with his hair. He had a slick sheen of sweat along his hairline and beads of sweat ran down his neck. As he drunkenly stumbled across the road, his vision blurred to the point where he could only see stars. He had a throbbing headache radiating to his neck. He barely got to his street in one piece, and when he did, he found himself shivering in the corridor as he made his way down the unwelcoming streets of London. He hadn't ached for Devon so much in years.

As drunk as he was, Percy walked down to the wizarding laundromat (your clothes done in a second, or your sickle back!). He'd become so spoiled with that fresh, soft smell of laundromat clothes that the washing-up elsewhere just wouldn't do. And when you've lived in a building like his, the washing machine was more likely to eat your clothes than it was to produce that fresh-clean-clothes smell. And this was what had become of him. That he'd become so pathetically sad that he'd brought his laundry with him to the pub, in a glossy-looking bag so that the bartenders thought that he'd had something important to celebrate instead of getting sickeningly drunk so that he could finally have the courage to face another day. And him, in his still-pressed clothes with his breath smelling like an Ogden's factory, stood in front of the washing machine. The second he'd put it in, the machine dinged that it was done with a receipt that he'd already had memorised by heart. He'd had the money counted out before he'd left home. But just as Percy was about to take his clothes out, he'd cradled the machine like it was a firstborn and his body started to shake, raking with sobs.

A gentle hand had been placed on his shoulder and Percy turned around to see this dark-haired woman, with a basket of laundry beside her. She smelled like that washing-up liquid that he liked so much. "Here," she said, placing a sickle into his hand and closing it tightly. He was so unfocused, his eyes so blurred that he couldn't think of what to say. "Your sickle back." Percy knew every worker there, so he knew that she wasn't one of them. "Why don't I help you get home?"

She'd helped walk him out of there like they were people that knew each other.

"This is my building," was all he said when they'd just left the laundromat. She'd placed his laundry with hers. He was clinging onto her in a way he'd never held anyone in his life, not his ex-girlfriend, not his brothers, nobody.

The woman baulked. "People actually live there?" she asked, and then cleared her throat. "I mean it's…it's got a lot of character. I don't think anyone would disagree with that."

He agreed, it was a heap of rubbish like she said. Percy had been with enough politicians and well-meaning housewives that he knew when someone said that something had 'character', they were truly, truly trying to be polite. She'd helped him upstairs. The stairs were dusty. There were more cobwebs in the apartment than there were in abandoned buildings in Knockturn Alley. The floorboards were old and creaky, and this poor woman didn't know the building enough that she'd almost fall through when one gave out. Her white ballet flat slipped through the hole, and Percy opened his mouth to apologise for not warning her. But she seemed determined, peddling on without her shoe, which had fallen into the depths of Where Other Shoes Have Been Lost. Percy had never seen a lost shoe be retrieved thus far. His room number was a looming 205, the second of May, Percy thought. The sharp reminders everywhere that he went.

His flat was just as unimpressive as the rest of the building. Percy was slowly nurturing a rat that looked like it might bring around the third wizarding war. He had a stale cup of tea which he'd forgotten he'd added sugar to because it was infested with insects. His wallpapers had probably peeled off when the Goblin Wars had happened. There was a stale smell in the air. When she'd helped them both to the couch, Percy could barely shout a "No, you can't!" before they'd both collapsed. The couch giving away at their combined weights, which Percy knew that it would. Even him, being wiry and thin, had to sit down very gently or risk it collapsing into rubble.

There was dust gathering around everywhere and Percy started wheezing so much that he'd thought that his chest might light on fire. In his greatest fantasies, he'd somehow die in his sleep. No need for suicide notes and his parents wondering why he did what he'd done. Percy stood up and helped this sweet woman up, who unsteadily rose to her feet.

"I can't believe you live here," the woman finally said, looking disgusted. "I mean…look at this place. I wouldn't wanna live here if someone were paying me for it. Do you not have one stable piece of furniture? Or somewhere that's not collecting mutant dust bunnies?" she let out a laboured sigh. "I can understand why you'd get steaming drunk if you were coming to a place like this every night." Then she must've seen something on his face because she just placed a hand on his shoulder. "Um…my name is Audrey." She decided to say. "Um…I just don't know if I can leave you when you…you know, you live like this." She turned her head around, shuddering. "Don't you have anywhere else you can stay for the night?"

Percy nodded his head, pursing his lips so tightly. He supposed he could go home.

"Great," Audrey finally said. "So, how about we go there? Together?" she gingerly placed a hand on his trembling arm.

Percy didn't want to argue too much with this sweet woman that just seemed to really want to help him. He didn't realise that he was clinging onto the sickle that she gave him so tightly. A passing glance at a mirror had made him realised that he looked dishevelled and sickly grey. He wanted Audrey to leave so badly, this put-together woman that whisked him away from the laundromat to his parents' home. Percy felt dizzy when he'd apparated with her to the Burrow, walking towards the door. She didn't leave until he knocked on the door. And she was gone by the time that his father had opened the door and saw him standing there. "Hey," Arthur grabbed his shoulder and led him inside. He looked at him like he was waiting for him all this time. "I'm glad you're here." He squeezed his shoulder so hard that Percy thought that his bones might break.

Percy opened his mouth, thinking he'd say something about dark-haired strangers leaving sickles into his hand and helping him back home, but instead, he just closed his eyes and nodded his head. "Me too," was all he said.

That whole week, he'd laid in bed all day, crying on and off whilst George came into his room. They sat with each other and just talked about things. The things they talked about calmed him down and lulled him to sleep, and they didn't leave him feeling sick to his stomach, even though everything else seemed to do that. For the first few days, all he did was drink tea and soup, like he had the worst stomach bug. Sometimes, he woke up in the middle of the night, sweaty and pained and naked, like he was in a fever dream. Sometimes, he thought he'd wake up and realise that everything was just a dream, and he woke up in the middle of a summer's day where all they did was play Exploding Snap and run away from Aunt Muriel's excessive photo taking. In his dreams, he was back to being a fifth year, and he would not be a prefect. He would somehow like all the things that his brothers would, and Fred would be alive. In those dreams, Percy wouldn't be reliving the sound of Fred's bone crushing underneath him, and his hand go pale and limp right in front of him.

2018

Percy felt all the colour drain out of his face when Dominique opened the door to her flat. It smelled fresh and floral like she'd just been lighting a candle before she'd left home. She had black velvet couches, white rugs that were fuzzier than some blankets that Percy owned, a gigantic talking purple plant that seemed to be staring at him in distaste, and walls that looked like they had just been freshly painted into a cool plum. The floors were marbled and cold underneath his foot. He took off his shoes and then waited to be told to make himself at home to even attempt to sit down on one of her couches. Before Dominique could say anything, an audible POP! sounded out the living room. Percy jerked his head up and saw Bill standing there, holding a bag of groceries in his hands.

"Dad!" Dominique frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "You didn't have to come here. I can buy my own stuff!"

Hearing that caused this searing pain to shoot up in his chest. He wished, more than anything, that one of his daughters would tell him that he didn't have to go on a ridiculous errand for them. It's not the right type! was what Molly said yesterday as she smacked her yoghurt onto the table. I can't eat this! He was so tired of having organic yoghurts and creams being rejected. He was so tired of his daughters never being happy, or his wife making snide comments about how he looked like. He had felt so used that every little thing seemed to make him even more upset. Embarrassed, Percy cautiously met Bill's eyes.

His older brother was staring at Percy with the most worried expression on his face. "Percy? What are you doing here?"

Dominique was grabbing the grocery bags, muttering something under her breath, acting like it was every day that Percy just dropped by to her flat. "I found Uncle Percy just wandering around outside of his flat," she put the groceries down on her marble counter, which gleamed more than Lucy's favourite shiny orange pendant (that cost him a fortune). "So, I asked if he wanted to come up to have a cup of tea. And he said yes, so…I guess here we are." She paused. "Is chamomile okay?" she asked, waving around a teabag in front of him like he didn't know that chamomile tea existed.

Percy nodded his head mutely. The sounds of clanging pots in the kitchen wired him up.

"Chamomile is okay," Bill reiterated in disbelief. "Now, I know that there's something wrong." He sat across from him and Percy felt like there was something twisting into his stomach, forming a knot. "So…what is it? What's wrong, Perce?"

Percy's throat went dry.

Bill tsk-tsked. "And don't say that nothing's wrong because—"

"Audrey's been planning a divorce behind my back for two years," Percy said stoically, as if this wasn't a woman that he loved, that he said his vows to, that carried his children to term (well, mostly to term). "And Molly and Lucy knew about it. We had a fight—well, I did most of the fighting. And I…I just left." He didn't even feel embarrassed that he just left stormed out of his own family like he had when he was an ambitious young man straight out of Hogwarts.

"Two years?" Bill echoed incredulously. "Audrey?" he looked at Percy like he was joking. "Perce, she's obsessed with you."

Percy scoffed. "Obsessed with me?" he reiterated in disbelief. "Is that how she comes across to you?" Audrey, a cynical woman that told him that his flat looked like a death trap after being so lovely to him in the laundromat, was his wife. The only thing she was obsessed with was figuring out an all-natural cure for her migraines. "Laughable really."

Bill winced. "Come on, Perce, it's not that bad—"

"Two years of my life!" Percy reminded him. "Two years of my life that she's been going to the Ministry, drawing up divorce papers, bringing my children into this-this chaos when I was under the impression that everything was fine! When I should've known that it was too good to be true!" he waved his fist into the air, his shoulders shaking.

Dominique almost dropped the teabags into her hands. Bill tightly held onto Percy's shoulder. "Let's go on a walk."

"Is Uncle Percy okay, dad?" he heard Dominique ask.

"Uncle Percy's just fine."

They left Dominique's flat together, and Percy found himself feeling listless already. The events of the night had wiped him up so much that his bones had felt like rubber. He and Bill were walking outside, and the streets were bristling.

"What did you mean?"

"Pardon?" Percy looked back at Bill, who was just adjusting his sleeves awkwardly.

Bill didn't look up from his hands. "What did you mean that it was too good to be true?"

Percy's cheeks turned as pink as ever. All this heat was making it hard for him to breathe. Far away, he could hear a couple of shrieking children and a yelping crup. There was a street vendor that sold popcorn. The smell was so rich that it made Percy feel both hungry and nauseated. The pavement underneath him felt so hard but he also felt unsteady.

"You know what I meant," he said stiffly. "I meant that it was too good that a normal woman would marry a man that's…that's like me," he said the last part in such a low voice that he felt his heart drop to his stomach.

"Like you," Bill echoed incredulously, his voice cracking.

"Yes," Percy felt adrenaline pump into his veins.

He'd spent his whole existence trying to draw attention away from that. He read pamphlets from the clinic with happy transgendered boys that seemed to be comfortable enough in their skin to admit that I was born Simone, but now, with the support of my family, I'm now Simon! with a picture of a smiling dark-haired boy. Percy would never have the courage to pose in front of the camera and admit that his mum used to dress him up in frocks and braid his hair.

"Is that what she told you?" Bill asked with a piqued eyebrow.

Percy pressed his lips together into a tight line. "No."

"Do you think that it's possible that you feel that way because it's that thing that you're insecure about?" Bill asked calmly, and Percy just shrugged. He placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it as hard as he could. Percy nodded his head and felt a lump form into his throat. "Hey, Perce, it's… it's understandable," his voice softened. Percy's lip was wobbling because he couldn't believe how badly his family was coming apart at the seams. "It makes sense how you feel, alright? It does." He pulled Percy close enough to him that he could smell his cologne. Percy used the same one. "Do you need a place to stay?"

Shell Cottage was just as nice as he remembered with its pastel colours and creamy hues. The tablecloths were lacy and right out of a magazine. Fleur had made a Victoria Sponge and had cut him a slice for breakfast. At home, he would've been having watery organic oats and a blob of congealed raspberries masquerading as jam. Molly and Lucy would be animatedly talking about their new plans that didn't involve getting a job. Audrey would be complaining. Percy would be quiet, thinking about the cornucopia of things that he had to do that day at work. Percy was picking at the cake, wondering what they were talking about today. Every time he put a mouthful into his mouth, he could feel his stomach constricting, telling him that he'd had too much food when he'd barely eaten a few bites. Bill tossed him a look of apprehension.

He headed off to the Department of Magical Transportation an hour early, just like he always did.

His office was at the end of an endless hallway on Level 6. This early in the morning, all the other offices were locked. He passed by silvery plaques stating FLOO NETWORK AUTHORITY: Felix Rosier, BROOM REGULATORY CONTROL: Oliver Wood, PORTKEY OFFICE: Angelica Cole and APPARITION TEST CENTRE: Katie Bell. He smiled wearily when he got to the safety of his desk, where he spent the better part of an early morning making himself a cup of coffee and reading departmental circulars. Within the hours, the Ministry came alive. Employees came in with baggy, tired eyes and wrinkled robes. Offices were bristling about with paperwork within minutes of arrival, notices and memos were being sent with ferocious speed. Civilians walked in and out of the department, throwing temper tantrums when their portkey request was rejected or when they were brought up on broomstick charges they felt shouldn't be going to the Wizengamot offices. Firebolt representatives demanded that Cleansweep's model be looked at by real experts instead of a retired Quidditch player with an ACL injury that put him out of his job.

He heard a knock on his door at eight o'clock. He thought that it may have been one of his subdivision heads, but instead, it was his father. Arthur stood by the door, silvery tufts of hair glowing, with his eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Percy, hello," Arthur walked into his office, no need for an invitation. He pulled up one of his chairs and sat down. "I—"

"Sir, sir, you can't go in there!" Elora Dunn, his secretary, ran straight in after Arthur. Her wild brown hair flew in all directions, and her vibrant raspberry-coloured lipstick stained her teeth. She looked like Sybil Trelawney's long-lost twin at times. This was one of those times. "I'm so sorry, Mr Weasley. I let him know that he hasn't had an appointment and that you don't usually accept walk-ins, but he says that he's your father! I mean the resemblance is uncanny but not every ginger that says he's your father should be let in, should he?" she glanced to and from Arthur and Percy. "I don't know… he does awfully look like he's your father. Do we schedule him for visits? I know that you run a very tight ship…" she glared at Arthur as if he were the bane of her existence. "Next time make an appointment, Maybe Mr Weasley. It's not that hard to send a memo! Are you aware of…of all the things we have scheduled for today? We are a busy department!"

"It's fine," Percy replied curtly. "And yes, he is my father. Unfortunately." The last word earned a chuckle from Arthur.

Elora took a deep breath. "Of course," she left the room. "Of course," she repeated before closing the door.

"Quite a nice lady," Arthur commented as soon as she left. "A very…um…vibrant youth. Very proactive."

"Yes, well, she just wants to respect my wishes," replied Percy gruffly.

Arthur's face split into a wide smile when they were left alone. "I can never get used to this office," he admitted. "It's quite posh, isn't it?" he gestured towards the space, which was bigger than the Burrow living room.

"Yes, well, I like to keep it maintained," Percy, unaccustomed to his father visiting any time before his lunch break (usually to drag him down to the canteen to actually get him to eat anything during his work hours), looked stunned. "Now, dear father, is there a reason for this visit beyond wondering how I like to keep my office space? Because I don't have to tell you that I have a lot of work to do today." He didn't realise it then, but he was using the same tone that he'd used on their siblings when they wanted to let them know they couldn't eat biscuits before they had their dinner.

"Bill told me about what happened," Arthur frowned, looking at Percy with concern. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I'm going to accompany you to your healer's visit. And then I suppose we should talk about this! And get a spot of lunch as well."

Percy visibly turned red. "Pardon?"

Forget the fact that Bill told his dad about the divorce drama with Audrey! He hadn't anyone accompany him to a hospital since he'd gotten his Prefect badge. In fact, he argued extensively over the fact that if he were responsible enough to look over the whole of Gryffindor, then he could go to the hospital by himself. To add to that, he was fully intent on 'forgetting' about his appointment and taking an early lunch break so that he could avoid accidentally bumping into anyone in the canteen that might've heard the 'rumours' about him and his wife.

"Your healer's visit," Arthur echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Last week, you said you had a healer's appointment today. A routine visit you've called it, but well…Percy, let's be honest here, you haven't had a routine visit in years."

"Yes, well…" Percy rubbed his neck. He looked down at the document in front of him, which was scarily slathered in scarlet ink. "I suppose that's why I've booked a routine visit! Because it's been so long. But now, look, that was before I saw how packed today's schedule was. I have to revise my departmental statistics—which I barely squeezed time into my day for… so I'm afraid I won't be able to make it. I can take an appointment next month. It's not an issue."

"We won't be late," Arthur decided to say.

Percy sighed deeply. "It's not an issue," he repeated again. "I can always make another—"

"I want you to go to this one," he was trying to keep a level tone. "Your mum and I want to give you something. And I need to come with you to your appointment so I can give it to you." Not something you'd thought you'd hear from your father at his age. After he'd turned thirty, Percy sent back any gift his parents gave him with a memo that said I am too old for presents. His mother had forced him into a jumper every Christmas since then and shot him a look every time she forced him to open a present during any holiday. "And I heard that you were having problems with Audrey. Bill wouldn't tell me what, but I was hoping you would. Like I said, we can talk about it over lunch. Because you have to eat, don't you? You've said it yourself. You're having quite a busy day." His eyes crinkled in amusement. Yes, well, he didn't know that his wife had been thinking about divorcing him for the last two years.

"Well…"

"Please," Arthur begged when he saw the uncertain look in Percy's eyes. "This will mean a lot to me. And I haven't asked you for anything in years, have I?"

If Percy hadn't left the family, he would've told him to shove it. But it just so happened that he had abandoned his family so…

"Fine, but I'm beyond the age where gifts impress me," Percy warned. "And I suppose I can manage to work a couple of hours after just to make sure everything's done…" he was going to anyway, but he didn't say that. How else was he supposed to cope with this mess after all? But the gall of his father! Just come up here, supposing he'd just skip the day and go off to his appointment! Why not? It wasn't like he was the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation or anything. "But this doesn't mean that we won't be quick about it! I'm not spending hours pouring out my heart to anyone! Who else is going to be running this sinking ship?"

"Sure," Arthur beamed at him, offering him a toothy grin. "Whatever you say."

Just as he was leaving the floor, he turned to Elora and said, "Katie Bell is to oversee and resolve any department tryst in my absence" to which Elora only nodded her head. She glared at Arthur, who chuckled as if it was the funniest thing that Percy's secretary abhorred him. Oliver shared a goofy smile from where he was at, only for Percy to raise an eyebrow at him. If there were any Quidditch teams receiving any advantage for portkey reviews or broomstick complaints, then he supposed he'd just hire a new subdivisional head for the Broom Regulatory Control unit.

"Everyone! Behave yourselves," Percy said by the door. He realised that he was chiding his employees like they were children, but he didn't care. "I'll only be gone for a couple of hours. I expect things to go as smoothly and as promptly as they would've in my presence." He wiped his glasses onto his Ministry robes. "If there is any delay, I will personally call out everyone involved and they'll have to answer to the Minister himself."

A man offered him a fake grin. "Yes, Mr Weasley," his voice was dripping with snideness.

"Oh, what would we do without you?" another one called out. "I only hope we can be so efficient in your absence."

Percy ignored him and left, as Elora defended him. "That's the Head of the Department you're talking about!" he could hear her shrieking. "Show some respect! I'm going to write you all up! Every single one of you!"

The weather was mild and light. Percy had to peel off his robes when they'd gotten to the transgender clinic. It was the emptiest he'd ever seen it, so he was seen as quickly as he was registered.

When he had, his healer, a woman named Marilyn Jones, smiled at him. She was almost prehistoric-looking with her liver-spotted hands and droopy smile. She suffered a stroke twenty years back and had recovered completely through the power of badly written cards and plastic flowers sent by her struggling patients. As she left the room to get her equipment, Percy shivered. He hadn't been there for so long he'd forgotten the extensive, bone-weary speculum examinations. Even just sitting there, he could practically smell the latex gloves and feel the lubricating gel inside of him.

"Well…I did say I want to give you something," Arthur reminded him when Marilyn had left.

"Yes."

"Here," Arthur offered him a crisp white envelope in his hand. "This is for you. This is what I wanted to give you."

Percy picked up the envelope hesitantly. When he opened it, he'd realised that it was a Gringott's check. When he saw the amount, his eyes felt like they were seconds away from bulging out of their sockets. He was sure that he'd started hyperventilating. His hands had become clammy, and the paper was shaking. What on Earth?!

"Bill, Charlie and I decided to pool together some money," Arthur explained, "For your procedure."

Percy put down the check, feeling himself become dizzy with confusion. His first procedure, a spell-based procedure, was done when he was five. It hadn't exactly completed his transition. They had it done with the money left from Gideon and Fabian to his mum when they'd passed away—a substantial number that they've selflessly spent on him, he learned many years later. The first one to his first procedure, and the second one to reverse it. He was told multiple times that he had to be of age to get a complete abdominal hysterectomy and then a magical phalloplasty done. But the cost was so high that Percy hadn't even entertained it. Why would he spend so much money on that when he could spend it on more practical things? When his daughters bled him out of every knut he owned?

"We've been doing it since the first one. After...after we've botched it up. We should've kept that second half of Fabian and Gideon's money for when you were of age instead of...instead of trying to reverse the first," his poor, poor well-meaning father continued. "Bill and Charlie saved a little of every check they've ever had, and we started a fund. Your mum figured you'd never do it yourself and well…" Percy was starting to squirm in his chair. "We just want you to be comfortable with yourself…I mean…fully comfortable." Arthur looked down at the floor. "I'll confess this should've happened a long time ago. But we've stopped adding to it after you've left." He sounded apologetic about that as if that were a horrible thing to even think about. "But we started it the year after Fred died. And at least I can give it to you now. It's…it's what we want you to do."

He squeezed Percy's knee affectionately. Percy thought that he was going to die.

"I can't take this," Percy croaked. There was no physical way that he could accept this after what he'd done. "It's not possible. I'm sorry," he thrust the envelope back into Arthur's hand, feeling his hands shake a little.

"Yes, you can," Arthur sweetly replied. "I don't want this money to be spent on anything—"

When Healer Marilyn came back, Percy wanted to bolt straight out of the door. "Everything alright?" she asked.

"Yes," his father replied. The guilty feeling only worsened when Arthur cleared his throat and said, "Listen, Healer Marilyn, if we want to book for that second procedure, would we be able to get it done soon?" he smiled weakly as he looked back at Percy. "Within the month?"

"Yes, of course," she looked delighted when Arthur had asked. Their eyes were shining with pride. "Congratulations."

He didn't want to use his family's money. "I don't want a second—" Percy was cut off by Healer Marilyn.

"SO! What brings you here today, Percy? Beyond procedural planning that is?" she asked, and he could practically feel the gloves smacking her wrist. He could feel her fingers inside of him and he hadn't even said a word yet. Many times, had he sat in that uncomfortable bed with his legs spread out together, which he believed was the most vulnerable and undignified position he'd ever been in. "I mean…you did sound—well, your owl was a little more urgent than your usual. You've even asked to schedule me in a month instead of the customary six! What's gone on with you now?"

"I thought this was a regular check-up, isn't it?" Arthur looked at Percy suspiciously. "I thought that…"

Before he'd even said anything, Percy's ears went red. "It's nothing really. It is a regular check-up but…" his voice trailed off. "Well, I feel more tired recently. A lot more tired than-well, the usual tired that I am accustomed to with my lifestyle."

"He works himself to the ground," Arthur told Healer Marilyn. "And then he's surprised when he's tired. His mother thinks he's given himself arthritis, you know. And at this age! But the family is prone, you see. Hard-working."

Percy's ears went red. "I've never been this tired before," he'd admitted.

"Of course, he barely eats to boot," Arthur gestured towards him as if Marilyn hadn't noticed his figure. "He's probably lost a stone in the last couple of weeks alone! A grown man like that shouldn't look like a fifth year, no. And he hasn't finished a meal in ages. He's been claiming these stomach troubles during Sunday dinners. Molly and I think that all this work stress has just been getting to him. You know… that subdivision head of his, that Oliver Wood, is always on a diet too come to think of it. Brings in all these low-fat pastries to the department! It probably doesn't help now, does it?"

Percy was flushing, thinking back to the few bites of cake he'd had that morning. Even now, as they were sitting there, he felt like he had a brick in his stomach.

"You are quite thinner than usual," Healer Marilyn agreed.

Percy rolled his eyes. "I have a fast metabolism," he explained.

"Yes, well, I somehow doubt that…" she stood up. "Alright. Let's get you checked out."

He watched Healer Marilyn nod her head and take him to the wretched bed. She drew up the curtains, which were a discomforting pale orange, and then put on the dreaded gloves. Percy unzipped his trousers and laid flat. To calm himself down, he tried to imagine that he was on a tropical beach, yelling at his daughters to stop flirting with the attendants and getting sand caught in his arsehole. It didn't do anything to help him. She prodded her gel-covered fingers into him. She'd used a plastic speculum to, well, he didn't know why, to break his pelvis he supposed. She'd left him feeling compromised in all of ten minutes.

"Oh, Percy, I'm…I'm not liking the look of this." Did she think that he was? He wanted to scoff.

Percy wiggled around uncomfortably. "Well, I'm not exactly ecstatic about it either."

"Well, listen, I…I can see this mass and…and I'll try to remove it with my wand. We'll need to examine it," when Healer Marilyn said that, a jolt of fear paralysed him for a few seconds and then he went numb. What did she mean a mass? He couldn't possibly have a mass. And why did she have to remove it? "Just stay still, love. I won't be but a few minutes."

"Just hurry," Percy hadn't even computed whatever she was saying. "I…I have to go over department statistics."

Everything will be fine, he tried to remind himself as he took deep breaths in and out. His daughters would become outstanding members of society and his wife would realise that she was a fool all along for even thinking about divorcing him!

"How's Molly? And Lucy?" Healer Marilyn was good with remembering things it seemed. Percy didn't even know how old she was, or if she had any living relatives. "I haven't seen any new pictures of them! I bet they've gotten so old."

He couldn't even think about answering back. "Hurry, please," he gasped out desperately.

Percy bit back every slur and obscenity he could think of when that woman kept shoving her disposable healer's wand into him. It must have taken ten minutes of him sitting in that position, with his thighs twitching every few minutes and his legs and back went numb.

Arthur then spoke worriedly. "Is everything alright in there? You're taking an awfully long time…"

"We're almost done," Healer Marilyn responded. Percy didn't believe her. And he was right not to. It must've taken her a whole five minutes after she'd said it before she'd removed her wand and hand away from his body. He was soiled and disgusted, and he didn't want to go back into the office. He was ready to write the whole day off actually!

"Is there anything wrong?" Arthur's voice was filled with concern. "Percy? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Percy croaked unconvincingly.

After they were done, Percy zipped up his trousers and tried to ignore the ache in his body. He was so tired that he couldn't even imagine going on with his day.

"What's happened?" Arthur looked seriously worried as he approached them.

"Nothing," Percy replied quietly. "I was just getting tested for…for something," he vaguely explained. "Syphilis. Gonorrhoea. HIV. Dragon sickness. I don't know." None of which he was at risk of.

Healer Marilyn paused, looking like she was thinking about whether or not to tell Arthur the truth.

"Yes," she decided to say after some time, but she sounded weary and unsure of what she wanted to say. "Yes, that's right. And I can send to get it analysed now and give you a diagnosis about it within the hour." Her eyes were vacant and hard onto his face. All the laughter had died away. "So, why don't you wait outside?"

"Dragon sickness?" Arthur stammered uncomfortably. "What's a dragon doing…"

"I'll explain after," Percy had no intention of ever explaining what had happened.

Waiting outside was even more horrible than Percy could've imagined. He could feel Arthur's eyes boring into him.

"What was she really testing for?" Arthur couldn't hide his anxiety when he sat outside with Percy. A woman with blonde hair walked inside afterwards, wearing a black t-shirt and a pleated flowery skirt. They acknowledged each other with a nod, even though Percy had never seen this woman before in his life. "What was…what was taking so long?"

"Nothing," Percy didn't know how to say it without it sounding like a serious problem. "It's just a…a procedural test. And she could get the results now." It was probably nothing. He was a forty-year-old man. He doubted that anyone's anatomy looked the same at that age as it did when they were fifteen. "I'm going to be late for my meeting." He looked at the watch, frowning. He didn't want to miss the send-off.

"A procedural test," Arthur echoed feebly.

"Yes, well… I am much older than I was when you came with me last," Percy looked up at his father, who was a good two inches taller than him. Arthur smiled weakly and nodded his head in agreement. "After that patient finishes, I'll be heading off to tell her I'll just book another appointment for the results. I don't want to be too late."

"I suppose…" his worry went away. He looked nostalgic. "The girls have grown up quick, aren't they?"

"I wish they would," Percy huffed, but he supposed that was the extent of their bonding.

But then Arthur grabbed Percy's hand and squeezed it. "What's that supposed to mean? What's going on?" he asked quietly. "I don't really think that you should be going back to the office. You don't look well… don't you agree?"

"I suppose," Percy answered, but he found it a little heart-warming.

"You do?" Arthur looked even more concerned then. "You're not going back to the office?"

Percy had a horrendously busy day, but it felt a million miles away from where he was. "I don't know."

"Hey, Percy, about the procedure—" Arthur never got a chance to finish what he wanted to say because Percy was back shuffling into the room straight after that woman had left.

Percy had already decided to let Healer Marilyn know that he wasn't interested in knowing the results of that mass. He was fully ready to tell her that he didn't intend on staying for the results and that he had more pressing things on his mind. But that was before he saw the look on her face as she picked up a frightening red report, tagged with his name.

"Oh, Percy…I was just about to call you," she didn't sound happy.

Percy wanted to curse her. Why was the wizarding medical system so efficient? "Yes?"

"Sit down," she said stiffly. Percy nodded his head and sat across from her. "Um… Percy, love, I don't know how to say this," he took a deep breath. Was his job being threatened? Was he forced to live a different way now because of the mass, or could he carry on as usual? Did anyone else have to know what he was? "It's…it's not great news."

But when she said it, he didn't know how to feel.

"Alright," was all he said in the beginning. "Listen, you don't have to tell me now. I can always reschedule—"

"Percy, you're really ill," she put the report down. "Would you like to know?"

"I suppose," Percy let out a breathless exasperated tone. "And can you hurry up because—"

"You have cancer." She decided to say, and he felt numb. He was still numb when she'd clarified, "Ovarian cancer."

Silence filled the air. Percy slumped his arms defeatedly.

"Ovarian cancer?" Percy reiterated as if it were a foreign entity and couldn't possibly happen to him.

He felt like he'd just been slapped in the face. He pulled his shirt down, as if to cover himself.

She then cleared her throat. "Yes, you'd…you'd have to follow up with a gynaecology healer for this," at this point, he felt genuinely insulted that he had to follow up with a gynaecology healer for anything. He remembered being by Audrey's side when she gave birth, in the pink-and-purple wards, with flower arrangements everywhere. He felt like he was going to be ill. I can't do this alone; he needed his wife. He needed his children. "I'm…I'm so sorry." She waited for a response, something normal like a fit, or for him to burst into tears, or to say something but he just nodded his head. "I know someone that's very, very progressive that would do everything they can to make sure you don't feel treated prejudicially. But I'm sure they have to…to run more tests. To know how advanced it is. To see what they can do for you."

"Then make the appointment then," he said stiffly. "I have to go," he got up. "I have more pressing matters to attend to."