know it's been some time but i've actually been super busy with my job. my work schedule has just gotten a little bit better (this month) and i've just spent it sleeping and relaxing after not being able to do so for ages with how horrific my work schedule has gotten the month prior. i've been wondering though, would anyone want to read a fanfiction with Percy being a male-to-female? i've been tinkering with the idea of one (obviously, not any time soon) but i've just thought that it'll be nice to have both. of course, i'm not transgender also, so it's a little difficult to write (i try to be as nice as possible) but i hope i've been respectful. but i do want to write one (obviously, not DH epilogue compliant) but still not an AU?

Momentary Illusions

Chapter Seven

Coming Out

10th of June 2018

To Mr Percival Ignatius Weasley, Head of Department of Magical Transportation,

I cannot authenticate your leave request, Mr Weasley. I will require another submission as there seems to be a crucial error in your submission. The paperwork that you turned in asked for a leave from the 19th of June to the 25th of June and it stated that you will be in hospital for a debulking procedure for ovarian cancer.

I suppose you meant your wife?

From Catherine Nobody-Cares-What-Your-Last-Name-Is, Head of the Department of Magical Resources

The news about Percy's ovarian cancer circled around everyone at work. Things had changed. There was a constant cloud of tension swarming in the air wherever Percy went. This unwelcome condensation had invited itself at the weekly Sunday roast at the Burrow as one of Percy's plus-ones.

It was a peculiar Sunday. Molly had finally cleaned the ever-growing pile of plates at the sink. The ones had been mounting for the past decade. The frilly kitchen curtains had sustained more stains and rips than Percy would ever deem acceptable. But the lace tablecloth brought back memories of him sat there at the dead-end of the night, nursing a cup of tea as a twelfth year back home during his Christmas holidays. Those were when times were easier. That Sunday, Percy was sat in front of a plate of grey roast beef, mashed potatoes that had lost all their structure and a pile of vegetables that could probably feed little Fred's rabbit. As Percy practically broke his teeth on a particularly dry piece of roast beef, Ron kept glancing back at him as if he'd suddenly erupt into dance or turn into gaudy shades of pink. George hadn't done so much as shake his hand. Ginny kept on telling Ron off for looking at him, but then subtly doing the same when she didn't think that he was looking. As if she could see his biological sex underneath a velvety layer of hormonal potions and testosterone creams. As if he were lying. As if he were different.

Percy had felt more at home the first Sunday roast after the war. That was when they still didn't trust him, when they still hated him, when they practically told him that it was his fault that Fred had died.

"…potatoes on discount until Wednesday," his mum was rattling off nervously. He felt quite bad for her because obviously, nobody gave a rat's arse about dirt-cheap potatoes being discounted when a forty-year-old family secret suddenly came out in an inopportune moment. She'd put on a little makeup that night. There were lines in her skin that Percy hadn't noticed before. She looked older than he'd ever remembered her being. "Thought to make a cottage pie tomorrow." She waited for someone to convulse into shock at the idea of his mum making a cottage pie, but nobody did.

The clink-clink-clink of silverware made Percy feel so uncomfortable that he felt like putting on the radio just to drown it out.

"This isn't working out," George blurted out all of a sudden. Ginny opened her mouth, most likely to disagree but—

"No, it's not," Ron agreed. Percy felt himself stiffening, looking across from his oblivious daughters and his worried wife, who had eaten approximately one mouthful of mashed potatoes thus far. Little Lily Luna and Hugo were sat outside after having have shoved down plates of mashed potatoes covered in rubbery cheese. The sound of them playing Exploding Snap and squealing with joy felt foreign to his ears. "Are you really a girl?"

"Ron!" Hermione seemed appalled. Percy wondered how it was like at home after Ron first heard the news. He winced. "We talked about this, remember?"

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but everyone's just sat here, being awkward and acting like they aren't thinking about the same thing!" Ron waved his hands around in defeat. Percy couldn't blame Ron for making a fairly good point.

"I was thinking about it too," George pointed out. "And I know Gin is, even though she acts like she doesn't."

"I'm not!" Ginny argued. "I couldn't care less what Percy has between his—"

"That's enough! He's not a bloody girl," Bill answered back immediately, leaving no room for Percy to talk. "Leave him alone. He's fucking ill. Can't you think of something else to talk about?"

Percy was so glad that Charlie wasn't there. If he was around here listening to Ron say what he did, he would've just clocked him one in front of his own daughter.

"Um…this roast beef is really dry," little Fred said. Well, he wasn't little anymore. He was in his fifth year, going on his sixth, but he'd always be little Fred.

"I'm sorry, love," Molly squeezed his gangly arm.

Then the table went silent. It was so uncomfortable that Percy started running through all the things that he'd wanted to say in his mind, but he didn't exactly know how to phrase it. He felt so self-conscious. He knew what he was, he'd always known, but there were times where he wished that he'd just accepted his biological sex somehow and gotten over with it. But then his eyes met with Molly and Lucy's cherubic faces. He couldn't imagine a fulfilling life without them in it. And if he hadn't done what he'd done, they wouldn't be there and that would be the biggest disservice he could ever do.

"Why does it matter so much to you what gender I was born into?" Percy couldn't help but raise his voice around the tense dinner table.

Ron flinched and George went white. Even Ginny looked down at her plate.

"I'm your brother," Percy announced stiffly, putting his fork down. He'd managed as much of his brick-like roast as ever could. Even the gravy in his mouth was tasteless, thick and gelatinous. "Have you forgotten that?"

"We know, Perce, it's just that…" George looked uncomfortable being sat there. "Of course, we're with you, mate. We just don't know how to react. It's not every day you find out the bloke that you grew up with wasn't born a bloke. It's like saying that you were born with one arm and then grew the other one out." Percy rolled his eyes at George's grotesque analogy. "It's not that you don't bloody deserve having a second arm. But it makes you wonder how it's like because blimey, I can't exactly imagine you not being the way that you are, mate."

Next to George, Fred flushed, the tips of his ears gone red. He pushed his gold-wired glasses up his nose.

"It's not easy living the way that I have," was all that Percy replied with.

"I know, Perce," George continued. "People can be such bloody arseholes." Exactly, Percy thought. He paused and then asked, "Does this mean that-that your work has to know? Because if they do, they might make it into a real problem."

Percy sighed. He and George were strangely on the same page. "Yes, the Head of Department of Magical Resources has not yet approved my hospital admission on such basis." He had sent back a letter to Catherine regarding the fact that he didn't make an error. He'd meant that the debulking procedure was for him. He'd received no reply yet. That was four days ago.

"She's done what?" Arthur was furious. "You-you haven't told me about that! I'll have a word with that conniving witch about that!" Percy got a flashback of being a twelfth year and Charlie telling their father that there was some other Gryffindor kid picking on him after he'd caught Percy in the showers. "It's absolutely illegal to—"

"Dad, I am perfectly capable of talking to Catherine myself," Percy said stoically.

"Yes, I know, but I still want to give her a piece of my mind!" Arthur wagged a finger into the air. "It's bad enough to how you're like with your job without this-this woman refusing to grant you leave. And why should she know anyway? The last time you've taken a day off is when Lucy was born! It's not like you don't have any pending leaves that you could take out of your own accord!" Percy's face was red because he knew that it was true.

"Granddad is right, dad," Lucy finally said, pushing her plate aside. "And Fred is too. This roast beef is really dry."

"I think we need to be ordering in a takeaway," Ron agreed, tossing a rather nervous glance at Molly. "Anyone for Indian?"

Which was how, an hour later, Percy found himself tucking into a massive chicken curry with rice. There was a lot more bristling conversation around the table at that point. Percy found it so strange how the air had cleared so much. He didn't even understand how or why but was relieved all the same. The tension that was looming around him seemed to have disappeared to nothing by the second kebab skewer. There was a healthy conversation about what, where, why and who happening between Ginny and their father regarding her job at the Holyhead Harpies. Lucy, who was sat across from him, saw him struggling with his container of chicken curry and sat beside him so that she could cut his chicken into pieces. It was both endearing and humiliating that his daughter felt like she should be helping him cut his dinner. But he couldn't help but feel himself drag down as he ate. How long until his family felt like they had to spoon-feed him puddings?

When Percy had gotten home to his flat, he fell asleep before his head hit the pillow, wiped out at around eight o'clock.

At around five in the morning, he was up again as he always was every morning at five. The world was still dark outside. There was a stillness that calmed him down. As he fluttered his eyes open, he instinctively reached out to shake Audrey. She groaned and pushed him aside. Bits of her dark hair ended up in his mouth, like most mornings. "Five in the bloody morning," Audrey yawned through her pillow. "Fucking inhuman."

"You say that every morning," commented Percy, who had unwillingly left his bed. He was so tired that it took a monumental effort just to get him to get out of the comfortable cocoon of blankets he'd been wrapped in, but if he didn't, Audrey would be asking questions. Wondering if he should be in the hospital. Worrying about whether or not his blood results were still normal. Thinking that this was the beginning of the end.

"I could smother you."

"Every morning," Percy repeated with a mock disappointed sigh, as he raised his hand to his chest as if he were in pain. "So unoriginal."

Audrey shoved a pillow to his face which Percy reacted to by pushing her into their marital bed. She ended up crashing onto him, their foreheads smacking together as the bed squeaked from underneath them. He was greeted with that dazed feeling that reminded him of falling in love with her. Succumbing to his exhaustion, Percy relaxed into the mattress and shot her a look.

"What are you smirking about?" Audrey asked, nuzzling her head into his neck.

"You've finally woken up I see."

"Yes."

They laid there for a few moments, with Percy relaxed and Audrey curled up in his arms. Their legs were entwined. He could feel the outlines of her breasts against his soft torso. Percy closed his eyes, just letting himself sink into their bed. He could remember the best memories that he'd ever had in this bed—lying close to Audrey after coming home knackered, holding her hand when she had a migraine and being fed chocolate truffles under duress during many Valentine Day's and anniversaries. The warmth of their hefty duvet, the warmth of her body, the softness of his pillow, the familiarity of his home. In his bed, he couldn't even fathom the volume of responsibility that he had in his day-to-day job. In this bed, nobody and nothing could hurt him.

"Why do you keep waking me up at five in the morning anyway?" she asked that all the time.

He still didn't have an answer to that. "To make me breakfast, of course."

She scoffed. "Typical man."

Percy quite liked the idea of being a typical man. "I've just gotten used to it," he admitted. There was a time where Audrey needed to be up so early in the morning because it took her about an hour to put on her fifteen layers of makeup before she headed off to her job for Ollivander's. But she hadn't really been working for the past two years. "I've been doing it for eighteen years."

"Do you know that I almost always go back to sleep after you leave?" Audrey smirked.

Percy made a face of mock shock. "Really? My wife, who I find napping for four hours at a time, goes back to sleep after I've woken her up? Colour me surprised there, Audrey. You've really shocked me now."

Audrey wrapped her arms around him. She smelled like a cloud of musk and sugar. "Arsehole."

"I've never claimed to be anything else but that," he replied casually. "Can I ask you to marry me again?"

She snorted, pushing him off his shoulder playfully until she noticed his serious expression. "You want to renew our vows?" she sounded surprised. "Percy, do you remember how we got married? Because I do." He flushed. Of course, he remembered how he married his wife! What kind of question was that? "We signed a paper, and then you went around to your mum's for cake. She was livid with us. She was. She wouldn't talk to you a week after and kept glaring at you during Sunday roasts for ages after!"

"Yes, but you've wanted a real wedding," Percy said offhandedly.

"Percy, you were never going to be the 'real wedding' type," Audrey said firmly. "This isn't the time to be looking back at things and wishing they were done in a certain way—for other people. This is supposed to be for you. Not for me. Not for the girls. Not for anyone. So don't you dare start."

When Audrey mentioned the girls, Percy felt like he'd stumbled out of bed and fallen into a never-ending black hole of emotions, of the things he'd miss, of the pain that he'd cause, of the swirls of emotion that came with leaving his girls fatherless. The feelings left him practically catatonic. He broke out of their comfortable hold and gotten out of his bed. His heart raced and his palms were wet. He went to his Collection of Never-Ending Button Downs and began his ritualistic digging to find something suitable for his morning of Suddenly Much Doable Things.

After putting on a pinstriped blue-and-red button-down and a pair of navy trousers, he joined Audrey at the breakfast table. She was rooting through cereal boxes like his mum rooted through the cupboards to see what she was going to be cooking up for their supper. Percy grabbed a box of chocolate cereal, only for Audrey to roll her eyes, call him 'about five years old' and wag her finger at him. Molly and Lucy sauntered in just a few moments afterwards, sour-faced and dishevelled. They were such light sleepers that any noise or movement in the house woke them up. Molly was sticking her finger in her ear, trying to pick wax out of it. Lucy was yawning every few seconds. They all sat around the table, with a nonchalant air about them. Percy poured himself a heaping bowl and demolished the lot in about less than five minutes.

"What are you staring at me for?" Percy asked, wiping off milk from his mouth because he realised that he probably did look about five. He looked down at his bowl and realised how embarrassingly fast he'd cleared that.

"Nothing, love," Audrey said before reaching out to help wipe the milk out of his mouth for him.

The usual stares commenced when Percy had gotten to his office. The head-to-toe scans, the throwaway glances, the awkward pauses in speech. People were staring at him like he'd grown a second head. They were acting like he was less than human almost. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, something chocolate cereal couldn't wash away. A couple of hours into his shift, Felix Rosier came in with papers for new Floo Network set-ups for review for pureblood families that have bought new mansions and estates. Felix, who usually was relaxed and laid-back, was acting like an absolute nutter. He was pacing around the room, hands into his crumped coat. He kept smiling at him every now and then when Percy looked up.

"Boss, you alright?" he finally asked when Percy was reviewing Felix's statements.

"I'm fine," Percy answered back with the air of someone that was talking about the weather.

"I…I don't think you should stay in this department anymore, sir," Felix's words made Percy snap his head up. How dare HE? "They're saying some awful things about you behind your back." And do you think that it's the first time that they've said awful things behind my back? He gestured towards the door, where there were people supposedly working away on portkey application approvals and monitoring venues for apparition exams. There was a sick, sinking feeling into Percy's stomach that was so bad that he felt like he might pass out if Felix continued to talk. But he kept his cool. "The way they're going on about it—it's harassment really, sir. They shouldn't talk that way about anyone. They shouldn't."

"And what do you propose you do about it? Smack their wrists and wash their mouths with soap?"

He flinched. "N-no, boss, it's just…"

"Yes?"

"Um…" Felix then smiled warmly at him. "Elora's already helped your schedule for…for some time off. We're not all shitheads."

"Elora Dunn? My secretary?" Percy was gobsmacked to know that because he didn't tell her to do anything.

Felix nodded his head. "I think she's overheard Catherine from Magical Resources about the time you've needed off—done wonders with your schedule really. Called the Chinese Ministry about rescheduling some important meeting because something unexpected popped up." Percy's ears went red because you didn't call the Chinese Ministry and tell them to change their meeting with them. "You could be part dragon and I reckon ole Elora there would still be foaming at the mouth whenever you talk. She's absolutely smitten with you."

"I hardly doubt that but if you—and my wife—say so," he didn't really see it. Just because he had a secretary that didn't hate him didn't mean that she was ready to be playing sheet Quidditch with him!

"How has she been?" Felix suddenly asked. Percy wasn't comfortable with this office talk to say the least.

Percy nodded his head. "She's fine," what was he supposed to say? Everyone was acting weird to him about the prospect of him being ill? Everyone was treating him like he would smash into a thousand pieces if he happened to fall?

"I wouldn't be," he finally said. "If it were my lad…" he shook his head. "I'd be devastated. Though I suppose that…that you wouldn't exactly be telling me if she's falling apart then, right?" he smiled weakly at him. Percy stopped talking and went back to reviewing the reports. He'd signed them off one after the other and sealed them with his stamp. He offered the stack of papers to Felix, who awkwardly took them. "If you need anything, mate, then I guess we're here."

Percy pushed the papers to Felix. "Just do your job." Then after a moment's deliberation, "Oh, and have I asked to start waffling about this nonsense? I can't recall."

"No, sir." Felix stuffed the papers under his arm.

"Well?"

"I apologise, Mr Weasley."

When Percy was left alone, his heart had started to thud so loudly he felt a little ill.

He never thought he'd seen Elora look so flustered as she did that day when he'd walked outside to get himself a cup of coffee (her job but she was busy having an aneurysm over his schedule so he supposed he could make his own coffee). At the time, she was sat with a pile of Howlers going off at all directions and Percy froze when he heard what people were saying. He paused by her office (well, it was more like a tiny cubicle), as a heaving red Howler rattled on and on. "Don't think that that kind of person should be a representation of our government? Freak of nature that is! Can't imagine how that's gone past the Minister himself… really, represents everything wrong with our country!"

Percy stood by the door and swallowed the lump in his throat. Elora looked a little red-faced when she noticed him stood there. "Mr Weasley!" her face was etched into a seemingly permanent look of surprise. She clasped her hands to her mouth as if she'd said those words herself. "This-this…I'm so sorry that you had to hear that. People are so cruel! I can't—"

"How many of these were sent in?" Percy straightened his back and plastered an expression of indifference.

Elora went so white she matched the carton of vanilla milk she had on her desk. "Um…a few hundred," she whispered. As if he couldn't comprehend what she was saying if she said it low enough.

"Any interdepartmental complaints?"

"Quite a few, sir. But I'm-I'm weeding through them."

Percy raised an eyebrow because he could still a clear stack of papers in front of him that looked like they were complaint forms. He wagered that they had just been sat there, gathering dust. "Good."

"I'll be done with them soon," Elora finally said. "Is there anything I can do for you, Mr Weasley?"

"Send everything to my desk," Percy replied.

"But sir—"

"That's an order."

He regretted it the second that he said it. He knew how much it would hurt him, to listen to the things that people were saying about him, but it would hurt more if he didn't know. Because his mind could imagine far worse things. He was the Witch Weekly 'feminine ideal' (how vile) with his narrow hips and small wrists. He wasn't exactly going to be running out to Quidditch fields. He had no interest in steamy love affairs, in placing bets, in playing in the mud. He put on hair products to tame his unruly hair sometimes because if Oliver Wood did the same, nobody would be telling him off for it. So, why was it so different when he did it? Why did people think that he wasn't what he said he was because he wasn't the 'typical' man?

The last two hours went by in a blur of listening to Howlers and reading letters. Every sound he heard, every word he read, every thought that he had was more painful than the last. It was like every criticism that he'd ever said into his mind was verbalised into words. Written by the ink of a disgruntled housewife, a repulsed teenager, someone he could've gone to Hogwarts with, someone he could've passed out onto the streets and would've smiled at him. Someone that thought that they had a stake in his personal life, in his choices, just because he worked in the government. And why couldn't he stop giving these strangers power over his life?

That was the same day that his leave request was rejected by Catherine.

At around his lunch hour, Percy left his office feeling like he'd doubled in his weight in the last hour. He replayed the things he'd read into his mind and every time that he did, his step felt that little bit heavier. But he would get through this, because of what he'd been through, because he'd gone through everything that was handed to him. He went into Catherine's office after grabbing a massive triple chocolate croissant and a tea for his lunch. She was uncharacteristically happy when she saw him, but her face changed the second he'd pulled out his hospital appointments. After about an hour of a stern talking-to, she reluctantly gave him time off, but by her calculations, he had a total recovery time of about six hours. And when he pointed out, he got the most condescending sneer and was told off like a child asking for extra biscuits. Well, he'd just have to take those biscuits himself then, wouldn't he?

"You should file a fucking complaint about that," Oliver Wood, who had gotten even more relaxed than he had in his younger years, had said when he'd passed by Percy's desk and noticed the slips. "She can't expect you to fucking come back about a couple of hours after you've just had your privates sliced off."

"She's from Magical Resources. She's the one you bring complaints to—generally," Percy reminded him. "And well, I'd have that done the first day of me being there. They've included the recovery it'll take. The five days after…"

"It'll take me longer than a week to get over that, mate."

Percy raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, I don't actually want these particular parts."

Oliver's lip pursed into a smirk. "So, I've heard." He gave him the glance-over that he was used to when people were thinking about how he used to be a woman. "It's better this way. No offence, Perce, but you'd made an ugly woman."

Percy raised an eyebrow at him. "So would you. What's your point?"

"I guess," Oliver looked down with a small smile on his face. "How is it like?"

"Terrific," Percy answered back sarcastically. "How do you think it's like?" he'd not understood why people kept asking him that. As if they couldn't imagine how hard it must be. As if they couldn't wrap their heads around how it must be like. "How would you like it if you looked down and you've lost your pair?" The bloody nerve of him.

"Probably not that great."

"So you could imagine."

"They're being really awful to you," Oliver said. As if Percy didn't know that people were talking back at him. That there were complaints about him. That the fact that knowing that he shared a common characteristic with some people's sisters was enough for them to doubt his ability to do his job.

"I'm aware," answered Percy with a roll of his eyes. "I've listened to the Howlers. I've read the letters. I know what everyone has to say about me. I know what Catherine thinks of me. And you do too. You know what they're saying, so why do you bother coming here and asking me how I feel like? How do you think I feel like?"

Oliver winced. "Sorry, mate," he offered a weak smile. "You're right. It's bloody shite."

"That's an understatement. Nobody is telling you that you can't do your job because of what's in between your legs," Percy scoffed. "As if portkey regulation and broomstick approvals have anything to do with that. Meanwhile, Catherine opens her legs to every bloke that looks her way, but she still feels like she can help our inter-departmental conflicts."

"Really?" Oliver looked surprised.

"You didn't know?"

"Perce, you're the only one that knows that."

Percy scoffed. "I'm not that far gone that I can't smell someone's closet escapades a mile away." Then as if Oliver couldn't tell, he said, "I did spend some time in the closet, you know."

Oliver cocked his head to one side. "Can you use that if you're not bent?" then he paused. "Well, sex must be—"

"Oh, please, don't get into that." Percy sighed deeply. Why was everyone interested in what he and Audrey did in the privacy of their own bedroom? He wasn't exactly asking Oliver for intimate details of his love life. Well, he didn't want to imagine Oliver's hand connected to any part of his body that was for sure.

"I'm just saying that you're less vanilla than I thought," Oliver shrugged mindlessly.

Percy gestured for Oliver to leave his office. "Well, that's your problem."

He continued the cycle of going in and out of work like it was every other day. He slept, woke himself (and Audrey) up at five in the morning. He ate breakfast with his family, left to go to work, and came back at the dead-end of the night with a battered briefcase and wiry hands suffering from carpal tunnel syndrome. Audrey would already be asleep when Percy tumbled into his sheets and he'd be out before Audrey could start reminding him that he was supposed to have less working hours, not more. If he asked Catherine from Magical Resources for less working hours, he was sure that he'd be fired the next day.

On the nineteenth of June, Percy found himself admitted into the gynaecology ward. He was given an isolation room for the fact that it was the only room that wasn't covered in pink or purple. It was a seasick green with see-through curtains and pillows that felt like bricks. Audrey slept on a dusty couch and his family sat on rickety chairs that could fall over any time. His nurse was a man that wore purple scrubs and smelled like he used far too much aftershave. His gynaecology healer had nearly ripped his pelvis—and the other associated biological reproductive organs that he wished not to speak of—when she was examining him the morning of his procedure. She'd penetrated him with her gloved fingers in a way that he'd only allow his wife to do. Five hours before the procedure, he'd changed into the tissue-paper pale-yellow hospital gown, the one that outlined his body parts in ways he didn't enjoy.

During this never-ending stream of torture, his mum fluffed up his pillows, his father held his hand and his wife told off nurses that she thought were being unnecessarily cruel to him.

After a mouthful of swishy sedating potions and gases, Percy had lost most of the day in a fury of things-that-smelled-like-synthetic-plastic-and-rubbing-alcohol. He remembered blurry snippets after a lengthy ten-hour procedure. By the time that Percy was in the recovery room, he felt dizzy and ill. His whole body felt heavy, and every time he looked down at himself, he could barely recognise how he looked like. He thought he might pass out from delirium when he'd realised that they'd stuck a disgusting tube to drain out all of his urine. He was in a diaper for Merlin's sake. Everything felt cold and hard and uncomfortable. By the time that he was wheeled back into his room, Percy had fallen asleep again. In fact, the next few days after the surgery was a blur of him waking up and falling back asleep. He was sure that there was some time when someone had tried to make him drink a disgusting carton of sugar-free apple juice or try to change his diaper, but he could hardly remember these things. All he could remember was swirling into an abyss, but somehow, it was colourful, vibrant and beautiful. He felt safe inside of this cocoon of somewhere-warm-and-secure. But when he was awake, he was nauseous and in pain.

Then one day, he finally woke up. His head felt like cotton. He had never been this exhausted in his whole life. It had felt like the most taxing few days that he'd ever had. His limbs felt so heavy, and he was groggy and tired no matter how much he rested his eyes. He felt like he'd barely slept all day. He felt like he'd never be able to leave his bed without assistance.

His family were there most of the time. He knew. He could feel their presence and hear the voices even when he couldn't make out their words. But when he had woken up at four in the morning, he and Audrey were the only ones in the room. His wife was slumped over the couch beside him. Her hair was a mess, and she was wearing satin pyjamas that had holes in them. She looked just as bad as he felt, like this was the first time she'd managed to sleep in ages. She was moving in her sleep and was restless. There were takeaway containers in front of her. The smell of grease automatically made Percy gag and he felt like he might throw up. He sat up from his bed and found himself project vomiting his own stomach acid. Gag-cough-cough-cough. His coughing was enough to make Audrey jolt from her sleep and run to him. Her eyes were bleary, and she was hyperventilating. In seconds, he found himself being pulled back to the massive array of soft pillows (the Burrow's, he was sure) and then being made to drink water. Percy took a few sips, which he gulped down somehow both precariously and greedily.

"Hey, hey," Audrey stroked his neck, which made him shudder in both coldness and pleasure. She looked like she was about to cry. "Take it easy, love."

"What time is it?" his voice was hoarse. It hurt to speak. Percy looked down at the bottle of water in Audrey's hand. "What day is it?"

"It's four am, love. It's Sunday," Audrey told him, and Percy stared at her with confusion. It was Thursday morning the last time that he remembered and suddenly, it was four am on a Sunday. He'd never been so drained of energy. He genuinely couldn't imagine leaving the hospital in a few days and heading back to work the following day. "I suppose you don't fancy a roast at this time, do you?"

He felt nauseated just thinking about it. "A roast?" he reiterated in disbelief. "Don't disgust me." He placed a hand on his stomach, which felt flatter than it had in years. He felt like he might float away if he tried to get out of his bed. "I suppose that was a miserable procedure."

Audrey shook her head in disbelief. "They said that they had to remove your spleen and lymph nodes along with your—you know. And part of your liver and stomach. And..." And what? What else is left? Percy blinked. He thought that he was listening to this horror story. He didn't exactly sit there reading the fine print, especially when they were using feminine words that made him hate himself. "And some of your intestines but luckily...um..." Luckily? Luckily, what? They've found a surprise inside after they'd taken everything out? "They made it so that you didn't need any kind of opening for your intestines to your stomach, and you could still use the bathroom like a regular person. They said that they took most of it out. Left only a tiny bit that they're sure would be eradicated by the—"

If Percy had an opening made into his abdomen with parts of his intestines looping out, he might genuinely die.

"They've removed what?" Percy was appalled. The flatter-than-a-Ministry-crepe stomach mystery solved. He had lost a good volume of his own organs. Just lovely. The quickest way to lose a stone if he'd ever heard any. "What have they left in exactly?"

"Your mum said the same thing."

Percy flinched at the idea of his mum knowing that. She'd never let him forget it (not that he could either to be frank).

"You need to do chemotherapy, the healers said," Audrey told him. Just brilliant. As if hearing he'd had most of his organs resected wasn't enough. "It's really bad, Percy. Advanced. But they need to give you at least six to eight weeks to heal before they start."

"Six to eight weeks?" Percy baulked. "That's it?" he couldn't study for his O.W.L's in six-to-eight weeks.

Audrey smiled weakly. "As I recall, your father and brothers thought that that was too long." Easy for them to say! "Well…we all did."

"Are they the ones recovering from this-this procedure?" Percy hissed coldly. What did they expect? Just a couple of days after he'd had his total abdominal hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy, his spleen, and parts of his liver and stomach removed—he'd agree to have some toxic substance run through his veins? The thought of the expectations that other people had of him made him feel crippled. He sighed and felt hot tears burn into his eyes. This was ridiculous. "And what if I don't want to?"

She went white. "Percy, you're almost done," she whispered to him, like she was encouraging a child to continue running to a finish line. But Percy was never athletic either to begin with. "You just need to do this one more thing and—then…"

"Just need to do what?" Percy acerbically replied. He didn't even feel all that bad before he'd started this procedure and now, he could barely sit in the room, smelling takeaway containers without wanting to vomit. He couldn't imagine feeling worse. If he did, he doubted he'd be able to stay awake most of the day, much less interact with his family. "And then what? I'm cured?"

"Then-then…" Audrey looked away from him. "We'll talk about it later," was all that she said.

Percy scoffed at the tone in her voice. "I'm sure we will," he didn't mean to sound so bitter, but he did all the same. Why didn't they seem to understand how difficult this was for him? It was so easy for them to say. Just this one more thing. What a joke.

Audrey flinched. She reached out to hold his hand. The way that she held his hand left shivers down his spine, the way that she was tracing the lines in his palms, pressing into his skin, like she couldn't believe that he was there.