Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me.
A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed! I'm going to try to do shorter chapters about once a week, so let me know what you think!
Content Note: Panic attack, dissociation, and general warning for Percy's dark and self-hating mind. The tone won't be this consistently dark, I promise.
Chapter 5: Plangent
Something brushes against Percy's face, and he shudders. "Don't move, Percy," he hears Penny whisper. "It'll be worse if you move, just stay still."
"Percy?"
He feels the touch again, soft and…feathery? What? "Doesn't matter what," Oliver says. "Just shut up and let it happen, isn't that the strategy?"
Another brush of feathers, and then a faint hoot. An owl? Percy opens his eyes a crack. Hermes is perched next to him on an overturned chair, feathers puffed out, shuffling about nervously.
"Perce?"
Percy lets out a shaking breath and risks looking past the owl. He half-expects the entire family to be packed into his ruined flat—Mum and Dad, the twins, Ginny and Ron, Bill and his wife, probably Harry Potter, too—all ready to laugh at what Perfect Prefect Percy has become.
But it's just Charlie. His older brother is across the room from where Percy sits huddled with his back against the wall. "Percy? Are you okay?"
"Sure, you're okay, Perce! Why wouldn't you be?"
"He's going to find you, you're going back to that fucking room—"
"No, that's not possible! The war's over, everyone said—"
"The war was 'over' months ago, apparently, didn't stop Flint from—"
"Percy? Can you hear me?"
A sharp note of panic has entered Charlie's voice, and Percy forces himself to focus on his brother. Charlie is crouched low to the floor, holding both his hands in Percy's sightline, palms up with no wand in sight.
It takes Percy a few seconds to understand his brother's stance, but when he does a wave of humiliation sweeps through him. Charlie has struck a non-threatening pose, as though he was dealing with a spooked dragon. As though Percy has become a stupid beast, incapable of reason.
"You better pull it together, mate, or they're definitely gonna lock you up."
"Yes, of c-course. I can hear you." Percy winces at the sound of his weak, trembling voice.
"Good," Charlie forces a small, twisted smile. "I'm really sorry, Perce. You shouldn't have had to hear it like that. But you are safe. The Death Eaters aren't going to come after you." Charlie hesitates, and then asks slowly, "I mean, why would they?"
A memory assaults Percy's mind. "Yaxley's already gotten everything he knows out of him. He's useless. Why would you want him?"
"Because I fucking said I did, that's why."
"Merlin, Flint, fine. Take him. Just kill him when you're done."
Charlie clears his throat, dragging Percy back to the present. "Unless there's a reason? We still don't know…why did they take you?"
Percy imagines Oliver crouching next to Charlie. They're both large, burly Quidditch Keepers. Percy used to believe that physical strength in a wizard or witch was superfluous, perhaps even a bit ridiculous. The fear of being physically overpowered, hurt directly by someone's body instead of curses or hexes, had rarely occurred to him. Until Flint.
He could tell Charlie about the muggle-borns he tried to protect, the bloodline documentation that he forged. But then the next question would be, "Why did they keep you, then?"
"Go ahead, mate," he imagines a cruel smile creep onto Oliver's face. "Tell him why. This should be a laugh."
Percy shudders again, looking away. "I don't know," he lies, his voice breaking on the words.
"Okay," Charlie soothes. "That's okay, Perce. You're safe no matter what. We're not going to let anything happen to you."
"That's what your dad was trying to say, right? We won't let anything happen to you," Oliver repeats the phrase mockingly. "Arthur couldn't even get the words out, that's how little he wants to do with you. And who can blame him, after everything you've done?"
"Every Auror in the country is going to be after those bastards. They'll be locked up soon enough."
Percy doesn't respond, unable to verbalize how little Charlie's words are doing to make him safer. When he had slipped away from the Healers and stumbled back to his flat, he had been terrified every time he turned a corner that Flint would be there. Knowing the fear was irrational had barely done anything to ease the dread ripping through his guts. Now, he knew Flint and his Death Eater pals were out there, plotting.
"He's going to find you," a voice—his own, maybe—cries in his head. "He's going to find you you're going back you're going back—"
"Listen, Perce. I don't want to push you into anything." Charlie is selecting his words carefully, tiptoeing around Percy, treating him like the useless nutter he is. "If you're okay with it, we could stop by St. Mungo's.
"Enjoy the loony bin, Percy!" Oliver taunts. "Say hello to Professor Lockhart for me!"
"Not to stay there, just so the Healers can try some diagnostic spells. They might be able to help you."
Percy tenses. Diagnostic spells, so his misery and shame will be laid bare for all to mock. "No. I won't go." He wants to sound firm, but instead he sounds like a petulant child. He doesn't look up to see Charlie's reaction.
"Sure, Perce," Charlie replies softly. "You don't have to. We're not going to make you do anything you don't want to. But…"
"Here it comes!"
"But it may be safer if you stay at the Burrow," Charlie continues, still in that bizarre gentle tone. "The Death Eaters know about this place." He gestures vaguely around the flat, at the mess and the blood purity epithets marring the walls. "At the Burrow, there'll always be someone there to watch your back. Order of the Phoenix members are always coming and going, even Harry sometimes. It's probably the safest place in Britain right now, other than Hogwarts."
Percy feels a vice tightening around his chest, squeezing his heart and forcing the breath from his lungs, because he knows Charlie is right.
"If you stay here, mate, you might as well hang Flint a welcome banner," Oliver points out. "You don't even have a wand, you can't defend yourself."
"The Death Eaters won't attack the Burrow directly," Penny adds. "Not with the Order and Harry Potter there."
Percy doesn't have a choice. He's supposed to be free now, but he still doesn't have a choice. If he wants to avoid the Death Eaters, he has to go back and subject himself to the ridicule and derision from his siblings and father.
"Suck it up," Oliver snaps. "It's not as if you don't deserve it."
"Okay," Percy whispers to his knees.
"Yeah?" Charlie perks up. "Great. Do you need to pack, or…" Percy glances up to see Charlie, surveying Percy's destroyed belongings, look sheepish. "Er, don't worry about it. You can borrow clothes from Bill, or Ron, he's about your height now."
His youngest brother is his height now? The last time he saw Ron was at Christmas, years ago, when he brought the Minister to the Burrow. He can't remember how tall Ron was then; he can only remember the hatred in his younger siblings' eyes, the harsh coldness on his father's face.
"Hey." Charlie reaches out a hand toward him, but withdraws it as Percy shrinks away. "It's going to be okay, Perce. I know this is hard, but we're going to work it out, alright? I promise."
"Okay," Percy repeats, unbelieving. Charlie sighs.
"If you're worried about—"
A knock at the door cuts Charlie off and sends another jolt of panic through Percy's tense body. But it's just Mum. "Percy? Are you okay? Charlie, is he okay?"
"I'll go talk to them," Charlie offers. "Unless you want to?"
Percy shakes his head. "There are some things," he mumbles. "That I should pack."
Charlie looks dubious, clearly doubting that Percy has anything of value left. "Sure, Perce. I'll be right back. It's going to be okay."
As Charlie leaves, Percy hears not one voice, but a cacophony. Oliver, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, Yaxley, Flint, all saying some variation of the same thing:
"No, it isn't."