Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me.
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Content Note: Compulsive behavior.
Chapter 8: Sedulous
Percy counts thirty-five stains on the wall before the Aurors finish casting their protection spells around the Burrow. By the time his Mum returns bearing a plate heaped dangerously high with parsnips and potatoes and steak-and-kidney pie, he's mapped over one hundred tiny cracks in the plaster. The food grows cold as he turns his attention to inspecting the floor.
He imagines Oliver watching him as he inspects the room. During his seventh year at Hogwarts, trying to manage his N.E.W.T.s and Head Boy duties and everything else with the madman Sirius Black loose in the castle, Percy had started plotting out his days with elaborate schedules, charming the parchment to automatically adjust itself and deliver him reminders.
Oliver had been unnerved by Percy's assiduous schedules. "Whatever helps you, I guess," he had said. "It just seems a bit obsessive."
His Mum checks in periodically, hovering until Percy forces a mouthful of food down his throat. Every time she opens the door and breaks the noise dampening spell, he can hear the chatter and footsteps of who knows how many people passing through the Burrow. Out the window, he can see Weasleys and others—Order of Phoenix members? Aurors?—wander the premises. Arthur crosses repeatedly between the house and his back garden shed, which emits muffled bangs.
Percy had forgotten the chaos of this house, how the constant activity and absence of order sets him on edge.
Percy is examining the wall by the desk, committing the uneven topography of bumps and dips in the plaster to memory, when there's a firm rap on the door, different from Mum's gentle taps.
Ginny stands at the threshold, watching him with a confused expression on her face. "Uh." Ginny's eyes dart between Percy and the blank expanse of wall he had been charting. "What are you doing?"
"Now that," Oliver smirks, "is a loaded question."
"Nothing." Percy quickly sits on the bed, feeling the back of his neck turn red. "Nothing, I was just…checking."
"Okay…" Ginny is clearly unconvinced. "I have something for you. Here."
Ginny is holding a small brown bag with a thin strap; Percy would call it a purse if it didn't look so shabby. She twists open the metal clasp and reaches into the bag, and Percy watches in surprise as her arm disappears up to the elbow.
"Some clothes from Ron…" Ginny says, dropping a pile of garments on the bed. "Some books, those are from Bill…" she stacks several large, heavy books on the desk. "And some other stuff we thought you might use." Ginny piles scrolls of parchment, quills and ink, bottles of potion, handfuls of sweets, a bag of owl treats, a comb, and some other trinkets on the desk, all pulled from the tiny brown bag.
An Undetectable Extension Charm, and an excellent one. Percy struggled with that spell; once, a filing cabinet he had charmed apparently decided it no longer wished to be extended, and vomited a mountain of parchment out on his office floor.
He must have been staring, because Ginny holds the bag up. "Not bad, right? Hermione taught me. I've been trying to cast it on my pockets, but no luck yet."
"That's quite impressive."
"Thanks."
Percy expects Ginny to leave then, but instead she sits on the opposite end of the bed, her body angled toward him. She looks so much older than he remembers.
"Happy birthday," Percy says. "Belated."
"Which one?" Ginny asks, a sour edge to her voice. Percy flushes with shame; he had of course been missing her birthdays for years before the Death Eaters took him.
Ginny grimaces. "Sorry. That's not—" She swallows and starts again. "Yeah, I'm finally seventeen. No more being jealous of you lot being able to do magic while I can't."
"I can't believe you're of age now," Percy murmurs.
Ginny's lips turn upward into a small, exasperated smile. "Don't go talking about how you remember when I was in nappies, okay? I got enough of that from Bill."
"I remember the first time you stole Mum's wand, when you were five. You tried to transfigure one of the garden gnomes into a cat." An unfamiliar warmth glows in Percy's chest at the memory.
"I wanted a pet cat." Ginny says simply, as though the actions of her five-year-old self made good sense. "Remind me, how'd I do?"
"Mum was able to get the fur off the poor thing. It did develop a tendency to hiss, if I remember correctly." Mum had given Ginny quite a scolding that day, but Fred and George had been thrilled with her rule-breaking initiative. Percy remembers that it was around that age when Ginny started joining in with the twins' pranks and jokes. The warmth of the memory cools.
A moment of silence passes before Ginny speaks. "Sorry about earlier, Perce," she says. "They should have told you what happened to Fred. That was rubbish."
"It's fine," Percy responds automatically. "You should have been there, you coward, then you would have known what happened."
"It's not," Ginny says firmly. "Everything's been a mess. But I wanted to say…" she scoots a bit closer to him. "I am really happy you're okay, Percy. We all are. Can I give you a hug?"
Percy can hear the familiar voices, snarling that she doesn't mean it, she's lying and she really wishes he were dead. And when Bill and Charlie had moved to touch him, all he'd felt was fear of being trapped, immobilized, hurt. But this is his baby sister. He nods.
Ginny reaches out and slowly puts her arms around him. Her embrace is straightforward and confident, much like the sister he remembers.
Percy manages to lift one trembling arm to hug her back. He has to fight to keep his tears from spilling into her fiery red hair.
Ginny pulls away and Percy quickly wipes at his eyes. "Are you, uh," he casts about for something to say. "Shouldn't you be at school? How many N.E.W.T.s are you taking?"
"Of course that's what you're worried about," Ginny says.
"You always have to be such a bore, don't you?" Oliver mutters.
Percy stiffens, expecting Ginny to taunt him, but she doesn't seem angry or disgusted—maybe a bit amused, at worst.
"I'm just going for six, so yours and Bill's record is safe." She sighs. "It's going to be bloody difficult, actually. I'm trying to finish by next summer, but we hardly learned anything last year, with the Death Eaters running Hogwarts."
"Oh." Percy feels ill at the thought of his sister getting lessons from Death Eaters, but he pushes on. "I can assist you with any of your N.E.W.T.s, of course. As a matter of fact, I was just—" He stops himself.
"Just what?" Ginny asks.
"Go on, Perce. You were about to tell her you've been reciting your N.E.W.T. syllabi for three hours while you count nails in the floorboards."
"Percy?" Ginny prompts, looking a bit alarmed. "Are you okay?"
"I was—I was—" Percy stammers.
"Now you've done it, she can tell you've gone mental—"
"I was saying I could help you," Percy blurts out. "I got nine N.E.W.T.s, you know."
"I'm a right pompous prat, you know," Oliver mimics.
"I remember." A frown creases Ginny's face. "Thanks, Percy. That's…nice of you."
Percy turns away from her, embarrassment burning under his skin. "I don't want to keep you from your studies. You should return to Hogwarts."
"I was planning on staying here a few more days."
"That's not necessary," Percy replies, gaze fixed on the floor. "You shouldn't miss your lessons."
"Okay, Perce," Ginny says softly. "I'll keep that in mind." She continues to sit next to him on the bed, not speaking. Percy doesn't look at her.
Eventually, mercifully, Ginny stands. "I'll let you rest, then. Let us know if you need anything else."
Percy watches her leave. Instead of Oliver, mocking him for his arrogance, he finds himself imagining Penelope. Penny is sitting at the desk, looking over the supplies Ginny brought.
"How considerate of her. And what fantastic spellwork. I always liked Ginny."
Percy balls his shaking hands into fists. He shouldn't respond to his hallucinations. He knows that.
"You made her promise to keep it a secret when she saw us together, do you remember? When she was only a first year, with that evil diary eating her alive. Do you think she still would have been taken into the Chamber of Secrets, if you hadn't forced her to lie to everyone?"
Percy usually imagines Penny as she had been while they were dating, unapologetic in her ambition and brilliance, but also compassionate and kindhearted. But sometimes his guilt swallows him whole and he can't summon that version of her. And when that happens, her calm, frank damnations are so much worse than any of Oliver's boyish mockery.
"You should enjoy their kindness while it lasts, Percy. It's going to be different, when they find out what you did. What you let happen."
Percy imagines Penny turning to face him. She no longer looks like when they were dating, a lively young woman with bouncing curly hair. Her hair is limp, her face bloodless. Her once intelligent eyes are glassy and blank.
A cold, sick feeling roils his stomach. "I'm sorry," Percy whispers. He returns his attention to counting cracks in the wall. "I'm so sorry."