thanks to the reviewers that pointed out i posted this on the wrong fanfic (Patchwork, which is complete).

The Mother Who Cried Werewolf

Chapter Eight

Asthmatics Don't Like Pudding

"When can I go home?" was the first thing that Percy asked when he woke up from his nearly one-week coma. His voice was thick with his secretions. Thicker than they'd ever been.

Arthur looked up from the page of the Daily Prophet he was reading. The victim, the perpetrator or both? The headline said. Percy's arms were laid beside him, his tracheostomy tube looked so old even though it had been changed a few days ago (had it been a few days ago?). His eyes flickered here-there-everywhere.

Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny were in the room too. They'd been talking about something—Arthur was not sure what—but suddenly, they had turned so silent that you could hear a quill drop.

"Percy," Arthur stood up. The chair squeaked behind him. He was in disbelief. "Son."

Percy flicked his eyes from his father to the bottle of water beside him. When Percy reached out for it, Arthur took it away For Merlin's sake, the boy just came out of a coma. "The nurses said you can't have anything right now. That you might choke on it," Arthur said. There was a heavy tone to his voice. Percy's eyes were still on the spot where the water bottle had been, now clutched into Arthur's hand. "How do you feel?"

Percy ignored the question which was just as well because how was he supposed to feel?

"Water?"

"Percy, you can't have any water."

Arthur could barely look at him.

"Fine."

Arthur let out a sigh of relief. Percy shook his head and curled up against the bed. That was that.

"Whatever. I don't care," Percy said.

"You've done really well," Arthur said. "Percy, we nearly lost you. I thought you were…" he cleared his throat, offering him an unconfident smile. "You have a heart condition."

"Yeah, mate," Bill said. "That's why your legs are all swollen up."

Percy didn't even bother looking at Bill.

"When can I go home?" he asked.

"Not for some time I'm afraid," Arthur said. He stroked Percy's hair. It was damp, greasy, and he needed a good shower. He smelled a little ripe too, not that he'd noticed. Not that any of those things mattered. Arthur watched Percy surveyed the room before he relaxed, dropping his shoulders and propping his pillow up.

"We can get all your blankets from your room. All your things. It would be like you were at home."

Bill nodded his head keenly and apparated out of the room.

"When can I go home?"

"Percy."

"I want to go home."

"Percy, you'll die… you could've died."

Percy turned to the side, the way that he did when he tried to sleep. "I don't care," he said.

After Bill came back, they arranged everything the best they could. Percy was covered in blankets. Bill bought him a no-burn candle, a contraption that emitted smoke and heat when you took off the lid without any fire actually involved. That was good, wasn't it? Lightened up the atmosphere a bit. Made things look a bit better.

Even though Arthur resisted it, Ron and Ginny climbed into Percy's bed.

Ron had called him a twat and then spent his time cuddling beside him, and Ginny the same. They were chastised by the nurses for doing that, but after some time, they did feel bad enough for them and told them that Ron and Ginny could 'stay for just a bit'. Arthur wondered how it was so normal for them, to receive a fifteen-year-old boy blue and pulseless. How did they make sense of that? When Arthur still couldn't.

Arthur trying to make small conversation with him. He asked him if he was hungry, if the bed was comfortable, if the wires minded him so much, if he minded that there wasn't a window at all. Arthur hadn't really noticed how the sky looked like for a few days. Percy barely answered him. In fact, he barely looked at him. Maybe he was tired, or he just didn't want to talk at all. Arthur watched him change position every five seconds, pulling the blankets towards him as if trying to find out how he would like them to be.

"Percy," Arthur reached over to run his hand through his hair. "Son."

"I'm sorry," Percy said. Arthur wished that he hadn't said that. "Can…can I change clothes?" he gestured to the flimsy hospital gown he was wearing. "It's…cold."

As if it wasn't smack in the middle of winter.

Arthur looked down at the beaten holdall by his side and opened it. He poured out the contents of the bag. There were thick fuzzy pyjamas, sweatpants with loads of holes in them and massive tops that would swallow him whole. Percy picked a pair of fuzzy black sweatpants that looked like they'd seen better days and a brown fleece sweatshirt.

"I can help you if you—"

Percy pulled the sweatpants on without lifting up the blanket.

"I'm alright," Percy said.

He tore the back of his hospital gown and threw it to the side as if it was personally insulting him. With the way that he'd torn it, it was beyond use. He sat up straight. A trail of bruises laid behind Percy's ear that Arthur had never even noticed came into view. Arthur noticed in that second how rapidly Percy was breathing, his chest retracting with every movement he made. Before Arthur could insist on helping him again, Percy pulled the sweatshirt over his head in one smooth movement. He pulled the sleeve of his shirt, exposing the site of his arterial line. He gingerly pulled the wires out of his neck.

He leaned close to poor white-faced Ginny as he pushed the buttons on his bed until he was sat up. Click. Click. Click. Clickclickclick. Both Ginny and Ron looked uncomfortable with their heads propped up, but Percy let out a sigh of relief.

"What day is it?" Percy asked. "What month?"

"Tuesday? Friday?" someone guessed. "Think it's January."

"It's Friday. Second of January." A nurse said as she walked into the room. She had a scowl on her face, and bags under her eyes. Had that much time passed? Arthur wondered. "Happy New Year. Visiting hours are over."

On the fifth of January, Percy was shifted to the ward. That was when he met the love of his life.

Salted caramel pudding, brought by the nicest woman in the planet. She asked too many questions that Percy wasn't keen on asking, like why he was there (sick again, obviously), what his hobbies were (he barely had any) and if he wanted a job in a summer camp when he left the hospital.

He drowned out first and second years running around the paediatric mysterious magical ailments and diseases floor, talking about their Hogwarts houses and where they'd been sorted. The twins and the terrible twosome—Ginny and Ron, for context—had gone back to Hogwarts a few days ago. He bet that they were dutifully unprepared. He bet that they barely made it to the train on time. He wondered how many responsibilities they were shirking, or how many classes they weren't paying attention to. Sandy Clover's parents in bed nine complained about how her lunches weren't gluten-free, even though Sandy did not have coeliac disease.

His father visited him all the time. They talked about very little. Percy wished he was old enough to sign against medical advice.

As Percy ate his pudding, he ignored the beeps of the monitors beside him. High heart rate, low blood pressure, high blood puressure, low heart rate. He was living, he was dying, he was dead, he was alive. The mechanical machines giving out number after number incessantly boring into his skull and his father… is that normal? Is that alright?

"Do you want mine?"

Percy turned around to see who was asking him this question. It was the girl in the bed beside him. He leaned forward and pulled the curtain open without getting out of bed. Even a few days here, he still hadn't adjusted to the bright lights. The ward was sickeningly colourful. Pink, purple, green, yellow. Every colour under the sun. Eight-year-old boys and girls seemed to like it until they had to take their blood taken. Percy wasn't really sure if he enjoyed eye-scorching palettes.

There was a girl on the bed beside him. Percy let out a sharp inhale.

Besides Ginny, he hadn't really talked to girls before. He didn't really see Ginny as a girl because she was his sister. And it wasn't like she wasn't a girl-girl. She acted more like Fred and George than she did—

"Ow!" Percy said when he was hit by something. It was a carton of that pudding.

The girl was laughing.

"That's not funny," he said.

"It's hilarious."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not."

Percy put his pudding aside on the table beside him. On the table was also his half-read copy of Surviving the World: Tips and Tricks, a candle that had been mysteriously broken beyond repair and a stack of papers that his father had forgotten the day before (that were full of bad spelling, Percy would like to add).

"You're one of those tortured souls," she said. She was gesturing to his book.

"Pardon?"

"Tortured souls."

"You don't even know what it means."

"I do!"

"Ah huh," Percy said. "Well, alright. Why don't you tell me?" he placed a hand on his hip and raised an eyebrow at her. There was a smirk on his face.

"Ugh."

"You don't know."

"You know—tortured soul. Like…um…someone who is in a lot of torment," she said.

"We're in a hospital. Isn't everyone here in a lot of torment?"

"No!" she waved her arms around in dispute. "I'm quite bubbly and sweet. Not tortured at all."

"You assaulted me with pudding."

"You eat like five a day," she said. It had nothing to do with what he said.

Percy snorted. "What are you? My mother?" he asked. He wondered why his eating habits was the subject of every person in his life, even strangers.

"My name is Audrey Brown," she said. "What's your name?"

"Percy Weasley," he had no idea why he had to add the last name. The red hair and freckled skin usually did the job. He took in her appearance. He hadn't really been paying attention. She looked…alright, he supposed. Brown hair, little bit untidy. She left her slippers on her bed, so he supposed she didn't mind being uncouth.

"Hey, Percy," she said. "Why are you here?"

"I have a heart condition," he said. He couldn't sound any less interested if he tried.

"Yeah, I heard." If she knew then why did she ask? "I think you need a heart transplant. Eventually, I mean."

"So they say."

"You don't sound really worried for someone that has a failing heart," Audrey said. "I just have asthma."

"You don't sound really worried for someone that is struggling for breath," Percy said. "I just have heart failure."

"I hate you."

Percy grabbed his book and turned around so that he could hide his—

"Wow. Is that a smile? I don't think I've seen one on you since you've been here!"

"Ha ha ha."

He flung a pillow at her bed. But then he asked for it back because he wanted to take a nap.

That afternoon, Percy slept relatively well. He took his potions with due diligence. He sat still whilst they fixed heart monitors and took echocardiographs. Over the last few hours, he laid still as they rubbed gel around his chest and manoeuvred pink wands around his heart. Thump, thump, thump, thump, he watched his image of his heart projected by wand, pumping, pumping, pumping, stretching, straining, rejection, regurgitating. Meanwhile, Dylan Mack from bed six across from him with the post-potion-ingestion chemical pneumonitis told him he looked like a bent git.

As his visiting hours were itching closer and closer, Percy kept rearranging his space and trying to finish the chapter he was reading. He found himself staring at the same paragraph that he had for days.

What do your happy memories look like? The chapter asked, going into flowery descriptions of new experiences, of things they'd seen, of luxurious vacations. Percy didn't have a dragon reserve he dedicated his life to or a desert with Egyptian tombs. had never been outside of England. Merlin, he'd barely been outside of his house.

He closed his eyes instead and thought of chilly winter morning sat in front of a fireplace. The way his hair turned blonder in the summer, and he felt a bit lighter as he ran around the house trying to catch his flying books. Aunt Muriel gave him a whole twenty Galleons for his sixth birthday, telling him to save it for something special. Nights spent cracking riddles with his toy light-up wand. If he got one wrong, his book tried to bite him and tell him off. Dreams of how it would be like when he'd finally went to Hogwarts—if he'd be smart, or funny, or have a lot of mates. If teachers would like him, if Bill and Charlie would teach him Quidditch. Warm days spent petting Errol for hours, feeling how soft he was, how small he was, feeling his little owl heart pump against his fingertips.

Arrested development, his book had said a few times in the way that parents talked about You-Know-Who. The end of mankind. The thing to be wary of. Arrested development.

His last happy memory was six months ago. His mum had been too sick to come to his room and he hadn't been to the hospital in almost two weeks. He almost believed that he was on summer holiday like everyone else had been; as if he'd needed a holiday from doing nothing all day long.

Percy's whole life was in arrest.

He turned to the next chapter. It was titled, where to go from now?

Before he could find out, his book had been ripped out of his hands by a panting asthmatic that, if he correctly heard a few days back, was deadly allergic to strawberries. He may in heart failure, but he could eat a trifle without dying, he'd give himself that. She made herself comfortable on his bed, sitting her arse down onto his swollen legs.

"Hey!" he waved his arms around theatrically. "This is my bed!"

"Yes, I can see that," she said. "It has your name on it," she gestured towards the name board on the wall behind him. The ink magically appeared the second that Percy sat his arse down onto the bed, and it was written in the gaudiest purple that he'd ever seen. It didn't help that he'd been made to wear hospital gowns again and all they had was a pair of pink heart-patterned ones that had his prostate out on display from how short it was. During visiting hours, bed one's parents were sure that that 'girl at bed four' looked quite a lot like a bloke. Hilarious.

"Why do you get a blue hospital gown?"

"I was here before you. I got to choose," she said. "I think the blue brings out my eyes." She batted her eyelashes, and he thought about suffocating her with his blue pillow. "Do you think I look pretty, Percy?"

"I think that you need a haircut."

"Says the guy that really, really needs a haircut."

"Funny."

"I know. Mum tells me I'm hilarious all the time," Audrey said. "I've never seen your mother visit. I mean—your dad comes here all the time. And your brothers and sister. But I've never seen your mother visit. Is she…is she okay?"

Percy winced. "It's complicated," he said. "Our relationship is complicated."

"She doesn't care that you're sick?"

"I wish."

Percy felt breathless talking about it. His whole body ached, and his eyelids felt heavier. He was back in his room, hooked to wires, watching people live his life when he was stuck in this terrible room in this terrible house by himself.

"You wish that your mother doesn't care about you?" Audrey asked in disbelief.

Care about me?

"She cares about me being sick. She doesn't care about me," Percy said. "Those are completely different entities."

"How can it be different? If she cares about you being sick, then she cares. About you."

"No, that's not true."

"Maybe you should give her a chance."

"She likes it when I'm sick," Percy said. His tone rising by the second sentence. He felt his blood starting to boil for a few seconds before he realised. He realised how mental he sounded like. I'd like a psychiatric opinion on Bed Four. He says his mother is against him. Without mentioning everything else, without mentioning the drugging, the unsolicited one-year feeding tube, the mysterious fractures in the middle of the night.

"That can't be true," Audrey said. Naïve, he thought. "No mother wants to see her child be sick."

"I'm sure you're right."

"There's no need to talk to me like that."

Percy half-smiled. Molly would've said something like that.

"Besides, you're really lonely," she said. "I bet having your mother around would make you feel better. Your family keeps talking about her. The littler ones at least. I think that they miss her a lot, but something happened between you two that makes it so that she can't come back home. Right? So…I think that things could be good if you tried to."

"And you think that the cure to that is to have a wonderful relationship with my mother?" he asked.

"I think it'll help."

Percy threw the pudding cup she gave him at her and she caught it mid-air, breaking into laughter. She threw herself on top on him, almost knocking him out of his own bed in the process. He let out a sharp inhale, feeling a searing pain in his ribs.

"Oh, Merlin, are you okay?" she asked as she shook his shoulders. "You're not dead, are you?"

"Unfortunately not."

"Ever the optimist. Now, you understand what I mean by tortured soul?"

"You could just call me a pessimist."

"Well, I'm going to go get some help."

She got out of his bed, tossing blankets everywhere. He clutched his ribs, feeling woozy from the pain. In her loose blue hospital gown with the back mostly exposed enough that he could see her underpants, she ran out of the door.

"Your knickers are out!" he said after she left.

"Shut up!" he heard her voice echo from the hallway.