Stay A Day in My Coffin

Chapter Eight

The Fall


"Percy was my best friend," Penelope finally said. "I loved him. There's nobody out there in the world—apart from his wife—that loves him like I do." She paused. "Did." He supposed that he should explain that it might-be-temporary-might-be-permanent, but the words got stuck into his throat. "He was…"

"An absolute prat?" Fred supplied.

"A monumental git," Penelope added on. She sipped her own butterbeer. Percy hated butterbeer, but he seemed to like the one from this place. Fred could remember that much. He could remember being here before, talking to her. But he didn't get that dizzy feeling that he got when he saw Audrey. "A thoughtless arsehole."

"Perfect Prefect Pretender," Fred nodded.

"Butterbeer non-drinker."

"Jumper non-wearer."

"Muggleborn family loser-er."

"And…and a broomstick racer?"

He noticed the way that Penelope's face changed. She looked at him in distaste, but then produced a sigh. She nodded her head, to confirm what Fred had already known. "Yeah," Penelope rested her head onto her shoulder. "Imagine my surprise when I found out that bloke that says he'll sprain his wrist if he touches a broomstick in front of Hooch chooses to race around London faster than a Chinese Fireball. But with bloody obstacles and it's in the middle of the night." She stirred around her drink, and Fred did too. He could remember how smooth it tasted like. How uncarbonated. How sweet, how cold, how familiar. "Do you know how broomstick racing works?"

Fred had heard. "Each rider with their broomstick, which they have to jack with more speeding charms than what's probably normal," he'd heard that brooms became unstable if you charmed them too much. He'd heard of broomsticks exploding and riders that have caught fire. "And they have to manoeuvre through obstacles down to a finish line."

"Obstacles," Penelope echoed. "Like flaming dragons and your broomstick combusting in the middle of the ride."

Fred couldn't imagine Percy riding a broomstick, much less racing with a broomstick.

"Your brother had a death wish."

"Yeah," Fred swallowed the lump in his throat. "He did."

Penelope shook her head, twisting one of her corkscrew curls into her finger. Her nails were painted. They were a faint pastel green. "I know why Percy can't remember where he left that family." Her lip wobbled and there was a glassy look into her eyes. "I shouldn't have given him that responsibility when I know that he's…"

"Depressed?" Fred just shrugged. That was the only thing that he could think of.

Penelope just looked at Fred with a pitying expression. "We had a massive fight before." She admitted.

"What about…oh. Don't bother."

"Don't bother what? Fred?"

Fred grabbed her hand so tightly that he could feel her pulse. Threading. Throbbing. "I think I remember. I'm in Percy's mind, remember? I think I can remember."

"Oh…okay." Penelope looked confused. "Okay."

It came to him like a flash of light, white and bright and scorching his eyes. He was transported into another pub, in another time, in another place. Percy, having just left the house after having fought with his father. Percy, in the pub at around two in the morning with a Penelope that was chattering on and on about hospital procedures and her engagement to a bloke that Percy couldn't give a rat's arse about. Percy, confused and angry and terrified because he had no idea where he was supposed to live. Percy knew that he was steaming drunk even though he'd only had a few drinks. The liquor hit him hard, and he found himself both elated and depressed, dizzy and floating and confused. He could practically smell the liquor evaporating in his breath. And above everything else, he was fuming.

The fight replayed into Percy's mind. Fred had never thought how it was like from Percy's point, but now, he was getting his pay-per-view, first in line, watching a muggle film play out. He could hear the rolling credits.

Percy could remember the beginning details better than Fred could ever have. He remembered what colour barrette that their mum had in her hair, what kind of shoes that their father wore and what Ginny had been talking about before The Fight. He could feel that swell of pride in his body, his very exhausted body now come to think of it. He could remember the days of paper-on-paper-on-paper, the countless hours that he'd spent in the Ministry. For this, he'd thought. I did it for this. There is nothing more important than this. He took a deep breath, and there was that buzzing excitement, the same one that he knew that Percy got when he was about to hold a broomstick and take off, the same one that he and George had when they were trying their new completed product, the same one when everything was alright in the world and there was nothing that could destroy that. I did it. I did this.

"You look happy, Perce," Fred froze because so far in these memories, he'd never heard himself speak. "Let me guess…someone finally remembered your name at work!"

"Got yourself another sample of Norwegian fertiliser to show off?"

"Did you get a new shiny new book?"

"Or a shiny new girlfriend to replace Penelope after she broke up with you?"

There was a prickle of irritation when he heard the twins speak. The same one that they had when Percy spoke. Percy's ears just went red. He felt deflated almost. No, you can't ruin this for me, he thought. Fred almost thought it was funny in a way because he knew what happened next. He could feel Percy gritting his jaw so that he wouldn't say anything. Life is not just fun and games, he thought, referring to the twins. And I've grown past that, so you should too.

There he was. Their git brother that they fucking knew and loved so well. Fred was plenty grown up now. Grown and dead and in a hole in the ground. George? He could probably never look at himself in the mirror without losing it. He felt a little bit of contempt. Just because Percy was such a stuck-up didn't mean that they had to be too. Didn't mean that they had to 'grow up' just because Percy thought the world revolved around himself.

"No," was all that Percy said, but then he deflated. There was this jealousy that Fred could feel pouring out of him.

Just because you two could do whatever you want doesn't mean that everyone else could too. And just that ticked Fred off. What did he mean by that? Because Fred and George wanted to open a joke shop, not be involved in illegal broom races that would give his mum an aneurysm! The nerve of this fucking git and his privilege!

"Aw, too bad," George had a mock look of pained shock. Fred would give anything for that George right now.

Percy just gritted his jaw too tight. Not today, was all he thought. "I have an announcement to make."

He forgot how much like an absolute tool Percy sounded like. This was more like the Percy that they all knew and absolutely loathed. The one that wouldn't ever decide to do something for anyone other than himself.

"I…" Percy looked down at his plate of food. Now that Fred was in his body for some time, he knew that Percy couldn't care less if he were eating dragon dung or mashed potatoes. Why bother? Nobody cares.

Nobody cared about the amount of work he'd put in. Nobody cared about the fact that he had to force himself to read half the stuff that he did for his job. Nobody cared about the fact that it was important to him that he got where he did. Nobody cared about what he thought was important. Nobody cared about how he'd felt like when his whole department was being under investigation and he'd come home every night, thinking that his whole world had crumbled into nothing. Nobody comforted him. Nobody held him. Nobody even liked him.

Percy was staring at his plate for ages. His heart felt so heavy. Nobody knew how much he felt.

"Yes, Perce? This century maybe?" Ginny asked.

"I got a promotion," Percy had been practically muttering. In Fred's mind, in his memory, Percy had been puffing his shoulders, proudly announcing that he had a bloody promotion. In Percy's mind, he was sinking so far into his chair that he could barely look at his plate without feeling disgusted and ashamed. How did that get misconstrued?

"What did you get, Perce?" Fred had playfully pushed him by his side. "An erection?" he whispered into his ear.

Oh, for fuck's sake! Percy sat up straight and that was when he started puffing his chest and holding his head high. "I got a promotion," that sounded more like what Fred remembered. "I'm going to be junior assistant to the Minister of Magic." Even as Percy was talking, he felt like he was filling himself up with hot air. It was like he wanted someone so desperately to congratulate him. He could barely believe himself as he was saying those words. There was that twinge of pride in his chest. I did this. I worked so hard every day. I barely came home. I fought with mum every day for ages because I was turning up at three in the morning, he thought. "It's a very prestigious position." I deserve this.

And Fred was holding his breath because he didn't want to know. He didn't want to know what Percy was thinking.

"I'm sure it is," Arthur said with a tone of disdain and went back to his plate.

He didn't want to see this fight from Percy's point of view. He was scared he'd side with him. He was scared that after all this time, if he'd known how Percy had felt, he would've sided with him. And that was gut-wrenching because they'd gone off on the terms that Percy had to forgive them.

"You might've forgiven him, but it doesn't mean that he has to forgive you." Audrey's words hung into Fred's mind, looming over him like a threat. Because she'd known all along. She'd bothered to figure out what happened that night.

This feeling of disappointment just started to form into Percy's body, and he felt like he was crushed. He felt like he was just in the lead in a broomstick race just before he'd been knocked off his broom. He felt like he landed chest first and his heart had just shattered into a million pieces.

Percy was disappointed at Arthur for not caring. He was disappointed in himself for thinking that Arthur would care. And he was fuming. He was fuming that this dinner was going on and everyone was eating when he felt this crushed.

Not anymore, Percy straightened his back. He was biting down on his lip so hard, just so that he wouldn't say anything. Why is everyone else getting on with their life, but I have to stay this bloody miserable? How dare you reject me?

I will give you a chance, Percy shifted his eyes from one corner of the room to the next. To say the right thing.

"Is that it?" came out of Percy's mouth before he really had a chance to say what he meant.

What was the right thing? Fred was getting irritated at how Percy was flopping between being this super fragile little baby, and his angry git self. Fred didn't know how to feel.

"Well, yes, that's it, unless you want me to tell you how I really feel about that," Arthur's statement infuriated him.

It actually surprised Fred how fuming Percy got in seconds. He clung onto his spoon so hard that his hand felt like it might break. He felt knots form into his empty stomach. He hadn't eaten all day, which apparently was normal for his mental brother that only ate when he realised that he needed food to function.

"What do you mean by that?" and that was when Fred remembered looking up from their dinner. He could remember eating it pretty clearly now. He could remember how buttery his mum's pie was and wondered what in Merlin's name Percy was getting on with now. He had no idea that it was going to turn out the way that it did.

"Well…" he forgot how quiet his father sounded like. Merlin, his father was a saint. "Don't you think that it's a little odd that they'd be offering you a promotion when…after what's happened with Crouch?"

"After what's happened with Crouch?" after I've mucked that up, you mean? Percy thought mindlessly. Fred didn't know, but he had recounted that meeting with Crouch into his mind. Crouch, who had let him in, congratulated him for keeping a department afloat when the Department Head was out of order. Fudge, who waved off the fact that Percy hadn't noticed how Crouch was like ('the man was always a little batty in my opinion' was his words), but his father had to bring it up? His father, who knew nothing at all about what he did all day, thought that he had the privilege of giving his opinion? That he didn't think that he deserved his own promotion? How was I supposed to have known? I was his assistant. I wasn't living with the man. I barely knew him beyond how he treated me. And a possessed man treated me BETTER than you ever did.

Fred was terrified at Percy's thinking. How the hell could he genuinely believe that some guy that didn't even know his own name, that couldn't be bothered to know, treated him better than his own father? He was out of order himself.

"You know what's happened with Crouch—you don't need me to remind you," Arthur waved off dismissively. Percy just stared at him, thinking back to how nobody helped him when he was being brought in for questioning. His mind was running about a thousand thoughts per hour, and not a single one of them was normal or rational or even just marginally nice. "Besides, I wouldn't trust Fudge's judgment about these things." Percy felt personally attacked because Fudge's judgement was to hire him. "And you know how Fudge is like about Dumbledore. I wouldn't put it past him that-that…he'd be using you to get close to the family. Knowing how the family is so close to Dumbledore."

"Of course," Percy plainly replied. "Dumbledore."

"Percy, I'm sor—"

Fred couldn't believe that they were going to go into this because Percy hated Dumbledore. He could tell that it wasn't something that he'd said out of the heat of the moment. He genuinely disliked Dumbledore. In fact, Percy in his mind was going on his own personal rant. Not everyone in this family sides with Dumbledore. That man is mental. He's not done anything about a troll being let into the school, just let Ron, Harry and Hermione figure that one out. Let half the muggleborns in the school be terrorised. Let my sister get traumatised by this whole Chamber of Secrets debacle at the age of eleven! And she needed Harry to come rescue her! Allowed a murderer to walk into the halls of Hogwarts—did Percy ever figure out that Sirius wasn't a convicted felon?

"Not everyone in this family sides with Dumbledore," Percy said in a pretty controlled manner, seeing as how his thoughts were just mental. Put my own siblings in danger. Let me sit half the night worrying that Ron was going to be killed because he's best mates with Harry bloody Potter. "In fact, you've never asked me."

"Nobody ever asks anything of you, Percy," George sneered.

"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur looked a little appalled.

Percy just felt deflated. Spend my life trying to look after these two and they'll never appreciate it. "I'm not being ridiculous."

Fred found it funny that poor neurotic Percy thought that they needed looking after! They'd never asked him to look after them. Just because he'd prevented a few faulty joke product disasters didn't mean anything. Fred and George had been self-sufficient from day one. If he wanted a project, he could've tried to reinvent mean ole Grease Face.

"Come on, Percival," again, his father, just calm, sweet man. "We can talk about this after dinner."

You never want to talk about anything. That hit…Fred a little more personal than just what he was talking about. It almost felt like this wasn't about Dumbledore, or Harry, or anyone. It almost felt like it was about him and Arthur.

"No, we can't," Percy was puffing out his cheeks. "I expected you to be pleased for me, but I suppose I was wrong."

"I am pleased for you, Percy," Arthur said in a manner that didn't sound like he was pleased for Percy one bit. "Let's just talk about this after dinner, because you're starting to sound a little naïve."

If there was anything that Percy hated, it was being called naïve. "I am not naïve. It's you that sounds a little naïve," Percy complained. Fred swore that he looked a little older in his mind—and he supposed that he was. But he looked like a child having a temper tantrum, not like the big older brother Percy that he'd always had in his mind.

Arthur took a deep breath. He was starting to get angry. "Harry said—"

"Harry is a child." Percy was acting like a child. "I love Harry, but he's just…the best source."

"That's not true!" Ron yelled. "Take that back, Percy! You take that back!"

"I'm sure your brother doesn't mean anything by that." And then there was his mum, always on Percy's side.

"Do you really believe all that stuff that they've said about Harry being crazy and looking for attention?" Ginny looked just as appalled. Fred remembered that part of the fight very well. His stomach was forming knots.

"Because well, isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" Arthur told Percy.

Fred couldn't remember his father saying anything about that. He could barely hear him through the clinking of the spoons, and Ron angrily talking about how much of a git Percy was. But he did.

"Excuse me?" Percy's reaction made Arthur's eyes widen.

He looked like he genuinely regretted what he said. "Percy—"

And Percy did too. "You don't speak for me. I'm not so far gone that I can't make my own opinions." It was personal. Very personal.

"You're turning this into something that it's not," Arthur's words still rung true today well into Fred's mind.

"Something that it's not?" Percy echoed incredulously. Yes, he was! Fred was sure Percy was turning this into a conspiracy against him. "You think that you have the whole Ministry figured out. You think that everyone is out to get you, but in fact, you're the laughingstock. You think you understand the way that I feel, but I had to struggle with your lousy reputation, and I have thrived despite that. You can't stand that I actually have goals beyond staying in the same department because you don't even want to try. You're happy that Bill had to give his hand-me-downs to Ron. That we mightn't have been able to afford new wands for Ginny. Or new shoes for the twins. Or at least you must be because you don't even try to change that."

"I am not happy about those things," Arthur was gritting his teeth.

Fred didn't remember Percy's rant being so lengthy, but it hurt him just the same. Because their father tried his best in excruciating circumstances. He had never given up on who he was. He worked long hours in the Ministry just so that they could grow up. But here Percy was acting like nobody was suffering except for him.

"Do you have any idea how much I've done for this family?" Arthur stood up from his seat, just as Percy had too. It was just as dramatic as Fred had remembered it. Even reliving it now, he was holding his breath.

What family? Percy thought. The one that makes fun of me all the time? Me, the CRAZY brother?

Fred really didn't think that Percy was thinking normally. He really was acting crazy. They were just having dinner and here was Percy, just making everything about himself and destroying their family. And Fred knew how much this was going to destroy their family. He knew how much he hated Percy for making their mum cry, for not visiting their dad in the hospital, for not even trying to reach out to them after he'd said some horrific things about them.

"Why don't you enlighten me?" Percy spurred him on. And it was like the muggle dominos that Hermione showed him because things just came crashing down. The fight was getting out of hand.

"Why don't you talk to me with a little respect? Or do you just reserve that for people you suck up to?"

Again, Fred didn't remember their father saying that, but it wasn't like he disagreed with it. Percy did suck up to his seniors. He made it pretty obvious too. Percy retracted like he'd just been punched in the face. Is that what you think of me? And here was Percy, drawling on in his head about how much of a victim he was.

"Did you do something to deserve my respect?" Percy raised an eyebrow.

The rest of them were so quiet, stunned. Fred remembered having words caught into his throat. How bloody dare he.

"Percival, love, why don't we just sit down and talk about this?" Molly edged on.

"I'm your father," Arthur reminded him.

No, you're not. You're Harry's father. You can't stand anyone saying anything a little bad about him, but you'd call me mental yourself. Percy thought in his mind. Well, you can adopt Harry. You can give him my old room—

"And you're supposed to be my son," Arthur continued.

Supposed to be? Well, what am I then?

Your next-door neighbour, Fred thought bitterly. He remembered how his mum had excluded him and George from the 'family' with that 'everyone in the family is a prefect now' speech. He knew that George was really ticked off about that.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," and here was Percy, genuinely voicing out his thought. But his self-hatred was buried underneath these layers of ego and that was all Fred could hear.

"I'm sorry too."

Arthur's words felt like they were a knife to his chest. But what you said about dad, that felt good to dad, right? Fred thought.

"Maybe I should just leave," Percy stated. And he said it with the hope that Arthur would disagree.

You don't want me. And here it was again, that stark self-hatred that always surprised Fred when he'd heard it. That's the truth. You don't want me in your life. You don't care about my opinion. You don't even like me. And there was Percy, holding in his breath. Fred knew that he looked like a complete git, but what was going on in his head was different. It was mental that Percy took a situation that he initiated and made these deviations out of thin air.

"Maybe you should," Arthur wasn't even joking.

"Arthur!" Molly looked at him like she was shocked at him for saying that. But she didn't at one time tell Percy that he was out of line. And there was no way that she would because Percy was her baby.

"I guess I'll just pack my things," Percy repeated. Fred didn't realise it now, but he supposed that Percy just said that because he was giving his father another chance to apologise.

"You should go now before it gets dark," Arthur mentioned.

Fred didn't remember the split being so mutual. He'd always thought that Percy was the one that stormed out, but no, here he was, walking upstairs very calmly. He packed his things very calmly, very slowly too, and because Fred was in Percy's mind, he knew he did that because he genuinely wanted someone to come up to him and ask him to stay. He didn't realise it at the time, but Percy packed a lot of things that weren't even his. Like Ron's Chudley Canons jumper. Ginny's favourite Weird Sisters CD. Charlie's old cast-off broomstick, which looked so bad for wear that even Charlie wouldn't attempt to use it. But Fred knew what he'd said that night, after Percy finishing packing his things, and he wasn't too proud of it.

"Good riddance," Fred had said as Percy was opening the door to the Burrow.

"Be careful, Perce. The streets are slippery when they're wet," George had said. Fred had forgotten that it had rained that day. In fact, he didn't remember until his mum had offered Percy an umbrella as he was leaving the door. He didn't meet their mum's eyes. "Hope you find someplace nice and warm for that big fat ego of yours."

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Percy was holing onto the doorknob so tight his knuckles were white.

"Is Percy gone yet?" and that was Ron, sounding just as sardonic as Fred had felt that day.

So, that's what you think of me, here Percy was, just spinning this tale in his brain that everyone hated him.

"This is ridiculous," Molly had told him, and he remembered Percy mumbling something under his breath. He didn't know what it was then. He'd always just assumed it was him mentioning how much he hated the house, or their mum, or said something degrading about his dad. But now, he finally knew what Percy had said that night.

"It's not ridiculous," Percy had whispered under his breath. "This is my life." And it's worthless.

And again, when Percy said that. Fred didn't get this feeling that he was talking about Fudge hiring him, or Dumbledore or how Harry was right or wrong about You-Know-Who coming back. It sounded like it was about him. It sounded like something that had happened between them, something that maybe they weren't talking about.

Fred had always wondered what Percy did on the day that he'd left, but he guessed that he didn't have to anymore.

He'd managed to apparate himself to Diagon Alley without splinching himself because he was in an absolute state. He went to the nearest pub and then bought himself drink after drink after drink. It was with the first drink that Fred knew that Percy realised that he hadn't eaten anything since noon that day, and his stomach was so empty. Drinking a single drink was enough to make lightweight Percy feel a little fuzzy and weird. And his drunken haze was just fuelled with even more self-hatred, the same thoughts in a loop, over and over again until even Fred felt like Percy was right.

Why doesn't anyone love me? Mum only feels bad for me. I can tell. I really am a stupid git. There's something wrong with me.

But the more that Percy thought, the darker that his thoughts became, and after his second drink, he was beginning to have tunnel vision.

The best thing that I did was leave. Now, everyone's happy, Percy's thought process continued. Maybe I should leave for good.

And that was when Fred really wanted to pull himself out of Percy's mind, because he was thinking of the most violent things that he could do to himself. At the same time, he was looking at the clock, as if his father, or their mother, or any of them would suddenly materialise and take him back home.

That was when Fred realised too, that all this time, Percy really believed that somewhere deep down, that someone would come to help him. That they'd apologise to him. That they'd take him back home.

But I really am mental. Nobody feels this way about me—not really. He'll come right now. He'll take me home. And then everyone would tell me that they love me, that they're proud of me. A part of Percy whispered like it was something shameful, to want to be told that he was loved. There wasn't a single thought in his mind about how he couldn't believe that their father sided with Dumbledore, or that he thought that Harry was mental for what he'd said. There wasn't even a thought about how much he deserved his promotions. It was like that whole fight came out of nowhere. But that couldn't be possible because you didn't say all that stuff unless you meant it. There was no way.

Percy really should've been cut off from alcohol after the second drink, but he did drink again. He was seeing a little fuzzy by the time that he'd left the pub, but the bartender didn't seem to think that Percy was too drunk to leave by himself because he'd only had three drinks and he wasn't really taking off his underpants. He could remember feeling like his head was so heavy and he felt so dizzy and unwell. And then there was this realisation that nobody was going to be coming for him (mostly, there was still this small part of him that hoped that they would.)

He remembered picking Charlie's broomstick out of his rucksack, that whole battered thing that couldn't sustain a five-year-old's weight, much less a grown man. But here Percy was, circling Diagon Alley like a nutter, holding a broomstick that wasn't even functional. And then he decided to use it at around three in the morning when he was still visibly intoxicated. Fred couldn't think of anything more reckless than that. You had to see the state of the broom. It looked like it could disintegrate into your hands. They wouldn't have used it, but here Percy was, flying on it, completely pissed, like he'd done so before. And he probably did because he was this super-secret broomstick racer—

Wait. Fred realised that he really was flying a little too fast, and that he seemed to be heading somewhere that Fred didn't recognise. But there was no way that Percy, even the least logical side of Percy, really thought that he could use his broomstick in a race like that when he was seconds away from falling off his broom.

The path lead to this meet-up in the middle of nowhere. The whole place was dusty and there was fog everywhere. Percy could barely see because he was wearing glasses. It had rained so heavily in that location that Perfect Prefect Percy's shiny loafers were absolutely drenched in mud the second that he'd gotten there. It looked like a Quidditch Pitch after a terrestrial rain. It was impossible to use (though it hadn't stopped Wood from trying.) And everywhere people were circling with broomsticks. Percy was there, in his mind, recounting the timings and venues and meet-ups for every broomstick racing event that he could think of. It was eerie how he could find a race going on at some part of London in a spur-of-the-moment decision, but here he was.

"Weasley, Weasley, Weasley," he heard a sound from behind him and a man clapping onto his shoulder. He was older than him and went by the 'name' of Tortoise. "I was hoping to see you here. I heard about your promotion."

Percy was biting down his lower lip to stop himself from saying: 'What promotion? Nobody cares.'

"I thought you'd be out celebrating with a few drinks—oh, whoops, looks like you already had," he had a deep laugh, and Fred supposed that he wasn't just older than Percy. He was much older than Percy, but he couldn't tell.

"Is there a point to this, Gary?" Percy sounded more acerbic than Fred thought he would.

"Ouch, my first name," he mock held his chest in fake pain. "You know, you shouldn't be racing that death trap with whatever you drank. It sounds like you have a death wish. Why don't I just…you know, take you home?"

I don't want you to take me home and I don't want your hands on me. Percy was barely listening to this guy. He was on another planet. I should just leave; Percy echoed that sentiment in his mind and flinched. Why did he have to suggest that? Why couldn't he just have stormed off in his room? Because he'd rather not know the truth.

The truth. Fred rolled his eyes. The truth was that he thought everyone was out to get him. Seriously?

Percy didn't take him up on his offer, obviously. "And when, pray tell, did I ask for your opinion?"

"Ouch," Gary playfully pushed his arm. "No, seriously, are you thinking of—"

"I'm here, aren't I?" Percy cut him off. Gary looked genuinely white like he thought that Percy would do something stupid if he got onto his broomstick. And Fred felt the same way. He knew that he hadn't died, but nothing bad had to have happened to him either, did it? If something bad had happened, they'd all know, wouldn't they?

"Yeah, I guess you are." Gary baulked.

"Well, then we have that settled."

The race actually started half an hour afterwards. Fred had always heard about how dangerous broomstick racing was, but he'd never really thought about it before. Percy had stayed in a corner and put some speeding charms on Charlie's disintegrating broomstick. Fred was sure it squeaked a little with every spell Percy used. Even when he was holding the broomstick in his hand, he felt like the wood was bending too easily, like it was too supple to support the weight of a person. But it was like all of these things weren't registering in Percy's mind as red flags because, in his mind, all he could hear was: Maybe I should just leave, followed by Maybe you should. And in Percy's mind, he'd misconstrued the idea of leaving his house with the idea that everyone wanted him to DIE. The thoughts terrified Fred more than he could ever explain. It genuinely sickened him to know that his older brother had lost the plot in the way that he did.

Lost the plot? Fred confronted himself. If Percy really had killed himself, you wouldn't think that he'd 'lost the plot', would you?

And Fred supposed that was true. He wouldn't think of something so horrifying and tragic in such offensive terms.

Percy was completely unfocused in the air. Everything around him was blurring so fast, and he was riding so fast. He literally didn't have a care in the world. He wanted something bad to happen to him, and Fred couldn't believe it. He was almost begging for his broomstick to just explode. He manoeuvred through obstacles like he had the intention of winning the race. Percy was racing so fast that Fred hadn't had a chance to contemplate what those obstacles were, or if he were in the lead. The whole world seemed to be such a passing blur. After about two minutes on his broom, Percy felt nauseated and sick. He could feel his hands get so clammy that he couldn't grip onto his broom no matter how hard he tried but he wasn't slowing down. If anything, he was going faster. He could feel like the broomstick was getting too hot under his hands, like it was going to implode.

GET OFF. GET OFF. GET OFF. Fred was shrieking at him.

Maybe I should leave. Maybe you should. Maybe I should leave. Maybe you should.

NO, YOU STUPID PRAT. GET OFF THE BROOM. It really was a death wish. Fred had no other way to describe it, and just as he felt like the broom was catching fire, like his hands were getting flayed off from gripping onto his broom, he pushed his broomstick off of him. Fred couldn't believe it. Percy literally pushed his broomstick forward and fell off his broom. On purpose. When he was Merlin-knew-how-many-feet-into-the-air driving with a velocity that was so fast that Fred didn't even know where he was. But when Percy was mid-falling, it was like everything had become sharp. There was this sadistic excitement, like a euphoria, in genuinely believing that he was going to snap his own spine and kill himself.

"PERCY! PERCY!" he could hear someone shouting. Gary, Fred reckoned. And he'd thought that he'd had to have swooped in and helped him, because a fall like that, there was no way that Percy could've survived that…could he?

But Fred vividly remembered falling and he vividly remembered his head meeting the ground and the crunch-crunch-crunch sound that it made afterwards. Maybe you should, he kept repeating. Maybe you should. In this swirly daze. He didn't even notice that he'd started crying until he was falling, but when his head had hit the ground, there was nothing. Everything had gone black.

Fred was stunned. He couldn't believe that Percy did that. That couldn't be real. That had to be some sick fantasy that Percy had brought onto himself, but then he could remember other things. He could remember waking up in the hospital in some part of England he didn't even recall. Where he was registered as John Doe, where they didn't have access to his file and created him a temporary ID card. He had fractured his skull and bled into it enough that he'd spent a few days in intensive care, and then been shifted to the ward. He remembered feeling this massive splitting headache whenever he lifted his head and throwing up whatever he drank or ate for the first few days. He wasn't very sure of what day it was most of the time. It looked like Percy had blurred all the days together. He'd had a letter mentioning that he was banned from competing in any more broomstick races. He remembered that Gary had written him a letter that Percy never read because he'd thrown it away.

I don't need anyone telling me what I can't or cannot do. I am not an invalid.

Nobody really cares that I've tried to kill myself. Nobody even knows.

He recalled how angry he was about how alive he still was, and he was moodier than ever. It was like Percy was living in a constant dark cloud where all he could think about was how everyone had wronged him by not letting him die, by not visiting him after he'd just tried to kill himself, by the fight somehow not rectifying himself after his suicide attempt. And that was a terrifying thought to be in, terrifying to be into Percy's mind when he thought like that. Fred just wanted to be out of it as quickly as possible because there was no way that you could live normally when you genuinely believed that people wanted to make you miserable because they didn't want you to die. And Percy flipped between that and feeling guilty that they had to waste hospital resources on him because 'he should've been dead'.

And then there was this other part of him that didn't really want to die. He just wanted to be cared for and respected and deep inside, there was this bubbling vat of insecurity he wouldn't have ever guessed that Percy lugged around with on a daily basis.

He'd written to Penelope a few days into his ward admission. Penelope looked like she'd wanted to tell his family, but Percy had refused her, threatened her, threatened himself too. It actually scared Fred to know that words like that had come out of Percy's mouth.

"A massive fight," Fred came back to reality. He was sure that it had only been a few minutes, but Fred felt like he was barely in his body anymore. He was relieved that he wasn't in Percy's mind anymore. "About how you wanted to tell my mum and dad that he fell from one of those broomstick races, blew his skull out and nearly died."

Penelope flinched. "Fred, you don't…you don't understand." She whispered.

"I do understand," Fred rubbed his neck. "I was in his head, remember?"

"I guess."

But now, Fred was intrigued anyway. "What did you want to say?"

"Percy was…he was different after that. He had—well, Percy had a really traumatic brain injury. Just because he was physically okay didn't mean that…" Penelope didn't finish that sentence. "He was—he was just so much more depressed. He was moody. He was unpredictable. But he was very, very forgetful. He forgot things. Like he forgot his own protective wards sometimes around the flat—I had to force him to write it down because he refused to believe that he'd actually forget them. He gets the past, present and future jumbled up. He spends days fixated on things that have happened in the past. His thoughts are all over the place."

"And you think that Percy really forgot where he put that family," Fred rationalised.

"He was getting so much better when I told him to do this. And we were in the middle of a war—it was just one family that I asked him to look after." Penelope rationalised herself. Fred had a sinking feeling in his stomach. "But I think that he did. I don't think that he remembers. And I think that he knows that he doesn't remember where he kept them. And I think that he…he probably didn't take not remembering very well either."

Penelope's gaze was on Fred's face, obviously waiting for his reaction.

"Fred?"

The bloody audacity of this woman.

"Fred, are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm bloody perfect," Fred finally said, his tone getting darker. "My brother threw himself off a broom on purpose and bled into his brain and you've never said anything?" he watched Penelope flinch. "How fucking dare you make that decision for us? He obviously didn't mind reaching out to you, and Percy was—is—was—ill. It's not his fault that he hadn't said anything. He was out of his mind, thinking that the whole world was against him and you…you let him live like that. You let my brother live like that and you just let him come back to us like nothing's ever changed when he'd been pushing his own mental, vengeful narrative all this time. When he should've been getting help! He had bloody irreversibly injured his head. And nobody fucking knew about it!"

Penelope flinched and just looked down at her feet.

"You're a great mate, Penny," he spat the last word out, the name that Percy would call her frequently. "Thanks."

"Fred, can we talk some more about this?" Penelope stood up but Fred was already just straight outside the door, seething out of his mind because how would she like it if the situations were reversed?

He felt a little hopeless because how could something like this happened to someone that you loved, and you had absolutely fuck-all about it? He knew that Ron had done some pretty shocking things with Harry. Maybe things that he'd never wanted to talk about. He knew that Bill probably went through harrowing ordeals, and Charlie had seen some things he'd never wanted to see. But to have your brother bleed into his brain to the point where he had long-lasting effects? If Charlie was involved in a fire that debilitated him if Bill had been attacked by a curse that turned him into an arsehole, they'd want to know then, wouldn't they? They had a right to know.

As Fred took in a deep breath, he realised that he had to come home. For real this time. And he had to talk to George. This silence had to end. They had to bridge their gaps, and that thought absolutely petrified him.