edit, October 3rd: Fred has revised this chapter. corrections to grammar has been made.
Chapter Two
Percy's feet felt like they had been jabbed by small pricks. One branch dug into his ribs when he had been trying to run, and he was bleeding coarse thick, red blood for a while now.
He had no idea where he was, but he was far away from home – deep in the neck of the woods.
The girl that was walking with him – Penelope Clearwater – was tired too, feet both red and brown from blood and dirt. There was a stream a few minutes away, and the water was charmed to stay fresh as many of the streams in the woods were these days. The fish, however, were small and scarce.
Percy glanced at the beautiful blonde. Her skin seemed so soft. She had light, innocent eyes and a body that had begun to curve due to the excessive fat that she was carrying. Curvy or not, Percy found himself enticed simply because she was a girl. He hadn't ever talked to a girl that wasn't his mum.
Right now, far away from his house, he felt safe, and the safety reminded him of how tired he was. He was starting to feel genuine hunger prickling and twisting about in his belly.
Penelope sat on a rock, placed her head in her hands and cried for a few minutes.
Percy tried to restrain his own need to cry and beg for home. His body was pulsating with dull aches and colicky cramps. Everything hurt from all the running. With hunger in mind, Percy looked through his bag. He'd stolen some food from Charlie and Bill's rooms before he disappeared, and some more food from downstairs because he was not too sure of how long he'd be walking out in the open.
He pulled open his bag, and picked up one of the big custard tarts he had taken with him. Somehow, they were in one piece, but he supposed that his mum had charmed them to stay intact considering, well, the twins...blimey, the twins! Who was going to take care of them now?
You've come this far. You're not turning back just to have your face painted blue in the morning by those out-of-control nine year olds, are you? The logical part of him chimed. Besides, think of how much trouble you'll be in for leaving!
Percy moved towards Penelope and offered her a custard tart.
"Typical," she said, as she picked up the custard tart from his hands and took a bite almost instantly. "You boys see a girl crying and think that the only way to make her feel any better is to offer her sweets!"
Percy raised an eyebrow, "Well, you're eating it, aren't you?"
She chuckled, and looked away, cheeks rosy as a grin spread across her face.
"And you're smiling, aren't you?" Percy added on in his stern-like voice, before smirking, "Therefore, I conclude that I'm very right in believing that sweets might make you feel less poorly."
"You're bloody awful!" Penelope decided, scoffing down the last of the tart. "Have you anymore?"
Percy looked over at his bag, and offered her two more of his custard tarts.
She blushed and picked them up from his hands. They were big, but she seemed to be hungry. Penelope slowly chewed onto the base of one of the custard tarts, allowing it to break and melt into her mouth. She looked pleased as she ate.
She was laughing by the end. A drab of custard sat on her lips, which she wiped away with her tongue.
Penelope then asked, "Why are we running away from Aurors? We didn't do anything wrong. In fact, you're a hero, aren't you? You...you saved me from Alec Lestrange! My father has been trying to find him for ages. My father, the one that put him in Azkaban in the first place, but..."
She paused, looking down. "Lestrange found me."
A smile found its way to her lips, "But then you did, and you..." she shook her head in absolute amazement. "Really! You did the Auror's job for them. I'm not stupid. He was going to kill me. Everyone knows what Alec Lestrange is, and what he does. Everyone knows what he did—what he did to those girls. How he cut them into pieces, like they were bits of paper."
"You really think so?" Percy suddenly asked in a soft voice.
His cheeks were red by then. A hero? Him?
Penelope nodded her head. "Yes!" she then added on, "I think if I spoke to my father, he'd be able to give you an Order of Merlin for being so courageous and bold! Your family will be so happy!"
Percy paused for a few moments, and looked down at his feet, "I don't have a family."
Penelope's suddenly cheerful expression disappeared. "What do you mean you don't—?"
"I just don't!" Percy's voice was highly defensive, and he was obviously upset.
Penelope still had one more custard tart in her hand, and she was staring at it for a while. She offered it back to him, and he rolled his eyes. He did take it though, simply because he was absolutely famished. As he chewed, he found himself missing the safety of his house. He remembered how his mum used to heat up those custard tarts, and put dabs of her homemade strawberry jam on top, or those times she put lashings of double cream on special holidays.
He suddenly found himself wanting nothing more than to turn back and go home.
"Maybe it really just works on me," Penelope announced, noticing his lack of smiles after he consumed the tart, which didn't weigh heavy at all in his belly like usual, "or maybe it's because you're always grumpy."
"I am not," Percy insisted, feeling despondent. He remembered Charlie saying that to him last Christmas.
He stood up from where he had been sitting, and flipped his bag over his shoulder. The trail seemed to stretch on for days, and he had no idea where his final destination would be.
Penelope rolled her eyes, and walked alongside him. "Where are we heading?"
"Down that trail," he was gesturing down the path they were taking. It seemed to have less Whomping Willows than the other paths and it seemed clearer. The woods were abundant with ticks and pixies at the moment. It would be a hard journey.
She shook her head, saying an "I know that" in a matter-of-fact tone before adding on, "I mean why are we taking the path that we're taking? Why are we running away from Aurors? We could've just stayed there. I recognised the Auror—"
"Why did you follow me?" Percy suddenly cut her off.
Penelope seemed stunned at this question, and found herself smiling. "I followed you because I was scared, and thought you'd keep me safe."
"We're safe, aren't we?" he suddenly asked, ducking from a tree branch. His feet were killing him.
Penelope, again, seemed rather surprised by his question, "I...I suppose we are."
She didn't say anything for a few minutes. He could feel her eyes on him, examining him. Percy didn't know what she was thinking of – his frame, his eyes, or his hair. He did not know if she was able to tell who he was by his freckled skin and red curls.
"You're not like other boys, are you?" Penelope suddenly stated before adding on, "You don't just sit at home, playing Exploding Snap and Quidditch now, do you?"
"I despise Quidditch," the redhead stated. "And I don't understand why people play Exploding Snap."
He did not know what to expect when he told her this. He looked back and saw that her eyes were a lighter blue somehow, and she seemed to be rather joyful for a girl that was stuck in the middle of nowhere with the most boring Weasley on the planet.
He felt himself go sluggish as he walked alongside her. When he could not take it anymore and they seemed to be far away from where they had started, he found himself collapsing to the ground, eyes red and body aching. Percy's head was heavy, and he found himself immediately placing his head in his lap and attempting to sleep. Suddenly, he realised how much he missed his rickety bed, and his dusty pillowcase. He missed how the floorboards of his room squeaked as he walked. He missed the smell of his irregularly shaped bookcase which was made very poorly by Charlie and Bill as a birthday gift.
Penelope laughed and shook her head. "I suppose I could go for a nap."
"Oh, yes," Percy muttered, yawning as he pressed his head against a log. He was too tired to care about his feet in the mud, and his hair on unhygienic wood. "An eight hour nap should suffice."
That was when Percy fell asleep to the sound of her laughing.
MOLLY woke up that morning exceptionally early, as she always did. She often would chat merrily with herself as she made breakfast.
Today, she could barely keep track of her own thoughts. A swarm of guilt filled her chest first thing that morning as she apathetically cooked sausages. Her mind flickered to the previous night. She felt so terrible about what happened to Percy, especially when she felt like she might have been putting far too much strain on him. He was a ten-year-old boy, taking care of his nine-year-old brothers.
Yesterday, she got him a book when she was out in the shops and, in that same day, he told her that he had thrown away all his books...which didn't sound like her son at all.
Percy had always loved books. She'd often find him in his room in the morning, rereading those six lone books that he had. When he was younger, he was so alone. She'd entrusted him with the task of taking care of the twins, to bond with them – so that they could bring life to his exceptionally pale, freckled body.
That morning, she found herself trudging upstairs with the new book in her hand.
She wanted to give it to him anyway. Perhaps, he'd have changed his mind about not wanting books anymore. Well, she certainly hoped. It was a good book too, she was told, something about ships, sailors and how the full-moon ate the sailors' ships as it rose.
She knocked on the door, calling her son, "Percy."
When there was no response, she jammed the door open. Usually, at this time in the morning, he would be sitting on his bed, wide-awake and writing drivel with his sugar quills in a rather haphazard fashion. He'd be muttering to himself about something (she didn't really know what per se) as he rubbed his temples.
"Percy?" she called out loudly, as she walked inside the room.
The bed was empty, stripped and made. There was no sign of him in his own room. She kept the small blue book close to her, as she searched the bathrooms, the other boys' rooms, Ginny's room, and went down to the garden outside where the sun was beaming brightly. She checked the house twice – then thrice – before she realised that there was no sign of little Percy anywhere. He had simply vanished!
A few minutes in, true panic started to settle into her bones. That was also when she realised there were things missing from Percy's room.
Molly went back into the kitchen and saw that her husband was standing beside the counter, stirring in some sugar in his milky tea. He looked content with his life, as he hummed in merriment. "Molly, darling, you've got to apply a charm to prevent these eggs from burning. They were nearly about to burn—"
"Percy's not in his room," Molly cut Arthur off, urgency in her voice. "He's not anywhere."
She then added on, terrified, "I've looked and I've looked..."
Arthur chuckled, and pressed his hand against Molly's cheek. "I'll go look for him, Molly. Stop worrying yourself over nothing. Remember the last time that you thought he was gone and Charlie had taken him down to Diagon Alley for ice-cream?"
This had happened before, and she knew it. However, this time, there was a cold feeling in her chest. Something had happened and she knew it!
She could feel her blood solidify. She could feel the emptiness in the house, the curtness in the way that Percy's bed had been made that morning. She could see the vacant spaces in his little bookcase. She noticed that the bed was cold. It was not slept in. Her Percy had disappeared, just vanished as if he was a bunch of strings that couldn't hold themselves together. Gone.
He returned to her after ten minutes, looking just as deadpanned as she was. "Percy's not in the house."
He paused for a few moments, eyes on the ground. The war was over long ago. Why did she not have her son in her home, in her arms?
"Percy's not in the house!" he exclaimed.
Suddenly, she remembered... "The clock!"
She'd scurried over to it. Arthur trudging right behind her. Her heart had practically stopped. At the moment, Percy's hand of clock had been pointing at Lost.
Tears were cascading down her cheeks. "Arthur, my son...where's our baby?"
She felt his arms wrapped gingerly around her body, his head on top of hers.
"Listen," he began, voice soft but still stern. "Nobody could have taken him. There are things missing in his room. His bed is made. He probably ran off for some reason or another. Wherever he's gone, he can't be fair. We'll bring him back home. He's got distinct features, love – our distinct features. He'll..."
Arthur paused for a few moments, hot breath on her neck. "We'll find him."
"Ran away?" somehow, the thought hadn't percolated through Molly's head. "Ran away?! Why would he...?"
The answer was simple: she was a terrible mother, terrible enough that he felt like it was easier to be outside in the dark world, without a wand. She didn't give him enough. She should've told him that she loved him more. With every thought, her heart thudded with pain. This was all her fault.
"We'll find him," Arthur repeated in a soothing voice.
"Why?" she asked, changing the subject entirely. Her eyes were puffy and red. Of course, Arthur didn't answer. He didn't answer because he didn't want to tell her the truth; that she was a terrible mum.
Arthur cleared his throat, and then leaned down to press his lips against her cheek, "I've to go to work."
He got his briefcase, placing a hand on her shoulder, "We'll find him. I promise."
Within a few minutes, she'd set up breakfast for the rest of her children – eggs, bacon, sausages. She'd made coffee for Bill and Charlie. She watched her children try to stab sausage links with dimpled hands, and she watched them fighting over the last rashers. She watched Fred eat the yolk, and George eat the whites of the egg. She'd always told him not to do that. The healers said that George might end up malnourished; eating nothing but egg whites, candy and sweet buns.
Merlin, yesterday, Percy ate so much more than he would. She'd been overjoyed. Was he eating because he planned to leave? She remembered he lingered in the table longer, staring with soft eyes and no expression to his face. Could she have told him something to make him stay? Why did he linger at the table for so long? Was he looking for something? Did he find it?
The ten-year-old was out there all alone now. He must be hungry. Maybe tired. Where was he?
"Oh, Mum," Charlie's voice was soft. He could always tell when she was upset. "What's wrong?"
He wandered towards her and hugged her so tightly. She wanted to break down and cry into her son's arms.
"Percy's disappeared," Molly whispered. "Your father thinks he ran away...from home...from me."
Charlie seemed surprised. He looked down at his feet for a few moments, shuffling. "Mum, you say this all the time. Percy's probably somewhere you haven't looked yet. You know, the clock always—"she pulled his chin towards the direction of the clock.
He was silent for a few moments, eyes as wide as dinner plates.
"Bloody hell," he called out. "The little blighter's gone and actually left us!"
Charlie scratched the back of his head. "Don't worry. Dad will find him. You know, us Weasley's aren't so easy to blend in the crowd. Our hair sticks out in the dead of the night, and everyone recognises the famous Weasley hand-me-downs! He'll be fine!"
"Percy's gone?" George looked up from his eggs, surprised. The twins gave each other a long, piercing look that Molly couldn't decipher.
"We didn't mean for this to happen," Fred began in a low voice.
George then, equally quietly, added "We're sorry."
"We took Bill and Charlie's wands, and we put Charlie's wand in Percy's room. We were just playing around," Fred's eyes were big and wide.
George continued the tale, "We tore his books, and he got upset. We thought he'd get over it."
"But he didn't," Fred seemed confused as to why. Silly boy. "He said that he hated us, and then he wanted back to his room and he tried to lock the door with his bookcase, but Charlie opened it."
Charlie sighed, rubbing his temple. "And then he got yelled at because of it."
"We're sorry," the nine-year-olds chimed in, sounding indisputably rueful.
Sometimes, Molly wondered how Charlie could maintain his cool as such. She wanted to forgive the twins the minute that they had apologised, and she had. She had such a soft heart. She loved all of her children, and yes, she did hold Percy in a dear place. He was so polite all of the time.
Yesterday was so odd for her. He had been so convinced that the twins had been lying. Nobody believed him. Then he told her that he didn't like books anymore, just because he must've felt like nobody would believe the real story all along.
Oh darling… did you run away because of this? Did you leave because you felt like you wouldn't stand for it?
"I'll talk to you both later," Charlie sighed deeply. "How many bloody times do I tell you not to-"
Messy-haired Ron and messier-haired Ginny walked into the kitchen and the room went silent. Molly did not want to mention it, but she knew she had to.
"Percy's not in his room. He's missing," was what she said, hoping they'd draw a conclusion for themselves on whether he'd been taken or whether he'd left of his own accord.
"It's their fault," Ron pointed towards the twins, as if it was clear as day. "They did something, didn't they?"
"Is not!" even though the twins had confessed to her, they would never confess to Ron. He was so little, but even he knew how strained Percy and the twins' relationship had been.
Ron shook his head. "Really? What about that time that you stole Bill's wand and charmed Percy's sugar quill so that his hair would turn blue when he sucked on it?"
"But he didn't get hurt," Fred interjected.
Ron furrowed his eyebrows in deep concentration. "What about the time that you let him drink from that nose-biting teacup you got from Zonko's—?"
"But he didn't get hurt," both Fred and George chimed again.
Ron seemed to be thinking hard, looking for a time where they did physically hurt Percy. "Oh! What about the time that you pushed him from his bed in the morning when he was asleep just because you were bored? He got hurt then!"
"Just barely!" the twins immediately chimed in.
"Boys!" Charlie called out, shooting them an icy glare. They settled down over the table. In minutes, they'd gone from thinking about what had happened to Percy to fighting over sausage links again.
Molly felt horrible. She didn't even know Fred and George did that much to him, but little Ron seemed to be able to recall examples off that top of his head nearly instantly.
She could remember him telling Arthur that the twins had been acting up too much, and he'd told Percy that they were just playing. Oh, Percy… She wanted to hold him in her arms, and tell him that she should've believed everything he'd ever said and that she was sorry. She wanted to give him his brand new book and make him feel better. That morning, she ate her breakfast and then watched her children in the living room.
She kept on staring at the clock. She kept on wondering...