the plot unravels just a bit more in this chapter. Caius and Marcus are proving to be slightly more than just an abuse plotline and a reason to torture Percy, and Percy/Audrey are discussed. the Molly and Percy interaction was unplanned. it just happened on its own and i let it take its course... i was going to save some of to much later on, but with the re-writing, it just found its way to here... i'd planned the age gap between Audrey and Percy for a very specific reason and with how this fanfic is taking into different directions all the tim, it would surprise me if i'd use it as i intended to use her in the first place... ah, but we'll see!
i wrote the next chapter, broke it down, rewrote half of it... it's nothing like it was before. all this re-writing makes my brain hurt.
as for any mistakes in this fanfiction, please excuse any mistakes in the writing. i don't read things as carefully as i'd like even when i'm trying to read slowly and i tend to skim over very obvious mistakes. nevertheless, enjoy the chapter! also, thank you all for 43 favourites, 70 followers and 107 reviews! i won't lie - i felt chuffed when i saw it surpass the 100 mark. in my head, i just about screeched "they like it! they really like it!" i do read each and every review, and they are very encouraging.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
"Marcus," Percy found himself calling out softly.
The first thing he'd noticed about fifteen-year-old Marcus Flint was that he was wearing a ripped Falmouth Falcons shirt, a pair of dirt-strewn plum purple trousers and muddy old plimsolls that Percy could smell a mile away. There were three twigs eloquently positioned in his hair. Yes, this was at three in the morning. Percy supposed that this was part of Marcus' metamorphosis into a true forest troll. Otherwise, Marcus looked exactly as he did when he left Hogwarts at eleven—standing at an unnerving five-nine, excruciatingly thin, coarse black hair, thin-lipped with those stony dull eyes that often looked translucent.
Marcus gave a curt nod to Percy and then turned to look over at Caius Flint, "Father."
"Come closer," Caius commanded, patting a small spot on the hospital cot.
You are not allowed to make that order after what you've done to him was all that Percy could think about. His tongue was tied and his hands were in a similar predicament. Percy could not let this situation get out of hand before he knew why they were both there, and he could not make this meeting about him. Still, Percy's blood boiled just at seeing Marcus sit on the cot, just centimetres away from Caius Flint.
"Your sisters didn't want to come see me," Caius suddenly stated, as Marcus visibly stiffened.
Percy arched an eyebrow. He didn't even know that Marcus had a sibling—much less more than one.
Imaging a mass of girls with Marcus' sharp and hard features was nearly impossible, and then he suddenly remembered the black-haired troll-blooded energetic lass that he'd bumped that evening; the one that pecked him and had that intolerable accent. Wait... no, no, no, that had to be sheer coincidence, wasn't it? He was sure that there were plenty of part trolls that happened to have the same coarse black hair and Marcus' characteristic nearly-non-opaque-in-natural-light grey eyes—wait, did Marcus have that accent?
"They think you're a sodding bastard that deserves to die," Marcus admitted.
Percy's ears reddened. He did have that accent that Percy loathed with every molecule of his being. Brilliant. He'd somehow missed Marcus' accent when they were younger because he was busy trying to prevent Marcus from being pummelled to an early grave. Alright. Back to reality, Percival. This is a very serious situation.
"With all due respect, Mr Flint," Percy actually didn't care at all for respecting this man, but added it on as a nicety, "I agree with their assessment."
Caius kept his gaze on his son. "Does your mum know you're here?"
"She'll hang me if she knew about this," Marcus honestly answered, sounding bitter.
Percy knew that he was supposed to be serious about this, but suddenly, all his mind could do was repeat the statement with Marcus' drawl: she'll 'ang me if she knew about vis. This succeeded in making his ears redder. Marcus seemed to be insulted by the fact that Percy was starting to look like a strawberry.
"What's so bloody funny, Weasel?" he spat out in the same cutting coldness.
Percy could barely choke out any words, "Why..." his cheeks reddened even more. "Why are we here?"
It's only an accent, he told himself with a firm voice. Sure it's a ruddy awful one, but this is a very serious situation.
Marcus only looked back at his father with an arch to his eyebrow. "A premonition, Weasel."
"Premonition?" Percy reiterated, looking over at Caius Flint as if he'd suddenly grown three horns; had turned blue and was sat in a cauldron of fire instead of a hospital cot. "You're a Seer?"
Percy wouldn't believe Caius Flint was a Seer if Trelawney herself confirmed it and he had a shop opened pertaining to his gift for years because this man was a manipulative bastard... but he supposed that Caius already predicted Percy's disbelief now, didn't he? And thus, would react appropriately?
"I will not waste my time trying to get you to believe me. I could tell you all the things I did foretell and you'd accuse me of not being able to validate it with proof," Caius suddenly stated.
Because that is a justifiable argument, Percy thought. I could claim that I foretold the outcome of the first wizarding war and hadn't consumed the last biscuit in the biscuit tin, but both those statements would be false, wouldn't they?
"I foretold my own undoing. I knew that a dark presence would come to consume me when Marcus was at around three years old. It was he... Ares. He spoke to me. He told me that he had to undo me in his venture to undo you. That encounter with me, it was his warning to you. He will be coming for you and he'll make worse of you what he did of me. He's trying to..." Caius paused for a minute, as if trying to find the words to explain his statement, "...sculpt you, and I foretell that you two will have an encounter soon. You best be prepared so that he doesn't best you as he did me."
Percy stared at the man as if he really was off his rockers. It was three in the ruddy morning—now approaching four or five no doubt!—and a man in the psychiatric unit was trying to tell him that he was a Seer and that Percy's doom awaited him in the form of a Greek God! It was also his poor form of justification regarding to why attempted to suffocate his own son! Percy did, in fact, find this extremely hard to believe, but then again, anyone with more than three brain cells would have a hard time believing this old coot!
"You are a manipulative, fumbling fool and only a twat would believe you," Percy hissed.
Marcus looked at Percy as if it was he who was socking him since he was a wee tot.
"Don't tell me you believe this bollocks!" Percy said to Marcus, who shot a glare before nodding his head.
Why was Percy so surprised? Every time Marcus spoke about his father, it was somehow to defend him or push them away from the fact that this man wasn't all that bad and he had plenty of redeeming qualities despite the fact that he'd probably have attempted to hang Marcus on the basis of a stamped grade on a piece of parchment paper! Despite the fact that Marcus couldn't help being thick at times, especially given the fact that he actually had difficulty reading and relied on pictures to get by the Potions class! He was the bloke that had to use Quick-Quotes quills to write essays and sit exams because he genuinely didn't know how words looked like when they were written down! The only reason he even got away with it was because Snape had him write down his own name without a Quick-Quotes quill and it came out as Marquees.
Percy shook his head in disbelief. "I am not being a part of this ploy! You can't convince me otherwise."
Marcus grabbed Percy's arm to stop him from leaving.
"He's telling you that he's been Imperio-ed by a Greek God and you believe him straight off!" Percy huffed indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Never mind what he did to you. No. That's irrelevant... as long as he could convince us with ludicrous conspiracy theories and his audacious premonitions!"
"He said that you'd be like this," Marcus snarled, eyes cold.
And was that was part of Caius' premonition? That Percy would be livid hearing this malarkey about Ares having have not only Imperio-ed Caius Flint for whatever reason but also, that he was going to target Percy next? This was not a premonition. This was an accurate prediction at best and was akin to someone telling Percy that he would feel like chasing Fred and George with a syringe full of concentrated Sleeping Draught if that confetti really hadn't fallen off from his skin after four to six hours had passed!
"Wake up, Marcus," was Percy's last statement before he turned around and stormed out.
BILL was startled when Percy stormed out of Caius Flint's room, looking the way he did that time when the twins decided to make him drink something that turned his skin into a very vibrant sunny colour. Percy had received so many comparisons to an oversized custard-coloured Puffskein that he actually threatened the last person that made such a comment. Currently, Percy's glare so piercing that Bill thought that that alone could stun someone—no Stupefy required. From behind Percy, a skeletal black-haired lad with his hands in his pockets walked out. His cheekbones, elbows and knees were so sharp that Bill wouldn't be surprised if they were considered dangerous weaponry. It was five am by then but Bill didn't feel the least bit tired.
"How was it?" Bill said, only for Percy to grumble, cursing under his breath. Well, that actually gave Bill a good idea on how it did go. "Who do I need to do over?"
"If you touch my father..." the black-haired lad started to threaten. He sounded aggressive. Bill was surprised that the lad looked the way he did, considering the fact that from what he knew, this bloke supposedly had troll blood in him. He looked more like a temperamental half-elf that got his asphodels stolen.
Percy shook his head. "Bill, this is Marcus. Marcus, this is—"
"I don't care who he is. He's not touching my father," Marcus suddenly cut Percy off, huffing to himself.
Bill rolled his eyes. It wasn't like Bill could actually knock down a man that made a mountain look like a hill with the force of his nine-and-a-half stone frame. Then again, they did have wands for a reason and part trolls were known to be notoriously stupid.
"I won't," was all that Bill said, before he flashed a smile. "Do you need me to apparate your mate home?"
Marcus reluctantly gave a nod of his head, his arms crossed like a displeased ten-year-old Ginny.
"Yes, but I'm not coming. I have a full day's work ahead of me and no, you cannot convince me to take today off considering the lack of sleep," Percy said sternly, as he pushed his glasses up his face. "I'll probably come back home in time for the evening meal, but I can't make any promises about lunch."
Bill honestly thought that a piece of parchment paper had more life and character than Percy.
"Fine," Bill decided, and then looked back over at Marcus.
MOLLY could recall the week that nineteen-year-old Bill came back home on Percy's thirteenth birthday. He was bright-eyed, with a missing tooth regarding one of his recent endeavours, and suddenly came up with this inane idea to go vegan. Just before Molly could say that she'd slaughter him if he'd even considered this as an option given how naturally willowy Bill was without resorting to subside on nothing but bread and potato (the last time she'd shoved a vegetable down Bill's throat had to have been 1981), Percy suddenly mentioned that vegans cannot wear dragonhide—and certainly not so much dragonhide that the bloke that wrote Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit might have a connery just peering into Bill's closet. The idea disappeared from Bill's mind in seconds, and she remembered being sat there, wondering how Percy knew half the things that he did. Now, he spoke French, did volunteer work over at St Mungo's and all the mates that she thought he had turned out nothing to be an illusion he'd been keeping up for years...
Molly felt like she knew so little about Percy that at this point, two hours from now, someone could tell her that Percy would be playing as a Chaser for the Appleby Arrows and she would've believed them—regardless of the fact that she could remember Percy getting on a broom a year ago and ending up with three fractured bones and insisted on writing a letter to the Ministry about broom regulation standards.
In fact, she could remember twelve-year-old Percy shoving a well-written proposal regarding the same topic that used words like asinine and parlous, only to end the letter with the statement: and brooms are evil.
That early morning, Molly finally found it in her to step into Percy's room. It was cramped and small. His bed was constructed of only books as Percy and Bill have mentioned before but it was another thing all together to take it in with her big brown eyes. Percy's bright wall list counted thousands of novels and most of them were either incorporated into that bed, in the overflowing bookcase or stacked in neat piles.
Four years ago, this room did not look like this. He'd been barricading himself in this room for years that even it had changed right before her eyes—justlikehimjustlikehimjustlikehim.
Molly was ashamed to have allowed him so much time alone, but at the same time, no part of her could look straight into Percy's bright blue eyes and deny him something that he asked for. When he wanted privacy, she'd given him that and more—especially knowing how the rest of her children kept on prodding at him until he snapped and kept on intruding against his wards. It didn't help that she still had nightmares of the day that she'd been into that hospital and saw those blood-soaked sheets and nothing but loose red curls sat on that filthy hospital bed. In the time that she'd been focused on protecting him, she'd seen him morph into a stranger with vacant eyes and empty smiles. She didn't know much about this Percy, but she knew was that he didn't seem to be the anything near the average fifteen-year-old. He seemed more like a fifty-year-old man with the weight of the world on his back when he could just barely carry himself.
THAT evening, Percy came back home through the backdoor in the kitchen. Molly noticed his shoulders were slumped, his curls were attended to by a glamour charm but his hair was still askew and his eyes red-rimmed. He was carrying around a small black carrier bag, and looked to be in pain.
Percy also seemed to be in a foul mood, which wasn't an uncommon occurrence.
"PERCE!" George's voice called out as Percy stepped inside the kitchen and instantly started to make himself a cup of coffee, "You still didn't tell us what mum got you yesterday when you were in Diagon Alley! Come on. Show us. Is it anything—?"
"—interesting?" Fred finished off the sentence before the two broke into identical beaming grins. "Or is it just another load of boring books? Is it maybe a new diary? One that isn't charmed with more security charms than the whole of Gringott's?"
"I did not buy anything," Percy said with a watery voice. "And for Godric's sake, stay away from my diary."
Ron stared at Percy as if he was from another planet when he said that he hadn't bought himself a birthday present, a look that he often got from his younger brother. Molly recalled on Ron's birthday, he and Arthur come back home with an extensive amount of Chudley Canon merchandise and had spent three hours trying to find out how to put even more posters on his wall—which was already absolutely covered with an excess of violet orange-coloured posters, most of them with holes and tears in them.
"Merlin, Perce, you're an even bigger bore than we thought! At least buy a present so we can poke fun!" the twins chimed just as Percy took a massive gulp from his coffee and hissed at how hot it was.
"That's it," Percy drained his coffee into the sink. "I'm going to bed."
"Percy," Molly reached over to grab his arm and stared at him with soft eyes. "Percy, love, what's wrong?"
"I'm not in the mood to discuss it," Percy mumbled, as he put the cup away. He turned to leave, but she gripped him back by the elbow, feeling his frustration. "Mother, please."
"No," Molly said for the first time in a long time. "Let's talk about this."
Her body was flooded by guilt the moment that she said it. She looked into those tired eyes and saw his weary bones flop with exhaustion—yet she denied him his rest. Molly felt less than a horklump.
"Out of the kitchen," she said to Fred, George and a silent Ron. They looked reluctant but finally disappeared down to the living room—no doubt to destroy more of her furniture.
She gestured for Percy to sit down and he did without any question, his lips tightly pressed and his arms placed on his thigh. Molly looked for leftovers in the fridge and performed a warming spell. Shoving a bowl of spaghetti bolognese in front of Percy, she watched his face contort with displeasure.
"Here," she charmed a handful of cutlery to levitate towards him and placed her wand back into her robes.
Percy picked up a fork and prodded at the spaghetti for a few seconds, almost as if it might come alive. He knew another question was coming because the precise moment that she chose to speak, he'd put a forkful of the spaghetti into his mouth and chewed. Every bite seemed meticulous and calculated. He chewed four times before he swallowed, and then put his fork down for at least another ten seconds. He'd prod a bit more at the spaghetti again and—repeat.
"What happened today, Percival?" Molly suddenly asked, sitting opposite to him and watching with an expression of deep concern.
Percy's cheeks coloured in deeply.
"Nothing," he insisted, and then put another forkful in his mouth. Chew, chew, chew, chew, put down fork.
"It's not nothing," Molly insisted, staring at him with a hard look on her face. "Did you have a...?"
Molly was aware that Percy still had seizures relatively frequently. They just didn't talk about it anymore—like the way that that she wouldn't talk about Percy mentioning the first wizarding war last night.
"A fit? A convulsion? A seizure?" Percy said. Molly felt herself flinch almost as if he said You-Know-Who's name. She could tell that he knew that she would react like this, and he wanted the reaction from her.
"Yes, I did," Percy hadn't picked up the fork yet—a sign of distress. "And I would prefer not to discuss it."
She wasn't going to. She didn't think she could bear to hear about it. Molly straightened herself up.
"Bill told me that you had a girlfriend," she suddenly decided to mention as he picked up the fork again, poking around the noodles. She saw his ears go red. So it was true. "Tell me about her."
"She is..." Percy seemed to be searching for words. "She works at the hospital."
He was hiding something. She could feel his hesitation. He was prodding at the spaghetti for too long. He was squishing the pasta down, pressing it with his knife. He didn't want to talk about it, so she had to.
"What's her name?" Molly suddenly asked, her voice soft.
Blue rigid eyes suddenly softened. He looked almost human. "Audrey Brown."
The name suddenly flashed a memory of a mussy brown haired woman clad in ivory robes offering a phial to her. A nine-year-old Ron was sat beside her, ill of dragon pox. He complained that he didn't like the hospital, and Audrey didn't console him. Her face was rigid, her brown, honey-rimmed eyes—like Molly's eyes were—distant. She was thinking of something else. She turned around to look through her collection of phials again. Molly remembered thinking what a nice, full figure she had. She also remembered staring down at her protruding stomach, obviously at least six months into her pregnancy and asking when the due date was. Audrey Brown was a nurse that had a two-year-old child... and her fifteen-year-old son was dating her.
"How old is she, Percy?" Molly's feelings to protect him evapourated in seconds. He disappointed her. She had done so much for him, and this was how he repaid her.
Percy stared down at his lap, his lips pressed into a tight line.
"HOW OLD IS SHE, PERCY?" Molly exclaimed hotly.
"There might be an eight year age gap between us," Percy answered in a whisper, rubbing his freckled arm.
Molly's heart ached. "Percival, I have held my tongue every time you mucked up. I know I've been treating you exceptionally well for years because I can't bear the thought of seeing you so dejected. I have always stood by you, and yet, you continue to do dim-witted things like this, but this is the last straw, Percival. I love you, but I can't have you jeopardising yourself over a girl! Do you know how people will look at you once—?"
"I have it under control," Percy suddenly mentioned, not realising his slip until seconds later when his eyes widened as large as dinner plates and a flush crept to his cheeks.
"What exactly do you have under control?" an infuriated Molly asked.
Percy bit down his lower lip. "Her sister may have just sent a diabetic to Azkaban over having an uncontrolled magical fit during a diabetic ketoacidosis. Georgia believes that anyone with peculiar illnesses should be sent to wards, or put into Azkaban. Audrey may share this opinion and if she knew about my—"
"This is so self-destructive," Molly's face hardened whilst Percy stayed silent. "You are, aren't you?"
Percy said nothing to this.
"Percival, listen to me," Molly pulled his chin up so that he was staring directly at her. "Any woman her age that isn't ashamed to go out with someone your age is not someone you want to be with. You're not even of legal age, and even if you were, I would bloody murder you before you go on a date with—"
"She thinks I'm three years older than Bill," Percy said in a soft voice. "She doesn't know. I just...I really enjoyed her company and thought that perhaps, lying about my age might make her feel more compelled to spend more time with me. I-I surely didn't know that she'd be snogging my face off at any point!"
"Percy," Molly could barely recognise him anymore. "We're going to have a chat about this tomorrow. You are going to stop seeing her in the time being and no more of this volunteering nonsense."
"No," Percy spat out. "I refuse to throw away three months of diligent work because you are displeased about this. I have four more hours left, and I'm going to finish them tomorrow regardless of what you think."
Molly's eyes hardened. "If you go tomorrow, I will get your father involved in this."
Percy deflated. "You are aware that he'd throw me out of the house for lesser things than this, aren't you?"
"Come off it!" Molly exclaimed, flabbergasted. "Your father isn't like that!"
"THEN YOU DON'T KNOW WHO YOU MARRIED!" Percy snapped back.
Molly felt her heart sink down to her stomach as she watched Percy stomp out of the room. As the hour passed, she sat on a creaky wooden chair, put her head into her hands and wept.