i really hate the way i've made Arthur into such a git. he's such a sweetheart, it's just... ugh, why do i enjoy it when Arthur is made a fool of? i try to redeem him. somehow. it's just... it doesn't work. i'm currently attempting to re-write Chapter 38 just to tone down on how awful he seems to be and to attempt to redeem him if only a bit.

inquiries to previous chapters:

Ward Vermassen: it will take a bit more than Hogwarts to do it i'm afraid. i'm at Chapter 37, however, and i would assume around 39/40, a good amount of the plot would be absolutely obvious (though i keep on skidding about the thing. first i said Chapter 16, then i wedged things in between and now i'm re-writing). though i did hint at it multiple times (ah, the hints!). i've probably rewritten this thing about 3 times. it's nothing near it's first draft. it shall fall into place eventually (hopefully). truthfully, the very first draft of this included a very manic Percy at the end. i believe what happened (in the very original draft and nowhere near what i'm planning on here) was that he at some point, he got absolutely sick of his family, Oblivated them and then became an insane prostitute. and then he slept with Ginny as a revenge schematic... very Game of Thrones. again, thank you for commenting. your comments are absolutely perfect. and you have a stunning week as well!

Chapter Thirty-Two

The walls of Percy's room, once azure in colour, were now painted into a Prussian blue. All walls, except for one—which might as well be a big board dating back the amount of books that Percy had and where they were located. The velvety curtains remained a deep brown colour. The large book-based bed was covered by a blanket intertwined with bulbous patches of yellow, red, purple and blue. The pillows were encased with a slip made of crochet. Just beside the bed sat a bookcase, which was overflowing with so many books that three neat piles was stacked up just beside the bed. The piles were so thick and large that one could sit on them – and one had, for there was the presence of a thick pale sheet on top of aforementioned piles simply for that purpose. Just opposite to the bookcase was a large closet with several undergarments floating, with post-its pinned to them that said thing such as For School, For Special Occasion, For Summer and For Winter. The floor was covered with a fuzzy scarlet carpet that was home to multiple colourful botches and stains. Littering the floor was an aggregate of slippers and socks, most of them with gaping holes into them.

Sat on the scratchy, uneven table was an open leather-bound journal. Beside the journal was a set of unused quills, a wand and a nearly-torn-to-bits fuzzy purple stuffed cat that had a tendency to bite when Percy didn't get his arse up in the morning. Oh, and of course, beside the bed was a pair of worn-out, deformed shoes. Percy had tossed it aside when he was done with his last hospital shift the previous day.

None of the objects or the familiarity of the place gave Percy Weasley comfort—for he was, indeed, a twat.

Oh, for the love of King Arthur and all the Knights of the Round Table, for all of Camelot, why did he have to open his big fat mouth and tell his mum any of the bollocks that he'd said last night? Percy cringed internally thinking of all the things he definitely shouldn't have said unless he was under the influence of the Imperius curse.

That questioned remained dutifully unanswered as Percy went to look for appropriate clothes to wear since they were going to have an extended family dinner tonight (yes, there were unfortunately way more Prewett's and Weasley's than Percy cared to even think about). He didn't know why he'd even bothered since no matter what he wore; he would remain increasingly austere and rigid as an army of redheads swarmed the Burrow. Percy supposed that instead of baking an enormous pot roast, they should've been barring the Burrow with an onslaught of protection charms.

On another note, his Prefect badge had already gone missing and if he found out the twins had anything to do with that, he'd chuck them into the bloody river!

Percy shifted to the table, vision locked onto his journal. Had he really kept it open all throughout yesterday? Merlin, he really was a prat. He flickered through the pages, glad to see that the ink was still invisible.

Fred and George hadn't gotten past the seven or so concealing charms that he'd placed on the small diary. If they had, Percy would've butchered them to maintain the smallest semblance of dignity he had left of course.

Out of sheer curiosity, Percy removed the mass of charms he had on them (he said it in a whisper, almost afraid he was being watched and with how those two popped up all the time, he might actually be) and allowed the thick black ink to come alive on the parchment paper. They still smelled the way that Percy had bought them in the shop—as they should. For ten sickles each quill, it was far from a bargain! It wasn't exactly like Percy was using phoenix feathers to write his startling trials of the day... though he did have to admit, times like these, where he'd admire the elegant curves the quills made... the price was almost worth it!

Percy stroked the leather latch from his journal, smiling smugly to himself.

The latch alone needed at least five charms (said in a synchronised order, in under a minute) for Percy to unlock. Unfortunately for him, this was not Percy being anal retentive as usual, but was simply him ensuring that those two ninnies didn't get their hands around his secret and most private thoughts.

He closed his journal and put it aside and then focused his attention to the small ebony box he'd kept Scabbers in. It was heaving with holes, so it looked like a thing of Swiss cheese.

In the middle of his sleep the previous night, Percy woke up, unexpectedly remembering that he hadn't fed Scabbers dinner and had looked through his drawers—only to find that the only thing that he could possibly feed Scabbers was a bag of dried plums. Percy didn't want to leave the room and go downstairs at two in the morning because despite how late it was, he could hear Bill talking with his mates about how much of a bellend this Silvanus character was (whom suspiciously sounded like Percy's long lost twin brother from the descriptions that Bill and his friends were using... something he tried to ignore). Thus, he'd ended up shrinking down a five hundred gram bag of dried plums to keep in Scabbers' black box. Just a few seconds after he did so, he added a bit more paper towels and charmed them to get rid of any possible 'waste'. He could imagine that Scabbers would be hungry enough to polish off all of the dried plums, and the only reason Percy kept them around was to help in his—um—digestion.

Fortunately for him, the charmed paper towel seemed to have done the job.

He'd put a levitating spell to the paper towel and Incendio-ed the bloody thing because there was no way that Percy would touch anything so vile. With that in mind, he'd given Scabbers a quick bath, i.e. Percy blasted him with every cleaning spell he knew—and followed it up with a quick drying spell.

"Stop scolding me," Percy said to the rat. Scabbers looked to be in an awful mood. "I didn't have anything other than those plums, alright? And you didn't have to scoff the whole lot now, did you?"

Percy couldn't help but feel his heart pang when he pulled Scabbers into his hands and noticed that he felt like he'd weighed far less than usual. He'd been feeding Scabbers almost every day, but it was really the odd nibble here or there. He hadn't given him anything substantial since he'd started his hospital shifts.

"I'm sorry, Scabbers," he murmured, feeling despondent. "I've not meant to put you on a diet now, right?"

He felt like any moment now, Penelope's reform group would show up at his doorstep, wondering how dare he neglect to feed his sweet little pet rat. Percy sighed deeply, and stroked Scabbers' fur almost to console him. Perhaps, he should not reproduce in the future for his children will slowly die of famine and his misfortune—not that he was going to reproduce either way after seeing his mum go. Seven in and out of the oven! He was surprised that aforementioned oven was still working. Every year, he closed his eyes, crossed his fingers and prayed to any deity in existence: please, please, let my mum use adequate protection charms this year.

"I'll slip you in during dinner, but you cannot make a fuss," Percy warned the rat.

With thoughts of dinner, Percy sped towards his closet to change before those rapscallions came round and would annoy him so much that changing wouldn't be an option. He slipped into a pair of stone-grey trousers and a white button-down. He'd tried to look through his room to find a pair of shoes he might've tossed and neglected considering that there was no way he was wearing the two things of old dragonhide on the floor beside his bed. After searching high and low, he found his old abandoned plimsolls stuck in his closet. Great. He found his school shoes. They even still smelled like the Fat Lady's portrait. He should know because a pair of nosy, irritating Gryffindors stuck his plimsolls under said portrait last year. He'd been walking round the castle without shoes for a month before he found them!

Right. He looked like a plonker but they didn't expect any more from him.

After he was done dressing up, he'd picked up Scabbers and put him into his front pocket before wandering downstairs, hoping his mum had some nibbles out. Percy fed Scabbers just about anything, considering he'd done so before and the rat never seemed to have any problem with it—slightly strange, but Scabbers was a Weasley rat, so what was so strange about the fact that Scabbers could scoff off his mum's roast dinner with all the trimmings?

Every surface in the Burrow seemed to be utilised. There were three massive tables set up in the living room, two in the kitchen and three tables outside. Every knick-knack and oddity was pushed aside to make room for these tables. The couches, chairs and loveseats have been shrunken down so that they were just about the size of Scabbers' little black box. The terrifying thing about this was that Percy knew just like every other extended family gathering, he and the rest of his siblings were going to be sitting on the ground because there would be no space for them elsewhere.

Oh, and his Aunt Esmeralda just popped three of them last month!

Percy felt like he was in a breeding centre. Every time he closed his eyes, more of them popped up! This family bred quicker than a kaleidoscope of Flitterbies!

The worst thing was that only Percy seemed to realise how bloody insane this was. Many a times Percy thought of implying a more permanent level of birth control when it came to his older brothers. He could just imagine it now... Bill married off to some Egyptian floozy, coming back home with three children strung up each arm and two on his back! Ten years from now, they'd have to rent the Great Hall in Hogwarts for family gatherings and with how Charlie was going about those stupid dragons; Percy would be related to a 'very attractive' Norwegian Ridgeback.

The cold thing was that regardless of how big the family, however; Percy was the odd one out.

He was the prat. He was the joke amongst seventy-two others (Percy took the time to count last year but he'd bet there were dozens more this year). He was always the target of their jokes. They wrecked havoc just to irritate him—and last year, twenty of them were crammed into his room, trying to find a way to open his diary. The year before that, they'd decided to use his carefully written Hogwarts essays to decorate a Christmas tree two days after Christmas... and then set it ablaze. Great fun that was because it wasn't like it Percy took weeks to write those essays! He actually cried when he saw the ashes.

THE ruckus didn't start until five in the afternoon. It was later than last year, Percy would give them that.

He was sat sandwiched between his Liam Prewett, whom decided to tell Percy that he found a nice boy for him to date that was just as big of a prat as he was (apparently, he just got out of Azkaban) and Janice Weasley, whom said something about the fact that he could do with losing a few stones. Somehow, his mum didn't intervene until then and it sounded something like: "WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE COULD LOSE A FEW STONES?" to which Janice quieted down and started to exchange recipes for low-fat crumpets before starting squeezing at his sides. Percy thought that was particularly funny since Janice was twenty-four bloody stone. And she stole all his roast potatoes.

He'd barely fed Scabbers a thing with her fork pushing against his plate every five seconds or so. Blimey.

Now he knew why she'd only put salad on her plate and a small thing of a chicken breast. Apparently, food didn't make you put on any weight it if it was off someone else's plate!

Then Janice tried to convince Percy to give her son some of his pudding. The last thing that bastard needed was a pudding considering that forty-eight stone behemoth had been sitting on Percy's dodgy leg for the past half hour and it took all of Percy not to stick a fork into his side. Percy would bet ten Galleons that instead of blood gushing out of little Wally's side, he'd be hit by a river of sweet vanilla frosting.

He didn't know if he'd rather sit by Esmeralda, whom looked like she was going to kneel over and die of starvation, despite the fact that she scoffed a whole custard pie by herself and that wasn't counting how many plates of the Sunday roast she'd gobbled down. Still Percy didn't even know she was pregnant last time around (much less expecting triplets) but apparently, he should get his glasses fixed because her concave belly was less concave than it had been before!

Merlin, he was quickly losing any fragment of sanity he had left in him. Not to mention that he was starving.

Every time he'd had something on his plate someone took it off, or Percy felt awful and fed it to Scabbers. The poor thing didn't get much to eat either and Percy was absolutely delirious from hunger.

He disappeared down to where his mum kept the pots. Whilst Percy couldn't feel the pain (and he was thankful for it. If he had to feel the pain of a forty-eight stone bloke on his leg, he'd have probably committed a serious crime), he could barely walk. He'd had to practically hop his way to the pots because he kept on tripping and falling straight on his arse.

Merlin bless his mum. She'd made enough food to feed the whole of Devon yet it was unsurprisingly disappearing at an alarming rate. He picked up one of the plates and found himself piling his plate with an absurd amount of roast potatoes ("that fat git is eating again?" said Wally, as Percy crammed Yorkshire puds and chicken onto his plate before bathing it with an inane amount of gravy). Percy went to sit with his mum on one of the tables, whom literally had a seat freed up next to her only a second ago. He pulled out Scabbers out of his pocket, hid him under the table and let him nibble on a few Yorkshire puds, chicken drumsticks and a multitude of roast potatoes.

Percy kept on feeding Scabbers until the rat refused to eat another potato. He then pocketed his grey-furred pet, straightening himself up so that he'd tackle on whatever was left of his plate...

One potato, two Yorkshire puddings, a chicken thigh and one drumstick.

Percy turned to look at the food pots, which were so empty that they'd looked like they'd just been blasted with a cleaning charm. That was fine. It wasn't like his hunger was so bad that it was cutting ridges into his stomach or anything.

Percy grabbed a cup of pumpkin juice and downed it down.

Suddenly, he opened his mouth and a coarse ring of fire escaped, burning half the table. Thankfully, the only causalities seemed to be Percy's dinner along with half of an empty bread basket.

Percy was chuffed. This was exactly what he was missing in his life! The ability to breathe fire!

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!" Molly boomed towards the twins.

"Don't worry, mum," oh, good-humoured, amiable Fred said. "It'll wear off in a few hours!"

George then grinned wildly. "The only thing Perce really has to do is to keep that big mouth of his shut!"

"So, you mean this whole house is going to burn down?" Bill called out in jest, only for Percy to shoot a look over at his well-meaning brother.

Percy's blood was boiling. The happiness in his heart. Gone. As if he didn't deserve it. He opened his mouth to tell them off, only to accidentally burn a bit of the carpet, and one of their chairs—but that was alright considering that it wasn't like they were extremely poor or anything of that sort! No! They were swimming in Galleons. He hiccupped again, sending a ring of fire down to their stained, blotchy Persian carpet and his mum's casserole (he hoped mum didn't mind flambéed casserole). A scream followed thereby after, but what was more evident was the intense cacophonous laughter filling the room.

"FRED AND GEORGE, IF YOU DON'T APOLOGISE THIS INSTANCE AND FIX THIS PROBLEM RIGHT NOW, I'LL MAKE SURE YOU TWO WILL REGRET IT!" Molly's enraged voice filled the Burrow.

"Come on, Molly, they're just children playing a bit of a joke." Andrew Prewett asked; a good natured grin appearing on his face. "Besides, it's nice to see Percy has something interesting to say for one."

Percy glared over at Andrew. I wouldn't say that, uncle. You aren't the one that could breathe fire.

"Oi! CHARLIE!" fourteen-year-old Jane Weasley said from behind him, her bright red bob bouncing as she beamed. "Do you want to have a go at taming Prissy?"

Charlie blushed deeply, and said nothing.

Caiden Prewett seemed to notice Percy all of a sudden (how hard was it to miss someone that was six foot bloody tall?) and then grinned wildly, "Hey, Perce. I didn't see you there! Nice pants. Better than the ones you wore last year. It could've been part of the Gay Parade over in bloody Bath!"

Percy was seething. Those were as a result of the twins' vibrant prank first of all and second of all, at least he wasn't the one that wore bright pink underpants as evident by a certain lake trip in 1989!

Percy's ears had gone red, and he found himself looking down at the ground—where he'd burned the bloody carpet. The twins had outright humiliated him, but why was he so surprised? He could feel a burning sensation at the edge of his throat. Out of the corner of his eyes, he'd found Aunt Muriel throwing around that ratty, old mauve-coloured purse, trying to hit something. A mound of beauty products were spewing out of the purse at an alarming rate and Percy recognised poor little Scabbers in the midst of the scurry.

He immediately hurried over towards the corner of the room, trying to catch Scabbers, but instead, he was socked with Aunt Muriel's purse.

Molly immediately walked over to Percy, placing her hands on his shoulders. He tried to keep his mouth shut, because he preferred his mum—well—alive.

Percy glared over at Aunt Muriel, whom still kept on chasing Scabbers and trying to give him a good whack. He could hear from behind him that there were bets being placed on which aunt was going to kill Scabbers first. Nobody was going to kill Scabbers... not over Percy's dead body they weren't.

His eyes widened when he noticed that his Aunt Amelia also joined in soon afterwards, waving around that death trap she called a purse. That thing probably weighed as much as he did!

Percy's heart was racing and he found bile—or fire—rising in his throat.

He pried himself away from his mum's hands. It killed him that nobody was helping get Scabbers. He was not just a filthy rat for Godric's sake.

He accidentally opened his mouth and thus, accidentally burned a huge chunk of the Weasley family clock. Thankfully, the rest of it was still intact.

Oh, just splendid, Percy thought to himself. Not like that clock is a wad of rubbish now, is it?

When Scabbers got a good whack from Amelia's purse, Percy actually felt a part of him die.

His heart suddenly sunk into his chest as he dropped to down to Scabbers' level and took the poor rat into his hands. Though he knew Scabbers wasn't going to put on his usual weight in one meal, he was reminded of how much of an awful failure he was when he picked up poor light Scabbers.

Furious, Percy got up from where he was and stormed back into his room. Anyone that dared to sit into his room, he'd bloody murder. He wasn't in the mood for anyone's gestures or comments about Scabbers.

He slipped into his room and sat on his bed. He thought of adding on a few locking charms but remembered that thanks to the twins, he wouldn't even be able to lock that blasted twopenny-halfpenny door. Percy turned his body away from the door, just in case anyone was to come in and pulled out a box of tissues in front of him. The pain in his leg came back double what Percy remembered. If he had been standing up, he would've collapsed and easily have shattered something. His bones felt bendable, his skin felt like it was on fire, and he could feel it radiating from his leg to his spine... a deep slicing pain that made him want to find something sharp to undo himself. At the same time, the crippling pain in his leg didn't matter.

Percy turned Scabbers around in his palm. He seemed so stiff, and thick viscous blood was pooling from his little mouth. He brought the rat close to him, letting salty tears run down his cheeks.

How dare they do this to Scabbers! How dare they hurt him!

Percy slowly stroked his little rat. He could think of a thousand healing charms and it killed him to know that he couldn't say any of them. The only comfort he took in was that Scabbers was alive considering how his little pink limbs kept on twitching, but he seemed so weak and so close to death. Percy was so downtrodden and humiliated. Percy was sure he had a reason to be happy about yesterday, but it all seemed to come crashing down on him this afternoon.

He immediately wiped his tears away angrily, hating himself for being weak. He grabbed a few tissues, rubbing out his eyes. He would take deep breaths, but apparently, the twins had taken even that from him!

"Percy? Can I come in?" Molly asked; walking into the room without waiting for a response.

Percy hoped that it didn't look like he'd been crying, or else he'd have lost it.

He watched his mother walk towards him and sit beside him, placing a hand on his thigh.

"Oh my..." Molly shook her head before pulling out her wand. "Let me look at Scabbers now."

Percy pulled his hands away from his mother, keeping Scabbers out of her grip. He didn't trust anyone with Scabbers that wasn't himself, not even his own mother. If anything else would happen to Scabbers and he'd get hurt, then Percy wouldn't know what to do with himself. He slowly placed Scabbers on top of his crocheted pillowcase and stroked him softly. The blood seemed to have disappeared from his mouth, but he looked very ill. It made Percy's stomach twist into knots. He knew he should push his pride away for Scabbers, but he just couldn't find himself able to.

Molly slowly caressed Percy's magically-flattened dull red hair.

"Percy, it's fine. I won't hurt him," she said, almost as if she could hear him thinking out loud. He finally gave in, and handed Scabbers over to his mum. Molly muttered a healing spell under her breath and he watched Scabbers suddenly jump up and spring veraciously to Percy's waiting hands. He felt his heart warm, seeing Scabbers more animated than he'd ever been, running into Percy's sleeves and down his chest. "I know that the twins could be a little hard at times—I promise I am going to punish them after this—and I know that things are a little difficult with the rest of the family and they are treating you a little cruelly because you're a little different but..."

Molly chuckled, offering a soft smile. "I lost the point I was trying to make."

Percy looked back at his mum, as Scabbers' feet tickled into his bellybutton before the rat emerged from the cotton cave, settling on Percy's thigh for the moment.

"There's some cake downstairs if you want it," Molly gave his shoulder a squeeze before she left.

Percy watched his mum disappear before he looked back down; just glad to see Scabbers stare back at him with those black beady eyes. A smile formed on his lips and he found himself slowly stroking Scabbers.

Percy had calmed himself down sufficiently enough to prevent himself from doing something ridiculous—only for his blood pressure to rise exponentially as his door was jammed open and little twelve-year-old Wanda Prewett walked inside of his room as if she'd been invited! The loathsome little thing couldn't keep her hand out of Percy's things. Last time she'd visited, she'd thrown Percy's underpants into the oven (thankfully she'd missed some of his more embarrassing choice of underpants) and attempted to feed them to poor old Errol... He was never the same after that incident!

Wanda offered him an obnoxious smile, which seemed more than condescending even with her innocuous freckled features.

"Percy, what're you doing?" she stared over at Scabbers, and he protectively pulled Scabbers closer to him.

She started to rummage round his room, throwing away books and tossing robes.

"What's that?" when Percy saw what she was holding he'd thrown Scabbers across his bed and immediately ran to tear the magazine from her small hands. His ears were red and his cheeks were even redder. He was so bloody mortified. "Why don't these women have clothes on?"

Just to make that moment brighter, Arthur just decided to drop. "Who doesn't have any clothes on?"

"Percy has adult magazines!" Wanda yelled, making both Percy and Arthur flush into a fetching beetroot red.

Percy was sweating profusely from agitation and nervousness. He'd accidentally opened his mouth to speak, only for a whole thing of fire to escape his mouth, burning his Honeydukes-stained scarlet carpet instantly. Wanda laughed and then walked out of the room, proclaiming to the whole house about Percy looking at nude women. Well, that was a good run for today. Percy would perhaps just let the fire burn and take him alive, but he'd suppose his father wouldn't fancy Percy destroying his room—it cost money to repair after all.

"Aguamenti!" Percy jolted up hearing the sound of his father's voice.

Arthur's wand was pointed towards the inferno, which was doused out instantly. Percy's cheeks remained flushed, as he took in the charcoal-coloured carpet. The wood underneath also looked severely damaged.

A heavy feeling sat in his body and Percy found himself with sunken shoulders. Nice to know that he was completely and utterly useless as a wizard.

Arthur's eyes twinkled in the dim lighting of Percy's room.

Percy was somewhat glad he couldn't say much to his father. Somehow, as the years passed, he and his father's relationship hadn't improved one bit. If anything, Arthur and Percy were even more distant than both ever thought possible. Fumbling with their pockets, they stood with equal heights, mirroring glasses and slender, thin builds. Arthur had put on a lot of weight when Percy was younger but seemed to have lost it all back up again in the recent years, garnering Molly's attention to say the least. Bill's weight loss as well, considering that since he'd been to work for Gringott's, he'd lost all that muscle that he'd had on during his Hogwarts' years, where he had time to exercise for hours. Percy actually missed his mum nagging at him about how small he was, because at least, then he felt like a child of some sort - well, now, he could pass off as older than Bill as evident by his time with Audrey. Percy felt an uneasy tension in the air that hung so thick that he actually felt weighted down by it. Percy felt like he'd lost all sense of youth; almost as if he had aged twenty years. He felt his body falter dramatically before he placed his hands into the pockets of his pants and looked down.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Adult magazines?"

Percy shook his head before collapsing on his chair, looking down at his ruined carpet.

"And I've supposed that you and a girl might've..." he made an interlocking-like gesture with his finger, only for Percy's eyes to widen as large as dinner plates. What in Merlin's name was that gesture? If Arthur was asking if he'd ever shagged anyone, Percy would have to put his mind to the task of learning a few memory charms!

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Arthur said all of a sudden. He was toying with the torn sleeves of one of the four suits he owned. "I mean you're a young lad. Perhaps too young to be running around frolicking with girls. I mean if this happened last year, you'd have been fourteen years old, Percy and fourteen is not—"

Percy opened his mouth again, noticing that no fire came out. Thank Merlin.

"Father, that's enough," Percy finally said, sighing deeply.

Percy waited for Arthur to leave but the man didn't. Instead, he stood there, staring at Percy whilst he was shuffling with his pockets. There was a time where Percy was enticed by those dark blue suits and official Ministry robes, which Arthur hadn't had a chance to take off since he'd been home. There was a time where he leaped up from the couch the second his father came home and walked upstairs with him, babbling incessantly about anything and everything. There was a time where Percy was begging for any kind of attention from his father. Unfortunately, next time, Percy would have to bear in mind whenever he wished for attention, he had to ensure that it be positive attention. At the moment, Percy would be surprised if Arthur had something to say that wouldn't send Percy into hysterical self-destruction.

"Let's go for a walk," Arthur suddenly decided, because Percy was itching to go on a walk right now. It wasn't like a near fifty stone mammoth probably killed whatever muscle tissue he had in his leg by sitting on it for the last hour or so. "You barely walk as it is."

Percy wanted to decline, but apparently, it wasn't a choice because his father grabbed him by his hand and pulled him out of his bed as if dealing with a discontent three-year-old.

"I'll even buy you ice-cream," Arthur insisted.

Percy tried not to remind Arthur that what excited him at seven wasn't exactly going to bring the same bliss to him now. Percy stood up, biting down his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. If he'd had a cane, that would be wonderful but canes cost money... and fifteen-year-olds shouldn't be wandering around with canes because it was blasphemy! There was no way a child like Percy could have a condition that impaired them to the point of disability. His ability to spew sophisticated words and achieve an Outstanding even on the hardest assignments somehow should be able to mend any problem he'd have with this leg of his! Right?

"WHY do you always cheat?" Oliver asked with a raised eyebrow. He'd just finished changing and was decked in a pair of black jeans and a thin bright orange jumper. They just finished what had to be his and Marcus' fourth Quidditch game in a couple of days, and he'd always noticed that Marcus seemed to have a habit of—well, breaking every single Quidditch rule in the book . "I don't get it; mate because you're actually good at it. You don't need to cheat. I think you can even be better than me if you don't cheat, but don't let no-one hear me say that a dumb troll is better than me at Quidditch."

Oliver then realised how that came across and flushed, "Not that you're dumb or anything."

"Shut up, you bastard," Marcus chuckled, even though nothing that Oliver said was funny. The Gryffindor watched as Marcus pulled up an oversized black t-shirt over his head that oddly smelled of something burnt. He then sat down on the bench to put on his loafers, which looked like they were chewed up by a crup.

Oliver flushed even more. "Marcus?"

Marcus looked up with a raised eyebrow, still irritated.

"When we go back t-t-... to Hogwarts," Oliver stammered. He wasn't used to saying what he wanted outright, and he was sure that Marcus wouldn't be happy by long introductions and reasons. "I don't want anyone to know that we're friends now. I want them to think that we still hate each other."

Marcus looked surprised. "What the hell is that supposed to imply, Wood?"

"I... I don't want anyone to pick on me because of you," Oliver explained. Marcus slowly nodded his head, aggressively tying his shoelaces. "I'm sorry, Marcus. I really am. By the way, your—"

"Shut up," Marcus repeated. Oliver was going to tell him that he'd tied his shoelaces together.

APPARATING to Diagon Alley, Arthur was pleasantly surprised to see the streets virtually empty.

He'd wished he'd changed his suit or at least took off these heavy Ministry robes before he decided to take Percy down here for the quick spot of pudding. The night was rather humid, and he felt himself perspiring with the stiff weather. For a good ten minutes, Arthur walked alongside a wobbly Percy. They passed a whole range of small, gaudy shops that were having school sales. As the minutes passed, Arthur felt the presence of a cool and gentle breeze toying with his freckled skin. With every few steps, Arthur found himself glancing at his bespectacled, straight-faced son whom looked mildly frustrated at this ice-cream shop invitation. Arthur knew that he and Percy hadn't been close, especially the past few years. They seemed to drift further and further away with each passing day. Still... Arthur didn't expect his son to look so cold towards him with relatively no reason!

"What kind of ice-cream flavour do you prefer?" Arthur suddenly mentioned, seeing as they were only a few minutes away from Fortescue's.

Bill preferred strawberry. Charlie had no preference, but insisted on mixing a heinous amount of chocolate or strawberry syrup to any of his ice-creams. Fred and George often shared ice-cream sandwiches. Ron didn't mind as long as it was filled with an abundance of oddities, and his darling Ginny loved hers absolutely caked with chocolate – chocolate ribbons, chocolate-covered almonds, chocolate chips. Had Arthur even taken Percy out for ice-cream before? He must've... but it had been so long that he couldn't recall anything. Butterscotch. Wait... Butterscotch, toffee, caramel. Arthur recalled Percy polishing off three chocolate caramel sweets as he was reading his book out on the couch.

"I don't want ice-cream," Percy immediately said, though Arthur shouldn't have been the least bit surprised.

Percy barely ate as it was, and ever since he'd come back from Hogwarts, he'd started to look thinner—just like he did every single summer he'd come back from Hogwarts. Last year, he'd gotten so thin during the summer that he'd actually passed out at King's Cross station. It seemed to Arthur that unless there was someone nagging him to eat, he probably wouldn't even bother. Arthur had no idea why Percy had such a great distaste to food. It felt like ages ago that Arthur found Percy in the kitchen at the two in the morning, having have polished off a whole chocolate fudge cake on his own and was clutching his soft, slightly protruding stomach with frosting-covered fingers, looking eerily ill.

"Your mother is worried about you, Percival," Arthur tried to remind him.

Percy looked back at him and without warning, stopped walking and sat down on the bench. Arthur found Percy's intolerance to walking amusing and sat down beside him.

"Can't outrun your old man, can you?" Arthur joked, but Percy's face remained rigid.

"Why are we here?" Percy obviously knew that there was an agenda with this.

Arthur sighed deeply. He knew that his son would ask this question. For the past few days, Molly had been bombarding Arthur with her woes and worries regarding her middle son. Arthur was the unfortunate victim of the long, relentless hours Molly spent ranting to him about the fact that Percy took care of Scabbers better than he did himself. After all, she'd lost it that evening when his primary focus was getting Scabbers something to nosh on, almost like he was taking care of an infant rather than a shabby old rodent he'd found wedged between two piles of dusty wood a while back! Molly went on and on about how he was overworking himself to the bones even during the summer time and how she felt like one day, he would snap and break into a thousand little pieces with no hopes of gluing the shards back together. Arthur consoled her, wiping away those tears from her rubicund cheeks and insisted that he would remedy the situation.

"Your mother wanted me to get you something for your birthday," Arthur suddenly stated, voice stiff.

Percy sighed in exasperation and nodded his head. "Fine."

Arthur wondered why Percy seemed to want to stay away from getting gifts this year. This was not normal behaviour from a fifteen-year-old and it made him appear artless and puerile instead of sagacious and perspicacious like Percy preferred to come off as. "Some would be grateful."

Percy gave a dumbfounded look. He looked like he wanted to quip back, but held his tongue.

"Is there something you wanted to say, Percy?" Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow.

Percy still seemed to be in disbelief. "I don't appreciate your tone, father."

"I don't appreciate your attitude, Percival," Arthur mumbled, reiterating it in the same tone that Percy offered him. "So, is there something you wanted to say?"

Percy's eyes hardened. "It's my attitude that needs a change? Oh, please, father. Don't make me laugh."

"Can you laugh?" Arthur challenged, only for Percy to roll his eyes.

Percy laughed. It was dry and uninspired. "See? I can laugh," he snapped.

Arthur's blood was boiling. He didn't know why Percy had to make such a ruddy mess out of things, why he couldn't just be like any other child instead of being harder to read than a text written entirely in Elvish.

"Stop being such a bloody child," Arthur spat out, expecting a harsh retaliation.

He was not prepared for Percy's face to contort to hurt. Percy looked like he'd been slapped in the face. The worst thing was he wasn't sure what was wrong with his statement. He'd told off Charlie for being childish only two days ago, and his redheaded son only beamed in response. Arthur attempting to playfully shove Charlie, only for him to remember that his son was built like a brick wall. He remembered Charlie's laughter ringing into his ear ("am I getting too much for you, old man?"). With that expression, Arthur would've thought that Percy looked like he'd seen a man being Crucio-ed in front of him!

"Let's just go back to the house," Arthur said, trying to pull Percy out of whatever reverie he was in.

"I suppose that's fine," Percy placed his hands in the pocket, and they stayed silent for the journey back.