replies to any inquiries:

FairyRave and Phoenixx Rising: i love your comments last chapter! honestly, i'm addressing you both because you both had similar enough comments. especially about Percy's flip flop thought processes that seemed out of the blue. technically, some of it you see in Chapter 28, when you see him drunkenly telling Molly how he felt during the war. you see it again in Chapter 40 when Ares tells him he is afraid of "embracing the darkness." it is just a bit more touched on here and more obvious, because Percy was trying to attempt to tap into those thoughts to explain how he feels in the grand scheme of things. it is something that will be mentioned more often. the reason it was mentioned sporadically because i wanted to give an idea that it was a very suppressed issue for Percy. i won't lie... i loved writing the reactions so much! and for Phoenixx Rising, smack on with the fact that he's the reason that Adrian is comatose! it is actually comical that they won't address this until 2-3 chapters later!

Chapter Fifty-Two

"Ginny?" Percy called out, surprised. He wrapped his arms around her immediately and hugged her tightly.

"Percy?" Ginny echoed. She hugged him back, crushing him in the process. "You're back!"

He hadn't felt happy like this since he'd left the ward. It was like he'd just stepped off from a Hogwarts train and come back home. Percy buried his head into Ginny's hair. Merlin, she needed to give it a good wash... but perhaps, she shouldn't be using Marcus' hot bath water.

"Godric, you've been playing Quidditch I suppose?" Percy pulled away from her, pulling his hand towards his nose where he was wiping away what, to Ginny, appeared to be non-existent dust particles.

However, to him, it was a thousand and one microscopic fungi starting to take refuge in his nose.

"I heard from the twins you went against multiple rules, Ministerial decrees and did not finish your Hogwarts' education. I also heard that Ron is planning on not finishing his Hogwarts' education, similarly to the twins, and less importantly, I heard that you were involved in taking down You-Know-Who," Percy finished in one final breath. "Congratulations on getting a deal cut with the Holyhead Harpies. Perhaps, one day, you might be able to teach me why a sport centred on two poorly constructed hoops, a bunch of beaten down broomsticks and a collection of dangerous balls could be so appealing."

Ginny only offered him a bright beam. "Percy?"

"Yes?" Percy raised an eyebrow.

"Shut up," Ginny said, still beaming over at him.

Percy's cheeks coloured in deeply, as he glanced over at Ron.

Ron had his arms crossed over his chest. Merlin, did he get tall! He was at least two or three inches taller than Percy, which made him feel quite self-conscious.

Percy wrapped his arms around Ron, whom refused to respond for about five seconds before he wrapped his arms around Percy's frame. Yet again, Percy found it difficult to breathe with how tight Ron was holding onto him, as if he was afraid to let go of Percy least he just disappeared.

"Blimey, is that what they make you wear in there?" Ron asked, staring at Percy's clothing with repulsion. "And I've heard from mum that there was something going on with Flint! Is he finally leaving the house because he has no business staying here?"

"Ron," Arthur cut him off with a look that would've made Molly proud.

Percy raised an eyebrow. "No, I bought these two days ago," his cheeks were hot and red. "However, Marcus is in extremely poor condition. He is—... he was dying of hypothermia."

"I told you that it was cold in here!" Ginny flicked a look in Ron's direction.

"No, he was actually dying of hypothermia," Percy said in a very serious tone.

"I know!" Penelope looked extremely stressed. Wisps of golden hair fell into her eyes.

"How can someone die of hypothermia in this weather? It's humid outside. Think my heart's boiled down to blood juice in Diagon Alley this morning," surprisingly, it was Ron that had been pointing out that it was a little odd for Marcus to have hypothermia in November... much less life-threatening hypothermia.

"Marcus was dying of hypothermia," Percy's voice was flat, "because of me."

At that moment, Molly had chosen to leave the bedroom. Marcus was groggily trudging behind her. She was carrying a load of warm, fuzzy clothes in her arms. He was rubbing his eyes as he followed her towards the bathroom.

Meanwhile, Oliver stood by the doorframe with a murderous look to his eyes... which made the curly-haired ginger wonder if Oliver would yet again attempt to scratch his eyes out within the next few minutes.

Higgs and Bletchley shared similar expression.

By the end of today, Percy would have to unearth some form of deep seated love for large wooden coffins with how disastrous his future seemed to be playing out.

"What did you say?" Arthur was staring at Percy with confused, large blue eyes.

Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. "I... I may have done something I am not particularly proud of, and it was not on purpose but I am quite certain I'm the reason behind why Marcus was dying."

"Percy?" Molly squeaked out. Beside her, Marcus stayed quiet. "Percy, love, you didn't—"

"But I did! I... I've done this!" Percy exclaimed, waving his arms around frantically. "I've fantasised about this. I've fantasised about pushing Marcus into the Great Lake for weeks now. I've fantasised about it so many times that it's probably turned into a memory—"

"Perce, you're not making much sense," Ginny cut him off. "I've fantasised about throwing Ron from top of the house after he stole my broom—but that doesn't mean that if someone throws him off, it's my fault!"

"Ginny, you've forgotten about my epilepsy! It's supposedly a gift from Athena to help me vanquish Ares," Percy reminded her. "It's a gift because essentially, it's not an illness. I am a walking body that is filled with uncontrollable archaic magic. I learned how to control most of it, not all of it but enough that I do not have to convulse to be able to wield it. The only reason I kept on getting ill after my fits is due to the fact that I couldn't control any of my body's own magic, which is strong enough that it made me extremely ill afterwards. As I stated multiple times already, I can't control all of it. It is extremely difficult to and I suppose that I'm not supposed to be able to. I believe that that the part that I cannot control is part of the reason why my countless suicide attempts are always unsuccessful. My body does not want me to die regardless of what I think and-and-and it's probably the reason for why Marcus was dying because I kept on bloody fantasising about it and it's not just a harmless fantasy. I..."

Percy shook his head, feeling ill. "I'm incredibly dangerous! I'm not even sure of what I'm capable of, but this is entirely possible. Well, I've... I've subconsciously attempted to kill him via hypothermia!"

"What do you mean suicide attempts?" Molly seemed to zero in on the one thing that Percy mentioned in the passing that shouldn't even matter at all at the moment. She sounded angry. "Percival Ignatius Weasley, what have you been doing to yourself when you've been staying with the twins?"

"It'snotimportant," Percy answered quickly, his throat aching. "I'mamurderer but-but I didn't mean to..."

"Don't worry, Percy," Oliver said in a maniacal tone to his voice. "Godric knows we'll help kill you before you actually bloody murder someone!"

"OLIVER, TAKE THAT BACK!" Molly exclaimed, looking appalled by him.

Oliver grabbed Percy's shoulders and pushed him into the wall (yet again), glaring over at him. His look was so cold that it could've sent Marcus back into a hypothermic state. "I knew it," he hissed. "I bloody knew that there was something about you. And they're going to forgive you even if you don't ruddy well deserve it. You could probably become the next Dark Lord and nobody would care because it's sweet little Percy—"

"OLIVER, STOP THAT THIS INSTANCE!" Molly exclaimed, grabbing Oliver by his shoulder herself and pushing him off Percy. He probably could've resisted her but chose not to. "APOLOGISE TO HIM!"

"No," Oliver's eyes were still locked to Percy's face. "You should know that I'm not blind to what you really are inside and I don't think it's a bloody coincidence that you're the God of war's vessel!"

Oliver's jaw clenched, "You're not human! You're—you're—you're—"

Percy stared over at Oliver, his heart pounding in his chest. "You're right," he whispered.

Maybe he was meant to wait for the silver-haired dark-eyed to come back. Maybe her promises weren't empty. Maybe they needed time. Maybe he was meant to dissolve into the bleakness as he stood waiting by the lamppost all alone. Maybe he should just succumb. Maybe this mask would crumble. Maybe he was too young to know. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be like this—

"NO! He's not!" Molly said, letting go of Oliver to walk towards Percy. She placed a hand on his chin and pulled it up, staring at him with a softened expression. "Percy, don't listen to him."

Percy simply looked back at her with a look of defeat. "Mum, he's right."

"PERCIVAL, DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT YOURESLF LIKE THAT!" Molly was very vehement about where she stood. Percy could see himself walking away, searching for that silver-haired woman with her even more silver tongue. He wanted to bloody run at the confrontation. "Do you understand?"

He slowly nodded his head, but was succumbing to his own self-hatred.

"It's been a long day," Molly said, placing a hand against his cheek. "We'll talk about this later. Do you understand? You need to lie down and rest."

Percy could only very weakly nod his head.

PENELOPE would be lying if she said that she felt angry towards Percy's confession—that he'd subconsciously pulled Marcus into a hypothermic state as a result of his disturbing and questionable fantasies. She would be lying if she said that she wanted to tear his face off for harming her husband (hadn't she done worse to him? Why did Marcus forgive her?). She... only felt sad. She couldn't blame Percy. He had been locked off into a ward for six years with no proper human contact. How could she hate him for feeling contempt? How could she hate him for being human?

(And a part of her probably still loved him, no matter how small it was. She could never fully hate him. He was the first boy she ever wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She was so sure that she'd get him to see through her bright spectrespecs one of these days, to make everything that he was so blind to before... clear, vivid—real. Just like she failed at finding wrackspurts, she failed at letting him see through her eyes. He had not even tripped, much less fallen for her. Thus, Penelope was just stood there with funny-looking glasses on her face as she waited. She had never believed that she could love another human being with the same intensity—and then Marcus was away and this gaping hole was in her chest. She missed him constantly. She missed him in the morning. She missed him in the afternoon. She missed him at night. She loved him in a way that made her challenge the way that she saw the universe... and that scared her more than she wanted to admit.)

Speaking of Marcus... she stared down at him, hands trembling. Sat in the hot bath, Marcus looked peaceful.

Marcus had yet to see Avis since she'd brought her over. Just the thought of her daughter catching sight of her own father in such a state left Penelope feeling woozy.

As Penelope stared at him, she thought of the months that had passed. She thought of all the muggle video tapes that she took of Avis as she started to walk. She'd been so eager to show him, so eager to take him back home so that they could fall into that beautiful, synchronised pattern that they'd been in before. She thought that she had unearthed the true secret to eternal happiness. She thought that they were going to be together forever now. She thought that she was supposed to die before him. Part-trolls had amazing life spans. She thought that he was the one that would bury her.

Just hours ago, she was getting ready to bury him.

Two months ago, she slipped on a puddle of melted dark chocolate. She cried. She couldn't stop crying for hours because she could see him tearing off those wrappers and letting the frog fly away from his fingers.

It took Penelope so long to come to terms with the fact that she loved him, that she was in love with him. Every molecule of his being wanted him even if her mind was resistant at the idea for the longest time... and today, she reclaimed him and nearly lost him. To hypothermia. Smack in the middle of November.

"Clearwater," he looked content when he saw her. Marcus leaned his head back, smiling weakly. He seemed to be able to form coherent thoughts. A few hours ago, he'd been staring at her with vacant eyes, completely unaware of what was happening to him. "I lie so bloody much—I don't even know when I'm saying the ruddy truth anymore... Godric, you'd have a field day with me with a phial of veritaserum on ya."

Penelope reached to put his hand on his face. She stroked his cheek lovingly. "It's okay."

She noticed the fleeting expression on his face.

"Marcus?" she called out, the way his name rolled off her tongue was effortless.

"I was—... bloody hungry I was," Marcus suddenly said. "Mum hadn't made anything for dinner again."

Penelope's heart practically stopped in her chest. He was telling her a story? Marcus, he whom would not tell what kind of potato he preferred for dinner? Marcus, he whom refused to even let her know anything about his Gringott's account! Marcus, he whom refused to even let her measure his robe size so that he could stop wearing these bloody duvet-sized robes of his sisters!

"There wasn't bollocks in the fridge," Marcus continued, shaking his head. "She put up wards round the house, because she wasn't sure if it was safe even though the ruddy war's ended. Well, I did have a habit of walking round our backyard in my skivvies, smacking things with my toy broomstick. Maybe that was it. The neighbours got tired of seeing me in my underpants. I was six. Apparition was... out of the question, not unless I wanted to get me spleen spliced. She told me I needed to lose a few stones... so I bloody threw stones at her and told her that I lost them. Now, she should feed me potatoes. She was so pissed that she threatened to disown me quite a bit. She said she couldn't find me any ruddy robes anymore. She'd have to look for bed sheets and curtains next to clothe me if I kept on eating so ruddy much."

Penelope swallowed the lump in her throat. She felt ill.

"I was ravenous. Could've chewed through the couch if the house-elves would've let me," Marcus smiled into her touch. His skin was stiffer than his coffin would've been. His chest barely expanded as he breathed.

"I snuck into her room when she was having a kip—Godric, she had at least six bloody kips a day for no reason. All she did was sit on her arse all day—and I..."Marcus' lips twitched. "I ate mum's wedding ring."

Penelope's heart sunken. He looked so apologetic.

"She bloody butchered me she did," Marcus laughed. His laugh was emptier than her Gringott's account. "My father didn't know. The only person in this world that knows besides you is Maya. She... had to clean up the bloody mess, you know—and it was properly bloody. I told her I ran through the door first time round and she asked me if the door happened to be a fully trained Auror."

Penelope's eyes were blurring with tears. She just placed her hand against his shoulder, staring over at his frame. Godric, it felt like every time she looked at him, there was somehow less and less of him all the time. She'd seen air heavier than he was.

"She said that she'd made me regret it," Marcus' voice was rising, wobbly. "Godric, I was six. I was starving and—to me, it was just a rock! A ruddy ugly one at that!"

"It's okay," Penelope ran her hand through his thick black hair—but it wasn't. She just wanted to tear Viola's skin off. She loathed that woman the first time she'd laid her eyes on her. She'd loathed her even more when she came back with expensive robes, whilst her ten children rotated the same twenty robes between them. Marcus' robes always smelled like Marisol's lavender perfume or Maya's strawberry pie. "It's okay."

She could feel tears slide down her eyes. She was doing a poor job of convincing him that this was alright.

Marcus looked up at Penelope with an even softer expression. She didn't know any possible. Any softer, and he might melt into the water.

She watched him stand up and dry himself off. Penelope laughed when he tried to dry his thick, black hair. He looked like he might've damaged his neurons with how aggressively he was rubbing the towel into his hair. She was surprised that his hair hadn't been torn off his head in the process.

Penelope watched him put on his underpants, followed by Oliver's fuzzy pyjamas.

"Fifth year," Marcus said, starting to button up the sky blue pyjama top. Even these fit him better than his sister's robes; most of them were significantly bigger than Oliver. "I didn't cheat."

"What?" Penelope was surprised to hear this. "What do you mean—?"

Marcus shook his head, finally getting to the top button. He ran his hand through his wet but not dripping hair. He opened his mouth to speak, but then his cheeks coloured in. He didn't say anything for a few moments, obviously trying to find the words to convey his feelings. "Merlin, how in Godric's name am I supposed to say this without sounding like an absolute dunce?"

Penelope sighed in exasperation. "Marcus!"

He only smirked. "I can't see properly. I need glasses. Merlin, I'm practically blind without those sodding things," Marcus shook his head. "I do own a pair, Clearwater, but I don't wear them because they look bloody awful they do."

"Flint," Penelope corrected him, crossing her arms over her chest. Suddenly, thick vibrant memories of Marcus misspelling his own name on his own assignments came to mind. His wiggly, unsteady handwriting filled her mind. The way some letters seemed to loop into one another, and how some were completely unwritten, or written more than twice or thrice. "Marcus, were you really meant to be put into Slytherin?"

"Not that bloody question! No, I practically begged the sodding thing to put me into Slytherin! The stupid old thing wanted to put me into Hufflepuff! If I was in Hufflepuff, my mum would've thrown me out of the house!" Marcus exclaimed hotly, his cheeks colouring in deeply. "What's so bloody Hufflepuff like about me?"

Penelope couldn't stop laughing. She could imagine eleven-year-old Marcus in his bright yellow-and-black scarves, having his arms crossed over his chest as a horde of energetic first year Hufflepuffs talked to him about anything and everything under the sun. Meanwhile, Marcus would threaten to give them a proper scaphoid fracture if they didn't stop bloody talking. The thought warmed her heart.

"There is the fact that whenever one of your mates tend to put you into a life-threatening situation, you tend to forgive them almost immediately regardless of the fact that one day, they might actually lead to your imminent death," Penelope replied in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. Marcus only shot her a look before rolling his eyes but she only weakly smiled. "Marcus, what Percy did... he—"

"You're not going to tell me that I shouldn't forgive the bastard, are you?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. He was leaning against the bathroom counter, his hands on his thighs.

Penelope's cheeks coloured in. She was ashamed to say that she was going to tell him that Percy hadn't meant to do this. He was a cavern of volatile, uncontainable magic and he'd been in a ward that had obviously done him in. She could barely see her Percy in those vacant blue eyes and that tepid smile. He was so uncertain of himself. He looked... incomplete, as if he had left something that was vitally Percy back in the ward. She could feel it. From the moment that she saw him, she knew that he was not himself. She yearned to reach out to somehow fill in the gap where the rest of him once was. Penelope hated that she couldn't hate him for what he did. She couldn't even blame him for what he did.

Marcus' smile disappeared. He knew, Penelope thought to herself.

"When I came back to Hogwarts, I thought that maybe I could show them that I wasn't so ruddy thick," Marcus continued the second story. "I used to sleep in the day and stay up during the night, under the covers, with those bloody glasses on. I read the books, and I did my useless, dreadful assignments. The bastards kept on thinking I was cheating! The lot of them. I just bloody gave up! What else could I do? They were convinced that I was thicker than one of my mum's tortes!"

Penelope stared at him, seeing right through his translucent eyes.

Marcus cocked his head to one side. "You love the weasel. Holly Heywood told me," she wanted to curse Holly for mentioning it to Marcus, but why on Earth would she mention this to Marcus at all?

"Yes," Penelope admitted cheeks red. "Did you ever figure out why Holly even bothered to tell you this?"

Marcus snorted. "That lass is absolutely smitten with me. She's wanted to go out with me ever since I started throwing rocks at you. Thought it was a 'very primitive but romantic' gesture."

Somehow, this shocked Penelope greatly. She did not expect this. She'd known Holly for years. She had mentioned to Penelope before that she was besotted with a bloke from Slytherin. She had even gone so far as to mention that he had dark hair, light eyes and a slight built. Penelope had always assumed that she'd been talking about Peregrine Derrick—an extremely lanky, dark-haired Beater with light green eyes. Every girl in Ravenclaw seemed to find him charming, albeit most blokes did not feel the same way about him. She could remember Holly at the hospital, quick to defend him: "Marcus? Don't talk about him like that."

Penelope had been jealous of Holly ever since she was eleven.

Holly was exceedingly attractive and intelligent. She could get any bloke she wanted with a flick of her hair, and wrote all her assignments in less than half an hour. Holly was engaged to one of the Weird Sisters band members, and he—wrote a song about her! Every woman in the wizarding world was jealous of her and Holly? She had this lad's affection in the palm of her hand and yet, she was staring goggly-eyed over at Marcus Flint.

"Marcus?" Penelope called out in a whisper, moving closer to him. She felt the coldness between them just disappear. The closer she was to him, the more she could see what Holly desperately wanted.

Marcus cocked his head. "Hmm?"

She smiled weakly, placing a hand on his cheek. "What day in February?"

She saw him smile in a way that left her heart full. "The eighteenth."

"GODRIC, YOU TWO HAVE BEEN IN THERE FOR AGES!" one of the twins sounded out from outside the bathroom. Penelope was flushing deeply and Marcus simply looked pleased. "NO WONDER FLINT'S FAMILY IS SO BIG! The minute that you two are left alone, you try to bloody procreate!"

"Marcus?" Penelope noticed him starting to unbutton his shirt. "What are you doing?"

"Well, they already think we're shagging," Marcus shrugged and then smirked, sliding his pyjama top off.

PERCY ran his hand through the small tuft of vibrant red curls at the top of his head as he stared over at himself in the mirror in his room—err, shed. He rubbed a small dollop of Madame Primpernelle's gel and then slicked his hair back, trying to tame it as much as he could. Unfortunately, attempting to reel the twins in was a much easier feat than attempting to calm down these livid locks! This would be so much easier if he had his wand with him but he was still not allowed to have a wand on the basis that he was bollocks at attempting not to harm himself.

Percy honestly did not know why Audrey bothered. If he wanted to harm himself, he would find a way to harm himself sans wand. And now, he would have to live with the fact that if he did somehow manage to kill himself in the next hour or so, he would die with truly awful hair.

PERCY! You take that back RIGHT NOW! Percy could practically hear his mother say. THIS IS NO LAUGHING MATTER!

Somehow, the thought brought a smile to his face and he found himself laughing. Truly laughing. For the first time in so long that he'd felt a warm tingling running down his spine.

WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT LAUGHING? He could hear his mother reply, and he laughed harder.

He placed his hands into the pockets of his pants. His pockets were made for a very small child's hand—or George's hands, whom suspiciously had smaller hands than Fred. Visibly so. At least, it was to Percy.

In what way were those two identical again? They didn't even have the same handwriting!

As Percy caught a look at his (lack of) padding, he smiled as he recalled the great padded arse failure when he was fourteen. He'd stuffed his underpants like women stuffed their bras. Needless to say, he'd left a trail of toilet paper whenever he went because his underpants were too large on him. (Penelope asked Percy if by any chance, they shared undergarments as well. Percy did not comment on this because Penelope should remember that Percy had sterilised quills—of course he would not wear someone else's underpants... not unless he incinerated it first! He did realise later on that she asked this question because Bill did have an arse and she supposed that if he was wearing Bill's underpants, the toilet paper film would slip out quite easily considering Percy didn't have much arse holding the paper in place. Marvellous, wasn't it?)

Percy's heart had done a flip when the door to the shed was cracked wide open (very noisily, Percy might add. He nearly had a coronary!) and a tall figure emerged from the doorway.

Percy's heart nearly stopped in his chest. Arthur. Percy actually did want to have a coronary.

"I remember when you were a little nipper," Arthur said, making Percy's shoulders tense up. "Our safe house had a fireplace in your room and you used to be cross about it. Members of the Order kept on wafting in late at night and they kept on irritating you. You were insisting they use the other fireplace, the big dusty one that was filled with so many noxious fumes that you don't even find spiders making cobwebs anywhere near it. You kept on throwing your fists up, bloody angry you were. Your mum said she tried to feed you apples for pudding one day and you were so cross with her that you've locked yourself up with the room and fell asleep. You managed to display your first real ability to do magic. Do you remember that?"

Percy's cheeks coloured in. "I believe I had lit up the fireplace, and you happened to emerge out of it in a similar instance. I had essentially flambéed you."

Arthur smiled weakly as he recalled this. "I still have a burn mark on my bum from that."

"That was the unattainable knowledge that I was truly missing in my life," said Percy, whom had raised his eyebrow at the fact that his father even bothered mentioning this memory. "Thank you, father."

Arthur's ears coloured in deeply. "Your mum and I spent all night trying to calm you down and then Fabian and Gideon managed to go up to you and calm you down in seconds. You were back to your happy self—and yes, there was a time, Percival, where you were just like the rest; a happy, optimistic child. At that time, I always did wonder what they'd said to you. Do you remember what they said?"

Percy stared vacantly over at his father. "I remember everything," he remembered the war even more vividly than nine-year-old Charlie or eleven-year-old Bill, both of whom were simply annoyed that they couldn't play as much Quidditch as he wanted. "I believe that they told me that I wouldn't want to be the reason Father Christmas was coughing up coal all night. If I also recall correctly, that Christmas, you managed to give me a toy broomstick that was very quickly confiscated by Bill and Charlie. I remember practically begging for you to get it back for me but you hadn't even bothered to do that for me."

Arthur flinched and then moved closer to Percy. He placed a hand on Percy's shoulder, but the ginger turned away and stared at him with a cold expression.

"I was trying to... make this situation less dense by bringing up a memory I thought you might find amusing," Arthur said, attempting to be as stiff as Percy but failing dramatically. "Percy, I'm sorry."

Percy stared at him with a vacant expression. His heart was racing and he had started to sweat.

"I know that things have been... difficult between us," Arthur said. "But I just had to say..."

Difficult had to be a big understatement. He moved closer to Percy and Percy shifted away, pinning himself to the wall. He was surprised that he wasn't breathing heavily because he was starting to feel very sticky and faint. His dodgy leg felt heavier than usual. It pulsed with pain and tried to pull him to the ground.

"...that I didn't purposely put you into the ward. I was under the Imperius! By Ares! What a dastardly God," Arthur's eyes were filled with anger and contempt. "Percival?"

Percy was starting to see black spots form into his vision. Suddenly, he began to question when was the last time he had something to eat.

"Please leave me alone," Percy said in a soft voice. "I am not particularly in the best mindset to be discussing such things with you and I do not want to remember that you've left me in the... the—"

"The ward?" Arthur called out.

Percy closed his eyes, trying to ignore the assaults of memories where he'd screamed so loudly his throat would hurt for days, the days where he'd had his bones cracked, or his dinner stolen by rats. He could feel something fuzzy lying underneath his skin, and wispy long legs rubbing against his neck. He slept with his mouth open on more than one occasion and had accidentally choked down a very large tarantula. He could remember trying to push it out, and her long, hairy legs pressed up against his chin. The nurse that had seen to him that day had grabbed him by his collar and shoved the thing down twenty-year-old Percy's mouth.

The memory was so vivid. Percy didn't even know that he'd shoved his fingers into his own throat to try and push out a non-existent spider until Arthur pulled his hand away from his mouth.

Percy swallowed, tasting watery blood. His throat was scratchy.

Humiliation! Percy couldn't remember the last time he felt this humiliated in his whole life. His father had just caught him attempting to shove a non-existent spider out of his mouth! He knew he had questionable sanity but never in his life did he think that he would come to the point where he was imagining non-existent things in front of his own father! He was so ashamed of himself. Merlin, they all thought he was nutters, but did he really have to amplify it? His cheeks coloured in and his eyes stung with tears. And now, he was crying? Godric.

"Percy... what in Godric's name were you doing?" Arthur suddenly called out. He looked terrified. Great. Now, not only was he bonkers, but his own father was afraid of him.

Percy opened his mouth to explain but closed it back up. What could he say? I was trying to pull out an imaginary spider but instead, ended up tearing my throat with my fingers?

"Well, if you don't want to talk to me then..." was all that Arthur would say as he placed a hand on Percy's shoulder, squeezing it. Was this supposed to console him? "Alright. I... I suppose."

Percy waited until his father left before he crumbled to the ground and started to sob. He wrapped his arms around himself, staring at the wall vacantly with weary red-rimmed eyes. He could not breathe. A sudden smile started to form on his face when he noticed that Arthur had accidentally dropped his wand in the shed.