Chapter Six: It Snowed Last Year
"It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea." - Dylan Thomas
By the next morning, I had come around to Snape's way of thinking where my big brother was concerned. Perce was definitely planning something. When he met Hermione at the entrance to the Death Chamber, he looked rougher than I'd ever seen him: bags under his eyes, glasses as crooked as our father's, dishevelled hair and wrinkled robes. He held himself as straight and rigid as ever, but there was an undercurrent to his proper demeanour — all secrets and grief and grim determination.
I wondered if he'd slept at all, or if he just stayed at the Ministry all night, throwing himself into his research with the sort of enthusiasm that most people reserved for sex or a really, really good sandwich.
"Good morning, Hermione," Percy said. I noticed the way his hand shook as he executed his customary tug of one of her curls, and the way he allowed himself to linger for a few seconds longer than usual when he kissed her forehead, his breath gusting over her hair in quick, almost panicked sighs. His stubble scratched her skin, which surprised her; she'd never seen him unshaven before.
"Morning, Percy," she replied with a cautious smile. "You all right?"
He nodded. "I'm well, thank you," he said. "If you'd like to get started, I'm ready."
His voice cracked on the last word, but Hermione dismissed it as reluctance to return me to my place beyond the Veil. With his hand resting against the small of her back, Percy led her into the Death Chamber.
While Hermione brewed the potion and drew the symbols, Percy paced back and forth, seeming to steady himself for some monumental task. This restarted Snape's suspicious mutterings about what my brother could possibly be up to.
"Right," Perce said once Hermione was seated in the middle of a circle of ancient symbols. "Shall we start with Professor Snape?"
"Fine by me," Snape said. "I'm more than eager to escape my present company."
"The feeling is mutual, Snivellus," Sirius replied.
Professor, Hermione thought, I'm sorry I couldn't—
"Miss Granger," Snape interrupted, though his voice wasn't as harsh and biting as I would have expected. "There's no need for foolish sentiment or pointless regrets. I knew the risks involved in what I did. Now please, do your job and put me back where I belong. It reeks of dog in here."
Sirius made a few grumbles about over-large noses, but it was drowned out by Hermione's strained, sad gasp of laughter. Percy quirked an eyebrow.
"Professor Snape it is, then," she said, sitting down.
As she began chanting, Percy stalked around the outer rim of the circle, mumbling spells to stabilise her magical field under his breath. I couldn't see him, as Hermione's eyes were closed, but I could hear his echoing footsteps and feel the balancing waves of his magic.
"Weasley," Snape hissed in a voice that was barely a whisper as Hermione's incantation reached a crescendo. "If you care about your brother at all, you'll—"
And then, he was gone. Where he and Hermione had been, there was a gaping void. Her body continued its rhythmic breathing, but it was as though she'd slipped into a coma. Everything that made Hermione Hermione — her thoughts and emotions and light — was absent.
"I reckon I'll be next," Sirius said quietly. "As much as I hate to admit it, Snivellus may be right for a change. I think your brother has plans for you."
"Hermione won't let him do anything too stupid or risky," I said, though I was not at all certain of the veracity of this statement. "And anyway, Perce has never been one to bend the rules, much less break them."
"Love often makes people do things they wouldn't ordinarily even consider," Sirius said. "Percy should know that better than most, since he works in the Love Chamber. And there are seven years of mourning and guilt added onto the Percy you knew. That sort of thing changes a man."
Before I could respond, Hermione was back — alone.
"It worked," she said in a voice that was a conflicting blend of relieved and melancholy.
Percy knelt next to her, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her back. "Do you want to take a break before the next one?" he asked. "Get up and stretch your legs, maybe?"
Nodding, she clambered to her feet. Sirius and I remained quiet, sensing that she needed a few moments to regroup and, maybe, to mourn a little bit. Percy took it upon himself to dip his fingers in the sticky green potion, renewing the symbols on the cold stone floor, which had already begun to fade. With a long, steadying breath, Hermione allowed him to trace over the disappearing lines of the rune on her forehead.
"Ready?" he murmured, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze when she answered in the affirmative. "Sirius next?"
A lump formed in Hermione's throat. Sirius, she thought.
"Hey," he said. "None of that. No apologies. It's okay, love. I've lived my life."
It wasn't true, of course. Most of his prime years were spent locked up in Azkaban for crimes that weren't his. Still, it was nice of him to try to reassure her with pretty lies.
"If you can," he said, "I'd appreciate it if you let Harry know I'm proud of him — of the man he's become. And I heartily approve of his eldest boy's name."
Hermione chuckled. I'll do my best.
The process we'd gone through with Snape repeated, this time leaving me entirely alone in Hermione's head until she returned — without Sirius. I did what I could to offer solace when I felt the bitter sting of her grief, sharing a mental picture of myself hugging her and kissing her cheek.
I don't want to do it, Fred, she thought as Percy helped her to her feet for another break. I—
"Expelliarmus."
Hermione watched, stunned into silence, as her vinewood wand flew out of her fingers and clattered to the ground on the other side of the chamber. In the next heartbeat, Percy aimed a Sticking Spell at her feet, anchoring her in place.
"Percy!" she exclaimed, panic and suspicion tingeing her voice. "What are you doing?"
"I found the answer," he replied. With harried movements, he withdrew a few supplies from the inner pockets of his robes. He added a sprinkle of something purple and glowing to the bubbling cauldron of potion, then scrambled to change the layout of the symbols on the floor. On his own forehead, he drew what I initially thought was an X.
"Percy," Hermione whispered, a billion explanations for his strange behaviour whirring through her head, too fast for me to focus on any single one. "Gebo?" she added, pointing at what I suddenly realised was a rune painted in vivid purple on his freckled skin. "Gifts...sacrifices? Percy Weasley, what—"
"I loved — love — Fred enough," he said. The intensity that shone in his eyes echoed the truth of his words.
I was too confused and worried to even think the word, "poof."
"It'll work," Perce continued, somehow managing to look pompous and sure of himself even as his entire body trembled. "I'm certain of it. I spent almost all night in the Ever-Locked Room. If I consciously choose to—"
"No." Hermione gasped her monosyllabic protest, a sob rising in her throat.
The image that flickered through her mind next made me scream as the horrifying truth of Percy's plan crashed over me. She pictured Harry's mum, young and beautiful and brave, standing in front of her infant son, refusing to move aside, giving her life so that he might live.
Gebo. Gifts. Sacrifices. Sacrificial love.
No.
"Hermione!" I yelled. "Don't let him do it! Tell him he had better not fucking dare!"
"He says don't do it!" she said, sobbing and fisting her hands in the front of Percy's robes as he approached her. She tried to take his wand, but his arms were long enough to hold it out of her reach with ease. "Percy! Don't. Don't you fucking dare."
"There's a note in my flat," he whispered, tears clouding his eyes. "On the kitchen table. Make sure my mother and father get it, please."
"No! I'm not going to let you do this to them...make them mourn another son...no!"
"They'll be gaining two. They'll get George back as well."
With that, the tears spilled from his eyes, fogging up his glasses and streaming down his face. I had never wanted to hit him or hug him more than I did at that moment.
"Fred," he said, cupping Hermione's cheek with his free hand. "I just want to make one thing abundantly clear: this is not for you."
And then his mouth was suddenly on hers, his lips moving in a fierce, desperate way, pouring months of longing into a single kiss. It was then that I realised Percy's feelings for Hermione ran deeper than I initially suspected.
He loved her.
She kissed him back, clinging to him as though she thought she could change his mind if she just held on tight enough. In the back of her mind, there was the glimmer of something more — just a whisper of potential, really. It made me think that if Hermione hadn't started playing around with the Veil, Percy's love might have eventually been requited. I suspected it would have been natural and easy for the two bookworms to end up together.
I guess I'll never know for certain.
"No," Hermione whimpered when he pulled away and raised his wand.
Percy pried her hands off of his robes and took a few steps back, taking care to remain within the circle of symbols. He chanted unfamiliar words in a long-dead language, well beyond my knowledge of spellcaster's Latin. I felt myself soar through the air for a split-second before the unfamiliar weight of a new body settled around me. Through Percy's eyes, I saw Hermione, sobbing and reaching towards him with repetitive pleas to stop what he was doing.
"You idiot!" I shouted. "Look at her! She doesn't want you to do this! She wants you to stay here and keep having your mind-numbingly boring lunches and talk about cauldron bottom thicknesses and—"
I'm not doing it for her, he thought. I'm doing it for you. Closing his eyes, he pictured our family as they had looked at my funeral. I'm doing it for them.
"Like they'll be any happier when they bury you?" I snapped.
They'll have you to help them remember how to laugh.
He turned to face the Veil, raising my dismay to fever-pitch and making Hermione's shrieks of protest intensify.
"You are such a stubborn git!" I yelled. "You might think you're doing the right thing, but you also thought you were doing the right thing in siding with the Ministry at first, remember? This is no different. I don't want you to do this for me, Perce! I'd rather you live, you utter prat!"
He faltered for a moment, but then shook his head and took off at a run towards the Veil. Hermione's screams were barely audible over the roaring of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Just before he dove through the tattered black fabric, he shared one last thought with me.
Don't ever feel guilty about this, Fred. Do what I couldn't: let it go. Be happy. Remember, this was my choice.
I tried to reiterate that it was the wrong choice, but it was too late. As soon as we hit the curtain, Percy was gone. His body disappeared, and I found myself in my own skin for the first time in seven years.
I was immediately engulfed by crushing, excruciating waves of pain. My broken ribs and arms and legs seemed to set themselves back into place, knitting together and healing at an astonishing speed. The bruises that riddled my skin magically vanished, dissipating like puffs of steamy breath in winter. When it no longer hurt to draw in a breath, I suddenly found myself sprawled on a familiar stone floor, staring up at a pair of mournful, worried brown eyes.
If Hermione's feet were no longer glued in place, then Percy's magic had vanished. I closed my eyes against the new, very different sort of pain that welled up in my chest.
He'd really done it.
"Fred," Hermione said with a sniffle, tracing her fingers over my face in disbelief. In a broken whisper, she added, "Oh, Percy. You noble fool."
Somehow, she retained the presence of mind to retrieve her wand and conjure a blanket to wrap around my naked body. If I'd been less consumed with thoughts of my brother's death, I probably would have wondered how the hell I was going to get out of the Ministry whilst completely starkers.
Looking down, I noticed that my injuries from the Battle of Hogwarts hadn't left any lasting marks. The only new scar on my body was an X on my chest — over my heart. I reckoned it was a bit like Harry's lightning bolt; both were given to us as a result of powerful magic. His scar was carved out by evil and darkness, while mine was the exact opposite. The rune on my chest was the result of the most ancient magic on earth.
I could have done all manner of things at that point. I could have ranted and raved about Percy's stubbornness. I could have cried, though I probably wouldn't have admitted it to you if I did. I could have held Hermione close and let her cry herself dry on my shoulder for her lost friend.
Instead, I wrapped an arm around her waist, tried to force something that resembled a smile, and said five simple words:
"Told you he fancied you."