Chapter 4

To say Percy was upset would be an understatement. His journal, the only place he could record his thoughts, had unjustly been hijacked from his bedroom, and now all his worst fears were coming true. All his deepest secrets were spilling out, and honestly he didn't get why they didn't just publish the bloody thing in the Prophet!

His worst enigmas were being broadcast. His manic need to make something of himself, his hate for the Ministry, the secret love of Muggle rock music. He had written about his odd mood swings, panic attacks and ever-changing sleeping pattern. He would depict how sometimes he'd go three days unable to fall asleep and sometimes it'd be dinner time before he woke up, and how his thoughts could never settle. Worst of all, he'd written about his knack/passion for drawing. How disappointed would his parents be if they found out their son didn't want a respectable career and instead wanted to fucking draw all day?

Hours had passed and Percy could hear footsteps coming towards his door. He did his best to look unconcerned, picking up a book and opening to a random page as he tried to fix the loose, wild curls falling into his left eye. He did his best to make it seem that he wasn't trying to tear his hair out in frustration minutes ago. There was a strong knock at the door and his dad began speaking. "Percy, can we see you downstairs?"

"Okay," Percy called back, hoping his voice didn't sound as frazzled to his father's ears as it did his. When he opened his door his father was already retreating downstairs and the twins were watching from their doorway.

"What?" he asked with as much malice he could muster (which wasn't very hard).

"We don't hate you, Percy."

"Could've fooled me." Not only did they make his life a living hell, but they blabbed his private thoughts to Bill and their parents and now he'd probably be sent to Saint Mungo's.

Thank God his family wasn't observant enough to figure out his biggest secret. His upper thighs felt as though they were tingling in fear of the hypothetical reveal.

His parents were sitting with Bill in the kitchen. They held matching worried, saddened faces as they waited for their third eldest son. When he entered the room, he immediately wanted to be swallowed by a black hole. The pity they held in their eyes was palpable. It was uncontrolled. Undeniable. Unbearable.

Percy slid into a seat tapping his fingers against the wood in an uneven drumming pattern. His gaze flickered between his brother and parents as they all maintained an awkward, forced eye-contact. Arthur spoke first. His voice was laced with anguish and sorrow.

"Percy, you… you know why we wish to speak with you, right?"

"Yes." Percy nearly considered blurting out an excuse, a hasty amendment that would do no good; it would only hurt his cause more. He told Bill it was all true. It was a dumb move on his part, and he knew it. He could've said he had been toying around with his writing skills, trying to turn his life into something more creative than it was.

"D-do you want to talk about any of it… with us?" Molly asked. The desperation in her voice was harrowing to the point where Percy had to dig his fingernails into his palms just to keep from spilling his guts. Better his blood spill than his carefully kept secrets (more so than they already had). He shook his head. It felt slow to Percy. His head felt weighted, his throat felt like it was closing and his feet felt strangely weightless.

"We… Had a feeling you might not be open to speak with us," Arthur began. "And that's okay, we breached your privacy today." Percy snorted in agreement, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in the chair with his arms crossed. The three parallel to him watched him briefly with careful expressions.

"We discussed it, and we're going to be sending you to a therapist. At least for the remainder of the summer, and maybe even at Hogwarts, if the doctor feels you need it."

Percy elected to keep his face warily blank. They sat in silence for a few moments before Bill spoke.

"Saturday, Perce, I'm gonna take you to get a mental health screening for the therapist's records."

"A what?"

"It's a questionnaire to test you for mental illness," Arthur explained. "The doctor was quick to reply and requested you take it."

The silence lasted longer this time before Percy finally stood up, eyebrows raised in a silent plea to be released.

"Percy," Molly said quietly. "We love you, okay?"

"Yea. Whatever."

He stormed upstairs and headed straight for the bathroom. Percy didn't think the family had caught on to him cutting himself. They were notoriously oblivious sometimes and even though he hadn't disguised it well, it was still vaguely hidden in that weird letter he had decided to write.

He pulled a broken tile off the wall and pulled a razor out from behind it. It glittered in his grasp, fogging up as he turned on the water to full heat. He liked how it singed his skin.

When he climbed into the shower (with his black boxers on), he sit down under the hot water, flinching under its headed grasp. His upper thighs were faintly peppered with old scars and fading scabs. There weren't very many. This was the one form of control he had, and it made him feel slightly less weak if he could resist it for a few weeks. He pushed the sharp edge off the blade into his thigh, letting the blood be washed away by the water down the leg off his boxers and into the tub. The hot water burned the open wound with a sharp bite.

Percy leaned back against the wall in relief, squeezing his eyes shut as tears as now semi-warm as the water slipped down his cheeks. Hot water didn't last long in the burrow. They weren't tears of sadness, they were tears of anger, the kind that slipped down your cheeks with a lukewarm kiss, just cold enough to quell some of the boiling blood beneath your face.

He sat there letting his breaths even for ages, the warm water quickly turning ice cold against his skin. After what seemed like an eternity, the bathroom was thrown open and Bill was reaching over him to turn off the water.

"Shit, Percy, you're gonna give yourself pneumonia!"

A brief rant ensued as Percy ran a towel over his dark red hair. He wasn't sure if Bill was still talking—he didn't really even care—when he brushed past him to his bedroom. Based on the shocked look he felt staring him down, he was guessing that the conversation wasn't seen as over in Bill's eyes.

Percy didn't leave his room for dinner, telling his Mom he wasn't hungry and had stuff to work on. He sat drawing at his desk as the slightly subdued voices of his family wafted from downstairs. Ron and Ginny carried the bulk of the conversation, unaware of the possible reasons for Percy's absence.

That night, his head was pounding as he laid in bed. God, when was the last time he'd even slept? Insomnia had plagued him since the Wizarding War ended when he was about six. Back then it rarely ever happened, but as he and his struggles grew, so did the insomnia. It was a long-shot he'd be getting any sleep tonight. His inability to sleep used to frustrate him, more than anything in the world. Now it was just a normal part of his daily routine. Not have to wake up, go through the day, hide out in room as much as possible, lie in bed and not fall asleep. On the rare occasions that sleep graced him, he woke up shocked and almost annoyed with his body for caving—irritated with all the time he lost in slumber. The dead of night was his time. His only time.

Percy sat up in bed, looking towards his window. Somehow, his family had trusted him enough to sleep unguarded. Big mistake. Part of him hesitated, there was the prospect of getting caught, which also meant that the unguarded nights could disappear. Then again, there always had been that fear.

Percy leapt out of bed, pulling on a black t-shirt Oliver got him for his favorite Muggle rock band and old jeans. He tied his shoes quickly, stuffing his sketchbook in a messenger bag then sliding the window open further.

Fuck safety, he thought, leaping from the half roof outside his window to the ground. Pain shot up his leg as he landed, but he barely hesitated before running across the lawn onto the dirt trail ahead of him. He wasn't sure why he always ran; his clothes were dark enough that he could escape unseen by anyone glancing out the window. There was a Muggle village a little over a mile away. Percy hung out there a lot when unable to sleep.

His normal group was there. They were sat on a back road surrounded by beer bottles, cigarette smoke and weed. Were the nighttime habits of him and his midnight friends corrosive? Absolutely. Percy knew that well. Did he care? Why would he?

"Perce!" Oliver Wood was like him: a semi-depressed pure-blood who hung out with a pair of rebellious Muggles at night, both of which were just as disturbed and unhappy with unpleasant home lives as the two wizards. Their friends supplied them with booze, drugs, support and occasionally therapeutic fist fights. The drugs typically weren't Percy's thing, but tonight he needed to unwind. Big time.

Percy plopped down on the curb, beside Alex, a blonde, freshly-turned 16-year-old Muggle, who handed him a lighter and offered a cigarette. The ginger shook his head and took the joint out of his other hand instead.

"Mate, you look awful, when was the last time you slept?" the wavy-haired brunette Neil asked.

"I dunno. Four days ago?" Percy shrugged as he blew out a cloud of smoke. "Got any more of that Benadryl stuff? That helped. Though in typical 'me' fashion, I woke up 14 hours later and was drowsy for like, two days. I had to fake sick to get out of class."

Neil held out a sheet of individually packed pills and a few unfamiliar ones in a plastic bag. "I've got that and one to wake you back up. It's my new ADHD medicine, to help me focus and what-not. Adderol will make you perky and energetic.

"Good. I'm gonna need it. The twins found my journal and showed my fucking parents. I don't think they realized I cut my thighs sometimes and they certainly don't know I sneak out. I wouldn't be here if they did. Guess who starts therapy the day after tomorrow though?"

Oliver laughed behind his beer. "Tough luck, Perce."

Percy cracked open a beer of his own, pulling off his glasses and holding them in his half-bent fingers. They had been slipping down his nose anyway, slick with sweat.

The drink left a burn in his sore throat, warm and familiar as it slithered down his system. The taste lingered on his tongue and in the back of his throat, flaring up each time he drew in the warm night air through his mouth.

The muggy air tasted sickly sweet to him, mingling with the alcohol and leaving his mouth feeling humid and sticky. His shirt was beginning to stick to his shirt just from sitting there. Percy pulled out his sketchbook. He wasn't concerned about smoke ingraining itself in the book. He likes the way the pages smelled like smoke. It was comforting. Just breathing in the scent with his head down at his desk was calming enough to make him feel a bit happier.

The sun wasn't visible from behind the buildings, but after a few hours of alternating between chain-smoking cigarettes and chugging beer, the sky was beginning to light up with a warm orangey glow. The friends said goodbye and quickly scrambled to run home to their respective places.

Percy's head was throbbing as he ran. He steps were discombobulated and shaky, his breaths ragged with exertion. Somehow, he managed to make it through his window just in time to hear his Dad leaving for work. He had nearly been caught.

He didn't change out of his smoke-scented clothes.

The mix of exhaustion, drugs and alcohol finally did their work.

He was unconscious before he hit the pillow.