Chapter 12: Evanescent

Charlie's not sure how long they sit there on the floor, Percy trembling in Charlie's arms as he slowly calms down and his magic stops tearing the room apart. At some point, their Mum quietly gets up and slips out of the room.

Percy mumbles into his shoulder, mostly too quietly for Charlie to hear, but he does catch a few sentences. "I was giving her information, so she could warn people. I led them to her. It's my fault. " The clear pain in Percy's voice is hard to hear, but Charlie's at least glad to fill in some of the gaps of what happened to Percy. But when Percy mutters, "They made me watch them kill her" and "I begged him to let me die," it leaves Charlie reeling, equal parts nauseous and furious and powerless.

Eventually, Percy tries to pull away from Charlie's grip. Charlie opens his arms, half-relieved and half-reluctant to let his brother go.

Percy wipes the tear stains from his face and then wraps his own arms around himself. He doesn't look at Charlie. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," Charlie replies automatically. Percy lets out an scoffing noise, which Charlie realizes is a twisted laugh.

Percy's voice is bitter and coarse from crying as he chokes out, "That's hardly the consensus."

Charlie thinks of Ron's thoughtless question of whether Percy had apologized, and Ginny's admission she was still angry with him. But Percy hadn't heard any of that, had he?

"Percy, that's not—we're proud of all the people you saved, okay? That's what matters."

Percy is staring blankly at the broken ink bottles, watching ink trickle down the uneven floorboards. "How did you know?"

"Hermione figured it out. She went through the paperwork from your office, and talked to some people." Hermione had talked to the muggle-born community about Penelope Clearwater, but the mention of her name alone sent Percy into a fit, so Charlie leaves that part out.

Percy flinches anyway, as though even the barest implication of his murdered girlfriend was enough to cause him physical pain.

"You could have told us, Perce," Charlie says, watching Percy carefully for the sign of another breakdown. Maybe Percy is still too fragile to press, but Charlie feels like he needs to get this out now, before the moment slips away and he never says any of it. "Maybe you were worried about the muggle-borns you protected, if they would still be safe?" Percy continues gazing at the floor, unresponsive. "But you don't have to worry about that. The war's been over for a while, and things are stable. The muggle-borns are integrated back into the Wizarding community, and the Aurors are keeping everyone safe."

Except the Aurors had let the Death Eaters, Percy's torturers, escape. Charlie doesn't mention that part, either. Every time he talks to Percy, every time any of them talk to Percy, so much goes unspoken.

"Would you all have believed me?" Percy asks suddenly, the words tumbling over themselves in a rush.

"Of course we would!" At first, Charlie's shocked that Percy would even ask. But then he remembers Ron and Ginny's stewing anger, of Fred and George's uncharacteristic, ugly hatred when Percy missed Bill's wedding, and the question doesn't seem so crazy. "Percy—"

"I'm sorry about the room," Percy interrupts, pulling himself unsteadily to his feet. "I'll clean this up."

I guess that's it for talking, Charlie thinks, fighting back a sigh. "Okay, Perce. Let me help."

As Charlie casts repairing charms on the shattered window and the splintered wood of Percy's desk and bed, Percy gathers up the scattered books and torn parchment. While Charlie's focused on trying to coax the split ink from the cracks in the floor, Percy surprises him by speaking again.

"I wasn't worried about their safety," Percy says quietly. "I knew I didn't need to."

Charlie turns to face Percy, but his little brother is rolling parchment into neat scrolls, studiously avoiding eye contact. Charlie returns to his work as well, pretending as though he isn't hanging on Percy's every word.

"I used memory charms on myself, to remove the details of what I'd done as soon as it was over. So I could never give up their names or locations."

Charlie slowly lowers a blob of ink into its bottle, his mind reeling. Casting a memory charm on yourself is terribly dangerous work. Charlie had heard rumors of Hogwarts sixth-year who tried to erase an embarrassing failed attempt to ask a girl out, and instead ended up needing to relearn how to put his pants on.

"I—I reckoned they would catch me, eventually," Percy continues, voice barely above a whisper. "I was so close to them, it seemed impossible they wouldn't. I wanted to be prepared, so I wouldn't give away anything that could hurt them, when it happened."

Charlie imagines Percy alone in his flat, wand to his temple, shredding his own memories so no one else would get hurt when he was caught and tortured. The ink he'd been levitating drips back to the floor as his fist involuntarily clenches.

"I thought that would happen. I thought I was ready for it, that it would almost be a relief. But I didn't think…" Percy's voice begins to shake, his breath becoming more ragged. "I didn't think they would catch Pen. I tried to keep her safe, away from the Ministry, away from them."

"I know you did," Charlie interjects, but Percy just shakes his head again.

"I thought they'd take me right away, not bother watching me so carefully. I thought I was doing enough, only meeting her at St. Mungo's, always going in disguise. But I should have known…"

"It wasn't your fault, Percy," Charlie says, uselessly.

"And I thought they'd just kill me, once they realized I didn't know anything. I didn't think…didn't think h-he would want…"

He."He wouldn't let me die,"Percy had said. "He who, Perce?" Charlie asks, struggling to hold his voice in check, to sound casual and gentle when he feels horrified and enraged. He glances at his little brother.

A half-rolled piece of parchment slips from Percy's trembling fingers. Percy opens his mouth and draws in a shaky breath. Charlie holds his own breath as it appears Percy might speak. But then Percy flinches, his mouth snapping shut, and remains silent.

"It's okay. You're safe now," Charlie repeats, wincing internally at how repetitive and impotent he sounds. It wasn't your fault. You're safe now. What use are these platitudes if Percy doesn't believe them?

"Here." Charlie picks up the fallen piece of parchment, holding it out to Percy. He glances down at the scrawled black wall of Percy's handwriting, and can make out a few words—what looks like potion ingredients.

Six ounces of nettles, dried, ten whole puffer-fish eyes, pathetic, disgusting, traitor, worthless, murderer, one bat spleen, drained of fluid—

Charlie's heart thuds against his chest, his stomach lurching. "Uh—"

Percy snatches the parchment and furls it up tightly, hiding the self-incriminating words. His body tightens up too, closing in on himself.

"Excuse me, please."

"Percy—"

"I need to get some rest, if you don't mind."

Charlie considers saying no, refusing to leave until Percy talks to him, until he convinces his brother that he's safe and Penelope's death wasn't his fault and those words he'd written aren't true. But Charlie doesn't think he should disregard Percy's wishes. Or maybe he's just too afraid to admit he has no idea how to help.

"Sure, Percy. I'll be right here if you need anything, okay?"

Charlie walks to door as Percy settles at the newly repaired desk, holding an armful of scrolls close to his chest. Thinking about the dozens upon dozens of scrolls that Percy has filled with his tiny handwriting, Charlie shudders.