Chapter Text
Between his overfull class schedule, the time taken to fill out his homework, his Head Boy duties, and extra patrols with the whole castle on alert for Sirius Black, Percy finds that the only time of day he has to practice advanced spellwork is after curfew in abandoned classrooms.
McGonagall had caught him once, but she's still so enamored with him she hadn't even taken off house points. He'd moved to a different floor after that. Now he uses a classroom near the base of Trelawney's tower, on the south side of the castle: no one else is near it besides Trelawney herself and the Hufflepuff common room, and the only professor who patrols the area is Snape. In what is now fourteen years at Hogwarts, Percy has never seen Trelawney on patrol once.
His real seventh year, with a mass murderer on the loose, even his Head Boy badge and duty to patrol the castle had lost its luster. For once, Percy actually feels a bit less stressed this year than he had before. At least this time he's not half-expecting to turn a corner and run facefirst into a serial killer.
He tries not to think too hard about the rat sleeping in his brother's bed.
But, all in all, Percy spends his seventh year probably as one of the most at ease people in the school, even if his late night spell sessions in abandoned classrooms are just about the only time alone that he gets. And he thinks squirreling himself away near Trewlaney's tower is just about as foolproof as can be. Not even Dementors will find him there, not unless they've taken to spending their time on the Black Lake bothering the merpeople.
At least, that's what he'd thought.
Until he slipped into his chosen classroom late one Thursday evening, and found that he was not alone.
"Expecto Patronum!" Fred whispers, and gives his wand a particularly frustrated jab.
Nothing happens.
Percy stares in shock.
"Expecto... damn Patronum!" Still, nothing. "Really?!"
The door falls shut behind him with an echoing slam. Percy flinches, and Fred whirls about with his wand at the ready.
"What's-- aw, hell. Percy?"
Already scowling, Fred stows his wand away. He crosses his arms and shifts to lean against the nearest desk, glowering away like the interruption is not his own brother but a cockroach. Despite the late hour and Percy's reputation for docking points past curfew, he doesn't look at all intent on leaving. "Come on, how'd you even find me. What, here to give detention?"
"I... no. I was just..." He moves carefully into the room, and because it's the twins-- or just Fred-- he really can't help but look around. There's no sign of any toys or pranks or anything out of place. No illicit potions, no experiments. Just Fred, his book bag, and his wand. "What were you doing?"
Fred's scowl deepens further. "Working on a new product, actually. Heads up, next time someone gets sick in one of your classes, it's probably one of our customers. Now is that all or can we just skip to the part where you give me detention." He's shouldering his bag now and already headed for the door. Very clearly, despite the fact that just thirty seconds ago he'd looked intent on staying, now he wants more than anything for this conversation to be over.
"I-- I saw you," he rushes out, the words almost stumbling over themselves. Fred hesitates for just a second, his hand on the knob. "I saw you trying to cast a Patronus."
He doesn't leave. At least he doesn't leave.
"Okay. Yeah. And?" Fred still barely turns around. Even for him, he's astonishingly close to hostile. "If I wanted help I'd have asked for it. So if you want to show off, you'll have t-"
"I can't... cast one either."
He stills.
Percy, for what it's worth, is still so surprised he barely can find the words to speak. To have found Fred here at all-- but in this way? Fred can't cast a Patronus. Fred? Fred Weasley, of Wealey's Wizard Wheezes, the terror in McGonagall's eye?
The silence lingers. It's obvious a very big part of Fred just wants to bolt from the classroom never to speak to him again. But he isn't. The Fred and George that he knows would rather be caught dead than vulnerable, and by Percy nonetheless, and he really doesn't think that's an exaggeration. But Fred isn't leaving.
Is that why he's here in the first place? They're allowed to practice spells in their dormitories. Percy is just here because the spells he works on are too dangerous to experiment with in a roomful of students and flammable fabric, to save on the inevitable questions on just how high-level his spellwork really is, but Fred... does he not want George to see this either?
Percy knows how humiliating it feels to fail at this spell. This particular spell.
"Come off it," Fred says finally. He swivels back around to face him fully, hand on his hip. "You, the golden child. You seriously think I believe that? There's nothing you can't cast."
Percy can't even really feel attacked for it. He just shakes his head. No. He can't.
Fred stares wordlessly back, and slowly, the animosity drains. The wounded look of his little brother lashing out melts, and what's left behind is perhaps the most vulnerable he's ever seen him.
Then, Fred walks back into the classroom, and sits down on the edge of a desk.
"Lupin brought it up," he mutters, after another long silence. He frowns away at the empty, unused blackboard, seeming to want anything but eye contact. "He said it was a bit advanced for our class but thought after that stupid Quidditch game he had to at least mention it. But... well, you know we're terrible students so it's not much surprise, really. Lupin said it was beyond fifth year anyway."
"You're terrible students, but not terrible wizards," Percy says quietly. "You're both excellent at magic. You just don't bother to do your homework."
But Fred huffs at that, and there's that cold glimmer of hostility in his eyes again. "Why do you always have to be such a patronizing areshole about it, huh. For once, can you just not?"
"I... sorry. That's not what I... forget about the homework, okay." Percy winces at himself. Replaying his words back; that is what he sounds like, isn't it? It's not what he means. Not at all. But to Fred, he's the brother who's only two years older who always has to act like it's closer to ten.
Fred and George have been a little less friendly with him, this time around. Even less than before. He supposes this is why.
"What I meant was," he tries again, "that if you're struggling with it, I don't think it's anything to do with your grades. I mean, if it did, I'd be able to cast it, right?"
It somehow comes out almost patronizing again and Percy winces for a second time, but this time, Fred does not lash out. He glances at him instead, looking unsure of himself, and his face worries into another frown.
"So?" he asks, when Percy does not go on. "What's your problem with it, then? Why can't you cast it?"
Percy has no idea how to answer that question, so this time, he doesn't try. What about that does Fred think is making a convincing argument, here? He knows he hasn't been honest with him, but even still. What exactly about him is the epitome of happiness?
Instead, without an answer to give, he turns it back around on Fred. "What about you? You're happy all the time. Every day is you and George finding a new reason to laugh. I would've thought this spell would be easy for you."
"It's not like we're good at anything else," he grumbles, even though that hadn't been the point of what he'd said at all. "We were never gonna get grades like yours, or even Bill's. Which Mum was never going to let us forget it, so why even bother with it, then? We're good at exploring the castle and making up new stupid pranks in a bottle to sell to first years. Stick to what you're good at, you know." He pauses, and looks away from Percy to instead glower at the opposite window. The look on his face is still like he wants to crawl out of his own skin. "Mum was mad at us last year. Well she's mad at us all the time, but last year we really heard it. Percy and Ron and even Harry Potter were there for Ginny, but what about you!, she says. Well if that's the standards we're supposed to live up to I'm fine blowing off our O.W.L.s, thanks."
Percy's eyes widen.
What?
No. No, that's-- that's not right. That's not right at all.
That's not what was supposed to happen.
He was the one who was supposed to be blamed for that, not Fred and George. No, no, this is wrong; this is his fault. And he had blamed, last time. Multiple times the disappointment had slipped out, that they'd trusted him to look after her, and meanwhile she'd had a dark artifact all year round--
Mum had always apologized, of course. Said it wasn't fair, to blame him for You-Know-Who. And she'd meant it. Of course she had. He knows how really truly sorry she was, every time she'd kissed the top of his head and hugged him and suddenly told off Fred and George just a little more harshly to go put his things back where they'd found them. She really, truly, did not want to feel that way at all. She felt bad for making him feel that way.
But...
But she'd meant everything else, too. That disappointment was real. The expectations were real. Fair or not, whether she liked it or not, they were real.
They'd still gone to Egypt this past summer. Ron had gotten his brand new wand and Ginny had gotten literally anything she could've dreamed of (except to go into the pyramids; Mum had still been a tad overprotective, or a lot overprotective). Percy, without need of a wand, owl, or broom, had instead gotten a fitting for dress robes. Which sounded spectacularly drab, but she really did know exactly what he'd wanted. Or at least what he might've wanted last time. He doesn't really want anything that can be bought now.
But all of that, for him, for Ron, for Ginny, and Fred and George, meanwhile, had gotten. Well. Nothing.
He's sure Mum had apologized to them, just like she'd once apologized to him, every time she got too stressed or upset and blamed them for not being as spectacular as Percy, as brilliantly brave as Ron, all for just not being in the right place at the right time. But sitting here alone with Fred in a cold classroom late at night, and not a Patronus to be seen between them...
Somehow, he doesn't think that apology was taken to heart.
Is this new? Have Fred and George always felt like this? Or has Percy being the apparent shining star that he is brought it all on?
He suspects it's neither. He suspects it's not new at all... but he has made it worse.
No wonder they've been colder with him this year. He'd thought they'd come to some sort of understanding, after the Chamber of Secrets, but then they'd gone on the vacation and he'd found himself locked in a pyramid all over again, and he'd thought he'd just read them wrong but... now he understands why.
He's messed it all up. Again.
He swallows hard, and beats back his own apology by sheer force of will. "You know. Dad said pretty much the same thing to me."
This, finally, gets Fred to look at him, head on. "He what?"
"He did."
"Merlin's sake, for what? What more were you supposed to do, resurrect Salazar Slytherin just to kill him yourself? You destroyed a Basilisk!"
"That was H-"
"Yeah, yeah, so you keep saying, and I don't know why! If I'd done what you did I'd never shut up about it!" He pushes his hair back and looks utterly exasperated, now wired up enough to start pacing around the room. "Bloody hell, Percy. That's not fair at all."
It's more fair than he thinks, but for now, that's not a point that matters.
They hadn't spoken much, this past summer. His parents had both been concerned with Ginny, of course, but Dad had spent the entire vacation rather... detached from him. Cold. It's not the wounded betrayal from last year, no, but neither had they had a single direct one-on-one conversation the entire summer. Percy doesn't know what he thinks now. He's not sure what he deserves, either.
He does know that Fred and George, at the very least, don't deserve this at all.
"I think," Percy says at last, and he chooses his words very, very carefully, "that Mum and Dad were both really scared last year. And it got taken out on us. I don't think Mum really meant what she said, I think she was terrified about Ginny and when it came out you just happened to be there. I think she's always scared for you two, because she's not here to see all the things you're good at. All she knows is the things that you're bad at, and she wants better for you than that."
Fred sighs. He sits back down on another desk, legs swinging back and forth, and he's still smiling but now it's with more than a touch of bitterness. "No. She knows what we're good at, she just thinks it's not worth anything. It's not twelve O.W.L.s or the biggest hall monitor badge, so-"
"Charlie didn't get either of those things; do you think she's not proud of him? He's not a useless stuck-up head boy with no friends but homework and books, sure, but how does she talk about him? Do I hear wrong or is she bragging about him every single chance she gets?"
It's an airtight argument, Percy thinks. One of the few things he's good at. Charlie had struggled in multiple classes and wound up in a career that the high-brow families like the Malfoys look upon with a sneer, and she couldn't be prouder of him. It was never about grades or detention, for her. If her kids were happy and healthy, then she was, too.
But the look on Fred's face alone was enough to poke a hole into his rare confidence.
"You shouldn't say that," he mumbles.
"Say... what? About Charlie?"
"No. That you're a useless stuck-up... you know."
Percy is so startled he can't help it; he laughs, and this makes Fred's frown even more intense. "Why on earth not? That's what you call me! Just last week, wasn't it?"
But somehow, Fred only looks more uncomfortable.
Percy has no idea what this conversation has turned into. The way Fred is suddenly looking at him, he finds he now actually wants it to be over too. But then Fred starts fidgeting with his sleeves, looking not like himself at all, and shifts to stare down at the floor again instead of at him.
"Can I, uh. Can I ask you something?"
"Of course." For once, he doesn't have a clue what could possibly come next.
But Fred doesn't answer right away. He still stares away, he keeps fidgeting, and nothing about this is right at all. He looks... honestly, he looks like he's doing his very best Percy impression. Which is not what Fred or George should look like at all. It's not right.
"It's just. We. Um. Well it wasn't me, it was George. He was the one who saw, back in Egypt. And he told me, and then we both tried to see it again, but you never let anyone see, and I don't know. I guess we both thought he'd imagined it, because you're always fine. Obviously you're fine, why wouldn't you be fine. You don't act like you care about anything, but-"
"Fred, what on earth are you talking about?"
"-now that I think about it, it kind of makes sense, but it just came out of nowhere and we had no idea what to do-"
"What came out of nowhere? What are you talking about?"
"You!" Fred snaps, and before Percy knows what's happening, he's lunged at him and grabbed him by the arms. First one gets yanked into the air, then the other, his long sleeves falling down and then Fred hauls his shirt sleeves after his robes.
Fred gapes.
And Percy's heart rate triples.
"Get- get off me! Fred-"
"No!"
"Let me go!"
"No!"
"Fred!" And he doesn't mean to do it but it's all so sudden that the spell just comes into his head, and despite his wand not being in hand Fred gets bodily thrown off of him anyway, knocked back into the nearest desk while Percy is scrambling backwards. His heart is still pounding and he yanks his sleeves down, both of them, and Fred stares back with huge, stricken eyes, and they're both panting.
He's never seen that look on his brother's face before.
"How did you do that?!"
"Never--" Percy swallows, or tries to, but his breath catches in his throat and there's a rising panic in his chest. "Never you mind how I did that! Maybe you'd know if you studied more!"
Fred tries to grab him again and this time Percy backpedals out of the way. The floor suddenly feels slippery and he abruptly can't think of anything, not anything at all but getting the hell out of this room.
"Where do you think you're going?!"
"I'm leaving! You-- that was-" He can feel his face burning and fruitlessly pulls his sleeves down again, like if he pulls on them hard enough Fred will stop staring at him. "That wasn't anything. That was an accident!"
"Oh, shut up!"
"I don't-"
"Is that because of us? Me and George?"
"No!"
"Is it because of Dad?"
"No!"
"Then- then-" He splutters and stops, like he doesn't know what to say next. "Then why? You're perfect! You're perfect at everything you do! Why would you do that?"
Me, he very nearly shouts. Me. It's not because of you or Dad or Mum or anyone. It's because of ME.
He claws his way back into his reading nook, and forces himself to calm down. Just barely. "I am not having this conversation." He reaches for his things but this time it's Fred using his wand, pushing them off the desk and out of reach. "Fred-"
"You are too having this conversation. Or I'll. I'll-"
"You'll what," Percy snaps, and he doesn't mean to but it comes out angry, like he's a child again, a real seventh year and Fred and George just won't leave him alone. "What, you're going to tell Mum and Dad?"
"No!"
"McGonagall?"
"I--" He crosses his arms, red in the face but head held high. "Maybe!"
"You wouldn't." Percy rolls his eyes, swallowing back the sudden and very, very real surge of panic. As if Fred and George would ever tell a teacher anything.
"Maybe I would! I don't know! I don't know what we're supposed to do but that's what you would do, isn't it?! If it was Ginny or Ron or-"
"Well, it's not Ginny or Ron," he snaps, as if that makes any difference at all to him. His face is still hot and he crosses his arms tightly, like if Fred can't see it this'll all go away. "And I'm fine. So you don't need to worry."
Except Fred really does just look awful. He looks like Percy hasn't hurt himself, he's hurt him, and coming from the last person he'd ever expected to be hurt by he doesn't know how to handle it. He doesn't unfold his arms and he still just stares at him, wild emotion crossing his face at a mile a minute, panting and trembling and gutted.
It's all terrible.
"It's just-" Fred starts finally, and he's still wide and wild eyed. "I. I know we haven't always been nice to you but you never cared so we thought- we thought you-"
"For Merlin's sake, Fred, I told you, it's not because of you." He buries his face in his hands and wants to melt into the floor. "I should just Obliviate you."
He doesn't actually mean it. He'd never risk a Memory Charm, not on his own brother. And Fred, too, just shakes his head, but the wounded look on his face is real. "You wouldn't. You let us get away with everything."
And since when has he done that? "I gave you both detention last week for trying to sneak fake ingredients into Potions."
"Yeah, I know, cause you're supposed to do that. You're Head Boy, you're supposed to give us detention and we're supposed to sneak around behind your back anyway. I'm not talking about detention, I'm talking about... about you never acting like you care about anything! You let us lock you in a pyramid and didn't even tell Mum! You're supposed to care about it because if you don't it's like you're not even having fun!"
Percy sighs. Of course he hadn't told their parents. He'd known it was possible it was going to happen again, it had, he'd used the time to practice wandless magic to force the door open, it hadn't worked, and well, that was that. He doesn't even know what they're talking about anymore and suspects Fred doesn't either.
Fred and George have never said anything like this to him before. Yes, yes, perfect prefect Percy going red-faced and trying to use big words like a teacher and flouncing away tongue-tied while everyone else giggles is just a right old laugh, isn't it? He'd never been in on the joke, he'd always been the joke. Hadn't that always been the point?
It's not mattered to him, this time around. It'd take a much worse person than Percy is to, quite frankly, have an opinion at all about the fact that most schoolchildren think he's rather uncool. But Fred saying this now means he's always felt like this, and that includes before, when it had mattered to him. It had mattered to him very much, when some days it had felt like Fred and George's express purpose in life was to make him miserable, and all Mum had to say about it was can you leave him alone dears, you know he's sensitive, while Dad had hidden behind the newspaper and the twins themselves had grinned unabashedly and kicked at him under the table.
What does he mean now that they'd never meant it? What, and when he'd been twelve years old and crying through a broken nose with a Quaffle at his feet hadn't been enough of a clue?!
Percy sucks in a breath through gritted teeth, and pushes away at those thoughts until the wave of sudden anger in his chest has receded.
So perhaps it has still mattered to him, a little.
Put all like that, he sounds a little like Fred, doesn't he?
Just as Mum doesn't actually blame the twins for not battling a Basilisk to save their sister... they, clearly, didn't actually mean... this.
It's always just been a laugh for them. It's never been more serious than that to them, and the fact that it was for him? It's not that they didn't care. If they didn't care none of this conversation would be happening at all.
It's that they're fifteen years old, and trying to find their own way, and haven't yet quite figured out that just because they tell a joke doesn't mean everyone is having fun. Because they're fifteen. They're kids.
And last time Percy had been just a child himself, too.
And just like Fred and George don't remember the times when Mum has doted on them, it's sometimes hard for Percy to remember the times when they've been brothers, too. Brothers, and not-- bullies or tormentors or harassers. But they have been. Once Marcus Flint had come at Percy with his wand, and before Percy even had the time to go for his own Flint had been hit with two hexes behind his back, and he'd been so touched he hadn't even taken away house points.
Hadn't even taken away house points... right. What a stellar big brother he is.
"Say something," Fred starts suddenly. "You're not saying anything and it, it's... I'm sorry if we-"
"It wasn't you," Percy says for the third time, and is abruptly very, very tired. "Okay? It's got nothing to do with you."
Fred is still not backing down. At least George isn't here, too. "So why, then? If it's not us or Dad then why would you, you, hurt yourself?!"
It's not as if Percy can tell the truth, here. But he can't think of a lie that works, either, and it's becoming clear he's not getting out of this room until he tells Fred something. Preferably something that keeps his mouth shut about all this for the foreseeable future.
How could he have been so stupid as to let the twins see. To let anyone see, first of all, but this? This?
Fred is worried about him. And if Fred is then soon George will be too. The twins. They think the reason he's such a wreck is their fault.
The guilt stings in his chest, and he just doesn't know what to say.
"It helps," he finally sighs. Which is true enough, even if it somehow makes the look on Fred's face even more distraught than before. "It helps me focus. And you really don't have to tell me that that's not good because I already know that. That doesn't mean it's not true."
"But... but you're you." Fred audibly swallows and he's still too pale. He's still staring at him like he's not too sure he knows who he is anymore. "What could you possibly need help with. You can do anything."
No, he can't. He can't do anything at all.
Something that Fred will probably figure out for himself, when his world expands to be bigger than house points and detention and O.W.L.s.
"Oh, I don't know," Percy snaps, but the heat in his voice is all bravado. "Maybe it's that Sirius Black is somewhere on school grounds, and our little brother is best friends with someone that Voldemort is obsessed with, and Ginny nearly died last year, and in case you forgot I am actually still taking twelve classes because I'm a moron who thinks Divination is going to get me anywhere in life? But other than that, yes, everything is just peachy, Fred. No other complaints at all."
It might've all been true a very long time ago.
Percy considers that, somewhere along the way, he may just have become a good liar after all.
But Fred bites his lip. "All of that is... is teacher stuff, though," he mumbles, and his voice has somehow gotten small. "Except that last one. But I'm pretty sure you can just drop Divination."
"I am Head Boy, you know." He holds his head high and puffs his chest out in his best impersonation of the Old Percy. "It is literally in the job description that I'm supposed to be on the lookout for Sirius Black." And he's never actually realized until he'd said it just now how insane that is.
The way Fred is still looking at him is still very, very bad. He was supposed to make fun of him now, for being Head Boy, for taking it seriously. But he's not.
Percy swallows hard, and lets the bravado drop.
Seems he can't bluff his way out of this.
"I'm okay. Really. I am. The past few years have just been... a lot. But it's nothing to do with you, or Dad, or any one of you."
Fred's fists clench. "He... he shouldn't have said that. Dad." He blinks hard and looks at his feet. "Ginny would be dead if it weren't for you."
That's not true.
Percy takes a breath. It feels like swallowing broken glass. "Thank you."
Would he still be saying that if he knew the truth?
Would he have said or done any of this if he knew the truth?
He closes his eyes, and locks those thoughts back up far, far away from his reading nook, where they belong. "Look. If I promise not to do it anymore, will you promise not to tell anyone?"
"I don't keep secrets from George."
"Fine. Anyone else?"
Fred stays silent.
Silent, silent for too long, long enough that even Percy's reading nook isn't doing the job to beat back the rising anxiety. "Fred," he starts, because this really can not leave this room.
Fred hugs him.
Percy freezes.
Fred. Is hugging him.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles into his shoulder. "For not... if we're not... if we go too far sometimes. I know we do."
"Fred..."
When was the last time this happened? He honestly can't remember. There's family pictures for the holidays, sure, when Mum makes them all stand there and smile and put their arms around their brothers' shoulders, but-- that's not this. It's not. No. Now Fred, Fred and George, are so worried about him that they're hugging him.
It's just like last year. First he's worrying his older brother, which is bad enough. But now he's worrying the younger ones too.
He's not supposed to do this.
He's supposed to be better than this.
Percy forces his numb arms to lift, hugging him back. He swallows and then swallows again, waiting until the lump in his throat goes away. "I really am fine," he tries, one hand findings its way to the top of Fred's head. "If I wasn't I think I wouldn't be managing all of this, now would I?"
"You can't make a Patronus," Fred points out dryly.
"Well, neither can you."
Silence. A stalemate, again.
Fred clears his throat and stands back. He looks less shaken now, but only just. The look on his face is still one that he's never seen before.
"If you... if you promise not to do it again. And you can't hide things from us so don't even think of trying to lie."
Percy smiles easily. "Would I ever lie to you?"
He graduates in a few months, nothing happens for the rest of the year, and after that Fred and George can think whatever they like. They're not going to follow him out of Hogwarts. And when the time comes for him to leave his family, they're not going to care one way or the other.
"I promise."
Fred is still staring at him, once again much too closely. Percy finds himself reminded that despite them failing almost all their classes... both the twins are very, very smart.
"Fine," Fred says finally. He's still glaring. "But we'll be watching. So don't.... don't do it again. ...please."
Percy swallows hard, the whispers of his reading nook still clinging to him like a film, and decides he isn't such a big fan of this lying thing after all.
Everyone has their different celebrations planned, when their N.E.W.T.s finish.
A group of Hufflepuffs is planning on transfiguring the entire Great Hall during the final feast, and the staff are pretending not to know about it. Most Slytherins have already gone home, and barely managed to hide their distaste for the rest of the school upon doing so. Another group fell asleep drunk on the grounds and Dumbledore himself had excused their detention for it.
Percy's friends have decided to spend the day celebrating at Hogsmeade, with the promise of getting drunk at the end. One last hurrah, Penny had called it, and to cheers all around.
Percy has still not been to Hogsmeade this year. Today, though, that's rather beside the point.
He pleads illness, when the day comes. Lies in bed curled up under an extra blanket, forehead damp from it, and he looks plaintively up at Oliver and says he can't go.
And he expects resistance, of course. He deserves it! It's one of their last days to celebrate as Hogwarts students together and here he is trying to flake out on it. Oliver should tug him out of bed feet first and tell him he's going to Hogsmeade or he's being carried to Hogsmeade.
What he doesn't expect is for Oliver to stand there, head tilted to the side and hands half-finished knotting his tie, and very slowly frown.
"I see," he starts, and it's quiet. "So you don't feel good today, huh?" He pauses, and gives his tie a final tug. "You think you'll feel better tomorrow, then?"
Percy blinks.
"I... no." He swallows, his throat dry. It's hard not to shrink just a little more under the blankets. "I think perhaps two days ought to do it."
Oliver nods wordlessly. He remains still for a moment, watching him almost too closely.
"We'll hold you to it, then," he says.
Then he grins, and heads off for a day in Hogsmeade.
He is so very incredibly lucky to have Oliver Wood.
At the end of it all, Percy is not all that skilled a duelist. He is not a mastermind like Dumbledore. He does not have Hermione's time-turner, or influence with the Minister, or anything else that is particularly extraordinary about himself. He could not have done anything to save Ginny or stop Quirrell himself, and he can not expose Peter Pettigrew on his own.
All that is actually within his power is to bear witness, and speak up for Sirius Black when no one else can.
"I saw it all myself, Minister! They're telling the truth!"
"That's just-- well that's just preposterous, now. See here, let's be reasona-"
"I saw it all!" he insists again, and behind Fudge, there's a mischievous glimmer in Dumbledore's eyes. "Pettigrew went for Harry, and the only reason he didn't get him is Sirius threw himself between them! He saved Harry's life!"
Fudge is red-faced and looks like he's been slapped. He keeps sputtering, a pompous mutter this way and that. "Now please, it's dark out there mind, you couldn't possibly-- you don't know what you saw. And even if... well, only to kill the boy himself, you don't know what a monster Black is!"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione erupt all at once, shouting about a changed Secret-Keeper and animagi and a betrayal. By the look on Fudge's face, he barely understand a words of it. Or cares to.
There's not many people that Percy has more contempt for than who he himself used to be. Fudge, however, is one of those people.
"Now, Cornelius," Dumbledore interjects, smoothly as ever. He seems barely able to hold back a smile, and that smile would not be a kind one. "Surely even your office has heard of young Percy Weasley here? One of the Heroes of the Chamber of Secrets? And he's starting a job with Barty Crouch come fall, isn't that right?"
"That's..." He rubs his face, polishes his spectacles on his sleeve, rubs his face again. He can't stop shaking his head. "Albus, you yourself testified against Black! And now you want to just take the word of some students about, about Pettigrew being a pet rat? And that raving madman is supposed to be innocent!"
"Oh, certainly not! But I do imagine Professors Lupin and Snape will back up Mr. Weasley's testimony here tonight when they return to the castle, Cornelius." There's a weight to his words, now, something that is almost an implied threat. "That is, if they don't manage to recapture Pettigrew themselves."
"A werewolf, Albus! Merlin's beard!"
"Hmm?" He tilts his head, and there's no question about it, now. That cold smile is dangerous. "I must have missed the Wizengamot declaring a werewolf's testimony unreliable. Could you owl me their ruling on that?"
The battle is clearly not over. Fudge mutters something about having Aurors stationed to watch Black, and that there'll be an official investigation, and the look on his face says quite clearly what he wants the decision of that investigation to be. But with Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looking about to start shouting again any minute now, and Dumbledore just standing there watching him with that look in his eyes, there's obviously nowhere the Minister wants to be less than this room, right now.
He all but flounces his way out of the ward with a swirl of green robes and a red face and a pompous huff. At the swing and shut of the door, almost everyone breathes a sigh of relief.
Sirius Black, thin as a rake, pale as ash, and utterly still ever since he'd taken the curse meant for Harry, doesn't do so.
Harry, wand in hand and hands balled into fists, firmly turns his back and sits right back down at Sirius's side. He hasn't left it since Percy had helped them get Sirius to the hospital wing, and to look at him now, he very clearly isn't going to leave until Sirius has opened his eyes again and Fudge has left for good. Hermione is flitting between him and Ron, who's in a hospital bed of his own with a badly broken leg, but is otherwise no worse for wear. He'll be fine tomorrow morning. Sirius's condition, on the other hand, remains to be seen.
Percy, for his part, holds his face in his hands, and sinks to sit on the nearest empty bed in exhaustion.
He's not even particularly surprised Pettigrew, despite Lupin no longer being a threat tonight and Percy himself there to help, had managed to slip away. Disappointed, perhaps. But surprised? No.
It's just starting to feel like par for course. Whatever he tries, whatever he plans... it somehow never manages to be quite enough.
The kids again center around Sirius' side, whispering amongst themselves. Dumbledore, that sly smile still on his face, moves to Percy's.
"How lucky indeed for us all that you chose tonight to take a late night stroll, Mr. Weasley. And with Professor Lupin's Wolfsbane potion as well!"
"Yes," he mutters. "Lucky."
Lupin is still out there, as a werewolf. But in his right mind, this time, and when Pettigrew had used the chaos to get away, he had taken off after him. Percy had tried to stop him but the rat had been completely impossible to find in the dark; he might as well have been throwing stones into the Black Lake. Snape, on the other hand, hadn't even taken one look at Sirius, crumpled in a heap in front of Harry. His face had been so sick with fury Percy actually isn't sure if he's headed after Pettigrew or thinks Lupin is on it and is chasing him down instead, because there hadn't exactly been time for a nice clarifying chat about it all.
They're in the Forbidden Forest by now, probably. A werewolf, a rat, and a wizard. Percy doesn't know who's in more danger, them or the forest. All he does know is that he's glad he's not there to see it.
"Sirius," he says, when Dumbledore does not go on. "He's going to be okay, isn't he?"
"Oh, yes, of course. It's meant to be a degenerative dark curse, that Pettigrew used, but your quick response in getting him to the hospital wing will have made all the difference." He pauses thoughtfully, looking at the small huddle in the back corner himself. "It may even be for the best. Pettigrew's wand was used for what is unmistakably dark magic, and multiple witnesses attest that Sirius took the curse aimed for Harry. The Wizarding World does love a good heroic sacrifice."
Percy can't help it; he scoffs. "Unless Fudge decides they're actually all in on it together. What a headline that'd be... werewolf and rat vouched for by Albus Dumbledore ravage school grounds on the side of Sirius Black." He kneads his fists into the starched sheets, anxiety nested in his throat. "All I'm saying is it'd be prudent to have a guard of your own stationed here until you get something more concrete out of Fudge than an investigation."
He's not sure what he's doing, giving advice to Dumbledore on the matter. Especially something like this... Percy was the one who'd needed a cold wake-up call about Fudge, not anyone else. Dumbledore's probably known how much of a useless two-faced coward he is for years.
He sighs heavily again, head propped up on his hands and the fatigue aching in his shoulders, and doesn't know what to say.
He doesn't know much about Sirius Black, and never has. All he does know is that that had been his actual first rift with the Ministry-- his little brother telling stories of a thirteen year old rat missing a toe, while Fudge huffed and puffed about an Azkaban escapee, and made no mention of Harry, Ron, and Hermione's story at all beyond blowing it off as a couple of senseless Confunded children. Percy himself hadn't found out the whole story until years later, when Sirius had been publicly exonerated and he'd read the paperwork for himself.
He knows Scabbers. It was his pet first. He'd found the rodent himself in the garden, already missing a toe, already a full grown rat, and begged Mum to let him keep it. It'd been barely two months after the end of the war.
Sirius Black certainly did not know about his pet rat, and Ron did not know enough of that rat's history to realize how oddly closely it matched with Peter Pettigrew.
He hadn't understood it at the time. Hadn't been able to fathom that the real heart of the matter was that Fudge just did not care about whether Sirius was innocent or not, and instead of being tormented by the thought of torturing an innocent man for twelve years was instead consumed by the fear of his poll numbers, a recall election, and a coming war that he had never been qualified to fight. He'd wanted what Percy had dreamed of: the comfortable, well-respected political career. Except when something had jeopardized Fudge's dreams, he hadn't just stuck his head in the sand. He'd willfully snuffed it out.
And while Percy has all the contempt in the world for the choices he'd made himself, at least when the Death Eaters had taken over, he'd tried to make the right ones. Fudge never had. Percy had stayed at the Ministry and put his life on the line every day to save every Muggleborn that he could. Fudge had retired to a comfortable family cottage in Ireland with private security and wrote columns about magical creature regulations in their newspaper and hadn't even shown up to the Battle of Hogwarts.
"Do you believe in fate, Mr. Weasley?"
Percy glances dully in Dumbledore's direction. "I think I rather have to, at least until I can come up with an alternative explanation for Seers, sir."
"Well, that's not at all as open and shut an answer as you may think, but I shall set that aside for now." He clasps his hands together and they both look to the huddle in the corner of the hospital wing. "As we have discussed before, there are some things that are decided for us, and we can do nothing but accept them. That Voldemort would try to kill Harry, for example, was decided. Today's events also had a prophecy foretelling them, Mr. Weasley, and I believe that the escape of Peter Pettigrew was decided long before you went on a late evening stroll tonight."
Across the room, Sirius stirs a little. Hermione is instantly on her feet and on a dash for Madam Pomfrey's office while Harry is suddenly at the edge of his seat. Ron, in his own bed with his bones regrowing, looks like he has half a mind to throw himself out of it.
"I did try to stop Pettigrew," Percy mutters. He grabs at his unkempt trousers, the knees dirty and grass-stained, gnawing on his lower lip. "I don't think I changed anything. The second Professor Lupin started to transform he did, too. It didn't even matter that I was there at all."
He hadn't realized just how quickly an Animagus could transform until it was happening before his very eyes. One second he was there, and the next he was gone.
"Hmm. Perhaps." Dumbledore lapses into a lengthy pause. "I somehow get the feeling that Sirius Black's fate was not decided for us tonight." Now, the weight of a smile can be heard on his voice alone. "Tonight, Harry Potter has a godfather. That is something to celebrate, is it not?"
Yes. He couldn't save Ron from being nearly beaten to death by a bloody sentient chess set, or his sister from being kidnapped, possessed, and tortured, but... yes. Merlin forbid Harry Potter not have a godfather.
Percy shuts his eyes and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, clawing back the bitterness that threatens to overwhelm him. Yes, indeed. Because Harry is an innocent thirteen year old orphan and he deserves so much more than what life has given him. It is not Harry's fault that the Chamber of Secrets happened. It is not Harry's fault that any of this has happened.
Getting him a godfather hardly makes up for all the mistakes Percy has made regarding Harry. Especially when Pettigrew has escaped again. It just seems to be all that he's able to do.
"Regardless of your thoughts on the matter," Dumbledore begins quietly, when Percy does not reply, "my thoughts, at least, are that tonight has ended as best as it possibly could have. I suspect that this isn't the only occasion I could say that for, either. For everything that has and will go wrong, some of it, at least, has gone right. As tempting as it is to languish in our failures, I'm not so sure that's worth more than treasuring our successes."
He really must look depressed if Dumbledore thinks he needs a pep talk.
He thinks he is starting to understand that now, actually. After seven years at Hogwarts, multiple run-ins with Voldemort, and now a Death Eater too, he thinks that he's starting to understand the rules, for what he can change and what he can't. As Dumbledore says, some things are, very clearly, already decided for them. The prophecy of Harry Potter's life, whatever it is, had already been told long before Percy was anything more than a little boy cupping a new pet rat in his hands. He can no more change Harry's fate than he can kill Voldemort, because that is Harry's fate. It's already been written, even if in a book that none other can read but Percy himself.
But the further away he gets from Harry and Voldemort, the more he can change.
Of course he hadn't been able to expose Quirrell early. Quirrell, Voldemort, and Harry, had had to meet at the end of that year. Of course he hadn't been able to keep the diary from Ginny. Harry had to destroy the diary in the Chamber of Secrets. Of course he hadn't been able to stop Pettigrew tonight. Pettigrew is the reason Voldemort is able to return.
And of course he was able to save Sirius. Sirius doesn't write history. He just... changes it a little.
Just like Cedric. Just like Fred.
Percy glances at Dumbledore out of the corner of his eye. "What happens now, then? I thought Harry had to return to his Muggle relatives every summer. Or, that's what our mother said. Ron always wanted Harry to come straight home with us but she was adamant every time."
"I have never been dishonest about that. The magic of his mother's blood is more powerful than any protection that I can provide, and he will only receive it so long as he can call the household of her blood a home. No matter how terrible a home it may be. And I think the events of the past few years have proven that that protection is a necessity." He sighs, and it's weighted with regret, now. "Magic is a fickle thing, of course. I'm sure there will be something that we can work out."
Again, there's silence between them. Madam Pomfrey bustles around Sirius, murmuring complicated spells; different colored lights glow around him, and Harry is trembling in his seat. Not even Percy knows what she's doing, but there's color back in his cheeks now, and that's what matters.
He frowns.
"There was always something you could've worked out though. Wasn't it? For Harry." When Dumbledore does not answer he clears his throat, and presses on. "His Muggle relatives, they're really as awful as he says, aren't they? He didn't need to be with them for the magical protection, not his whole childhood."
"Yes, certainly... or perhaps the only reason his childhood was so safe is because of them. Perhaps if he'd been raised by another family, relying on patchwork understanding of magic older than this very school, his safety would have been much less guaranteed. Or perhaps this kind, loving family that raised him not at Number 4 Privet Drive would have been targeted instead, even if Harry himself was safe." He tilts his head, looking down at him out of the corner of his eye. "Just as you certainly could have done something about that diary... or perhaps could not. History is never kind to its subjects, Mr. Weasley, and hindsight is even more unkind than history."
Percy winces.
He has a point. He hates it, but he has a point.
Harry's Muggle childhood, as far as he knows, was uneventful. And perhaps that is only because he was left with people that left him thin as a rake but unable to ask for seconds even when Ron was already on thirds, and taking a nervous step back when Mum waved the frying pan at the twins shouting at them to stop that right now, and... in a home that was the safest one in all of Wizarding Britain.
Perhaps. Or perhaps not.
He looks across at Sirius again, very much Harry's legal guardian as far as the Wizengamot is concerned, and can't bring himself to regret his decisions tonight at all.
"If I had the chance to do it all again... hypothetically, of course," Dumbledore says, and does not look at him at all. "I think that I would leave him with Vernon and Petunia Dursley. I do not think his aunt and uncle are capable of loving him. The very least and the most that has ever been asked of anyone in raising a child, and... I never imagined they would fail to meet it. His safety is entirely thanks to his mother, and not even slightly thanks to them." He pauses, his brow furrowing. "Though I would see no harm in being a bit more present. They might not be capable of loving him, but they are still capable of being utterly terrified of wizards."
Percy does not think that's very funny. But then, it doesn't sound as if Dumbledore was trying to make a joke.
Once upon a time, he would've been horrified at the thought of using his magic to terrorize a Muggle. And now...
Well, now, Percy has seen much worse things than bad people being forced to do the right thing.
"He deserved better," he mutters.
"Of course he did," Dumbledore says simply. "So do most people. So do you, I daresay." Percy flinches, but he is already continuing on. "At the end of the day, Harry is growing into a splendid young man, one who has never once backed down from doing what is right. As deeply unfair as it is, I'm afraid I could not risk ever asking for anything more or less. Just as you can not ask for anything more or less than what you dare to do right now."
Dumbledore is right.
It's not fair at all.
"My parents would've raised him right," Percy says. The words come out almost sullen. "And they were with the Order. They know how to stay safe."
What is he even saying? Scheming and bickering about how Harry Potter should've been raised. He should've been raised by people that cared about him and that's that. He's a child, not a bloody chess piece.
"Yes," Dumbledore concedes easily. "Most likely so. And they are of course not the only family in the wizarding world that could've done so."
"Then-- then why?"
"Because, if you will remember, I am not infallible, Mr. Weasley. I am not perfect, nor have I ever claimed to be." He pauses, one hand patting firmly on his shoulder. "If I were perfect, then I never would have allowed Tom Riddle into this school, and Harry Potter would've been raised by his parents, and I sincerely doubt we would've had any of these conversations at all. You would be a seventh year taking too many exams and nothing more, and Harry would be celebrating the end of another safe year at Hogwarts, waiting to go home to a family that loves him. And yet, here we are. Everyone in this room can be said to be the outcome of my mistakes." He hesitates again, and the look on his face says more than words ever could. "And I am afraid that as long as Voldemort remains alive, I will continue to make the mistake of prioritizing his defeat over Harry's well-being."
It is one of the worst things Percy's ever heard.
Should be.
Would be, if he had a better way to propose himself.
It's not fair. None of it is. It's not fair that Percy had been thrust into a war at eighteen, and it's not fair that Harry had been thrust into one just about on the day he was born. It's not fair that his siblings endured the same are going to have to do it again, not even by choice but merely because they were close to Harry.
It's not fair that the war had ended and now he's stuck in it, again, and he can't do anything that matters but just try his hardest to save the people closest to him.
For the first time, he wonders just why it is that he's more upset with Dumbledore than anyone else. Voldemort and his Death Eaters, Fudge, Umbridge, the cowards at the Ministry.
With Dumbledore, at least, he knows has the same mindset as Percy. He doesn't want this responsibility at all, and knows very well how terrible each and every mistake he's made is.
And he, just like Percy, has no choice but to soldier on anyway.
"I shall take your advice about a guard of my own under advisement, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore says quietly, and moves to leave himself. "Good night... and may you always take care to write your own fate."
Percy watches him go. As usual, these days, he's with no idea if what he's done has mattered at all.
It isn't until late the next evening that Snape and Lupin return to the castle.
Lupin is haggard and thin, and looks utterly terrible. There's scratches and worse on his face and his already patchwork robes are ripped, in some places nearly to shreds. In one spot there's blood, and it's not dry. He can hardly walk, and it seems that Snape is the only reason he's on his feet at all.
Snape, disheveled himself, and with twigs in his hair and mud on his robes and a look of such utter loathing on his face that it sends chills down his spine, looks disgusted to even touch him. He stops at the doors to the hospital wing, and all but bodily throws Lupin inside of it. Then, with a scowl of pure venom, he turns his back, and stalks away.
There's no sign of Peter Pettigrew.