The witness
April 1999 – First Treatment
The young healer’s hands shook as he unwrapped Agnes’ bandages.
"Garrotting Gas complications require—" His voice hitched on the fourth syllable. A shadow crossed his face so quickly Agnes might’ve imagined it.
"Just get on with it, lad," she grumbled, hiding her concern behind irritation.
When he spilled the Murtlap essence, she saw how his gaze darted to the red-haired trainee across the ward—then flinched away, as if the sight burned.
July 1999 – Third Visit
"New approach today," Healer Weasley announced, rolling up sleeves that now strained at his forearms. The dark circles under his eyes belied his brisk tone.
Agnes noticed three things as he applied the poultice:
His left thumb kept rubbing a spot on his wrist (where a faint "F" might’ve been inked then scrubbed raw)
He hummed an off-key Celestina Warbeck tune under his breath
He startled when Agnes mentioned her grandson Freddie
The salve stung more than usual.
October 1999 – Sixth Session
A commotion erupted in the corridor—laughter echoing off the tiles. Agnes watched Percy’s spine stiffen at the sound before forcing himself to continue her debridement charm.
"That’ll be my brother’s products," he said too evenly. "The, ah, the screaming yo-yos tend to—"
A particularly loud bang shook the walls. Percy dropped his wand.
For one fractured moment, Agnes saw it—the way his breath came too fast, how his fingers twitched toward his throat. Then he blinked, and the professional mask slid back.
"Apologies," he murmured, retrieving his wand. His smile didn’t reach the new scars around his eyes.
February 2000 – Tenth Consultation
The explosion from the Janus Thickey Ward sent interns scrambling. Percy didn’t even look up from Agnes’ bandages.
"Just George testing fireworks," he said, tying off the gauze with steady hands. "The purple ones were always his brother’s favorite."
The past tense lingered between them.
When Agnes dared to glance up, she found Percy staring at the window—where twin streaks of violet light burst across the sky. His expression held something new: not a wound, but a scar.
May 2000 – Discharge Day
"You’re healed," Percy announced, helping Agnes from the bed. His grip was sure, his shoulders finally filling out that healer’s robe properly.
Across the ward, a gangly intern fumbled a bedpan. The resulting crash made Agnes wince—but Percy just chuckled.
"Merlin, that takes me back. My brother once vanished an entire—" He caught himself, then surprised them both by continuing softly, "—an entire supply closet trying to impress a girl."
The sunlight caught the silver strands in Agnes’ hair as she squeezed his arm. "He’d be proud of you, you know."
Percy’s breath hitched—just once—before he straightened her shawl with gentle hands. "I’m learning to believe that."
What Agnes Never Quite Understood (But Felt All the Same):
The way his stubble grew thicker the week of May 2nd (Fred’s birthday)
Why he always kept the third drawer of his desk locked (a single F&G Skiving Snackbox inside)
How his laughter grew louder around redheaded visitors (compensating for the silence where twin quips should’ve been)
Final Note:
The last time Agnes saw him, Percy was teaching a young trainee the counter-curse for Weeping Wounds—with George’s wristband gleaming on one arm, and his sleeves rolled up like a man who’d finally learned to breathe again.