Well I wonder, do you hear me when you sleep?
He turned forty-seven. He turned forty-seven and didn’t think much of it. A single, casual glance at the clock told Charlie it was already tomorrow. Today. His birthday. A not so warm anymore cup of tea in his hand, he sighed.
The soft sound could have woken someone up, he worried suddenly. Then, he snorted and sunk into the chair. Of course it couldn’t. They were all far too tired to let any noise disrupt their sleep. Charlie felt a twig of loneliness at that. He barely had any sleep to be disrupted. Insomnia had always been a problem, but it had gotten worse the last month. Since his mother was hospitalised.
It had become a common occurrence, his night walks among the walls of the Burrow. Sometimes, when he had enough energy, he made some tea. Other times, when the day’s St Mungo visit had been particularly difficult, Charlie felt adventurous enough to put on his coat and get outside for a smoke. The others didn’t know about it, at least he thought so. He would’ve hated for his father to have to worry about his insomniac son, on top of the rest.
Though who was he kidding? Bill knew. Of course he did. His older brother always had inscrutable ways of achieving omniscience. It didn’t help in the slightest that Bill seemed to be in constant hypervigilance, always looking for something, some hint anyone was struggling. Charlie took his head in his hands. How ridiculous was it that he, at forty-seven years old, still yearned to flee his family as he did when he was eighteen? Coming back from Romania had not been a particularly seductive prospect, but he understood. The family had to be together in such wretched times. He understood, Charlie told himself with a clenched jaw. Still, he thought it rather absurd that the whole family, save the children whose Christmas break was two weeks away, should be crammed up in the house.
Only Ron and Hermione were missing, and even they were due to arrive the next day. He had missed his brothers, though it was…too much, seeing them all at once. Living with them again. Well, that, of course, didn’t include Fred. And Percy.
Charlie almost dropped his mug at the thought. His little brother hadn’t crossed in mind in a very, very long time. Suddenly, he needed a fag.
Then, by what would later seem a miracle, a coincidence brought on him by destiny itself, the shape of an owl appeared in the dark sky. He all but threw himself out of his chair to open the window and retrieve its message before the animal could wake the entire household. Luckily, it turned out to be very well-mannered and gracefully landed on the windowsill, presenting its leg to Charlie.
He swallowed and took the parchment, his early surprise replaced by frustration. Who in their right mind would send an owl this early? It was only when his eyes scanned the letter that he understood.
Dear family,
Pardon me for this sudden letter. I imagine it is rather foolish of me to send it. It has been fifteen years, now, since I’ve seen any of you. Firstly, I would like to apologise to all of you, for all the weddings and birthdays I’ve missed over the years. I realise now that it is quite pathetic, but I have bought birthday presents for each of you every year. Only, I never had the courage to send them. It’s hardly surprising, is it? I always lacked the Gryffindor bravery that kept you all united.
Anyway. The reason I’m writing, after all these years, is Mum. Oliver – Wood, remember? From Hogwarts – has told me she’s in hospital. I need want to see her, but I’m far too frightened to drop in unannounced.
Your brother,
Percy.
P.S. I would like my children to meet you all. My eldest is named Molly, she’s five.
And Charlie’s shaky hands dropped the parchment. It was in its usual elegant cursive handwriting, not having morphed too much over the years.
Percy, estranged younger brother Percy, wanted to visit their mother. Wanted to reconnect. If the thought didn’t tug at his heart quite so strongly, Charlie would have thought he was dreaming. He breathed out a chuckle, his lips curling up. His hand itched to grab a quill and write back, ask Percy to come as soon as he could. There was so much to catch up on, they hadn’t seen him in fifteen years.
Merlin. They hadn’t seen him in fifteen years. How could it ever be alright, him sneaking back into their lives? Charlie tried to imagine talking to his brother again, shaking his hand, hugging him – and found it was more difficult than he’d wished. He read the letter all over again, half-hoping to find some hidden sentence, an explanation he would’ve missed. Finding none, he let his gaze linger on the post-scriptum. A daughter, named Molly. Charlie was an uncle, and he didn’t know about it. Tears snuggled their way into his eyes.
How dared Percy call his daughter that? He had cut all ties with the family a lifetime ago. The right to name his children after a family member, he’d given it up. Especially their mother, with all that had happened recently.
Charlie barely held back a sob. He needed some fresh air. Wordlessly accio-ing his shoes, he hurried out the front door, fumbling for the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket. “Incendio.” He muttered, letting the flame light his fag, warming his face for a split second as it did so.
Breathing out some smoke, he shivered slightly. He didn’t have his coat. The temptation of waking Bill and telling him about the letter washed over him, but Charlie quickly shook it away. He was a grown man, for Merlin’s sake, and Bill had enough to deal with as it was. What he needed to do was get some sleep, he knew that. He had the feeling the next day was going to be long and difficult. Yet, clenching his jaw at the prospect, he remained in the garden, staring at the starry night.
Perhaps Percy was doing the same. Charlie closed his eyes.
He imagined his little brother in a large, expensive flat in central London. There would be a balcony, he decided. Somewhere Percy could stand, breathing in the night breeze, surrounded by the sounds of the city that were always such a comfort to him – nightmare, to Charlie. The apartment would always smell clean and laundry-like, because of course Percy would own an air purifier. There would be a cat, but not one his brother wanted. An old, fat cat that his daughter fell in love with, and he reluctantly adopted, because he could never refuse her anything. The living room wall would be a giant bookshelf, organised by alphabetical order because that was the kind of man Percy was. Or used to be.
It was possible he was wrong about all of it. It was possible Percy was in a large house, in the countryside, happily married. It was possible he was divorced. It was possible he owned a dog. Possible he barely read anymore. Charlie didn’t know, and it terrified him. Despite having always fled, he, as an older brother, had always had some vague knowledge of how everyone’s lives were going. Perhaps it’d always been flawed, fallacious. But it had been something.
With Percy, he had no idea to begin with. Everything he knew about his brother was distant, too far to be true any longer. Charlie sighed; a long, heavy breath that lingered around him. How was he going to explain this to the others? Perhaps he needed to magically re-seal the letter and act surprised the next morning. But he’d never been very good at lying. He tried to imagine how they would react. There was no way they would want to see Percy again. They could never forgive him. Could Charlie? The question and its lack of answer tightened the knot in his throat.
____
Percy Weasley had no idea what had gotten over him that night. He’d been insomniac again, and another sleepless night stood before him. Just before midnight, he slipped out of bed, careful not to wake anyone up, and went to the kitchen. His grip on the glass of water, while filling it up, was just a little too strong. He glanced at his just-a-little-too-tight watch. 12:03 AM, December 12th. Percy had to blink at the screen a few times before it occurred to him.
It was Charlie’s birthday. Merlin. If his need to visit his mother in the hospital before it was too late was still doubtful in any way, it became, at that moment, unstoppable. Silently dragging his feet to the bedroom, he stopped in front of the secretary desk he didn’t remember buying. A shaky hand opened the locked drawer, and he took out one of the dozen letters he’d written to his family on nights just like this one.
This was the most recent one, he noticed, back in the moonlit kitchen. It was from…yesterday. Or the day before that. Merlin, how many nights had he spent awake in the past week?
Percy didn’t know what had made him do it. Sleep deprivation, nostalgia, fear for his mother…When he noticed he had sent it, the family owl, Apollo, was already an abstract black shape, far into the horizon.
Well, he sighed. There was no going back now.