"You wanted to see me, Minister?" Arthur looked around the office, tall bookshelves and a large desk. Trust the minister to go for granduer.
"Your son hasn't turned up for work in three days now." The minister started. "And he's costing me a lot of money. I'm a busy man Arthur, I don't have the time to be playing about with a teenager who can't be bothered to get out of bed."
It wasn't like Percy to just abandon post, not without owning in. "Minister, you are aware that my son and I are estranged?"
"Does it look like I care? I don't give a donkey's what's gone on, you find him and you tell him I'm this close to sacking him. All brilliant work and then he decides one day to just no show? I'm not having it Arthur, I haven't the resources to replace him and frankly I don't want to. He's the best employee I've had in years and I don't want him to leave."
Arthur nodded in understanding. "Yes, Minister."
He let his thoughts stew for a while on his way to his son's flat. Percy wouldn't just decide to stay off work without owling in, and especially not for three days. He decided to send a patronus to Remus and have him meet and see Percy together, just incase things went sour.
His mind kept coming back to their argument, they'd both said horrible things to each other and Percy's words stung him to his core. He'd never imagined Percy would be the one to walk out on them, or had Arthur thrown him out? Now, though, all he could remember was the look on his son's face when Arthur had lost his temper. Sad and scared and so, so lost. So hurt. His words had hurt his son, just as much as his son's had hurt him.
He'd do anything to apologise. He hated those longing glaces he caught Percy giving him in the ministry. He hated that indifferent face his son would pull when he realised he'd been caught looking. He hated how he could see in his son's stance how his shoulders shook as he tried not to cry. Percy never cried. Percy hardly cried as a baby and he never cried as a teenager. Because that's what he was, Arthur realised. His son, his boy, was only nineteen years of age. Nineteen and had gone further than any of them had, become more successful than any of them and he was doing it on his own.
As he reached Remus at Percy's front door, he shook the thoughts from his head. He'd been given a job to do. Perhaps his son just had a bad flu or maybe the minister was right and he just didn't want to get out of bed. He just couldn't shake the niggling anxiety that wrapped abound his chest. There was no magic here.
"Ready, Arthur?" He nodded. He clasped his hand around the door handle and twisted. The door wasn't locked. For some reason it sent a feeling of dread through his bones.
He hadn't realised the layout of Percy's house was so odd. The front door led into the kitchen, where the floo was situated. "I'm gonna start a floo call through to the burrow to just keep the line open." Arthur nodded again. He went through the next door as Remus initiated the floo call, with Charlie on the other end. He looked around the living room, the walls were bare. No photos. No personal achievements. No nicknacks. Nothing but an armchair that faced away from the door and coffee table piled high with paper work.
"Yeah we're just checking on him Charlie, that's all." He heard Remus say to his through the floo. If he could hear them. They could hear him.
He walked around to the coffee table, and in the armchair was his son, a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette long burnt out in the other. His son. His baby.
"Percy? Percy, baby, it's dad. Come on, son, answer me, it's daddy." He reached out his hand and cupped his son's face. His son's cold face. Percy's clouded eyes stared back at his father, no spark behind them.
"Come on, son! It's daddy, see?! I'm not here to shout at you! Please, son, please say something!" Arthur broke down into sobs, heaving breaths that hurt his chest. He stroked his son's hair and wailed.
"Arthur, Arthur come on, it's okay." Remus tried to pull him away from his son.
"No! No! That's my baby! My baby boy! Get off me!" He shoved Remus back.
He picked his son up from off the chair and cradled him, his stiff body unable to hold him back. He cradled his son and rocked him back and forth. He hugged his baby, and stroked his hair as he screamed. A scream that left his throat sort and his chest aching. He screamed and he begged. As he held his baby, his friend held him close.
"Arthur, we need to call someone. We need to take him to the hospital."
Arthur rocked his baby and held him to his chest. His tiny, tiny baby, born blind as a bat and smaller than his father's forearm. His baby was just here and he missed him.