Dollhouse

Minerva knew what had happened. She’d have to be blind and deaf not to. The entire student body had been abuzz with it for the past few weeks.

Charlie Weasley had been caught with another boy.

The fifth year and his paramour were discovered in a broom cupboard after hours. The Slytherin prefect who’d found them seemed to take vindictive pleasure in spreading the news. 

The general consensus was not positive.

Charlie had been very popular among his peers, particularly his housemates, possibly even more than his Head Boy older brother. His Quidditch skills sparked rumors that professional teams were scouting him, earning him the respect of his peers, and his amiable, easy-going attitude meant it was hard to dislike him. Older students respected him, and younger ones were prone to fawning, sometimes even worshipful in their behavior. Oliver Wood, who’d made the Gryffindor team this year (as per Rolanda’s predictions), was particularly guilty of this. Percy, who’d given in and become a reluctant friend to the boy, seemed to find this grating. Minerva could sympathize. It could be hard to live in an older sibling’s shadow. 

This, though… this changed everything. Suddenly, girls who’d once fought for a seat by Charlie’s side now sat with each other. The casual pats on the back and side hugs from male friends disappeared, and conversations became noticeably stiff and awkward.

She heard the words students said when they didn’t think she was listening. Saw the way that the opposing teams’ beaters targeted him, bludgers slamming into him as his own team members looked on apathetically. 

She watched as he changed—reverting to his first-year self and then some. It started with dark circles under his eyes; then it progressed to missing classes. She was startled when, on his return after three days absent, he’d smelt of firewhiskey. He hadn’t even attempted to pay attention to her opening remarks. Then he'd lazily marked the same letter for all questions on the practice exam she handed out and put his head down to nap. The next few classes were more of the same.

She gave him two weeks to improve his behavior before going to Albus. His advice only served to frustrate her.

It was only a few days after the news broke that she came upon Bill in an empty corridor, speaking roughly with Percy, who had a look about him that she couldn’t place. 

Bill seemed uncharacteristically angry, gesturing violently and almost yelling at his little brother. Minerva almost intervened, but Bill stalked away before she could, shaking his head and muttering “unbelievable” as he did so. 

She watched, miraculously unobserved and somewhat obscured by a pillar, as Percy bit his lip and stared at the castle ground. He was coiled tightly around himself, and his fists were clenched at his sides, his fists turning white. As Bill turned the corner on the other end of the hallway, practically stomping, Percy mutely wiped his hand under his spectacles before turning on his heel and following his brother. 

She issued an order to the house elves not to serve Charlie anything potentially alcoholic. That was a given for all students already, but she felt a reminder could be useful. Unfortunately, she doubted the kitchens were the main supplier of Charlie's firewhiskey. Despite their best efforts, older students sometimes smuggled in alcohol after Hogsmeade trips and sold it at a hefty upcharge. Of course, anytime wind of something like that came upon their ears, it was dealt with severely, but she knew that they only caught a small percentage of those rule-breakers. She was more proactive in listening for chatter about illicit substances, but there was little she could do that wasn’t already being done.

She arranged a conference with Charlie, Pomona, and Silvanus in early May, about a month after the outing. It was superficially for academic purposes - his grades were dropping - but in reality, it was meant as a sort of wellness check. Pomona and Silvanus were the teachers who connected with him the most, and, she felt, had the best chance at reaching him.

Maybe Charlie sensed her true intentions, or, perhaps more likely, he was passed out somewhere and had forgotten about their appointment, but he failed to attend the meeting. After a half hour of waiting, Silvanus stood up apologetically and said he needed to get back to his flobberworms.

“Can’t you stay a few more minutes?” Pomona asked, wringing her hands. “Maybe he ran into Peeves. I really do think it’d be best if you were here.”

He leaned on hands that hadn’t yet left the table and regarded the wood underneath his fingers. After a moment of contemplation, he said, “I think we’ve been, perhaps, a bit ingenuous about this.”

Minerva sighed defeatedly, her posture dipping as she sank into her seat. Pomona’s brow furrowed, and she looked down. For a moment, they sat, stewing in the thickness that’d come over the room. 

Pomona’s breath hitched once, twice, before she seemed to give up on her thought and instead pressed her lips into a thin line. 

Minerva took it upon herself to break the silence. Sighing again, she said, “He’s right. If Mr. Weasley planned to be here, he would’ve been half an hour ago.”

More silence. Then Pomona tentatively asked, “What do we do?”

“Be there,” Silvanus said simply.

Minerva interjected, “Respectfully, Silvanus, I don’t think ‘being there’ is going to fix his attendance or drinking habits." She ignored Pomona's sharp inhale of breath at her bluntness. "We held this conference for a reason. I’ve gone with that strategy for the past month, and things only seem to be getting worse. My patience is wearing thin.”

“What can you do that will?” he asked her. 

“What?”

“What can you do that will fix his attendance or drinking habits?”

She spluttered for a moment, “Well, I’ve told the house elves to confiscate any alcohol they might find when clean-”

“Has that worked?”

It hadn’t. “Albus issued another warning-”

“Has he shown up to any of your detentions?” 

No. “I’m speaking to him after class on-”

“He hasn’t shown up for mine either.”

“Would you stop interrupting me?” Minerva snapped.

“I will when you stop going around in circles. Unless you can get him to see a mind healer, nothing is going to change.” Silvanus said, “And even then… this is a very difficult thing he’s living with.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Pomona interjected firmly, eyeing the Care of Magical Creatures professor with newfound disdain.

“I’m not saying there is,” he said patiently, “But others don’t feel the same way. He’s lost a lot of friends. Family. Maybe even his prospects at a professional Quidditch career. It’s objectively a difficult thing to live through, especially at fifteen.”

“What do you mean, family?” Minerva asked, suddenly worried for another reason entirely. “Have you heard something about Molly and Arthur?”

He looked at her strangely, eerily similar to the way Rolanda had a year before. “No,” he said, “I meant Percy.”

“What?” she asked, astounded. “What in Merlin's name do you mean?”

“They’ve had a falling out.” Pomona said, “After everything came out.”

“What? ” Surely that wasn’t right. Percy could be a bit rude, yes, but not cruel like this.

She thought back to his schmoozing with Tiberius McLaggen. His relentlessness in his studies. The way he could talk down to those he considered unintelligent, even his own friends. She was suddenly grateful to be sitting, as she felt as though her head were spinning. There was no better word to describe Percy Weasley than “ambitious”. But was his ambition heftier than the strength of his bond for his brother? Was it so overpowering that he'd break his relationship with his brother to better align with wizarding society’s warped ideals? She remembered his sorting, suddenly. The hat had deliberated for nearly three minutes on where to put the boy. Bill and Charlie had both been sorted very quickly, and the near hatstall was the first of many indications that the third Weasley would be different from his brothers. As she’d gotten to know him, she’d figured that the hat had been deliberating between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, but now she was sure she’d been mistaken. Slytherin: it occurred to her.

She’d always felt Percy was somewhat more disconnected to his brothers, who were comparatively as thick as thieves. She’d attributed it to a clashing of personalities, but now she began to wonder if the split was intentional. 

While Charlie’s social circle had clearly shrunk, a few people had stuck by him resolutely. The most notable of these was Tonks, who defended her friend fervently. Her hair, these days, had strayed from its usual pink to an angry red that seemed to reflect her perpetual outrage with other students. She could be ruthless with the jinxes she fired at the slightest of insults toward Charlie. Her hairline trigger was effective in keeping students in their places but hadn’t restored Charlie’s social status. He remained a pariah.

She seemed eager to stick by his side, partnering with him in all of their shared classes and sitting with him and Bill during mealtimes, neglecting her other friends to do so. Minerva noticed that when she was with him, he was much less likely to be under the influence, which gave her a good, if dark, understanding of why she was so purposeful about being around him. His alcohol problem did, likely in large part due to the combined efforts of Bill and Tonks, seem to be abiding, and his attendance was back to normal in most classes. 

That, of course, was not to say that his performance was back to what it had been. Even in his best subjects, Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology, his grades failed to tick back up, though they had, at least, stopped worsening. The dip was concerning, considering his upcoming O.W.L.s, and Minerva had pulled him aside and offered to match him with a tutor to help him catch up. He’d gone red at the suggestion and had missed class for the next week. She hadn’t brought it up again.

Still, things had been improving, but then- then there’d been the Howler.

Sick! Molly Weasley’s voice had spat. Twisted! Immoral! Disgusting!

Minerva already had her reservations about Howlers, but they were permitted as long as they didn’t devolve into unquestionable verbal abuse. This was most certainly that, and she’d stood up and pulled out her wand as soon as the shock had worn off. It wasn’t quickly enough, however, to cut off the matriarch publicly disowning her son in front of the entire school. She cast an Incendio! but felt, hollowly, that the worst of the message had already been received. 

The hall remained silent as the ashes descended, falling lightly onto Charlie’s breakfast. He watched them without emotion, staring blankly ahead as he had through the entirety of Molly’s message. She stayed standing - frozen with the rest of the castle’s inhabitants. Once the ash had settled, mixing with the butter on his toast, Charlie nodded to himself. Then, calmly, he stood up and walked out of the hall. Once he’d turned the corner out of sight, the spell seemed to be broken, and the hall erupted into whispers. The entirety of the Gryffindor table jostled when Bill tripped over the bench, apparently having come back to himself. Unlike his brother, his legs shook as he hurried toward the exit, brushing off friends who grabbed at his robes as he passed them.

Tonks stared at Bill’s retreating back and seemed to choose to let Charlie’s brother go after him. The decision didn’t last, however, as after a few minutes of picking at her food and glancing anxiously at the foyer, she left the table and walked out in the direction of the Gryffindor common room.

Percy stayed seated, looking uncharacteristically guilty.

Charlie wasn’t in any classes that day, and Minerva couldn’t fault him. The staff mutually agreed not to do or say anything about it. As Charlie’s head of house, Minerva arranged a meeting with Albus to discuss his wellbeing. Charlie was also to be present at the meeting, and she was tasked with informing him. 

The next day passed without a sign of him or Bill. He wasn't present in classes or at meals. Another day. Then another. She conversed with the house elves again, and her suspicions were confirmed. Bill had been going down to the kitchens to bring back food for himself and Charlie. The day she set for the meeting with Albus and Charlie came and went without her seeing hair or hide of the boy. Bill finally resurfaced, looking haggard, nearly a week later, but only to attend classes and hand in homework, including Charlie’s. It was done in Bill’s handwriting, but she didn't say anything. 

A week later, she finally caught sight of Charlie in a way she hadn’t expected. She’d been doing rounds, standing in for Filch, who’d taken time off to bring the latest Mrs. Norris to an animal healer. She’d been on the fifth floor, struggling to keep her eyes open with the late hour, when she heard sniffling. She’d paused in her patrolling and followed the source of the sound, suddenly awake. The noise led her to an abandoned classroom, dust settled on tables and old instruments. Ah, she thought nostalgically, the music room. Briefly her mind wandered to the classes and clubs that had been lost to reduced staff and student populations. The war had taken so much. She shut her eyes tightly. These sorts of thoughts were why she took her draughts of peace. Why was it that they became so much stronger in the dark?

Another sniffle. She forced herself out of her head. Somebody needs you. 

The sounds were coming from the teacher's desk, and in the darkness, she could make out a shadowed figure beneath it. She anticipated something along the lines of a homesick first year, but when she rounded the desk and crouched down to regard the individual beneath it, she found a shock of red hair. Charlie had curled into a ball. His face was visible in the moonlight - pale and tear-streaked. 

She hadn’t thought it possible, but her heart shattered yet again. Despite her old age and her protesting knees, she knelt down beside him. He made no move to hide his face. He noticed her, she knew, but didn’t acknowledge her. She thought he might be too emotionally exhausted to do so.

“Mr. Weasley-” she began, her voice no louder than a whisper, but that was enough to break the spell. His hands reached up to pull at his hair. 

She was reluctant at first, unsure of the line of professionalism she was meant to maintain, but then he quietly whimpered in pain at his own actions, and she threw her reservations to the side. She reached out and rested her hands on Charlie’s. She hated it, hated it when she felt him flinch, but didn’t relent, trying gently to untangle his fingers from his hair. He let her. 

His sniffling died down somewhat. She was both afraid and hopeful that he’d return to the calm, emotionless boy she’d seen receiving the Howler. She’d seen it in both him and Bill. Desertion of emotion. Complete vacancy of feeling. It scared her, yet she felt she’d be better able to handle that than the breakdown she’d walked in on.

She thought he might’ve returned to that state as he stared at the end of the desk, avoiding eye contact. She took the moment to note his red, puffy eyes. She wondered how long he’d been here. She was trying to grapple for words, formulate a correct response - the right thing to say - but he beat her to it. 

“Professor,” he asked, his voice shaking even if his face was turned away and carefully blank, “is there something wrong with me?”

Her heart beat like a jackrabbit, violent and straining to escape the confines of her chest, so unsure about what to do and knowing that anything she might say or do could cause insurmountable damage. 

He seemed to take her silence as a confirmation. His mouth twisted, his chin wrinkled, and his brows turned down. His eyes squeezed shut, then his head was back in his knees, as he tried desperately to withold a sob. Still, the tears came. 

Feeling utterly inadequate, Minerva put a hand on his back. He leaned into it, desperate for comfort. 

“Mr. Weasley,” she said quietly and gently in a way even she was surprised she was capable of, “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

He shook his head.

“You’re lying,” he said miserably. “I’m a freak.” 

She rubbed his back awkwardly, unsure again of what to say. 

“You’re not,” she decides on with a vehemence, but still he shook his head fervently. “You’re an extraordinary young man,” she said.

He was still shaking his head. She felt lost. She wondered if anything she said would ever break through to him right now. He was sniffling again. “Mr. Weasley” she tried again, but he wasn’t listening and she didn’t know what to say. The words just sat in the air. Ugly. They remained unfinished. She stayed silent but kept her hand on his back. He continued to cry.