“Bubbles. Want bubbles.”
Percy’s eyes, as large and as bright as an owl, peered expectantly up at Bill over the ledge of the bathtub. As if to accentuate his point, he cupped his hands together, letting the water flow between his fingers. Hands, he called them, but Bill thought they looked more like marshmallows. Percy’s baby fat had clung onto him, keeping him soft and chubby even at the big age of four.
Lost in this train of thought, he didn’t notice until it was happening when Percy threw that bathtub water into his face.
Bill sputtered and coughed, beating his chest as he hacked out whatever had gotten into his lungs. Percy, for his part, watched dispassionately from inside the bathtub. “Bubbles, Bill. You put no bubbles in my water.” His ginger curls fell around his face, still holding their volume despite being drenched. “Where are my bubbles?”
Sometimes, he feared Percy was getting a bit too much like their mum. Even with his eyes closed, he could count their similarities. That same scolding tone, a worrying sense of meticulousness, an aura of constant disappointment. Then, Bill would remember he could pick him up and throw him over his shoulder, and, all of a sudden, ideas of their resemblance would dissipate. That was his baby brother through and through, no matter how prissy he might have seemed.
Still coughing, he said, “Right, sir, your bubbles.”
It wasn’t proper bubble solution, per se, but obtaining one of those would be a much too frivolous expense, especially given that they were in hiding. In the first place, Bill hadn’t thought it necessary for a bath. But Percy had been so small, and there really had been nothing to play with in the dim warehouse they all lived in. It seemed a pitiful place for a four-year-old boy’s birthday.
What could he do? It was, he had rationalized, his only real choice was an older brother. Stealing that dish soap was logical. Nabbing his mother’s wand to improve its bubble capabilities was the correct course of action. And besides, he was sure everyone could spare a bit of happiness for Percy. He deserved it.
He popped the cap open and drizzled the solution into the bathtub. It had turned a soft pink upon the incantations Bill had performed upon it, and belatedly, he realized he perhaps should’ve tested it on himself before he tested it on a toddler. “Uh, Percy—”
POP.
First thought: Bill was a great wizard, and he was beyond excited to receive a wand of his own.
Second thought: Percy might have been drowning underneath all those bubbles.
Mounds upon mounds of bubbles, stacking as high as the ceiling, leaking over the bathtub. Already, they were crowding onto the smooth bathroom tiles, reaching as far as Bill’s feet. Shiny, pearlescent things, reflecting every color of the rainbow. Gorgeous. But he didn’t have the time to admire his handiwork. Because beneath all of those delicate bubbles was his little brother.
He stood up, almost slipping over the mess that had spilled all over the floor. He half-ran, half-stumbled to the tub, shoving bubbles apart to find Percy. One at a time, Bill found evidence of his little brother. A small, muffled giggle. Flashes of red locks. Sharp blue eyes. As he popped the last bubble in his way, he found that little face exposed, now breaking into a big grin.
“Bill, look! I’ve got bubbles!” He waved his arms, taking out a wave of bubbles with him. A line of suds clung onto his chin, bending around his smile.
Warmth blossomed in his chest. It was a sad sort of celebration, just a bathtub, Bill, and some dubious dish soap, but Percy didn’t seem to realize it. He took a deep breath in and dove underwater, disappearing underneath the bubbles. In fairness, it must have been his best birthday yet. His first had been spent in hiding, his second evacuating their house, and his third largely forgotten.
The fourth had almost been spent the same way. His parents too preoccupied with the war, Charlie too involved with himself. Even Percy hadn’t noticed, having fallen asleep in front of his favorite book. But even so, it felt like a betrayal not to acknowledge his birthday. It was a silly thing, really, and Bill doubted his brother would hold a grudge either way, but it was a matter of principle.
Four.Four years old. The number seemed unreal to him. Moments ago, Percy had been this small, wailing thing in his arms, so fragile that Bill had thought he might shatter him. Sometimes, the same thoughts came to him in the middle of the night. What could he do to protect himself? He had no wand, no physical prowess, and came up only to his waist. But the thought that terrified him more: What could Bill do? If it came to it, could he protect Percy?
There was so little he could do for him, and it broke his heart.
Percy emerged from the water, blinking the water out of his eyes. “Am swimming.”
“Yes, yes you are.”
It still felt like a miracle that Percy was alive. Even now, he shuddered to think of that awful day. Flashes of green light in their home, black robes, the drop of bodies instead of the sound of screams. It had been so quick. So quick, in fact, that they only realized no one had Percy when they had all fled.
He had been two years old. Old enough to have grown mischievous, to hide and settle in the shadowed corners of every room. Small enough to escape anyone’s sight, even theirs. But there was no returning to that house, not until they were positive all the Death Eaters had left. By the time morning came, they had been looking for a body to bury, not a little boy.
Bill remembered. Bill remembered everything. He remembered opening that closet and finding a small head of ginger hair tucked in between piles of robes. For one, terrible moment, he imagined the headstone. Percival Ignatius Weasley. 22 August 1976 - 31 August 1978. Barely a chance at life. Then, a sleepy “Bill?” had emerged from that head, and everything had been set right again.
“Bubbles are round ‘cause of surface tension,” Percy rattled off, speaking as if he was reading off of a book. He spared a moment to peer at Bill to check if he was listening then carried on. “And ‘cause they’ve got all that air trapped inside, they turn into a sphere ‘cause it’s more space-efficient.”
He smiled weakly. Half the time, he didn’t know what Percy was talking about, and he doubted anyone else did either. His brother, sometime during that long period of hiding, had started speaking almost exclusively in book quotes. Bill wondered what book that particular passage came from now. “Uh-huh? That’s, er, nice.”
It wasn’t clear to him yet whether Percy’s obsession with books was a good thing or a bad thing. Books, here, was a widely-defined term. Dictionaries, picture books, almanacs, monographs, their parents’ old Hogwarts textbooks, Charlie’s diary. If it had words on a page, it was his.
Percy blinked owlishly at him, small curls pasted on his forehead. So young. Despite himself, a pang of melancholy hit Bill square in the chest. Was that going to be his entire life? Warehouses, hiding, Unforgivable Curses. It felt petulant, but he wanted everyone, all those Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix, to know what they were doing to his little brother. He wanted them to stop. And more importantly, he wanted to give Percy a nice birthday. Was that too much to ask?
“Bill?” A little hand waved out in front of him, snapping him from his thoughts. His eyes traced back to that arm until he reached the frown waiting for him. “Why do you look sad?”
“Hmm?” He shook his head. “Sad? Why would I be sad?”
“I dunno. But you always look sad, so I asked.”
Sad. He looked sad. Couldn’t protect his brother from Death Eaters, couldn’t find a proper bubble solution, and on top of all that, he couldn’t even find it in himself to look happy on his birthday. What a lousy big brother he was. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. You’re sure I don’t just look like that?” Bill smiled, tapping his nose.
“No!” Percy didn’t seem to be in a playful mood, it seemed. A shame. It always used to be easy to distract him, even when there were wizards shouting outside. A few tickles and that was that. As much as he was a crybaby, he could also seem like the happiest thing in the world. “You’re sad, Bill. Now I’m sad. We’re sad in front of all our bubbles.”
He opened his mouth, closed it, and instead sat there, staring at him. Oh, how he wanted to lie. I’m fine, silly. You’re being a worrier, just like mum. But the words wouldn’t come out right. It was so hard to lie to those eyes, hardened by early maturity. It was all so, so wrong. But what else could he say?
Shifting a little closer, he said, “No, it’s the happiest day of my life, Perce. ‘Cause if you’re four, it means you can do more things, right? More big boy stuff. And I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He spoke rapidly, more into his hair than at his face in the hopes that Percy wouldn’t see the tears that burned in his eyes. “We’ll have lots more fun this way. Tell you what, in due time, I’ll take you outside and we’ll stay there for hours. Proper games and all. Maybe I could even teach you Quidditch.”
Percy beamed. “Promise?”
“...Yes, I promise.”