Retracing Paths Taken
Percy felt out of place returning to the place he called home just a few years back. The resentment and distance that had grown between him and his siblings didn’t help either. His mother, of course, lathered him with love. As if he hadn’t up and left, diminishing his family like they were but dirt stuck underneath his loafers.
While he had truly missed his family and regretted some of his words, much of it he still meant. After all, being told he didn’t deserve the job he had worked tirelessly for was cruel. He had spent years of his life perfecting himself, ensuring his resume would be flawless, despite his meager background.
Percy’s health had deteriorated under all the immense pressure he had placed on himself. From his fourth year onward, he spent countless nights preparing for his OWLs and NEWTs, staying up late, pushing himself beyond exhaustion. Every spare moment was spent in the library, sometimes even breaking curfew rules to study in the Ravenclaw common room. It had always felt unfair that Ravenclaw students had access to such an extensive collection of books, giving them an advantage he couldn’t ignore.
Seventh year had been the worst of all. his relentless habits had finally to caught up to him. He had lost an enormous amount of weight from skipping lunches to study, and his methods of staying awake had grown increasingly extreme. What had started as a splash of ice water to his face turned into casting stinging and burning hexes on his arms and legs, anything to keep himself alert. His body had been littered with marks, some so severe they remained despite his attempts to heal them.
Of course, he never let on. No one had noticed. He often wondered how that was possible, how no one had questioned why a prefect and later, the Head boy had so frequently been absent from the Great Hall during meals.
He still remembered the gut-wrenching pain, followed swiftly by resentment. Even as a child they had treated him years older than the rest.
When Charlie had announced he was leaving, his mother had cried and pleaded with him to stay, freshly 18 and far too young, yet they had eventually accepted it. Charlie had secured the job through a friend, skipped half of his training and was met with nothing but praise, a clap on the back, congratulations all around.
But when Percy had gotten his first job at fourteen, working summers as an intern at the Inkwell Bureau, no one had batted an eye. His mother hadn’t fretted that he was too young, hadn’t protested that he should be enjoying his childhood. It had been expected of him.
So when he had landed a job, someone years his senior wished to have, he had expected it to be treated as a given. Another expectation was met.
To be then told he didn’t deserve it? That he was being used to get closer to the others and Potter? It had hurt, it had torn him to shreds.
Eventually the words had sunk in, and he had to admit there was some truth to them. It had played a role. But that didn’t erase the fact that he was also well-qualified, that he had worked tirelessly and that he had done his job diligently, without fail.
Eventually, he let go of his narrow mindset and fought the war on the right side. Of course, he had been helping all along, perhaps not as boldly as the others, but he had done all he could with the position he was in.
He had altered wizarding birth certificates raising blood status to protect those in fragile positions. He had approved international Portkey requests, even without all qualifications met. He had even destroyed evidence and leads that could have exposed Muggle-borns. All beneath the noses of Death eaters, all while continuing to perform his other duties with the same unwavering diligence as ever.
So no, he did not want to apologize for blowing up and leaving. it had been a long time coming.
Still, he knew his siblings were waiting for one. He caught the occasional looks of disdain thrown his way when they thought he wasn’t looking, silent expectations hanging between them.
A week had passed since the war's tragic end. The day he watched his brother, his baby brother, get caught beneath the blasted wall. No one was doing well, Voldemort had been defeated but the cost had been high for both sides
Now wasn’t the time for long, difficult conversations. Eventually, he would have to speak, to clear the air, to mend what was left. But an apology he didn’t fully mean, and likely never would, didn’t seem right.
So he sat on the bed in his old bedroom, tracing the permanent lines from his self-afflicted hexes.
His mother didn’t want any of her children returning to work just yet, so for now, he was back home. He had gathered all his essentials, and retrieved Hermes from his apartment, only to find his mother frantically looking for him. He had reassured her as best as he could but she still seemed frail. So evidently he would have to stay here for a while to appease his mother. He attempted to ignore the slight panic and the way his pulse pounded at the thought of being surrounded and suffocated by his family once again.