Shards Beneath the Surface
At first, no one could speak of Fred without their voices breaking. But now, his name had begun to return to conversations in murmurs, tentative and careful, as if testing how much they could bear.
Percy felt suffocated, he tiptoed around conversations, walking on eggshells, trying to stay as quiet as can be. It was easier to go unnoticed.
Percy’s feet tapped rhythmically against the floor, a habit he had picked up while working in his office. Silence had always unsettled him, a foreign concept after growing up in a house that never knew quiet.
It was strange, not working. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a break, let alone one this long. But the Ministry was being rebuilt from the ground up, every employee, even those who had fought on the right side, was now under scrutiny.
A part of him wondered whether he would even be allowed back in the Ministry.
A deeper part of him questioned whether he even wanted to return.
He had spent years upon years clawing his way to the place he once dreamed of, but now, no amount of ambition could erase the memories that stained it. The Ministry, the very institution he ached to be part of, had turned into something else entirely.
Even being the perfect pushover, a mere shadow of himself, had not spared him of Yaxley’s temper. The flashes of Diffindo's, aimed at his back with cruel precision, haunted him still. Slicing through his robes, through his skin. Wounds that had long healed but still burned beneath the surface. Blending, as always, with the ones he had inflicted upon himself.
A sharp knock echoed through the room, snapping Percy out of his thoughts. His foot stilled mid-tap. He hadn’t even realized how restless he had become.
Straightening himself, he exhaled and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Come in”, he called, his voice steady despite the lingering weight in his chest.
The door creaked open, and Bill stepped inside, his gaze soft but concerned as it settled on Percy.
”We’ve been calling you down for a while, Perce, Dinner is ready.” Bill commented gently, running his hand through his hair.
Percy looked at him properly then. Bill was only 27, but he looked years older now. The scar slashed across his face was just as pronounced as the worry lines on his forehead. War had changed everyone. The realization hit Percy hard, cold, and unwelcome. He let out a quiet, almost accidental, ‘Oh’, not quite sure if it was a response to Bill or the weight of his thoughts. He stood, slow and deliberate, waiting for Bill to step aside.
“I’m worried about you,” Bill said, leaning his body against the door frame.
Percy pressed his lips together, unsure how to respond. Lately, that seemed to be the case more often than not. After all, he hadn’t interacted truly with his family in years.
”Can we do this later? I just want to get through Dinner.” Percy murmured, stepping forward hesitantly, his gaze landing anywhere but on Bill.
”Get through Dinner?” Bill echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Perce a family meal shouldn’t feel like something you have to endure.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, deepening the worry lines on his forehead.
“I don’t mean it like that.”
“But you do.” Bill’s voice softened. “You’re always so on edge. I don’t know how to help you if you won’t let me in.”
Percy exhaled sharply “It’s fine. I’m fine.” his voice firmer now, ending the conversation before it could go any further. “Let’s just go down and eat, Bill”.
Bill studied him for a moment longer, unreadable. Then, without another word, he stepped aside just enough for Percy to slip past. Percy didn’t hesitate, walking quickly, away from the conversation, away from Bill’s searching gaze, and away from any notion of concern.
Stepping into the dining room, the rich scent of food hit Percy’s nose, too heavy, too much. He discreetly covered his nose, swallowing against the queasiness creeping in. No matter how many times he sat at this table, he had never quite adjusted to the sheer amount of food his mother prepared. The way every dish seemed oversized, excessive. His habit of skipping lunches had lingered well past graduation, an old routine he had never shaken.
Sliding into his chair, he exhaled a quiet apology in his mother’s direction. He pretended not to notice the way the air in the room shifted, how the conversations had faltered for just a moment before resuming. Instead, he busied himself, reaching for the serving spoons.
His eyes roamed the table, his stomach twisting at the way the food glistened under the warm dining room lights. Oil pooled at the edges of plates, clung to the surface of roasted meats, slickened the sheen of vegetables. His chest tightened at the thought of it sitting on his tongue, thick and lingering.
He gripped his fork a little tighter, picking at the roast chicken first. One bite. He chewed mechanically, swallowing without really tasting, willing himself not to focus on the way the grease coated his throat. Another bite. His jaw worked on autopilot, his focus narrowed to the simple act of eating just enough, not too little, not too much. Just enough to go unnoticed.
A loud clatter rang through the dining room as a fork slammed against the table, making Percy flinch. His head snapped up just in time to meet George’s furious scowl, the intensity behind it enough to make his stomach twist.
“What is your problem?” George’s voice was sharp, cutting. “You waltz back into our lives as if you deserve to be here, but you sit there acting all high and mighty over every little thing!”
The room fell into a suffocating silence. Every conversation halted, every eye turned toward them. Percy doubted he could even think up a response before George continued on his words dripping with bitterness.
“I see you, you know.” His voice was lower now, but no less dangerous. “Grimacing at Mum’s food like it's beneath you. Who the hell do you think you are?”.
“that's not—” Percy started, his voice faltering as his gaze flickered toward his mother, searching, but for what exactly? Reassurance? Indifference? Disappointment or sadness?
”Oh, don’t act all innocent.” George’s tone was sharp as a knife. “You don’t deserve to be here. Don’t eat, for all I care, having you in the house is hard enough.”
Percy swallowed, his throat tightening like a noose. He was supposed to be good at handling conflict. The Minister’s assistant, skilled in negotiations. But family had always been a different battlefield, especially the twins, and he never seemed to have the right weapons.
No one spoke. No one intervened. the others sat motionless, unwilling to step into the fire. Maybe they had all gotten used to ignoring the elephant in the room, to pretending they were a whole, functioning family. But to Percy, their silence felt like something else. Like agreement. Like judgment. Like a quiet unspoken truth: George wasn’t the only one who thought it.
Percy let his gaze drop to his lap, he didn't know what to say. How could he possibly explain? No one knew of the aversion to food he had developed. No one knew, and he couldn’t blame them for not knowing either. “I don’t think there's anything wrong with Mum’s food” he whispered.
George scoffed. “Got used to more luxurious food, didn’t you? You’ve always had a problem with this family.”
Percy grimaced again. There was truth in those words, he knew it. He did have a problem with the family, with his father's status. But a home-cooked meal? That was never an issue.
“That’s enough.”
Percy’s eyes lifted surprise flickering in them. Of all people, it was his father who had spoken up. His father, whom he had demeaned, and still held a trace of resentment
“We’ve lost enough people in the war, George,” Arthur said quietly. “Now’s the time to put things back together, including this family.”
“So what? Fred dies and now we’re just going to let Percy back in? Like some kind of replacement?” George snapped slamming his hand against the table, making the dishes clatter.
“He’s not a replacement” Bill cut in, tone leaving no room for argument.
Percy’s breath hitched in surprise. Sure, Bill seemed to still care for him, but with all that happened, he was still on edge.
“He’s always been family,” Bill added, eyes locking with Percy’s, steady and unyielding.
“He left!” George bellowed, his face nearly as red as his hair. “He pretty much disowned himself, and now he comes back and we’re just supposed to be happy about it?”
Percy let out a shaky exhale finally speaking up, voice hesitant.
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t quite know what he was apologizing about at this point. But what else could he say?
“Sorry doesn’t bring Fred back,” George said, his voice tight. “Sorry won’t change the fact you killed him.” he spat out.
The room seemed to grow colder. Whether the temperature had actually dropped, or the weight of the words had just hit, Percy could not tell.
”If you hadn’t distracted him, he would have been alive.” George continued, standing abruptly knocking his chair onto the floor. “Better yet, the wall should have crushed you instead. At least then you would have done some good.”
Percy barely registered Ron snapping at George telling him that he had gone much too far. The words didn’t reach him, just a dull distant ringing in his ears. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. Blinking rapidly as his vision blurred.
He had thought the same thing, from the very moment Fred had taken his last breath, the guilt had taken root. Deep down, he assumed the others believed it too. But hearing it said out loud, pierced something inside of him.
Without a word, Percy stood and made his way to the backdoor, only stopping when a hand caught his forearm.
”Percy, don’t leave.” It was his father, once again coming to his rescue. “What George said was wrong. We need to talk it out as a family.” He added gently, pulling him away from the door.
Percy didn’t resist, too drained of energy to. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he was planning on doing after leaving the door. Whether he was just going out for air or to apparate away altogether.
Everyone seemed to be just as dazed. This had been the first outburst or acknowledgment of any kind.
Ginny seemed to fidget with her hands, whispering frantically over to Ron her gaze settling on Percy and then over to George.
Molly sat motionless, tears creating trails down her face, Bill quietly wiping them away.
Charlie had turned to the dishes, pretending to clean. No one had much of an appetite anymore.
Arthur let out a deep sigh, his hand still resting on Percy’s forearm.
“I think we need some time,” he said quietly, “I want us to talk about all of this properly, tomorrow morning.”
His eyes shifted to George who seemed to have wilted slightly, eyes not of anger but pain.
”Not just about all of this.” He added, turning back to Percy. “About the past couple of years. Our fight, our choices. All of our actions”
Percy didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Others seemed to have agreed, many fleeing the room away from the tension.
The words brought forth no comfort, it felt like a warning.
He gave a barely discernable nod, one automatic and empty. In his mind, George’s words continued to echo. No matter what was said tomorrow, it would not bring Fred back.