Chapter 3
November 7, 1993
When Percy woke up again, Bill was gone, but true to his word, so was Molly. And Dad.
Maybe that hurt a little bit, but Percy pushed it down.
Compartmentalize.
Breathe.
Repeat.
Charlie was back, evidently having reclaimed his coat, the leather resting comfortably on his shoulders. He was sitting lazily by Percy’s bedside now, Ginny in the seat next to him, her head resting on his shoulder. One of Charlie’s arms wrapped around her, and the other held the Prophet as Charlie scanned through the Quidditch section Ginny had been reading earlier. A strange mix of jealousy and longing stirred in Percy’s stomach. He forced it down.
Fred, George, and Ron were in the corner of the room playing some kind of card game. Judging by a sudden boom and Ron’s fervid swearing, he guessed it was Exploding Snap. Percy let himself just take it in for a moment. Be in peace before they realized he was awake and stampeded him again. He wondered where Bill had gone.
He felt an itch and instinctively moved a hand to scratch it before he remembered. Fuck . The sound was enough to divert Charlie’s interest in the Prophet. He looked up. Something kind of hopeful and kind of sad made its way onto his face. Fred, George, and Ron had obviously noticed the sound too, and Percy felt their eyes on him, heavy and full of questions and emotions Percy knew he wasn’t going to be able to deal with. Ron stared at him conspicuously until Fred lightly punched him. The trio pretended to continue their game while periodically staring at Percy and Charlie with wide eyes, then quickly staring back at the table to make sure Charlie and Percy didn’t catch on. Bill must’ve given them a talk after his panic attack. Fucks sake.
“Hey Perce,” Charlie said with a barely concealed hint of hope. It was difficult to look him in the eye with that level of desperate anticipation.
One of Charlie’s hands reached uncertainly for his. Percy opted to look at the ceiling instead of at Charlie’s anxious features. The hand stopped short of making contact at this apparent act of rejection. Percy only felt faintly bad.
“Those aren’t very comfortable, are they,” Charlie said sympathetically, a hand ghosting over the wrist straps that had given Percy away. “No, Charlie” Percy couldn’t help saying, “The straps fixing me to a bloody hospital cot aren’t particularly comfortable”.
It was quiet for a second; then Charlie mumbled out an uncharacteristically meek “Sorry.” His hands retreated back to his lap. That did make Percy feel bad.
“Merlin,” he heard from the corner. One of the twins whacked Ron over the head. Percy tried to turn things around.
“Uh,” Charlie’s eyes fixed back onto him with laser focus. He thought frantically of something to say, “Where’s Bill?”. Not that . Charlie visibly deflated, but desperately tried to mask it with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“He’s in the lobby right now,” he said, trying to inject some upbeatedness into his voice and failing miserably, “He’s talking to Uncle ‘Lius.” Percy froze in his cot. Surely not- Why would- hands on him, touching everywhere - in his hair, on his stomach, then moving lower- he realized he wasn’t breathing. A hand was on his shoulder. Charlie’s concerned face peering over him - leering just like- “Percy?” stopitstopitstopitmakeitstopplease -
A hand in his hair now, and he flinched violently away, “Stop,” he gasped out, desperately trying to get his hands out of their straps and leaning as far away as he could. The hand in his hair left before he’d finished the word. He pulled more at his straps, descending into a blind panic - forced down, hands on his wrists- “Let me go,” he managed, a sob rising in his throat, “Let me go, please let me go.” His wrists chafed against the leather straps, but Percy barely felt the pain, too overcome by hysteria and memories seeping in at the edges of his vision.
“-sorry!” somebody was saying, “-sorry, so… Bill!”
He was actively crying now but barely registered it- flesh on his, a gruff voice in his ear- then suddenly, blessedly , his hands and ankles were free, and immediately he scrambled away, falling off his cot then staggering onto his feet like a drunk.
“-ercy!”
He had to get away.
He stumbled over something, and somebody had him by the shoulders. Get off! Violently, he jerked away, falling backward again, this time unstopped.
“-going on!?”
Pain in his back, but he barely registered it, frantically scooting himself as far backward into a corner as he could get.
“-out!”
He almost choked on an inhale and couldn’t help but let out a whimper.
“-okay… ‘s okay…”
“...out, two, three, four…” Something about the numbers got through to his mind. “...in for two”. He recognized the numbers first and then the voice.
“Bill?” he rasped out, cringing at his own voice. The room was starting to come back.
“Yeah,” said the familiar, if exhausted, voice of his brother. Percy paused and tried to take stock, struggling with the crippling humiliation that had dug its unrelenting claws into his chest. He breathed a few times, trying to let the vestiges of the panic attack leave him, even as he felt anxiety rising in his chest again at the new situation. The whisper of a name rattled in his head, pounding at his brain like the troll from fifth year.
Bill let him regain composure, squatting patiently at a distance of about 6 feet away.
“Was it Charlie?” he asked eventually, once Percy had mostly gotten his breathing under control.
“...what?” Percy asked, pulling in his sprawled legs, wincing as he hit a new bruise or three.
“The panic attack,” Bill said evenly, “did he spark it?”
“Uh..” Percy wiped at his face, running a shaking hand through his hair. He grimaced as he remembered the phantom sensation of something that had been there before. He didn’t elaborate.
“You don’t have to see him,” Bill says, somewhat gently, “if-”
But Percy shook his head, running a hand over his face, “No,” he said. “No, don’t do that. He’s…” Percy exhaled and looked for words in the ceiling tiles. Absently, he rubbed at his chafed wrists. “He’s fine,” he said finally, “It wasn’t him.”
“Okay,” Bill said, but Percy could hear doubt in his voice—a beat of silence. Then Bill stood up and walked to the left. Percy couldn’t find it in himself to follow his movement. A moment later, Bill walked back into view, moving tentatively toward Percy. Frustrated at himself and Bill for his irritably justified carefulness, Percy lurched up and took his glasses from Bill’s outstretched hand without a betrayal of his nervousness and exhaustion. Bill, seeming to sense his frustration, let some of his careful posture fade away, and stood his ground about a foot from Percy, watching. The focusing of his vision helped solidify the room, taking Percy more firmly out of his memories.
“Better?” Bill asked.
“Yeah,” Percy said roughly. He scanned the room.
“I kicked them out,” Bill said, catching on.
“Thanks,” Percy muttered, his gaze dancing toward the floor despite his best efforts.
Bill regarded him. Then, “Uncle Bilius is here,” and Percy couldn’t help but cringe at the name, cursing himself inwardly as Bill noted the reaction.
Percy tried to keep Bill off his scent by muttering an unenthusiastic “Great.” His brother tilted his head, considering him.
Percy hated it when Bill looked at him like that. Analyzing. That look had spelled his doom countless times throughout their childhoods. He had hoped that some years away had hampered Bill’s uncanny ability to read Percy, but it seemed nothing had changed when Bill asked - carefully again, “Do you want me to send him away?”.
Percy exhaled heftily and sat back on the cot, hunching over his legs and resting his head in his hands, thinking. Dirty nails dug into his cheek, rancid breath on his mouth- he shuddered and brought his head up, pushing away the memory. Bill was still waiting, even though something on his face showed he knew already. Percy kind of wanted to say, “No, why would you? Send him in,” just to fuck with that knowing look in Bill’s eyes and to bat away whatever narrative was forming in his brothers’ head, but looking back at him, Percy couldn’t bring the words to his lips. He felt the defiance drain from his chest. He couldn’t do it. He could never fucking do it.
“Yeah,” he said, defeated, “if that’s all right.” Bill nodded.
“And Charlie?” he asked.
“Charlie’s fine,” Percy snapped.
“Fred, George, and Ron?”. Merlin, Percy was tired. He rubbed at his temples.
“Sure,” he muttered.
Bill nodded and started to make his way to the door before stopping, turning to look at Percy analytically, a firm look in his eyes.
“What?” Percy asked, frustrated.
Bill’s eyes scanned the room, darting between Percy and various things around the room. Finally: “Don’t try anything.”
“What?” Percy asked tiredly, not catching on. At Bill’s pointed look, however, Percy realized. He couldn’t help but feel a flare of (completely unjustified) indignation, “Oh what the-! I’m not going to-.”
Bill looked at him sternly before leaving the room. The message was clear.
Before Percy could even get settled into his cot, Fred and George came stumbling in, breathing slightly heavily but otherwise acting none the wiser. Fucks sake. A few seconds later, Ron meandered in at a more amiable speed. Percy waited for a while longer, eyes on the door, and felt something stabbingly like guilt when Charlie remained absent.
“Fancy a round of Exploding Snap?” George asked as he came up to his right. Percy wrinkled his nose briefly, recognizing the fading scent of cigarette smoke on George's breath.
“Or we could play chess,” Ron offered from George’s side, “now that your hands are free.” Percy felt his face turn red. George indiscreetly kicked Ron. “Ow!” his youngest brother cried, “What-.”
“Exploding Snap is fine,” Percy interrupted, even though he’d normally go for chess. “Why don’t we go to the table? I’m a bit tired of lying down”. George shrugged amicably, and the four of them made their way to the unassuming corner table, Fred shaking the remaining cards out of their tin.
Percy was distracted through the rounds and knew Fred and George could tell. Normally, they were fantastic at the game, but today played with uncharacteristically slow reflexes. Ron remained oblivious, however, and ended up winning most matches, surprised at his sudden stroke of luck in the game.
“We should bet something,” Ron said excitedly during the sixth match.
“No,” Fred said, having grown noticeably agitated at Ron’s win streak and rising enthusiasm.
“Oh come on,” Ron said, putting his cards down for a second, “How much have I lost to you two? And the moment I start to win you won’t put anything on the line? Come on, just a couple chocolate frog cards-”.
Percy yawned and rubbed at his eyes, putting his cards down now that the game had stopped for the foreseeable future. He let his mind wander as Fred and Ron bickered. Why had Bilius come? Percy hadn’t seen him in… Merlin, not since 3rd year. He hadn’t made any family gatherings in the past few years. Percy had thought he’d grown too old for the man. Was it some kind of fucked up feeling of obligation that had brought him to St. Mungos, or was it a… renewed interest?
Merlin, he felt nauseous. Nauseous and itchy in that way that made him want to peel away his skin and just… get away. From the moment. From his mind. From- fucking… His eyes caught on the window. He forced himself to look away and tried to shut down his thoughts as they whispered louder and louder, wondering what floor they were on. He scratched at his neck and tried desperately to focus on that sensation rather than the other things trying to force their way to his attention.
“Come on, not even a Grunnion? You have seven!” Ron moaned.
“Can you just fucking-” Fred started.
“Alright!” George said, interrupting the two of them, loudly standing up and clapping his hands together, “Ron, why don’t me and you go down and grab something from the cafeteria?”. Ron muttered something under his breath but pushed his chair in begrudgingly anyway, never one to turn down food. “Freddy, you want anything?” his twin shook his head. “Perce?” George asked.
“Uh,” Percy said, thinking, “some jello?”. George clapped him on his shoulder, and Percy narrowly managed to suppress a flinch, “I shall return with your bounty shortly, my fair maiden,” George joked before moving to leave, Ron at his side. Once they’d left, Percy’s gaze wandered to Fred, who was tiredly rubbing at his eyes.
He was pale. He looked worse than anybody Percy had seen, except maybe Bill. And himself, obviously. Percy noted, though, that Fred had been working at the whole Azkaban-prisoner complexion for a while now. Even while troubled with his spiraling mental health, Percy had managed to notice the increase in Fred’s snappiness, decrease in his energy levels, and a dwindling in his socializing. He’d even heard Mum berate him over his dropping grades - slipping from the steady flow of Acceptables and handful of Exceeds Expectations that’d been the twins’ norm since first year. If Percy recalled correctly, Fred had managed a Dreadful in History of Magic, a notoriously boring but easy class, considering how lax Binns was with his grading. Close up, Percy noted a haggardness to Fred’s face, complemented by the bags under his eyes. Percy wondered if those were a recent development or if they’d been there for months without his notice. Fred’s gaze met his, noticing his noticing. A mix between a grimace and a smile crossed his face. Percy felt his mouth press into a line and tried to suppress the rising brotherly worry that couldn’t ever seem to leave him alone.
“Chess?” Fred asked, strained fake smile on his face.
“I’m alright,” Percy said, “Bit tired.”
Fred hummed at that and sat back in his chair somewhat, Snap cards abandoned. Percy felt his eyes tugging toward the window again. He clenched his teeth. “Do you know when I’m getting out of here?” he asked, mostly to distract himself rather than out of any real kind of curiosity.
Fred hummed again from his chair, “Dunno.” he said eventually, “Won’t be too long, I reckon. You’re stable physically. They wanted to keep you another night just to make sure, but I think it’s mostly… uh,” he made a slicing gesture with his hands then winced at it. “You know,” he said awkwardly. Percy sighed.
Fred rocked his chair dangerously onto its back two legs, then pulled it back up at the last second, grinding at Percy’s anxiety. “Ginny’s gone back to Hogwarts,” Fred said eventually. “This morning. She let you sleep. She’s a second year so they’re less keen about having her off-grounds, ‘specially since Bill’s not letting anybody see Mum and Dad”.
Percy fiddled with his wrists at that news, “He’s not?”.
Fred laughed a little in a way that was more wry than humorous, “Yeah,” he said. “Bit late for that, innit?”.
“Is that…” Percy looked for a word, “...legal?”.
“I think that’s why Uncle ‘Lius was here,” Fred said nonchalantly, as if the man’s name alone didn’t send Percy into a cold sweat. “I think Bill’s trying to arrange us to go elsewhere during break,” and was that a hint of bitterness in Fred’s words?
Percy’s heart was in his throat, “He is?” he asked faintly.
“Yeah,” Fred scoffed, “He’s going full big brother.” Before he could say more, though, George and Ron reentered, a plastic bag in George’s hand that he lifted triumphantly in the air as Percy craned to face him.
“M’lady,” George said, a grin on his face as he approached Percy before slamming the bag onto the table in front of him. “I bring you my dowry. Will you marry me now?”.
“If I’m the woman, shouldn’t I be supplying the dowry?” Percy grouched as he rifled through the bag, wondering if George had taken the entirety of the hospital’s jello stores. The sheer number and variety of the dessert suggested he had.
“Whose to say we aren’t lesbians?” George asked, sitting dramatically in what used to be Ron’s chair, to his squawking indignation.
“Aww, Georgie,” Fred cooed, grabbing his twins’ shoulder with a pout on his face, “I thought I was the only one for you.”
“You cheated on me with Lee,” George said, finessing something out of his pocket, “You’re dead to me.”
“It was one night!” Fred squawked.
“Dead”.
George threw whatever had been in his pocket at Fred, and his twin caught it reflexively. He analyzed it before frowning, getting an oddly unreadable expression on his face. His expression seemed to almost harden. “I told you I’m not hungry,” he said, discarding the sugar quill he’d been thrown onto the table.
“You’re not hungry,” George repeated stonily, something in his tone Percy couldn’t detect. He glanced between the twin brothers. Something unwavering was on Fred’s face. Something completely unreadable on George’s. It was some kind of standoff that Percy was completely out of the loop on. He was bemused.
Ron reached for the sugar quill. George’s expression snapped from Fred’s to Ron’s, something thunderous on it now. “What?” Ron asked somewhat defensively, “If he’s not going to eat it-.”
Fred had something on his face now. A kind of victorious smirk that was oddly unsettling to look at. George looked back at Fred, angry now, “Fine,” he said, distinctively pissed in a way Percy had only heard a few times before, “I don’t care enough to deal with you right now.”
Fred raised his hands in mock surrender, still with that unnerving smirk on his face, which only seemed to piss George off more. “I’m taking a walk,” he said, leaving abruptly. It was silent for a minute.
“You can eat the quill, Ron,” Fred said, self-satisfied. Ron hesitated for a moment longer, his hand having been halfway reaching for the sweet during the whole argument, looking like a deer in the headlights. But at Fred’s instruction, he grabbed, unwrapped, and ate the thing, looking seriously regretful as he did so.
When George came back, he smelled like cigarette smoke.