Chapter 7
November 12, 1993
In the week since Percy’s attempt, it had become something of a tradition for the immediate members of the Weasley clan to sit together at meals. Some kind of fucked up showing of solidarity, George supposed. It was probably a bit off-putting, he speculated, for anybody who had passed their huddle in St. Mungos’ cafeteria. They’d easily made up half of the tired, anxious family members occupying the tables when they'd eaten there rather than in Percy's room. He was half-sure some of the more uptight visitors had been worried they were some ruffians of the sporting type, given their hair colors’ remarkable similarity to the famous Chudley Cannons orange. At the Gryffindor table, with their numbers having dwindled from six to four (and the greater abundance of reddish hues thanks to House pride), they were slightly less conspicuous when they hesitantly gathered once more on the morning after Percy’s return. Fred and George had returned to Hogwarts with the details of their older brothers’ return, but were adequately exhorted by Bill into not ambushing him on the night he arrived. Ron and Ginny had both pushed back when the twins relayed the message, but George managed to woo them into waiting until breakfast.
Despite this, when Fred and George had dragged themselves out of bed that morning, they’d had to pull Ron and Ginny out of the common room as well. The duo had been waiting at the bottom of the male dormitories’ stairs, staring up and looking ready to accost Percy as soon as he came down. George had nearly had a heart attack descending himself. Ginny, in particular, had had a wide-eyed look that could've come right out of one of those rubbish Muggle horror films Lee had shown him a few summers ago. Her eyelids had almost fully disappeared. It was freakish, really. “Blimey you two,” George had grumbled, “Planning an ambush?”
After descending the stairs, he’d taken them both by the shoulders and spun them 180° before pushing them toward the portrait hole. “But we haven’t seen Percy!” Ginny said indignantly over her shoulder.
“You really think he’s going to want to see your sorry faces ogling at him first thing in the morning?” George had asked, continuing to push them a bit roughly now. “You’ll see him at breakfast. Get along now.”
He gave them a final push, chuckling a little as they stumbled. Ginny turned around to glare at him. “Git,” he heard Ron mumble before pulling himself and his sister out through the portrait hole. Fred, who’d opted to watch rather than help, came up behind him and raised his eyebrows, “Child abuse so early in the morning?”
“They nearly sent me into cardiac arrest,” George groused, “Looking at the stairs like Merlin was set to descend from the Heavens.”
Fred snorted.
“I need a fag” George sighed, shaking his head.
“Another one?” Fred asked. He was really getting on George’s nerves this morning. “You’re getting close to half a pack a day again.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like what you do at breakfast is much better,” George said scathingly.
Fred narrowed his eyes: “Prick.”
“It’s more of a chode, really.”
Fred rolled his eyes and half-shoved him before moving toward the portrait hole. “Don’t wait up,” George called out sarcastically. Fred flicked him the V-sign. George ignored it and made his way to the window, climbing awkwardly over a sofa to fiddle with the window lock.
Normally, he’d be more discreet, but considering the week he’d had, he didn’t really have the energy for that. All things considered, there weren’t too many rats in the Gryffindor tower anyways. Even the usual teacher-pet types generally steered clear of tattling on him and Fred due to the threat of their pranks.
He lit his Sterling with the tip of his wand and leaned out the window to leave minimal smell. A thin layer of frost coated the grounds, and he could see his breath when he exhaled. It got colder here than it did back home. Miserable Scottish weather.
He took a few puffs off his cigarette, feeling irritated when the nicotine failed to reach his expectations. Fred was right to an extent. Half a pack was, however, a gross underestimate. He’d been practically chain-smoking cigarettes since Percy had lost it, and he hadn’t really cut back since. Already, his resistance had climbed back up, making it difficult to achieve the results he desired without smoking way too many of the bloody things. He could already tell it was going to be hell cutting back. He was already being bitchy enough today, though, and considering Percy was about to… reintegrate himself for lack of better phrasing, George wasn’t about to put everyone through the ordeal of him without enough nicotine in his system.
He finished the cigarette and smothered the stub out into the castle wall, watching as it crumbled and fell toward the grass stories below. He took a moment and rested his chin on his hand. Looking down, he morbidly wondered what would happen to a body falling from this height. He wondered if it’d be messier than Percy’s chosen method of leaving the world. He tapped his finger against the spot where he’d extinguished the cigarette in a contemplative gesture. Was this what Percy thought about?
Well he didn't want to think about that, he decided, and pushed himself back from the window, shut it, and headed toward the tantalizing smell of breakfast.
Percy didn’t show up for breakfast until the tail-end of the meal, one of the few souls going against the tide of the Great Hall as the masses flooded out to get to their classes. Hermione had already abandoned Ron and Harry apologetically, saying something about needing to stop by the library before Herbology but telling Ron to tell Percy she hoped the Dragonpox hadn’t hit him too hard. That had been a surprise to George. He hadn’t expected his youngest brother to keep what had happened from his friends. Ron had always had a bit of a big mouth. He let things slip both intentionally and not all the time. His silence on this topic was kind of sweet really, and his secret-keeping made George feel a bit guilty for blabbing to Lee. Though, he observed, Ron definitely needed to work on his poker face. As soon as Hermione had said that, his expression had melted into one of crippling guilt. Thankfully for him, she'd already turned around, Harry was as oblivious as a brick wall, and everyone else within hearing distance was in the know.
Percy arrived in the Great Hall a good five minutes after that, the shadow of an anxious Scotsman hovering closely behind him. Lee whistled upon seeing him, “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Fred and George elbowed him harshly from either side, prompting him to wince, hitting the table with his knee as he did so. A group of fifth-year girls who still remained at the table glowered at them, and George gave them his best “Fuck you” smile.
Percy, practically stomping, noted the group of Weasleys and friends when he’d made it halfway to the table and promptly scoffed and turned on his heel, walking straight into Oliver and stumbling backward. Oliver, startled, grabbed Percy’s arm to steady him, only for the bespectacled ginger to rip it from his friend's grasp, “Would you give me some bloody space?” he all but shouted. This is going to be fun.
Oliver looked hurt and took a few steps back. Percy stayed in place, panting, fists clenched, with a face that was growing steadily redder. George couldn’t say definitively if that was from rage or embarrassment, but he’d put money on the latter. He made brief eye contact with his twin, their raised eyebrows mirroring each other. “Bloody hell,” Fred mouthed.
Percy glowered at Oliver for a few seconds longer before stamping right back out of the Great Hall. Oliver stayed frozen for a second more, his eyes darting from the food to Percy’s retreating back. Eventually, he cursed and stumbled over to the table, reaching over somebody’s abandoned plate for two green apples, his sleeve catching on some ambiguous red sauce. The Keeper didn’t seem to notice and pocketed the apples before outright running after their older brother.
Lunch, fortunately, went the slightest bit better. Percy arrived before Fred and George and was, by the time they came in after George’s post-Potions smoke, sulking between Oliver and a blonde, curly-haired Ravenclaw girl. George had dared to drift closer to get a good look and realized, with a snort, that it was Penelope Clearwater, or “Penny,” as Percy affectionately called her. He recognized her from the picture Percy kept of her on his nightstand, the presence of which had been the source of endless entertainment for him and Fred. She was leaning against him, not seeming to notice Percy’s stiff posture and closed-off body language.
He scanned the table for his other siblings, finding Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny a good distance away from the Percy-Oliver-Penelope trio. The foursome were closer than the older students, so George wandered over to them first.
“So, were you banished over here?” Fred asked, leaning over an irritated-looking Hermione. “Or did you wise up and stay away from Mr. Grumpy by choice?” George continued, stealing half a sandwich off Ron’s plate. The boy let out an indignant squawk and reached to take the sandwich back. George effortlessly beat his hand away, eating half the thing in one bite.
“Well, when he came in, his girlfriend wanted to sit with him,” Ginny said, “And he’s with Oliver, so Ron and I thought it’d be fine.”
“Ah. Cowardice,” Fred said sagely.
“How serious is Dragon Pox?” Harry piped in, “Can you get vaccinations for it?”
“What?” Fred asked, looking properly confused, “Vacci-what-nows?”
“You know, shots? To prevent sickness?” Harry said, “I only ask because I just realized I haven’t ever gotten any for wizarding illnesses, and Percy seems very put out.”
George, who’d taken another bite of the sandwich at a poorly timed moment, could visibly see Ron’s ears turning red and almost choked laughing at the boy’s clear guilty conscience.
“I think because they have such quick remedies, they don’t have a need for vaccinations,” Hermione said to Harry.
“I’m guessing this is a Muggle thing,” Fred said, sounding vaguely amused. Ginny shrugged from across the table. Ron looked incredibly lost.
George caught Fred’s eye, and his twin squinted slightly in response - heard. George raised his eyebrows and inclined his head toward Percy, Oliver, and Penelope, an inquisitive look on his face. Fred could make the call on this one. Fred frowned and looked over at the trio, contemplating. He tilted his head slightly back and forth, considering, then turned back to George and shook his head. Fair enough. There was always dinner, and Percy seemed pissy at the moment anyway. He probably wouldn’t appreciate the crowding if his earlier reaction was anything to go by. Their silent conversation over, Fred said, “I’m going to visit Angelina. She’s having a lunch session with Professor McGonagall” Back to this shite, George thought irritably. He had the sudden urge to strangle some sense into his twin right in the middle of the Great Hall. He didn’t reckon it would be too bloody difficult, considering how exhausted Fred was these days.
“I imagine it won’t make any difference to tell you to grab something to go,” George muttered bitterly. Fred’s head turned toward him aggressively, and his nares widened slightly. He clearly wasn’t happy about George’s recent public comments about his shit.
“I’ll share with Angelina,” Fred said, still bloody pretending, but mouth minutely tensed in irritation. His face cracked into an imitation of a smile that only angered George further. “Percy’s not the only one who's pissy today, I guess”. He laughed in that fake way that made George’s blood boil, and his chest hurt. “I’ll see you in Charms,” Fred said, lightly knocking him.
“Git,” George murmured to his retreating back.
By dinner time, it seemed time had exhausted the anger out of Percy, and Fred deemed it safe to “approach the cornered animal.” George had calmed himself down as well by this point, albeit by chain-smoking the rest of his cigarettes. He knew he had to take it easy on the bloody addiction sticks when Ron had scrunched up his nose upon getting within a few feet of him. Despite his best efforts, that had gone and made him angry again. He wasn’t getting sent to the hospital for alcohol poisoning or a suicide attempt like some of their fucking family members, so why was Ron scrunching his nose at him?
“Merlin, you reek,” Lee remarked after George sat down next to him, ignoring his obvious bad mood. At the lack of response, he dramatically turned away and stuck out his tongue. “I’m convinced Flitwick doesn’t have a sense of smell for you not to have gotten a detention”
“I smoked after Charms,” George grumbled.
“And before Charms,” Fred butted in oh-so-helpfully, “And during Charms.”
Lee gaped at him, “Did you really?”
“Only when he went into the hall,” George grouched.
“Mate, your lungs are going to disown you,” Lee said, shaking his head.
“Yeah, well, you’ve got a detention for ditching,” George said moodily. Lee groaned into his hands. Like he’d expected any different.
George let his eyes wander to his older brother, seated a few Weasleys away and still looking miserably pale and tired next to a similarly exhausted Oliver. He was only halfheartedly poking at his food. “How’s the soup, Perce?” George asked, trying for the off-topic approach.
“Fine,” Percy mumbled, taking a scoop of the broth and then turning his spoon sideways to watch the liquid slide back into the bowl. Oliver watched him, anxious but trying to hide it. He was eating distractedly and trying to discreetly observe his friend. It was obvious to anyone who watched him where his focus was.
Harry looked between them as he chewed on some mashed potatoes. He turned to Ron and muttered very quietly: “I feel uncomfortable”. George nearly laughed. Me too, Harry.
Oliver seemed to give up on pretense and put down his spoon to nudge Percy. The tired boy turned to face him in a slow and obviously frustrated way. “If you want,” Oliver quietly offered, “We could stop by the Hospital Wing now. Pomfrey probably hasn’t left for dinner yet, so we might be able to catch her.”
“What I want,” Percy scoffed under his breath, dropping his spoon into his barely-touched soup.
“Look, I have to get up early for Quidditch anyways, so it’s no bother to me, really.” Percy rubbed his face. George bit into a roll. He’d almost forgotten about Wood’s ungodly 5 AM practice plans for tomorrow. Merlin, it was a Saturday.
"Fine," Percy finally said, sounding tired and staring blankly at his soup, “Let’s just go.” They pushed up away from the table together. George eyed them as they left, then frowned when he noticed observant bloody Hermione Granger doing the same.