Chapter Text
Much to Percy's personal chagrin he was not a forgetful person. Percy remembered too much. What sweetness, he thought, how ideal it would be to forget. Forgetting. Forgotten.
Much to Bill's chagrin, Percy could not sleep. For quite some time, a little over four minutes, he desperately tried. It was not hard for someone like Percy to fall asleep. But his daytime nap would not come, and Bill was far too used to the newborn-father life,, so he sent Percy to shower while he journeyed to acquire some sleeping potion. Percy hoped it was dreamless sleep draught, but he did not voice this want to Bill, because he did not deserve a dreamless sleep. To be haunted by the dead in his dreams was his only punishment from those he had forsaken.
Bill left before Percy had even started the shower, and it suddenly occurred to Percy that he did not want Bill to leave, if not for the distraction of his presence— the distraction from his own thoughts of course, which come to think of it seemed a bit hypocritical. Percy would run from his waking thoughts, but gladly embrace his sleeping, maybe it was his willingness to hide from himself and only allow his subconscious to endure the brunt of his pain. Or that his dreams seemed to focus on one thing, whereas his waking mind could bramble and twist itself into any manner of thought—then perhaps the primal safety he felt around the familiar.
Admittedly Percy had always felt safest around Bill and Charlie, going back to the first War. He had only hoped he could have the same affect on his younger siblings. He knew he'd failed in that regard. To be around Percy posed the same level of safety for anyone involved. Regardless of relationship.
And then knowing this it only proved the selfishness that Percy had to want his brother to remain near him. When he knew he would always put himself first in a dangerous position, and thus could not live around others.
It reminded him of how things ended with Oliver. He did not want to think about that.
Percy hated that he was to blame for everything that had gone wrong in his life. If a person were to draw a line between every bad decision he had ever made, they could draw a straight line without their quill ever leaving the page. That is to say the horrifying sequence of events that was Percy's life was entirely cause and effect, he was the cause, he felt the effect, he made a choice based on that effect, and the cycled continued.
Percy was also too good at feeling bad for himself. He hadn't even gotten in the shower yet.
Showering was a hassle for Percy that none of his siblings would understand. Percy didn't really understand genetics, evidence of wizards unfinished educations, but Molly having curly hair and Arthur having straight hair surely should have made it so that more than one/sixth of their children ended up with untamable hair.
Really it was ridiculous growing up, and seeing all his siblings churn out with sleek straight hair, with exception to Bill who really had more of a bend than a wave. And Percy couldn't even use Sleakeezy's hair potion because it "didn't work on redheads".
Honestly his family was probably too poor to afford it, so that's what his mother told him.
But he wanted to feel clean. So he washed his hair too. More aptly he fought his hair with all the strength he could muster and a 3 in 1 bar of soap. He was suspicious of the qualities of 3 in 1, and it's softening abilities, but it seemed practical.
When he got out of his rather long shower, approximately ten minutes, but eight of them were spent trying to get his fingers through the coils, he got dressed and grabbed a comb. Perhaps he had won the first battle with his hair, but a war has many battles and one cannot win them all.
That was how he consoled himself when he ended up with a chunk of hair enough to create a wig in one hand, and hair more tangled than before in the other.
Sighing, at least he had put effort in, he went back to laying on his sofa, staring aimlessly upward, and craving a cigarette.
But he had spent so much of his energy showering, and trying to do his hair. And he didn't even remember where he put his cigarettes, or if he even had any right now.
Maybe Bill had a cigarette. That seemed right.
Or perhaps not, considering he was a father now.
Percy wondered what it felt like to be a father. How did it compare to being a brother? Is it the knowledge that the child is created from you, half of you, that inspire emotion? Or is it the possibly of shaping the human exactly how you want them shape?
He's sure that Bill would say no. That he doesn't care what type of person Victoire grows up to be, and he's just excited to meet her. But could he say that if she grew up rotten? Could a kind father love their cruel child? Can a parent love their opposite? Where does the love come from?
Love, Percy knows, is more than lust or romance or friendship. Penelope was a great girlfriend and an even better friend, but Percy didn't love her. Maybe he was selective with his love.
"I went all around looking for this, you would not believe." Bill emerged, Percy knew he must have opened the door, but he didn't see or hear him until he was right above him. Not good.
Percy swallowed, "Thanks. How much was it."
He accepted it into his grasp happily, opening it and drinking down a swig without measuring. 'Measure with your heart', he had heard his mother say. He ignored as his heart told him to down the whole bottle and see what would happen.
Bill's smile fell and Percy feared he too was harbouring a legililmency secret, "You don't have to pay me back. It was a gift."
"Oh, okay." Weird gift, but Percy accepted, "I should get to bed before it starts to really take affect," He was already beginning to feel woozy. He stood, using the arm of the sofa to steady himself, Bill reached out to help and Percy flinched back.
Annoying, because Percy had spent too much time training himself to not flinch around others, but last nights trip had brought back unwanted emotions with the unwanted memories.
"Sorry, it's alright—" He said, but Bill cut him off silently, raising his hand and shaking his head. Understanding. Fuck Percy's life and his weirdly well behaved family.
He wanted to tell Bill to shut up. Who was he to understand what he shouldn't? No one should understand Percy. Percy should be unknowable and aloof and whatever.
He didn't want his brother to understand. In fact he detested his brothers understanding because that meant he knew. And Percy knew that he knew but he didn't want him to know, and perhaps he hadn't processed that he knew, or that everyone knew, everyone being his family.
It was too much. Too much for Percy, because why. Why couldn't they leave him alone with it. Why did they all know. Why was he suddenly knowable and predictable.
"Percy please breathe." Bill told him, "I'm sorry for startling you," But Bill was steps behind, because Percy had gotten over the startle and come around to panic over the root of the problem.
"Sod off," He told Bill, flinging his wrist out to warn Bill. He wanted to say much more, but couldn't say much at all. In part because he was emotionally drained and in part because the draughts affects were advancing enough that if this conversation continued Bill would have to carry him to bed, which he would not appreciate.
Bill said nothing, as Percy hobbled to his room and promptly collapsed into bed, not even bothering to shut the door.
The pub was not too busy. In fact it was quite cozy. Bill had a knack for finding places like these, Percy hadn't known it'd existed. Then again, when did Percy have the time to visit the pub?
"D'you sleep alright then?" Bill asked, he brought back two pints of something a pale amber. Percy was glad, he wasn't much of a drinker at all, but if he had to he wouldn't go too dark.
"I slept alright. What are we drinking?"
Bill smiled like he was about to reveal a secret, "Oh I'm glad you asked, this is a special recipe unique to this pub. They have a spell, they can develop a barleywine aged 20 years within a day, the flavour profile at least. And get this, with this spell it doesn't lose any carbonation or gain that syrupy texture. It's the flavour experience of an upmost aged barleywine, with the drinking experience of a two year old ale."
Bill rambled gleefully, Percy hadn't known he was a beer nerd and he was left more confused than anything.
"Alright. Well does it taste good?" Percy asked, rather put off by the whole thing. In fact he was confused, had they used time magic to age it? Very complicated thing he couldn't imagine some random pub to be doing.
"Well I think so, you tell me."
Bill waited. Smiling as if to say "here", Percy took a swing…and it was fine. Bill was making such a deal out of it, it really just tasted like wine.
"It tastes like cherry," Percy supplied, "You know and spice. Very nice Bill." Bill nodded gladly.
"I'm glad you like it. I have to bring Charlie in here some time, he'd appreciate it too. Maybe we can start a get together routine here, us three?"
Bill was not sneaky, "So you can spy on me?" Percy retorted.
"Percy, there's no need to be so suspicious—"
Percy cut him off, "I can be as suspicious as I want to be."
"But we can't?
"Why would you be suspicious?"
"Okay, listen this escalated too quickly. I didn't bring you here to talk about this, this was supposed to be us relaxing and decompressing with each other." Bill tried to placate, but Percy didn't appreciate being talked down like a wild animal.
"Right but you wanna discuss plans about moving forward?" Percy urged.
"Moving forward, yes, but we can discuss them moving forward." And really to Percy it felt just like a father talking to their five year old son, and putting him to bed without his notice.
"Well why not now? We're here now."
"Because, well, don't you think you need a bit of rest. The last day Percy—"
"I don't rest Bill" Percy rolled his eyes at the thought.
"And maybe that's a problem. You have a problem Percy. I'd like you to realize that."
"A problem!" Percy raised his voice, and then looked around realizing he may have disturbed other patrons, "I have a problem. No I had a problem, it's gone. I'm managing just fine. You know I've been just fine without you lot meddling in my bloody business you know."
"Managing, that's what you bleeding call it? Managing? Percy I've been to your flat, there's no fucking food. You come to dinner with the family and say not a word. You don't pick up your spoon, you drag your body to the burrow and then drag it home like some walking corpse. You look like death." Bill whisper shouted, clearly Percy had said something to get him heated. But whatever he was feeling, Percy felt three-fold.
"No. No. I have seen death. I've fucking been there, piled around corpses, every day. I know what death looks like. And I'm alive. I have to live with myself."
"So what you're punishing yourself. Bringing yourself to death as close as you can. I'll tell you, we've noticed."
"You've noticed absolute shite. Really you've noticed? Well what'd you see Bill?"
"No, you're not gonna do this.—"
"Don't tell me what to do—"
"I'm here to help you Percy. And I want you to want help. You don't eat, you won't sleep, you're gonna work yourself to death. I am not your enemy."
"Well you're not my boss, and you have no responsibility over me—"
"I have every responsibility over you! I'm your brother. Don't you understand what that means Percy? Where was I? While you were being hurt and shouldering a worlds of responsibility?"
"Bill you couldn't have known" Percy immediately softened. Maybe this was more about Bill and his brotherly obligations than it was Percy. And who was Percy to deny anyone of their elder sibling obligations.
He thought back to his sixth year, when Ginny had gone missing and how terrible and powerless he had felt. It had felt all his fault. Just the idea that she was in danger had been crushing. He had been inconsolable for days.
"You're right. You were there in the heart of the enemy. And none of us even thought to try and contact you. That makes it our fault."
"No. It was my fault, I had my chance to go back you all, I made the wrong choice, I paid for it." Percy told him solemnly.
"That's what you call it?" Bill asked incredulously, "That's sick. That's not right Perce."
The pub had lost it's cozy feel, more claustrophobic to Percy now.
"What? Are you fucking judging me?"
"No. No, no! I would not. I'm not judging you."
"Then what? What do you mean?
"You can't think like that. That's just not how the world works." He grabbed Percy's hands, which Percy hadn't realized had been fidgeting, "Listen," he told him very seriously, and Percy felt more like a child than ever, "People make choices, but none of us can really see the future perfectly, don't even start divination is fake, you will make choices. Right or wrong, you can't control what happens next.
You just can't control other people, all you can do is try to make your best decision and survive. Not the best decision, but yours. A bad decision does not mean torture. You can't think like that. There needs to be nuance, and room for failure. You have to let yourself fail"
"No, I need to be able to hold myself accountable,"
"But you're not, you're hurting yourself. Why should I allow someone to hurt my brother?"
Oh. Percy hadn't thought of it like that.
Because of course he hadn't examined it from another's perspective.
"But I'm not doing anything, at least I'm not doing anything on purpose." He told Bill, petulantly almost.
"Well, can we start? Can we start with you, and with all of us? How we treat ourselves and each others, it's not healthy. I want you to be there for my kids, and to be the uncle who teaches them how to handle their emotions."
Percy realized he was still holding Bills hands.
He also realized he was crying. He let go to wipe his own tears and laugh, "It's not nice to use your kids against me."
He sighs, Bill says nothing but looks at him, hands still out stretched from holding.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now." Percy admits to Bill, but it feels more like an acceptance than an admittance.
"I'm here." Bill tells him.