Arthur/Percy oneshot
This is written for my sister, the wonderful mutant-horse
It took him until midnight to work up the courage to slip out of bed. In the hours leading up to it, he had lain awake in the darkness, staring up at a ceiling he couldn't see. His mind was buzzing during that time, full of doubts and second guesses. At midnight he finally reached for his wand and softly whispered, "lumos."
The wand tip lit up immediately. Arthur hesitated for a long moment before he turned over and used the light to illuminate Molly's face. At the sight of it - her dear, sweet face, so familiar to him after all these years - his mind cleared. With single-minded determination he slipped out of bed. Without another glance at his wife (the shame was too great) he moved towards the door.
The tip of his wand was his only guide as he moved throughout the house. He almost didn't need it, not after the many years spent within its walls. As he trudged toward his destination the light lit up the walls at eye level, illuminating numerous family photos and the doors of his children's bedrooms.
There was the room Bill and Charlie had - and did, when they deigned to visit - shared, the door covered in a variety of posters ranging from band members with far too much hair, to dragons, silently screaming their rage to an impassive hallway. Then, the twins', emblazoned with 'Keep Out On Pain Of Humiliation' with the hazard symbol underneath. Then Ron's, with a scrawled 'Keep Out' tacked to the wall - never a creative one, his Ron, unless it involved chess in some way. Then there was Ginny's door, band posters with strange, unpronouncible names and pictures of unicorns all jostling for space.
Arthur did his best not to look at Percy's door but his traitorous eyes caught sight of it and the guilt/shame/despair/memories stopped him dead in his tracks.
The urges had always been there. Like a predator they had lay in wait, watching for the perfect opportunity.Every so it they would make themselves known but Arthur had always been able to stop himself from acting on them. There had always been something to help him resist before - someone around the corner, the threat of not having enough time....the list was endless. After time Arthur began to hope; began to believe that there would be no perfect opportunity. But life had always let him down in the end and that perfect opportunity arose.
Percy had been that opportunity.
Percy was seven the first time it happened.
At the time the house had been in uproar - Bill and Charlie were fighting. Fred and George had discovered the cake Molly had baked and stashed away for her sewing circle meeting and were steadily munching their way through it. Ron was trying to teach Ginny the basics of chess and yelling at her when her attention wandered, which set off a flood of wailing. Molly was dashing between them, trying soothe and mediate and scold all at once and Arthur wanted to help her, he really did, but he just couldn't help it.
Before the guilt could overwhelm him Arthur darted into the upstairs bathroom. As the heavy door swung shut and the lock slammed home, the sound of chaos faded to a dull roar that was easy to disregard. Arthur breathed a heavy sigh of release and collapsed against the door.
"Dad?"
It was such a simple question in such a quiet voice but it made Arthur nearly jump out of his skin. He started violently and his eyes shot towards the bathtub. Over the edge of it, Percy peered aat him uncertainly with dark eyes made huge by his glasses.
"Yes, son?" Arthur replied after a long moment of just staring at each other. He pushed himself off the door and for the first time, really looked at his son.
Percy was lying in the empty bathtub with a pillow behind his back and a book in his hands. Arthur had to smile at the sight - trust Percy to find the best refuge in the house. All the family had taken refuge in the tub at some point of their lives.
The smile faded, however, when he took stock of the situation. He was alone with a child. There would be no interupting - he could hear the various wars still taking place from outside the bathroom, and from the sounds of it, they wouldn't be stopping for a long time. Fear slammed into his, paralysing him better then any jinx or hex. He staggered back a step and groped for the doorknob. If he could just get out....
But it couldn't be that easy, not with Percy.
"Hey, Dad?" his son (son, Arthur screamed at himself) asked.
"Yeah?" was all he could manage in reply.
Percy pressed his lips together for a moment, dropping his gaze to his lap. Arthur's gaze followed, darting up as soon as he realised what he had done.
"Could-could you read this with me?" Percy asked tentatively, hoisting his book up for his father to see. Arthur stared at it for a long moment in an attempt to ground himself; as he did, he realised the book was far above Percy's age level and couldn't help the burst of pride. He clung to that, desperate to believe what he was feeling was parental and nothing more. The way his gaze lingered on the flashes of skin revealed by a t-shirt riding up killed that hope, however.
He almost said no, was halfway through getting the word out when he saw Percy's face. Percy was looking pleadingly and with an unsettling start, Arthur realised he couldn't remember the last time he'd spent any time with Percy.
Despite his better judegement, Arthur moved and knelt beside the tub.
That was the first time and it certainly wasn't the last. As his children grew and the chaos they created grew with them, Percy withdrew. Percy spent long hours in his room, hunched over books and scrolls of parchment and it was always so easy to catch him alone, moments where the rest of the house was competely oblivious. Arthur quickly gave up on trying to fight - there was no point with how easy Percy made it, and when he reflected on that line of thought, he became even more disgusted with himself. Because it was Arthur who had started it, sliding his hand down below the waistband of his son's shorts, that day in the bathroom. It was always Arthur who started it, slipping into Percy's room and coaxing him away from his books and his writings, his mental escapes. Arthur was the one to take the lead, to put Percy's handswhere he wanted - needed - them, all the while knowing Percy was only doing it because he didn't know better, he just wanted to make his father happy - proud - and it was so wrong that Percy knowing the right way to move his hips, the right place to lay his hands down made him prouder than all of Percy's accomplishments.
All Percy knew was this was the way to make his father proud of him and that was all he'd ever wanted.
He whispers, "nox," as he walks down the two stairs into his workroom, pulling the door shut behind him. He doesn't want to risk his family hearing something and coming down to investigate. He knows they would do everything to prevent what he was going to do and Arthur didn't want that. He wanted to - needed to - atone and this was the only way.
Using the moonlight shining through the grimy window as his guide, Arthur padded across the floor to his desk. There he sunk into the chair and slid the top drawer open. And inside it, gleaming in the moonlight was the only thing he wanted right now. Reverently he curled his fingers around the cold metal and lifted it out of the drawer.
For a moment Arthur just looked at the gun, turning it carefully over in his hands. He'd spent months researching the strange device - how it worked, how it was made, what it was for. He'd been especially interested in the last aspect, an interest that had only grown once he'd had his answer.
He drew in a deep breath and nuzzled the gun to his temple.
And then he thought of Percy.
Percy all wide eyes and skinny limbs, small fingers gripping the sheets as Arthur took his pleasure. The nape of Percy's neck as he sat hunched over his books and how good it felt to glide his hand down that curve. And then Percy standing in front of him with pure hatred on his face, lashing out with his words as Arthur did the same in return.
"Think of what you're doing to your mother!" Arthur had screamed at him and with that sentence Percy's face had changed. The hatred melted away and Percy's mouth had twisted into a cruel smile and it was the most terrifying thing Arthur had ever seen. With Fred and George and Ron and Ginny and Molly - oh merlin, Molly - watching, Percy had laughed bitterly.
"You're one to talk."
Four words and they had scared him more than anything else had in his life. Scared and hurt and self-loathing made him spit out the last words he'd ever say to his son's face.
"Get out."
And Percy had done so, taking his books and his parchment and his hateful eyes, leaving Arthur to his self loathing.
Later, when the kids were in bed and Molly had stopped sobbing, they curled up in bed together. He was on the verge of sleep, knowing nightmares awaited him when Molly spoke. She asked what Percy had meant so many hours ago and with his heart hammering in his chest, Arthur shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he lied and she believed him, becuase if nothing else, Arthur Weasley was a good liar.
As he curled his finger around the trigger, a strange calm setttled over him. Everything would be all right. He closed his eyes and for the last time, thought of Percy. Not the memories that made him feel sick to his stomach, but the glimpse he caught of Percy day before. He'd looked satisfied, well-groomed in clothing Arthur's salery couldn't afford. Despite everything Arthur had done to him, his shattered son had lived and lived well. He'd managed to achieved something none of the family could and for that, Arthur was so proud of him. His brilliant, beautiful child.
His finger tightened.
Bang
It took him until midnight to work up the courage to slip out of bed. In the hours leading up to it, he had lain awake in the darkness, staring up at a ceiling he couldn't see. His mind was buzzing during that time, full of doubts and second guesses. At midnight he finally reached for his wand and softly whispered, "lumos."
The wand tip lit up immediately. Arthur hesitated for a long moment before he turned over and used the light to illuminate Molly's face. At the sight of it - her dear, sweet face, so familiar to him after all these years - his mind cleared. With single-minded determination he slipped out of bed. Without another glance at his wife (the shame was too great) he moved towards the door.
The tip of his wand was his only guide as he moved throughout the house. He almost didn't need it, not after the many years spent within its walls. As he trudged toward his destination the light lit up the walls at eye level, illuminating numerous family photos and the doors of his children's bedrooms.
There was the room Bill and Charlie had - and did, when they deigned to visit - shared, the door covered in a variety of posters ranging from band members with far too much hair, to dragons, silently screaming their rage to an impassive hallway. Then, the twins', emblazoned with 'Keep Out On Pain Of Humiliation' with the hazard symbol underneath. Then Ron's, with a scrawled 'Keep Out' tacked to the wall - never a creative one, his Ron, unless it involved chess in some way. Then there was Ginny's door, band posters with strange, unpronouncible names and pictures of unicorns all jostling for space.
Arthur did his best not to look at Percy's door but his traitorous eyes caught sight of it and the guilt/shame/despair/memories stopped him dead in his tracks.
The urges had always been there. Like a predator they had lay in wait, watching for the perfect opportunity.Every so it they would make themselves known but Arthur had always been able to stop himself from acting on them. There had always been something to help him resist before - someone around the corner, the threat of not having enough time....the list was endless. After time Arthur began to hope; began to believe that there would be no perfect opportunity. But life had always let him down in the end and that perfect opportunity arose.
Percy had been that opportunity.
Percy was seven the first time it happened.
At the time the house had been in uproar - Bill and Charlie were fighting. Fred and George had discovered the cake Molly had baked and stashed away for her sewing circle meeting and were steadily munching their way through it. Ron was trying to teach Ginny the basics of chess and yelling at her when her attention wandered, which set off a flood of wailing. Molly was dashing between them, trying soothe and mediate and scold all at once and Arthur wanted to help her, he really did, but he just couldn't help it.
Before the guilt could overwhelm him Arthur darted into the upstairs bathroom. As the heavy door swung shut and the lock slammed home, the sound of chaos faded to a dull roar that was easy to disregard. Arthur breathed a heavy sigh of release and collapsed against the door.
"Dad?"
It was such a simple question in such a quiet voice but it made Arthur nearly jump out of his skin. He started violently and his eyes shot towards the bathtub. Over the edge of it, Percy peered aat him uncertainly with dark eyes made huge by his glasses.
"Yes, son?" Arthur replied after a long moment of just staring at each other. He pushed himself off the door and for the first time, really looked at his son.
Percy was lying in the empty bathtub with a pillow behind his back and a book in his hands. Arthur had to smile at the sight - trust Percy to find the best refuge in the house. All the family had taken refuge in the tub at some point of their lives.
The smile faded, however, when he took stock of the situation. He was alone with a child. There would be no interupting - he could hear the various wars still taking place from outside the bathroom, and from the sounds of it, they wouldn't be stopping for a long time. Fear slammed into his, paralysing him better then any jinx or hex. He staggered back a step and groped for the doorknob. If he could just get out....
But it couldn't be that easy, not with Percy.
"Hey, Dad?" his son (son, Arthur screamed at himself) asked.
"Yeah?" was all he could manage in reply.
Percy pressed his lips together for a moment, dropping his gaze to his lap. Arthur's gaze followed, darting up as soon as he realised what he had done.
"Could-could you read this with me?" Percy asked tentatively, hoisting his book up for his father to see. Arthur stared at it for a long moment in an attempt to ground himself; as he did, he realised the book was far above Percy's age level and couldn't help the burst of pride. He clung to that, desperate to believe what he was feeling was parental and nothing more. The way his gaze lingered on the flashes of skin revealed by a t-shirt riding up killed that hope, however.
He almost said no, was halfway through getting the word out when he saw Percy's face. Percy was looking pleadingly and with an unsettling start, Arthur realised he couldn't remember the last time he'd spent any time with Percy.
Despite his better judegement, Arthur moved and knelt beside the tub.
That was the first time and it certainly wasn't the last. As his children grew and the chaos they created grew with them, Percy withdrew. Percy spent long hours in his room, hunched over books and scrolls of parchment and it was always so easy to catch him alone, moments where the rest of the house was competely oblivious. Arthur quickly gave up on trying to fight - there was no point with how easy Percy made it, and when he reflected on that line of thought, he became even more disgusted with himself. Because it was Arthur who had started it, sliding his hand down below the waistband of his son's shorts, that day in the bathroom. It was always Arthur who started it, slipping into Percy's room and coaxing him away from his books and his writings, his mental escapes. Arthur was the one to take the lead, to put Percy's handswhere he wanted - needed - them, all the while knowing Percy was only doing it because he didn't know better, he just wanted to make his father happy - proud - and it was so wrong that Percy knowing the right way to move his hips, the right place to lay his hands down made him prouder than all of Percy's accomplishments.
All Percy knew was this was the way to make his father proud of him and that was all he'd ever wanted.
He whispers, "nox," as he walks down the two stairs into his workroom, pulling the door shut behind him. He doesn't want to risk his family hearing something and coming down to investigate. He knows they would do everything to prevent what he was going to do and Arthur didn't want that. He wanted to - needed to - atone and this was the only way.
Using the moonlight shining through the grimy window as his guide, Arthur padded across the floor to his desk. There he sunk into the chair and slid the top drawer open. And inside it, gleaming in the moonlight was the only thing he wanted right now. Reverently he curled his fingers around the cold metal and lifted it out of the drawer.
For a moment Arthur just looked at the gun, turning it carefully over in his hands. He'd spent months researching the strange device - how it worked, how it was made, what it was for. He'd been especially interested in the last aspect, an interest that had only grown once he'd had his answer.
He drew in a deep breath and nuzzled the gun to his temple.
And then he thought of Percy.
Percy all wide eyes and skinny limbs, small fingers gripping the sheets as Arthur took his pleasure. The nape of Percy's neck as he sat hunched over his books and how good it felt to glide his hand down that curve. And then Percy standing in front of him with pure hatred on his face, lashing out with his words as Arthur did the same in return.
"Think of what you're doing to your mother!" Arthur had screamed at him and with that sentence Percy's face had changed. The hatred melted away and Percy's mouth had twisted into a cruel smile and it was the most terrifying thing Arthur had ever seen. With Fred and George and Ron and Ginny and Molly - oh merlin, Molly - watching, Percy had laughed bitterly.
"You're one to talk."
Four words and they had scared him more than anything else had in his life. Scared and hurt and self-loathing made him spit out the last words he'd ever say to his son's face.
"Get out."
And Percy had done so, taking his books and his parchment and his hateful eyes, leaving Arthur to his self loathing.
Later, when the kids were in bed and Molly had stopped sobbing, they curled up in bed together. He was on the verge of sleep, knowing nightmares awaited him when Molly spoke. She asked what Percy had meant so many hours ago and with his heart hammering in his chest, Arthur shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he lied and she believed him, becuase if nothing else, Arthur Weasley was a good liar.
As he curled his finger around the trigger, a strange calm setttled over him. Everything would be all right. He closed his eyes and for the last time, thought of Percy. Not the memories that made him feel sick to his stomach, but the glimpse he caught of Percy day before. He'd looked satisfied, well-groomed in clothing Arthur's salery couldn't afford. Despite everything Arthur had done to him, his shattered son had lived and lived well. He'd managed to achieved something none of the family could and for that, Arthur was so proud of him. His brilliant, beautiful child.
His finger tightened.
Bang