Short Fic: Better
Title: Better
Creator: Hellus Bellus
Rating: PG
Pairing/characters: Percy, Arthur/Molly
Warnings: None, really
Word Count: ~1,000 words
Summary: Eleven-year-old Percy witnesses his mother's tears and makes himself a promise.
Notes: I'm planning a longer fic and am trying to get a good handle on Percy. Feedback of all types is appreciated :). Posted to percy_fans
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended.
*
August 1987 - Age Eleven
Percy pressed down hard on the doorknob before opening the door, knowing the pressure kept the hinges from squeaking. He made no sound as he slipped from his room, or as he tip-toed down the hallway, shoulders hunched. Long rectangles of moonlight lit up the peeling, woodland themed wallpaper, and made each hung photograph glow beneath its layer of dust.
One biscuit, then back to bed, he promised himself, treading carefully on the staircase. Mum'd never specifically said no midnight snacks, and Percy really was awfully hungry. And Molly's orange-water biscuits really were worth getting up at midnight.
Percy imagined the delicate, sugary flavor as he approached the kitchen. He stuck one foot in the doorway, face turning around the corner, before he heard the voices, and, even more terrifying, the heavy, choked sound of weeping. He snapped himself back, pressing his body up against the wall.
“What's the matter, darling? What's wrong?”
Percy covered his mouth with both hands to hold in his gasp. It was his father. And someone was crying.
“I don't know how we're going to do it. I just don't know...”
Percy's heart beat ferociously in his chest. He tasted something strange and bitter when he realized the person crying was his Mum.
Holding all his limbs as close as possible to his body, Percy leaned ever so slightly into the kitchen doorway, his vantage point behind the door allowing a slanted view of the kitchen table and his parents, who occupied two chairs near the head.
Molly's shoulders heaved in time with her sobs, her face buried in her husband's shoulder. Arthur hushed her, his arms wrapped tightly around her torso, one hand stroking her red curls, the other rubbing tiny circles on her back. Their tableau made Percy feel distinctly uncomfortable; he knew without a single doubt that neither one of his parents would ever want him to see this. A Good Son would turn right around and march straight back to bed, putting the entire incident out of his mind. Percy glanced towards the stairs. He was a Good Son, wasn't he?
“After Percy, there's the Twins, then Ron, and Ginny...Oh, Merlin, how are we ever to afford broomsticks? And help Bill and Charlie when they move out? All those cauldrons and pets and robes...” Molly's voice was muffled against Arthur's shoulder, but Percy could still hear her. He leaned his head against the wall, the wallpaper's faded fern fronds curling towards his cheek.
“Hush, love. We'll manage. Don't we always manage?”
“But how? How? Where will it come from? You know my family-”
“We don't need your family.”
Percy blinked. He'd never once known anyone, let alone his father, to interrupt his mother mid-sentence. But Molly didn't snap at him like Percy might have expected, she just leaned further into Arthur's embrace.
“I can't send him off with those books, Arthur. I can't. They're the old edition, and so horribly frayed. I've tried to fix them up, but there's only so much I can do, you know. I've never quite gotten the hang of mending charms, and-”
Arthur chuckled. Molly smacked his arm, her tear-blotched face emerging from his crumpled robes to glare up at him. Arthur just laughed harder.
“If you think,” he said wryly, “that a few missing captions and a wobbly binding is going to stop Percy Ignatius from learning magic, why, Molly Weasley, you just don't know your son.”
Molly's glare faded. She looked down at Arthur's neck, her scowl lightening to a reluctant smile.
“You could send that boy to Hogwarts naked, without a scrap of parchment - he'd still come home top of his class. You just see if he doesn't.”
Percy's chest filled with a burst of summer heat, and he couldn't help but smile. Molly, on the other hand, glanced away.
“He shouldn't have to,” she whispered. “He deserves books. He deserves better. They all deserve better.”
“Better than what? Better than me? Better than you?” Molly kept her eyes on the kitchen floor. “I don't know if you remember Lucius Malfoy, my love, but that boy always had the very best that money could buy- never wanted for a thing - and he was still the most miserable boy I've ever laid eyes on. Do you think our children would be better off like that? If everything came easy?”
Molly didn't speak for a moment. She drew in a long, deep breath. “Maybe a little easier, Arthur. Just a little easier wouldn't be so bad.”
Arthur's smile wavered. He leaned down and pressed a kiss against Molly's temple. If he said anything after that, Percy didn't hear it, because he decided it was long past time he was a Good Son.
As he crept up the stairs, being sure to avoid the spots that squealed, he thought about his mother's words, and her worries. When he thought of how he'd silently raged against his hand-me-down books and baggy, second-hand clothing, a cloud of dark, frigid guilt gathered in his stomach.
'You'll grow into them,' is what his mother had said, studying the sagging black robes, a smile plastered on her face. Percy could see now how the smile hadn't quite reached her eyes.
He fingered the hem of his over-large nightshirt. He would grow into it, he decided. He would. He'd use whatever editions of whatever books they had; he'd take Scabbers and never peep about an owl; he'd even use Charlie's old wand, if he had to. The cold guilt began to dissipate in the face of his new, boiling determination. He'd be at the very top of his class, he thought, and join the Quidditch team, make Prefect, and someday he'd even be Head Boy.
And he'd never, he promised himself, slipping underneath his covers, he'd never ever make his mother cry.
*
Creator: Hellus Bellus
Rating: PG
Pairing/characters: Percy, Arthur/Molly
Warnings: None, really
Word Count: ~1,000 words
Summary: Eleven-year-old Percy witnesses his mother's tears and makes himself a promise.
Notes: I'm planning a longer fic and am trying to get a good handle on Percy. Feedback of all types is appreciated :). Posted to percy_fans
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended.
*
August 1987 - Age Eleven
Percy pressed down hard on the doorknob before opening the door, knowing the pressure kept the hinges from squeaking. He made no sound as he slipped from his room, or as he tip-toed down the hallway, shoulders hunched. Long rectangles of moonlight lit up the peeling, woodland themed wallpaper, and made each hung photograph glow beneath its layer of dust.
One biscuit, then back to bed, he promised himself, treading carefully on the staircase. Mum'd never specifically said no midnight snacks, and Percy really was awfully hungry. And Molly's orange-water biscuits really were worth getting up at midnight.
Percy imagined the delicate, sugary flavor as he approached the kitchen. He stuck one foot in the doorway, face turning around the corner, before he heard the voices, and, even more terrifying, the heavy, choked sound of weeping. He snapped himself back, pressing his body up against the wall.
“What's the matter, darling? What's wrong?”
Percy covered his mouth with both hands to hold in his gasp. It was his father. And someone was crying.
“I don't know how we're going to do it. I just don't know...”
Percy's heart beat ferociously in his chest. He tasted something strange and bitter when he realized the person crying was his Mum.
Holding all his limbs as close as possible to his body, Percy leaned ever so slightly into the kitchen doorway, his vantage point behind the door allowing a slanted view of the kitchen table and his parents, who occupied two chairs near the head.
Molly's shoulders heaved in time with her sobs, her face buried in her husband's shoulder. Arthur hushed her, his arms wrapped tightly around her torso, one hand stroking her red curls, the other rubbing tiny circles on her back. Their tableau made Percy feel distinctly uncomfortable; he knew without a single doubt that neither one of his parents would ever want him to see this. A Good Son would turn right around and march straight back to bed, putting the entire incident out of his mind. Percy glanced towards the stairs. He was a Good Son, wasn't he?
“After Percy, there's the Twins, then Ron, and Ginny...Oh, Merlin, how are we ever to afford broomsticks? And help Bill and Charlie when they move out? All those cauldrons and pets and robes...” Molly's voice was muffled against Arthur's shoulder, but Percy could still hear her. He leaned his head against the wall, the wallpaper's faded fern fronds curling towards his cheek.
“Hush, love. We'll manage. Don't we always manage?”
“But how? How? Where will it come from? You know my family-”
“We don't need your family.”
Percy blinked. He'd never once known anyone, let alone his father, to interrupt his mother mid-sentence. But Molly didn't snap at him like Percy might have expected, she just leaned further into Arthur's embrace.
“I can't send him off with those books, Arthur. I can't. They're the old edition, and so horribly frayed. I've tried to fix them up, but there's only so much I can do, you know. I've never quite gotten the hang of mending charms, and-”
Arthur chuckled. Molly smacked his arm, her tear-blotched face emerging from his crumpled robes to glare up at him. Arthur just laughed harder.
“If you think,” he said wryly, “that a few missing captions and a wobbly binding is going to stop Percy Ignatius from learning magic, why, Molly Weasley, you just don't know your son.”
Molly's glare faded. She looked down at Arthur's neck, her scowl lightening to a reluctant smile.
“You could send that boy to Hogwarts naked, without a scrap of parchment - he'd still come home top of his class. You just see if he doesn't.”
Percy's chest filled with a burst of summer heat, and he couldn't help but smile. Molly, on the other hand, glanced away.
“He shouldn't have to,” she whispered. “He deserves books. He deserves better. They all deserve better.”
“Better than what? Better than me? Better than you?” Molly kept her eyes on the kitchen floor. “I don't know if you remember Lucius Malfoy, my love, but that boy always had the very best that money could buy- never wanted for a thing - and he was still the most miserable boy I've ever laid eyes on. Do you think our children would be better off like that? If everything came easy?”
Molly didn't speak for a moment. She drew in a long, deep breath. “Maybe a little easier, Arthur. Just a little easier wouldn't be so bad.”
Arthur's smile wavered. He leaned down and pressed a kiss against Molly's temple. If he said anything after that, Percy didn't hear it, because he decided it was long past time he was a Good Son.
As he crept up the stairs, being sure to avoid the spots that squealed, he thought about his mother's words, and her worries. When he thought of how he'd silently raged against his hand-me-down books and baggy, second-hand clothing, a cloud of dark, frigid guilt gathered in his stomach.
'You'll grow into them,' is what his mother had said, studying the sagging black robes, a smile plastered on her face. Percy could see now how the smile hadn't quite reached her eyes.
He fingered the hem of his over-large nightshirt. He would grow into it, he decided. He would. He'd use whatever editions of whatever books they had; he'd take Scabbers and never peep about an owl; he'd even use Charlie's old wand, if he had to. The cold guilt began to dissipate in the face of his new, boiling determination. He'd be at the very top of his class, he thought, and join the Quidditch team, make Prefect, and someday he'd even be Head Boy.
And he'd never, he promised himself, slipping underneath his covers, he'd never ever make his mother cry.
*