Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You would think that after all this time, Percy would have become numb to the pain by now.

But he wasn’t.

The body has incredible ways of coping, Percy thinks to himself, as he lay on the cold stone floor. He’s got no clue where he is; they’ve moved him a handful of times now. He’s not even sure if he’s still in the U.K. at this point. At first, he had tried to keep track of the days, where he was, and if he could find a way out.

He hasn’t tried it in a very long time.

Percy stares at the stone wall in front of him. He’s about as far away from the door as he could get, his back facing it. His ankle is throbbing as always, a charmed cuff of iron just a hair too tight around his right ankle. He’s gotten quite good at compartmentalizing, but in the quiet, it was incredibly difficult to not get in his head. At least when someone was in here beating life out of him, he could float away from his body. When he’s alone, he’s just stuck with it.

He idly traces patterns into the stone floor in his blood.

Being imprisoned is boring.

There are only so many stories Percy can make up in his head. Once Percy had seen a rat in a corner of the stone room. Before, he would have had an issue with it. But seeing that rat was the most interesting thing in the entire world now. He gave it some of his bread and it scuttled off, never to return, but it gave Percy something new to think about. He made up stories about the rat; that it was a small child’s pet who had gotten lost, that it had its own little rat family it was bringing bread to, and so on. Percy created a whole soap opera in his head about a rat. He’d miss his rat if Scabbers hadn’t turned out to be an arsehole. He did miss his owl. He wonders, not for the first time, if his dear friend was alright.

Percy’s not sure what day it is. Or what month it is, really. He’s not even sure of the year. He knows it’s been months, given the length of the scruff on his face. He was never good at growing facial hair but given enough time he’s developed quite a scruffy beard.

Percy plays a mental game of chess with himself. He’s been a little worried recently. It’s been days since someone came in to talk to him, and he’s run out of water and bread ages ago. He wonders if they’ve let him here to rot. Maybe he’ll finally get to die. That would be fine for him, but he’d rather not go the way of dehydration. If the chain around his ankle was long enough, he’d have strangled himself to death by now.

There are some muted voices outside. The door creaks open.

Speak of the devil.

Percy doesn’t move and doesn’t react. He just lays there on the floor, unmoving, facing away from whoever just came in. He doesn’t care. He’s over pleasantries. When the person at the door just stands there quietly, Percy doesn’t turn around. Instead, he raises a shaky hand and lifts a trembling middle finger over his shoulder. He tries to speak, but his first attempt sounds more like a hoarse whimper than a human voice, rough from lack of water and use. He licks his dry lips and tries again.

“Not interested.”

It’s still quiet. Percy rolls his eyes. Is this some attempt at showing kindness? This stillness before the next movement?

“Oh fuck off.”

At the start of his imprisonment, Percy had tried to deny knowing anything. That was why he was missing his fingernails. His captors, whomever they were, (certainly Death Eaters, but Percy wasn’t sure whom since they all wore masks) were not stupid. They knew he knew something, but they weren’t quite sure what. Percy sometimes wonders what had tipped them off, and why he was so damn important to be kept alive for this long. He wasn’t the first or the last spy in the Ministry after all.

It was no use at this point to deny his position. He only needed to keep his mouth shut until they finally decided to kill him. He wishes for it now. The release of death. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so bad. Or be as boring.

There are quiet footsteps. Someone says something, but it’s too quiet for Percy to hear. He’s not about to turn over and risk irritating his broken ribs any more than he already has.

“My answer is the same,” he croaks out, sounding like he’s swallowed razor blades. Merlin, when was the last time he spoke instead of screaming? “If you’re going to kill me, just kill me and get it over with.”

“Percy?” comes a female voice, unsure. Percy freezes. Where had he heard that voice before? Ages ago, when he was younger…

“Tonks?” he asks, feeling a bit mad.

“Sweet Merlin and Mary! What the fuck?”

Yeah, that was Tonks.

Percy somehow finds the strength to roll over, wincing in pain as he does so, a whimper he can’t suppress coming out of his lungs. The dried blood sticking to his skin to the stone pulls painfully as he shifts. His left arm is broken in several places, surely damaged beyond repair. He can see the bits of bone sticking out at odd angles through thin skin. He hasn’t got his glasses, those are long gone, and he can only make out a blurry figure with bright blue hair. He squints, trying to get a better look.

The figure rushes up to him and kneels next to him, wand in hand. As she gets closer, Percy can make out her face- it’s different than the face he knew before. She’s older with more lines on her face, more weary and tired. She’s also got a fantastic scar starting at her collar and running up to the side of her neck and her chin. When had that happened? Her eyes are wide as she studies him.

“Percy?” she asks in a hushed whisper.

“Not dead yet.” He confirms.

“What’s something only Percy Weasley would know?” she asks him. He looks at her like she’s got a third head- did she think he was a Death Eater pretending to be Percy Weasley? Why on earth would anyone want to do that?

“Percy!” she hisses sternly.

“Uh,” he closes his eyes, trying to think, “You were the only person Charlie has ever kissed. Right after Hufflepuff won the Quidditch Cup, but you were both so drunk you ended up pushing him down the stairs?”

She purses her lips, studying him.

“Your turn?” he asks, because it seems like the right thing to ask.

“You had a crush on Oliver Wood and only went to the Quidditch matches to see him play.”

Percy, despite everything, blushes.

“Right, how did you know that?” He groans out as pain shoots up from his right wrist to his shoulder. This was broken too, although not as terribly as his left. The movement of him rolling over had aggravated every single injury. He gets dots in his eyes.

Tonks threads a trembling hand through Percy’s hair. It’s so matted with blood her fingers can’t pass through. She settles for patting his head.

“Charlie can’t keep his mouth shut. We’ll get you out of here,” she tells him, taking out her wand.

“You can’t use magic. They have wards. Can’t you feel it?”

Tonks pauses and blinks, just realizing the lack of magic in the air. Percy was pretty good at wandless magic, and after an ill-advised near escape, every room he’s been in has been spelled to drain all the magic from him. Any time his magical core recovered from its loss, it drained again. It felt like he was permanently hungover.

“You’re right,” she says grimly. “I’ll need to see if we can get something to cut that chain. An axe or something.”

“Who’s we?”

“The Aurors.”'

If Percy had the energy, he would have widened his eyes. The last he heard of Tonks was that she was apprenticing with Mad-Eye Moody. And training lasted two years…

He feels sick to his stomach.

Tonks moves to stand up, but Percy places a broken hand on her boot, feeling irrationally terrified that if she were to leave, he would be stuck forever.

“Please don’t leave me alone,” he croaks desperately. Screw appearances, who cares if he was whining like a child. He was allowed to, wasn’t he?

Tonks pauses. “Okay. I won’t leave, just let me call the others.”

He pulls his hand away. Tonks walks up to the door and calls out to someone in the hallway. There’s more mutterings and quiet talking, and Tonks walks back to him. She kneels next to him, her hands hovering, unsure where to touch him. She decides to gently stroke his forehead with the back of a trembling hand. Percy stares up at her. She’s gotten so old. That means he must have as well.

“Do you know who kept you here?” she asks.

“No,” Percy admits. “They all wore masks.”

“Death Eaters?”

“I think.”

After a few moments, someone else walks into the room, holding a small hatchet. It’s a lanky man with a mustache and thick glasses that Percy doesn’t recognize. The man walks over to the chain. Percy closes his eyes as the man brings down the hatchet on the chain. It takes nearly ten strikes, but Percy feels the chain drop and he lets out his breath. It’s still connected to his ankle but now he’s no longer tethered to the wall.

“Thanks.” He mutters. Tonks pats his cheek affectionately. It’s quite literally the best feeling Percy has ever experienced.

“I can’t levitate you out. I’ll have to carry you until we can get to the hallway. Then we can Portkey to the U.K.”

“Where am I?” Percy asks dizzily.

“Austria. You’re in an old prison left over from the first Wizarding War.”

“Oh.” He says quietly.

Tonks looks like she wants to say something more, but she doesn’t. Instead, she carefully places her arms under Percy’s knees and back. He moans in pain as she touches the burn in the center of his back. She winces.

“I know Percy, just for a few seconds. Ready?”

He nods and she lifts.

It’s excruciating. He hasn’t been upright for months. His ribs scream in protest, as do his two broken legs. Percy spares a look at his right leg- the kneecap is swollen, huge, and almost black. He feels faint. He cries out.

Tonks moves quietly, trying to not jostle him, but it still hurts. He can feel the tears in his eyes as she steps out into the hallway.

The man from before hands Tonks a small wooden box.

“Ready Percy? Let’s get you out here.”

Percy’s never been more ready in his life.

The international Portkey is a sickening experience, but Percy bites his inner cheek. He hasn’t got very much to throw up and he’d rather not risk it.

They’ve appeared just outside the lobby of St. Mungo’s. It’s bright outside, so bright that Percy needs to shut his eyes. It’s still light under his eyelids, so painful that he must bury his face into Tonk’s chest to try and alleviate it.

She carries him through the door and into the lobby. It’s the first time he’s smelt anything other than his piss and blood and bile in ages and he’s never thought he’d be so happy to smell something sterile.

“Can I get some help over here?” Tonks calls out. Percy keeps his face pressed into her chest. In any other circumstance, he’d be a bit embarrassed, but there’s something about her heartbeat, solid and sure, that grounds him. He’s shaking, trembling really. The effort of being carried and the whiplash from not having his magic constantly dampened makes him feel like he’s run and climbed a mountain.

The world is starting to get a bit dizzy. Someone says something, but Percy can’t quite make it out. It’s like he’s underwater and people are trying to talk to him.

There’s more movement from Tonks and it leaves Percy moaning quietly into her chest.

“I know, Percy. I know. I’m going to set you down now.” She tells him. Percy pulls away from her chest, trying to make out the blurry scene. They’re still in the lobby, and there’s a white stretcher before him. He nods in acknowledgment.

It’s a painful procedure, getting him placed onto the stretcher. Percy keeps thinking that he’ll pass out because that’s what people do when they are in pain, but he doesn’t. He remains horrifically aware of his broken legs and fucked up left arm and fractured wrist. It’s painful and he lets out some pathetic sounding cries and he’s placed onto his back, right where his burn is. He’s trembling and gasping.

“Percy, can you drink something for me?’ Tonks is asking but Percy can’t even gather himself together enough to reply. That must be answer enough because he suddenly feels his stomach expanding slightly. Someone must have spelled a potion into his stomach. Whatever it was, he relaxed immediately. He’s still in pain, but it’s like all his muscles which have been tensed for so long have released it. His vision gets blurry, and his eyelids are heavy.

The last thing he sees is Tonks, her hair a mousey brown color and face pale as he drifts off into twilight.

Chapter Text

Tonks isn’t sure how she is going to tell the Weasley family that Percy is alive.

She had seen his pale, sallow face, yellowing with a smattering of bruises, the way he trembled uncontrollably. She had felt the bones in his left arm shift and click as she lifted him from the filthy stone floor. It was obvious he had been tortured.

How was she to tell a mother that?

Charlie had written her many times about their difficult relationship with Percy. She knows all about the third brother’s estrangement, and that disastrous Christmas dinner that Charlie hadn’t been present for but had heard about the fallout. Now she wasn’t even sure if that had even been Percy at all. There was a good chance it was someone who used Polyjuice, given the amount of missing hair and nails Percy had. She swallows back a thrum of nausea thinking about the empty, bloody nail beds.

This was something she would need to tell them in person. She could Floo call them but telling them in person seemed… appropriate. They were all still grieving the end of the war. Fred had nearly died, and so had she if not for her husband. Now she and Fred bore almost matching scars, her the left half of her body, Fred on the right. At least she could walk without a cane.

The battle at Hogwarts had been almost six months ago and Voldemort had finally died, but the work wasn’t done. There were remaining Death Eaters on the run, dark magic sympathizers who needed to be held accountable for their roles. And of course the usual criminals whose activities had not stopped during or after the war. She had just broken up a potion smuggling ring last week that she had discovered almost entirely by accident when a peddler had offered her a very illegal potion to get rid of her scars.

She knew at least that the family was together at the Burrow or Shell Cottage. Harry and Hermione had gone to Australia to fetch her parents, with Ron electing to stay behind to help aid Fred’s recovery.

Tonks apparates from St. Mungo’s to just outside the Burrow’s wards with a loud crack. She’s just at the start of the road, looking at the slanted house in the distance, the grass still singed brown from the attack there. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Tonks hates that she’s about to ruin it. She starts her walk up the dirt path to the house.

She hadn’t expected there to be anyone at the castle besides Death Eaters. They had gotten intel that there had been some stragglers there and decided to raid it. They had managed to arrest two, but the rest had gotten away if not a few litres of blood lighter. They were going from room to room, clearing each to make sure no one was hiding. When they had reached the stone hallway there had only been a single door. There had been something cast on it that made her magic buzz. She had felt it in her teeth. There were so many wards on that door it had taken them nearly twenty minutes to get it open. They had been expecting some documents, or treasure maybe. Not a person.

They had looked dead, curled up on their side and unmoving. The room stunk of blood and bile, so disgusting she gagged. Then the person lifted a thin, trembling arm, flipped her off, and swore at her.

They were expecting someone different, clearly.

The voice was familiar; it was strangely familiar. When she tried to figure out who it was, it was like trying to remember something from a dream. When she managed to turn the person over, her jaw dropped. Of all the people, the last person she expected it to be was Percy Weasley. He had always been skinny, but now he was downright skeletal. He could barely keep his eyes open as she talked to him. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t dead. His hair was no longer red and curly, instead it was limpid and so matted with blood and filth it looked brown. She would have never known he was a Weasley if he hadn’t mentioned her one very awkward kiss with Charlie.

When she had carried him out of the room, unable to use magic, she could feel his broken bones moving under his skin. She could lift him too easily; someone his height should have been at least double his weight. He hadn’t complained, not when she unstuck his blood-crusted legs from the floor, not when she aggravated his wounds walking him out the door, and not when they had taken the dizzying international Portkey. He had only shut his eyes and groaned and whimpered. When they had arrived, all he did was quietly put his face into her chest. She remembers what Percy was like from school. If he had been… well,  there’s no way he’d even deign to be carried anywhere. Forget finding comfort in public the way he did. Thank Merlin the lobby was empty. The Weasleys have enjoyed a sense of minor celebrity due to their links to Harry. There had been more then one article mentioning how one Weasley sibling had chosen the wrong side during the war and he hadn’t been seen since.

She blinks at the image of Percy on the stretcher, wain and sallow, as the staff in lime green robes surrounded him. He had been in so much pain he hadn’t been able to drink the sleeping potion. They had to spell it into him. She had never felt such relief as Percy relaxed and closed his eyes. But the trembling hadn’t stopped; that told her he had nerve damage, although if it was from an Unforgiveable or just the beatings he had clearly taken.

Tonks reaches the door and knocks.

It takes a moment, but soon Molly Weasley is in the doorway, wearing an apron with something like flour on her face. She blinks at first and then beams, recognizing Tonks. A warm smile lights up her face.

“Dora! How are you dear?”

Tonks gives her a pathetic excuse for a smile. It’s more of a grimace.

“Hullo Molly. May I come in?”

“Of course! Please.”

She steps out of the doorway to let Tonks in and shut the door behind her. The burrow looks as it always has, cluttered and decorated with warm, homey colors. The air smells slightly spiced, like nutmeg.

“I’m just making some biscuits. Would you like one?”

Tonks shakes her head. “No, thank you. Molly, is Arthur here?”

Molly’s face pales slightly. There’s no good reason for an Auror to be making a social call.  She looks Tonks up and down and Tonks feels slightly stupid. She had forgotten to clean herself up before rushing here. She’s still got rusty blood stains on her shirt and pants. She swears to herself. She should have taken the time.

“Why? What’s happened ?”

Tonks swallows nervously.

“In a moment. Arthur?”

“In the shed. Let me fetch him.”

Molly leaves through the back door to the back garden to get her husband. Tonks spares a glance at the clock in the living room. Percy’s name is missing from it. She wonders if someone took it down after his estrangement or if it magically disappeared. The laws of disownment were different. If a child disowned their parents, there weren’t magical consequences. But if parents did so to a child, their family magic would be impossible to access.

Arthur and Molly come back into the living room from the shed. She’s wringing her hands nervously in her apron. Arthur’s face is grave. Tonks shakes his hand in greeting.

“Tonks, good to see you. What’s going on?” He eyes the blood on her front nervously.

“We should sit.” She tells them because she doesn’t know what else to say. They do, sitting side by side on the lumpy plush couch. Tonks drags an armchair from the left to sit directly in front of them. She leans on her knees, hunching slightly. What does her face look like? Does she look like she’s about to deliver bad news? Is what she’s about to tell them even bad news? Their son is alive. Badly hurt, cursed, skinny and uncontrollably trembling, but alive.

“Is there anyone else here?” She asks.

Molly shakes her head. “Charlie is with Bill and Fleur at Shell Cottage. Ron’s helping with twins at their shop. Ginny’s at school.”

Right. Ginny, along with the other students, were repeating their seventh year. They had the chance to redo the year or self-study for the NEWTS, which is what Harry, Ron, and Hermione were doing. Tonks notices she doesn’t mention Percy. It’s like the thought had never occurred to her this may have to do with him.

“What’s happened, Tonks?” Arthur asks.

Right. Percy. How the hell is she going to tell them? She licks her lips.

“Dora?” Molly asks, a slight quiver in her voice. Tonks sighs and runs a hand through her hair which has turned a mousey brown for the first time in several years not of her own volition.

“I need you two to listen fully to what I have to say. The whole story, alright? Don’t go rushing off. Please.”

They nod wordlessly, but Molly puts her hand in Arthur’s and squeezes it tight.

Okay. Game time.

She takes a breath.

“Everyone’s alive.” She tells them because that should come first, right? “It’s about P-,” she stumbles on his name, remembering the feeling of his broken arm shifting under skin, “Percy.”

Molly inhales sharply.

“First, I want you to know that he’s alive. He’s at St. Mungo’s” She stops Molly from standing with a gentle palm out, signaling her to wait.

“This morning we were conducting a raid on a known Death Eater hideout in Austria. While we were clearing the rooms we found Percy. He was being held, apparently for… some time.” She winces. She’s right bollocks at this.

“Once we were able to break the chain, we took a Portkey to St. Mungo’s immediately. He’s getting the best possible care right now. I apparated here right away after I was sure he was being treated. My partner is guarding the room. It’s been maybe twenty minutes since I dropped him off.”

There’s silence. It’s unnerving. Tonks had expected screaming or crying or something but not the stunned silence of parents being told their child was presumably injured badly enough to be in the hospital after being held captive for who knows how long.

“You can see him as soon as the healers stabilize him. If you’d like,” she adds quickly, because who knows if they even want to see him again after their falling out.

If Percy had even been the one who had the falling out. There was a fair chance that it hadn’t been Percy at all.

“It’ll be several hours. He’s uh,” she’s not sure how to phrase this “It’ll take a while, I mean. To treat him.”

It’s Arthur who speaks first, his face ashen with shock. “How long?”

He must be thinking about their estrangement too.

“I’m not sure,” she admits lamely “He wasn’t very…” She’s really shite at this “he couldn’t talk much before we got him to the hospital. Months at least from what I could tell. You don’t get that kind of-,” she clears her throat. She shouldn’t be telling them this. “A while.” She finally amends.

Molly looks like she’s about to burst into tears. She nods at the blood on Tonks. “That blood. It’s his?”

Tonks purses her lips and nods quietly.

“How was it?” Molly asks, her voice suddenly rock solid and unwavering. Tonks opens her mouth to speak but Molly shakes her head. “Tell me the truth. No platitudes.”

Tonks bites her lower lip and looks away, glancing at the aging wooden floor instead. She thinks about the smell of sick, how Percy had felt so light in her arms, how entirely fragile and small he had looked on the stretcher. Molly looks at her solemnly, waiting for an answer. She wanted the hard truth and even if Tonks was reluctant, she would give it to her.

“It was… it was bad, Molly. He’s lucky to be alive. I thought he was dead until he moved.” She admits softly, hating herself for the sheer bluntness of it. It was the truth- she had thought she had been looking at a corpse until he had flipped them off.

Arthur stands suddenly and makes his way over to the fireplace. Molly stands as well, shaking slightly, and pulls out her wand. Wordlessly, she vanishes the caked blood from Tonks.

“We’ll go straight away once we tell our children.”

Tonks nods, ignoring the slightly waxy feeling she gets whenever she spells her clothes clean instead of washing them. She stands as well. “I’ll escort you. They won’t let you in without an Auror.”

Arthur is talking softly to someone via Floo. There’s a loud crack outside as the flames die down. He takes another handful of powder and throws it, calling someone else.

“Do you think he’s still in danger?”

Tonks can only shrug helplessly. “We can’t say for sure yet. Better to be safe until we can get more information.”

Molly nods at this as the front door swings open. It’s Charlie, breathing heavily, face red from exertion. His eyes widen in surprise as he takes in the scene, his worried mother with her wand out, father urgently talking into the fireplace, and Tonks looking grave and solemn.

“Tonks?” He asks, his voice catching slightly. It’s not hard to put the pieces together - something bad has happened. Charlie’s always been quick on the take.

“Hi Charlie,” she walks up to him and gives him a brief hug. It’s impersonal and sharp and it’s enough to make Charlie visibly nervous. “I’ll tell you in a moment. Let’s wait for your siblings.”

The door opens again and this time it’s Bill and Fleur. They must have apparated with Charlie but let him get ahead. Tonks sees why immediately; Fleur is visibly pregnant. Bill takes in the scene.

“What’s going on? Dad just called and said it was an emergency and to come right away.” Bill asks, looking from his brother to his parents and Tonks.

“We’re waiting for everyone,” Charlie tells him. Arthur steps away from the fireplace as Molly transfigures some odds and ends into chairs that will seat everyone comfortably. The fireplace blazes green and Ron steps out, followed closely by the twins.

“Mum?” He asks, unsure. Fred is leaning heavily on his cane, looking a bit winded. Molly helps Fred sit down. “Just a moment Ron we’ll explain. Take a seat.”

Bill gets his wife settled on the couch and sits next to her with Charlie on the other side. George sits next to his twin. When everyone is settled, Tonks clears her throat.

“Something’s happened. I’ll be escorting you all to St. Mungo’s.”

George is the first to speak up. “Where’s Ginny?” There is a twinge of panic in his tone.

“School, dear. We’ve told the headmistress, but it’ll be a while yet.” Molly placates.

Once again, Charlie is the fastest one in the room.

“It’s Percy, isn’t it?”

His siblings all whip their heads around to stare at him like Percy had been the last person on their minds who could be in the hospital.

“Yes,” Tonks confirms. The room is thrust into an uproar, from worried questions (Charlie) to protests (Ron and Fred) and questions first asked in French and then in accented English (Fleur).

“Quiet!” Molly demands. They still, but only for a moment.

“Who cares if Perfect Percy’s bumped his head or whatever? He couldn’t even be bothered to show up at Hogwarts.” George bitterly mutters. He nods at his twin “Didn’t bother showing up when he was in the hospital after.”

“George!” Molly scolds, but Ron nods in agreement. “No owls, no notes, he made you cry, Mum! Remember Christmas? “

“He couldn’t!” Arthur interjects so sharply the room quiets instantly. “He couldn’t -, he’s been-,” his voice catches in his throat so thick with emotion Tonks can almost feel tears prickle in his eyes.

“Let me explain, Arthur.” She interrupts before things can get out of hand again. The siblings seem to realize that she’s here as an Auror and not as a family friend and they all quiet down.

“We were conducting a raid this morning in Austria at a Death Eater hideout. They had been holding your brother captive. We found Percy there and took him to St. Mungo’s. Before you ask, he’s alive and we’re not sure for how long he’s been there or why, but it was for an extended time. They’re stabilizing him now, but for his safety no one will be permitted to see him without an Auror present. We’re not sure about the details yet, and Percy wasn’t well enough to tell anyone anything. I’ll be escorting you if you want to see him, but it may be several hours before you can.”

“He what?” Fred asks in shock, the first time he’s spoken to her directly this whole time. The scars on his face are still red and angry despite daily salves. He gives her husband a run for his money on facial scars. “Percy was what… kidnapped or something by Death Eaters?”

“It looks like it. We need to investigate further. I’ll be dropping you off with my partner at the hospital before going to the Ministry to see when the last time anyone saw him was.”

There was a horrible thought. If someone had seen Percy last week, it was for sure Polyjuice. If they hadn’t seen him in months, then no one cared enough to check to see where he was. The implication that it presented about his family…

It’s Fleur of all people who stands first, interrupting the silence as the Weasleys comprehend what Tonks had just implied. She claps her hands together.

“Well, that’s eet then. Let’s go to zee’ ospital”

Chapter Text

They end up in a family room.

 Tonks had been correct: the moment they arrived the receptionist took one look at their red hair and ushered them to a side room, telling them it would be a few hours before Percy would be well enough for visitors. It was an agonizing wait, too worried to focus on anything else but unable to do anything about it. The room was comfortable enough, if bland. Tonks had dropped them off and after checking in with her partner, a dark-skinned man with a mustache and the thickest glasses Charlie had ever seen, left to continue her investigation.

They were intimately familiar with the hospital.

After Fred had gotten hurt during the battle at Hogwarts, they had spent countless hours in the halls of this place, first in the waiting room and then, after Fred was stabilized, the ward Fred was in. George had flirted his way up and down these halls, putting on a brave face pretending that everything was alright as Fred learned to walk again. When Fred was discharged, Charlie had vowed to avoid this place at all costs. Now here they were again, waiting to hear news about another brother.

Charlie stands from his seat and stretches, the bones in his back cracking. He’s not been as active as he once was since the war ended. He had taken a leave from work and wasn’t due back for another month and had been a bit lazy. He wonders if he needs to extend his leave.

He palms the cigarettes in his pocket and checks to make sure he has some money. “I’m going to get us some coffee.” He announces to no one in particular. It’s only about four in the afternoon, but the entire day had been so exhausting he was feeling weary. Bill stands as well.

“I’ll help.”

His brother kisses his wife on the forehead and follows Charlie out of the waiting room. Bill knows his brother, so instead of heading to the cafeteria, he leads the way to a side exit to the alley out back where all the healers smoke after telling their patients not to. It’s thankfully deserted, so Charlie pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it with wandless magic, snapping his fingers until it’s lit. Bill whistles.

“That’s new”

“Yep,” Charlie agrees. “Couple of weeks.”

Gone are the days of muggle lighters and wands. Charlie didn’t need that to start a fire anymore. He takes a drag of it and lets the smoke sit before blowing it out through his nose. He misses his dragons.

They stand in silence for a few moments. Charlie offers the cigarette to Bill who declines.

“Fleur would kill me.”

Charlie shrugs and takes another drag. He’s got to quit one of these days.

“You think Percy got into the fight with Dad?” Bill asks suddenly.

It seems Charlie wasn't the only one thinking who had all been thinking about it. Tonks had seemed so sure that Percy had been there for months, maybe more. There was a chance that Percy’s estrangement from them could have been someone pretending to be him.

“I don’t know,” Charlie finally says, running his tongue on his teeth in thought. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know what is worse. Percy being such an ass about his work and his boss and then getting kidnapped or it just wasn’t him at all and we just believed he would leave.”

Bill sighs and runs a hand through his hair, his scars peeking through the orange fringe. Charlie was sick of his family getting scars.

“If it wasn’t him, he would have left eventually. We did.”

Charlie knows this is true. The first second he and his brother got the chance, they left just like Percy presumably did. It had been on better terms, sure, but Charlie still feels that twinge of guilt about leaving Percy to be the eldest sibling. That is what he and Bill had been running from, hadn’t it?  Responsibilities? The constant pressure of being another parent? They had fled and left Percy with the burden and never went back.

“Yeah.” Charlie agrees and drops the cigarette. He stomps it out with his foot. They go back into the hospital and get a few coffees. Charlie pays while Bill collects some sugar packets. When they get back to the waiting room, they hand out the coffees. Their mother accepts hers but doesn’t drink it, instead setting it on a side table and going back to nervously twirling her hands.

It’s quiet again. Ron is jiggling his leg, trying but failing to flip through a magazine. They’re back to this then. The waiting game.

Finally, finally, the door to the waiting room opens.

There’s a tired-looking healer in lime green robes that are dirty with something red. Ron desperately hopes it’s not his brother’s blood.

“Weasley family?” she asks, eyeing their red hair. Ron doesn’t recognize her from Fred’s extended stay, but she did look quite young. It could be that she was newer. They all stand.

“Right,” she says tiredly like all her life has been drained from her.

“We’ve stabilized him. He was touch and go for a bit, but he’s settled down. You can see him if you’d like, two at a time. He was… unhappy with being treated so we had to secure him to the bed and sedate him. It’s only temporary.” She adds quickly.

Their mom puts a hand over her mouth.

“What are his injuries? Were they that bad?”

She sighs. “Yes. He’s got curse damage, so if you see him shaking even though he’s sedated that’s why. He’s lost a lot of blood that we had to replace with a transfusion since the blood-replenishing potions weren’t doing the trick. It’s a muggle method,  but it’s good in a pinch, so he’s got a needle in his arm with a tube that connects to the blood and some fluids to rehydrate him. We’ve got him in a few plaster casts, both of his legs were broken, and his left arm. They were poorly healed, so we had to break and reset them. His right wrist was fractured, but it appears that it was more recent, so it was quick to mend. Anyway, they should come off soon, once the Skelegrow has run its course. I’ll provide you a compressive list of his injuries once we finish a few more tests, but I thought you’d like to see him first.”

“We can see him then?”  Fred asks. She nods and runs a hand through her hair.

 “Yes, but only two at a time. He's in a fragile state right now. You need to know that he doesn’t look well right now but it’s only temporary. Please remember that.”

His mother and father clutch one another’s hands tightly. They had already discussed this; they would be seeing him first, then Charlie and Ron, and then Fleur and Bill and the twins last. The healer motions for them to follow and leads Mum and Dad out into the hallway, presumably to Percy.

They wait until their parents are gone before talking. Fred sits down next to his twin and puts his head in his hands. “Curse damage. Merlin, he must have been crucioed.”'

There’s a sick feeling that settles in Ron’s chest. Tonks had been just vague enough for them to be unsure, but what the healer had just said solidified it. His brother had been tortured. Badly. He had been crucioed and Circe knows what else. Badly enough he had lost so much blood the blood replenishers weren’t working. Bad enough that anyone touching him had probably freaked him out enough that he had to be tied down. The idea of it made him sick. He remembers Hermione’s screams after being crucioed by Bellatrix, how barely fifteen minutes had felt like hours as she screamed and screamed. He knew that nerve damage only happened after prolonged or repeated use. How many times? How long? Was it from one extended period or had it been short bursts repeatedly, waiting until the pain had just subsided before casting it again?

They sit in silence.

Percy, stupidly pompous and perfect and studious had been tortured. Practically mutilated. Fleur cries softly into Bill’s shoulder. She had never really met Percy and the man hadn’t even been at her wedding, but she still cries all the same. Maybe she was thinking of her sister, the one whom Harry had fished out of the lake during the Tri-Wizard tournament.

The silence persists. After what seems like hours, the door opens again. He’s expecting his mum and dad, but it’s the healer again. She motions for two people to follow, and Ron and Charlie stand up. Ron hesitates at the door, and Charlie slips his hand into his, holding it in a way they haven’t done since they were kids. Somehow it’s enough to give him the strength to get his feet to move. They silently follow the healer out of the room and into the hall.

They stop outside a room with no door, only a sheet hanging in the doorway. Ron raises an eyebrow- a door had been there at one point; hinges were still there.

“Your brother didn’t like having a door: open or shut.” The healer explains. “He made it disappear twice. I figured might as well keep it off.”

Charlie swallows audibly. The healer pulls the curtain aside for them.

“I’ll give you two privacy. I’m a shout away if you need anything.”

Charlie enters first, and then Ron.

It’s a lot to take in. The room is dimly lit, a figure lying still and unmoving under crisp white bed sheets. The curtains were drawn slightly, allowing a sliver of sunlight to filter through, casting a soft glow on the figure’s face.

“Percy.” Ron lets out in a hushed whisper.

He looks awful.

The first thing Ron stupidly notices is his hair. Percy was the only one out of the siblings who had curly hair. The curls, once vibrant and uncontrollable, now lay flat against the pillow, disheveled and dirty.

He lay there as if he was asleep, but sleep didn’t seem like the right word. A suffering man does not sleep. Ron wonders if Percy had not been so heavily sedated if he would have been able to stay awake anyway.

A thin sheet is pulled up to his chest. Ron could see bits of bandages poking out, wrapped around each shoulder. He’s not wearing a shirt, but there’s not an inch of bare chest to be seen. Where his legs are tucked under sheets are two bulky lumps, which Ron thinks must be the plaster casts. His left arm is also tucked under the sheets and bulky. His right arm is the only one out of the embrace of the sheets, and it looks almost normal. There’s a plastic tube in the crook of his elbow, secured with tape, leading up to a bag on a pole that is dripping something. This must be the muggle thing the healer had been talking out, to get fluids. There’s another bag of something that looks empty and red- blood.

Percy looks almost dead. He’s unmoving and still, like a corpse. His eyes are shut and there’s not even any movement behind them; not fluttering eyelids or dancing pupils. His cheeks are hollow and his eyes sunken. He’s so thin, so terribly thin, Ron could wrap his hand around Percy’s forearm and touch his middle finger and thumb. He’s somehow a combination of yellow and pale. There’s a bandage wrapped around his neck in such a way it makes Ron want to puke slugs. He’s even got a scruffy beard. Tonks was right. It has been months at least.

“Merlin,” Charlie whispers. Ron looks from Percy’s face to where Charlie is looking. He’s got Percy’s right hand in his, gently gripping it. His nails are missing from the beds. Or they had been at one point, whatever the healers were doing was growing them back, but they were only about halfway done and what should be smooth tops of his nails were torn and ragged.

“Went through the wringer.” Ron agrees quietly. He moves Charlie’s hand and takes Percy’s hand instead. His hands are cold and lifeless, rougher and more callous than they’ve ever been. There’s a chair nearby, and Ron pulls it up to sit, never letting go. Charlie does the same on Percy’s other side, gently running his hand through Percy’s hair.

It’s an odd thing to experience. It’s almost ironic. Ron had spent so long hating Percy for going no-contact and abandoning his family, he had always just assumed that Percy was off being a prat, working for the ministry having chosen his career over his family. Being face-to-face with this… it was almost more than he could handle.

They sit there for ages, quiet. Percy doesn’t budge an inch. Charlie can’t quite thread his fingers through Percy’s rat’s nest of curls, so he strokes the hair back instead. Ron’s back is starting to hurt from the plastic chair when Charlie clears his throat. His eyes are red. Ron thinks his are too.

“We should let the others see him.”

Ron nods wordlessly and they stand together. His eyes linger on his brother as they leave. He sort of knows the way to the family room and he leads them to it. They run into the healer again.

“Are you finished?”

Ron nods.

She takes them the rest of the way to the family room. When she opens the door, Bill stands sharply. The twins look up from whatever magazine they were pouring over.

“Who’s next?” the healer asks.

Bill helps Fleur to her feet and squeezes her hand, so tight Ron thinks it’s going to break. The healer leads them out of the door. Mum and Dad are still not back, even though it’s easily been half an hour.

When they’re alone, George eyes them up.

“Well?” It’s easy to pick up on the bitterness in his voice.

“Shove off,” Ron grumbles, collapsing into an empty seat. He buries his face in his hands. “It was bad. Bad.”

Fred raises an eyebrow.

“He looks dead, Fred,” Charlie says, barely above a whisper. He’s looking at the hand that he was stroking Percy’s hand with it. There are flecks of red on it from when he tries to run his fingers through his brother’s hair.

“He’s missing his damn fingernails. They were ripped out.”

George’s mouth drops open a little bit. He closes it quickly.

“He’s alright though?"

Charlie shakes his head haplessly, still not looking up from his hand.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”