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Percy wanders at night. When no one is looking. He doesn't have to fake a smile when they are, he supposed that's the perk of being seen as cold hearted. He should he happy. His parents took him back in. His nightmares are, while constant, light compared to theirs. Some nights he can hear Harry scream. The sound is usually quickly followed by Hermione's voice casting a silencing spell and Ron already calling out his name. Other nights it’s his mum, the sound of pans clinking together.
It’s only been a month since the war ended. Since that night where he got out. He doesn't even know how. Or who it was that had imperiod him, which made it so hard to throw. But somehow, by some luck or maybe something more calculated on the orders side the curse was lifted and Percy went. Kingsley, for some bloody reason tried one more time and Percy got to give his answer. His own. A firm sounding yes. And he tried. God he tried. Protect them, that was what Charlie had yelled towards him. The same thing Charlie had made him promise the year he left Hogwarts, the year Ron joined.
Percy hadn't been able to keep either promise.
His nights mostly consist of not sleeping. He tries sometimes. But he dreams of those trials. His mouth shut like it was sown closed. He dreamt of things like that. His mouth sown shut by plastic, his wrists tied to wires that were pulled like a puppet, by an unknown person behind him.
He doesn't sleep much because of it.
But he manages, he fakes his smile, he grimaces and keeps his head down. He helps his mother with dinner. He cleans. He stays out of the way.
It’s nothing compared to the others. Bill’s aches, Charlie’s burns, Ginny’s scars, not even to think about Ron, Hermione and god forbid Harry. Their scars are everywhere. Their bodies. Their minds. Even in their magic.
So he stays quiet. He buckled down. He keeps going. He holds his head high when the others talk about the other side. The distinction is so clear in their minds. He doesn't shy away from their looks. He wants to. He does. He wants to yell that people don't choose. That not everyone got to make a choice like that.
He knows there's a difference between compliance and straight up being forced and he- he was forced. But no one believes that they truly used the imperious curse. And Percy can't stop them, doesn't tell them. He keeps his mouth shut and listens as Ron hisses about never trusting anyone that gives the imperious defence.
Percy doesn't say. He doesn't ask someone to help him. Because he had it easy, relatively. And he doesn't have to have help. He just– doesn't sleep and doesn't get to sleep. He turns and twists at night, thinking about his own defence. His own call onto the stand. The actual list of people hasn't been called out yet. Some are imprisoned, like Malfoy junior and senior. People that fought against the light. Others are merely watched. And Percy knows he is watched.
He doesn't know if he is glad of his families new found fame.
He watches as George walks through the house like a ghost and can only think that maybe it would have been better if Fred hadn't pushed him away, if the wall would have come down on him. Because Fred had been good. Real good in his heart. He could’ve thrown it easily. He would have been free of the curse instantly. Percy condemned hundreds of witches and wizards to their graves.
Charlie watches the house. The calmth of it. His mum is nursing tea, her body moulded into his dad's. Bill is home with Fleur no doubt. Ron is sandwiched between Hermione and Harry. Ginny is curled into George's side. And Percy. Percy is on the fringes.
Calm like always. Face devoid of emotions. Just silent. The only time Charlie saw him actually emote was when he heard that he won't be called to testify. His face had been one of relief, and confusion. Like he couldn't understand why he would be free. Like why he could be free.
Everyone is coping in their own way. Ron had Hermione and Harry, they have each other honestly. Their parents hold each other. Ginny has him and George. George has them too. But Percy doesn't need anything. He shakes a hand off his shoulder. Smiles and chats quietly. Helps their mother. It’s like he’s passed it already. Left the past in the past and got over it. Even today. At the funeral. He had just stood there. Face blank, at the edge of their line. Quiet and empty. Percy was quiet like always. Charlie turns to George, who sniffles, breath hitching. Charlie will never understand how he feels. Losing a brother is one thing, but a twin? Charlie takes George's hand in his.
Percy tries to sleep. His night is filled with nightmares, and he’s gasping for breath when he wakes up. It's still dark out, the stars sparkle above. He tiptoes down the stairs, winching when the door creaks as he slips out into the garden. He takes a seat on the porch.
He cries. He doesn't mean to. He held it together at the funeral. He managed to not make it about him. He held it together. Held his father’s hand in his.
He burries his face into his hands, gasping for breath. Until he is cried out and nothing more can come from him.
He sits there instead, the cold autumn air curling around him. He holds his own wrist tightly. Sometimes, back then, he thought that the best thing he could do was to end it all. To destroy his papers and just– go. Walk into the sea to never return. Disappear from the face of the earth. What would have mattered? Who would have cared? Who cares now.
His nail drags over skin. Pain. Pain always helped. The pain and the cold. He shivers. The door creaks again and he feels himself freeze. For a second he can imagine it. The wand pointed to his head, the back of it. Tipping into his skull to keep him from moving. The words, whispered, hoarse. The flow of warmth, comfort, being, filling his cold skin and body. Burrowing into his bones.
Instead the step under his feet dips as someone sits besides him. “Didn't think you would be awake now,” Charlie says, voice low and rough. One can never know if it’s from screaming or crying. Or just talking. Or maybe Charlie just slept.
“Didn't mean to wake you,” he says instead. His own voice is rough from crying, clearly. He waits for it.
“You’ve always had the remarkable ability to fake that you’re okay. Back at Hogwarts, I never would have thought you were even slightly feeling left out if you hadn't told me.”
Charlie pauses, Percy shrugs. What else is he supposed to do?
“I thought,” Charlie continues quietly, “that you were okay. Now. After everything.”
“I am,” he says.
Charlie gently puts a hand on his. Percy flinches, almost violently. His thumb stops. Stops where it had been rubbing the nail over his wrist. He hadn't even-
“You’re not, are you? I thought you were. I think we all think you are okay. But you’re not. You’re not okay.” He pauses. “you can talk to me.”
Percy hesitates. He wants to. God he wants to. To tell someone. Who might believe him. Even if he won't have to explain it in court. He wants someone to know what happened. And he wants- he wants someone to hold him up too. Like everyone else. But he doesn't deserve that. He didn't do anything but cause his family, other people pain. He can't even begin to wonder how many people died because of him.
“You deserve to be taken care of too. You can talk to me, Perce.”
Maybe it’s the nickname. The thing Charlie would say. When he introduced him. That smirk, the bright smile on his face. ‘this is my little brother. Perce. He’s gonna do something brilliant.’
“After everything I have no right-” he falters, voice shaking.
“Perce this is not about right or wrong. Fucked up stuff happened. That doesn't mean you don't deserve to be helped either.”
“Because of me! You don't know- it wasn't-”
Charlie's hand is warm and heavy on his neck. Percy inhales sharply, shakily. He closes his eyes. He’s too out of tears to cry again.
“I know that they, all of em, they’re strong. Fuck, so strong. But I'm not- I've never been like that. I never-” his voice cracks as he looks out into the garden the darkness feels both choking and soothing. Like dark smoke fogging up his lungs the way they did his head. The-
“I know that they all say that it’s a shitty defense. I was made to do it. That it’s an excuse. That no one-” he inhales, holds, exhales. “That no one was forced, that anyone who says they were is just making an excuse.” He looks at his hands. Remembers the documents he wrote. The names- oh god the names. “It isn't. Sometimes. Sometimes people really were forced. And it started way before anyone really wanted to admit it.”
“Wait,” Percy knows that Charlie turns to him. He can hear the creak of the step under his weight. The heavy shift of his leather pants. His strong big brother. For years his protector until he had to protect the others. The twins. Ron. Ginny. God. He failed at it all. Back then and now again. They deserve comfort. They deserve Charlie's warm hand on their shoulder, his attention. His love. Not him. Not after everything he did and didn't do.
“I’m not them. I wasn't trained for war the same way. I never learned to- to throw it off.” The last past escapes as a whisper. The truth. For once he tells someone the truth.
“Fuck.” Charlie says it in an exhale and his hand leaves. The cold makes him shiver all over. Dancing down his spine. It’s easier like that sometimes. The bite of it. It was how he learned to throw it. Sometimes. Not often. But sometimes he managed to turn the shower so cold he was ripped out of the imperious. The warmth, the love, the recognition fading from him. He destroyed what he could then. Maybe if he knew who put it on him he could have thrown it more often. Or permanently. He couldn't. He hadn't known.
Charlie's arms are warm, pulling him into his chest and Percy only then realises his teeth are chattering. “Little brother,” Charlie whispers, voice rough.
“I know I don't- that I- I was wrong. Before. When it started, and I didn't see. When he was back, I didn't know what to do. But- but I wasn't- I’m sorry. I’m sorry I failed. I was supposed to keep them out of trouble, to keep them safe. To protect them and I didn't-” he gasps. Shaking. “I promised and I failed.”
“It’s okay,” Charlie rumbles, “you’re okay, Percy. You’re freezing. Let's get you nice and warm, yeah? We’ll sit by the hearth, take a cup of Coco. I know mine doesn't hold up to mums in any way but I make a mean one.”
Percy laughs wetly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Charlie says.
Charlie watches him. Maybe it wasn't emotionless. Maybe it was something else. He’d woken up from the door. But what startled him was the muffled cries. The desperate sound of someone tearing apart at the seams. It wasn't the first time he heard someone cry. But it was the first time that it was someone alone. Ginny knew to wake him. George knew that too. Ron had his best friends. Partners. Whatever the hell they were. His parents had each other.
But this was someone alone. In the garden, gasping and sobbing and whimpering. Pain. So much pain.
Percy had been a surprise. Finding him practically shivering, teeth chattering and shattered. He’d looked so fucking lost and scared and shattered.
And Charlie didn't know what to do. He almost went back to his place on the couch. He’s glad he didn’t.
Percy looks tired now, curled into one side of the couch. His thumb back on his wrist. Charlie didn't like that. He wants to demand Percy show his skin, show that he doesn't have scars. He doesn't.
To think that Percy wasn't just a cog in the wheel never even occurred to him. He’d heard Hermione talk about the banality of evil often enough. The stories about the second world war, about public's servers sending people to the death chamber because that was what was expected in their job, because they were just numbers and names to them. He thought that was Percy. But it hadn't been. So clearly.
Imperiod. His little brother was imperiod and whatever he had done makes him look like that. Haunted. And still- still he didn't think he deserved comfort, deserved a hand. Help. Because he thinks that no one will give it to him. Because he thinks people would not believe him. Or maybe he thinks no one would not help him. Charlie is going to change his mind. He waits out the Coco, making it the Muggle way Melanie taught him in Romania. It tastes better and he has something to do with his hands as he watches Percy.
It seems to help, the warmth of the cup, their knees touching together. “No one will leave, no one will blame you, and no one will say you’re strong enough. That you weren’t strong enough. And if they do,” he adds, turning to him. “I’ll beat them up. You know i will perce. Not the first time and it wont be the last.”
“It’s not worth it,” Percy whispers.
“It is, because you are. Because you’re our brother Percy, and you deserve it. You deserve to find happiness. What happened, what they made you do, we can’t let it hold on to you. Together,” he adds, “together we’re stronger. Always. And so are we in this.” he knocks there shoulders together. “I’m here to help.”
Percy slumps into his shoulder. Charlie watches as he falls asleep like that. He watches as their mum walks in, her eyes going warm and soft as she catches Percy sleeping against Charlies side with his coco before them. The telltale sign that Charlie helped someone through the night. “I got him,” he mouths at her. And he does. He’s going to make sure his little brother is fine, is happy again. Not instantly, but one day. Like the rest of them, he’ll be able to sleep through the night and smile. Give a real smile. He’ll make sure of it.