Head Prat

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Gender: Male
Age: 119
Sign: Aquarius
Country: United Kingdom

Signup Date:
February 12, 2020

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08/04/2021 01:40 PM 

Forgotten

18 December 1995

“Weasley, take a seat.”

In the shuffle of his papers, Percy paused in confusion, eyes unblinking as he nervously looked up. Fudge sat behind the oak desk, those beady eyes set on Percy in a way that unnerved the calmest parts of his mind. Palpitations soared, an increase of beats against his chest that helped create the sheen of sweat across his forehead. For a moment he second-guessed himself, searched in vain for any error that had slipped past him, though there never was any. He had read over every bit of paperwork, rewrote things thrice over if his penmanship wasn’t crisp enough. There were no mistakes, no reason that Fudge would want to talk to him on such a serious level.

Everything came down on him; every misplaced document, every word scribed and letter sent out that didn’t get the response that Fudge wanted. It all fell on Percy’s head. He only wished that his father had been right, that Fudge wanted him as a spy and nothing more, because if he was a spy, Fudge wouldn’t have been so vile towards him. He would remain professional to get what he wanted instead of screaming and throwing whatever was closest in Percy’s general direction. One couldn’t bully the person they needed most, and Fudge didn’t need him, not really. 

Cautiously, Percy set the files on the desk before he sat awkwardly in the much too small chair. It was nothing but a power play, a pitiful attempt to show dominance over those Fudge had deemed below him by forcing them into a seat that was made for first years at Hogwarts. Smile twisted, Percy sat unquestioningly, waited for Fudge to move past the puzzle in the Daily Prophet and speak to him regarding what he needed. Time ticked on, allowed for warped thoughts to circulate and panic swell to what the problem was without knowing if there even was a problem. 

Glasses slipped down his nose, Percy’s hand shaking slightly as he pushed them back up. The possibility of being fired barreled through an already chaotic mind. Percy knew the ploy but fell victim to it all the same. Each task he ran through he found new faults in it, things he completely manifested in his own mind, conversations that he could have handled better, although they were nothing short of perfect professionalism. Promises formed, words about how he’d be better; ready to beg if he needed to. 

He had nowhere to go. He would lose the disgusting flat and left with nothing.

“Sir?” Percy began timidly, the apology already at the tip of his tongue. He always believed he was above groveling, but in the moment Percy saw himself in the way his siblings did and hated himself.

Beady eyes narrowed on the paper, Fudge’s tongue poked out from his lips in what appeared to be concentration. A single finger help up for Percy to wait. There was a small, satisfied ‘ah-hah’ before the paper singed from existence, the pile of ash brushed away in the swoop of Fudge’s hand. “Has your family contacted you at all recently?”

Percy’s chest caved slightly, a spark of annoyance lit under the dying panic. In the few short months he had joined the Minister’s team, not once had Fudge asked about his family or Percy’s estrangement. It gave Percy a small sense of ignorant pride that his father had been wrong and that Fudge wanted him on his team because Percy was a ‘valuable asset’. Not because he was the weak link in his family, the one everyone assumed would turn. Now it was clear he had just been biding his time, a great patience to call the bluff to the Weasley scandal.

Teeth gritted, Percy forced the smile to remain in place. “No, Sir.”

A look crossed Fudge’s face, a look of slight disbelief that was covered by the same haughty look as before. “So you are unaware that your father was admitted to Mungo’s last night?”

The world stopped for a moment, Percy’s breath stunted in his chest. It was a test, a sick way to see if he was lying. “I’m sorry . . . What?”

Fudge watched him closely, monitored his reaction before he handed over a paper. “Yes, he apparently had a nasty encounter with a . . .”

The rest of the words were lost to the oceanic noise of blood rushing to his head. It was all there in black and white, signed off by multiple healers that Arthur Weasley would be off from work and at Mungo’s healing from a creature attack. 

Fudge’s satisfied smile turned Cheshire as Percy sunk back in the chair. “Awful situation. I do apologize that I had to be the one to tell you, that’s a family matter. But that’s what we do here, we look out for each other.”

Percy tried not to listen. He knew exactly what Fudge was doing, the wedge forced deeper between him and his family in the fact he didn’t know, that not a single member of his family contacted him in the twelve hours since Arthur had been admitted.

“I would understand if you wanted to take the rest of the day off.”

Percy looked up for the first time since he took the paper, his chin jutted out a little further than normal. “Thank you, but I’m fine. If it’s alright, I have a lot of paperwork to finish.”

With a wave of dismissal, Percy rose from the seat and walked with calm precision. Each step counted brought a tide of emotions; fury, pain, panic . . . Loneliness. Emotions masked with pleasant smiles to those he passed on his way to his office, the same questions asked. 

Why didn’t they -anyone- tell him? Did they think that poorly of him? Did they hate him that much that wasn’t alerted to something so important? 

 

5 hours later

“Percy?”

The tip of the quill raced over the parchment, ink fluid as the words poured from him. It was simple work. Simple work he just couldn’t get right. 

“Hey . . .”

The parchment tore under the pressure of the quill, muttered curses under his breath as he searched for a clean sheet. His usual pristine desk sat in disarray; parchment, new and old tossed carelessly around. Empty jars of ink tipped over, feathers to snapped quills just visible under the discarded parchment.

He began again, hyper-focused on the task he needed to finish with perfection. A task that anyone with half a brain could complete faster and more efficiently than Percy was. He would be fired by morning, the owl waiting for him come morning. He was sure of it.

“Percy?” Zoshia’s voice cut through the noise in his mind, a look of resentment on Percy’s face as she pried the quill from him. “Are you alright?”

“Give me back my quill.” His voice was gritty even to his own ears, a disturbance to his usual calmness noticed by Zoshia as she stepped back. “I have work to finish, papers that need transferring and clearance.”

“It’s time to go home, you can finish it tomorrow.” 

She was the sensible one, the only one who could pull his head out of his work and breathe in life, take a break. But at the moment she was a nuisance. An aggravation he didn’t need. “My f***ing quill. Now,” he snarled, a violent tremble in his hand as he held it out for his quill.

Zoshia’s features turned dangerous, a dare for him to speak again. “You clearly need to step away from your work. Have you even left the office today?” She eyed the mug stained with coffee rings. “It’s late, let’s get you home.”

Home. The word caused something inside to snap. He didn’t have a home, not anymore. She tried again, voice soft and careful; as if were a child on the verge of a tantrum. A flurry of parchment hit the ground as he snatched up his satchel, incoherent snarls not even he could decipher. Fistfuls of paper crammed violently in, he felt his chest seize, a sudden inability to breathe. He couldn’t stop himself, felt out of his own body as paper after paper crumpled in his hands.

“Percy! Percy stop - ” Zoshia’s hands clasped around his, forced him to come back. “Stop, please. This isn’t like you.”

He fought to regain control, tried holding in deeper breaths, counting. Anything that would end the angered panic inside. “I have work to do,” he said robotically, face turned down so she couldn’t see he was shattering. “Please give me my quill.”

“It’s time to -”

“Then go, I don’t f***ing want you here!”

Hands ripped from her grip, instant regret spread through his chest, seized him by the heart as Zoshia’s eyes narrowed on him. He was doing what he did best, driving away those that mattered, forcing the people he cared for to hate him.

Percy waited for her to leave, for the barrage of insults to leave her and layer over him, make home in his mind.

Zoshia’s hands gripped the edge of his desk, her features schooled in a way that made her terrifying. Face inches from his, she observed him, kept her eyes on him and only him long after Percy sheepishly broke the contact. “Talk to me like that again, and I’ll do more than shove your quill where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Teeth clenched, Percy nodded carefully. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I’ve just had a horrific day and I know it’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.”

Her gaze fell to his desk, danced quickly over the mess of his work before she grabbed a piece. The blush was instantaneous, muscles tensed as brown eyes peered over the parchment at him. Her anger became confusion before it melted into something different entirely, a look he despised. Pity.

Is dad really at Mungo’s? 

A question he had written and re-written a hundred times, each variation crossed out on the scraps of parchment that littered his desk. 

“Percy . . .” Zoshia began as she rifled through his pleas to his family to know what was happening. Why they didn’t tell him.

“It’s fine.” A lie that she saw through easily, a brown arched in questions Percy was thankful she didn’t ask. His vision blurred, focus turned to sorting his papers into pointless piles. His mind needed the distraction, anything but the problem.

“I’m sure . . . Listen, I know what it’s like to rush a loved one to the hospital, the hours after are chaotic. I don’t think it’s intentional.”

He scoffed sharply, felt his nose drip as the first signs of the breakdown surfaced. “Except, according to Fudge, he was taken there last night for a creature bite. It’s now . . . Eight at night and nothing. Not a bloody damn word from anyone. I didn’t meet you for lunch because I went to my flat to see if I had an owl, or any kind of message. Any of my siblings could have owled me, said he was injured and I would have dropped everything to be there . . . Instead, I found out from Fudge.”

His voice broke under the pressure to keep it level. 

“Percy, your family-”

“I'm not a part of their family.” He willed himself to stop, felt the hot tears pool as Zoshia stared at him helplessly. “I’m not one of them anymore, they made that really f***ing clear.”

He ran his hand through his hair, the pain to the words felt deep in his heart. It was the ultimate way to show him, tell him that he wasn’t considered a Weasley anymore. Their father was in Mungo’s and not a single word was sent to him. Fingers laced with his, three gentle squeezes of reassurance from Zoshia as the storm within died, the rush of emotions that left him feeling empty.

 Prompt: 'This isn't like you' ft. 𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

HC1: Fudge didn't believe the story he was given by Kingsley and Tonks. He utilized Percy not being alerted to create a bigger divide and keep Percy isolated. He hoped it would be what made Percy turn against his family but even in all his anger and grief, Percy never spoke about his family to Fudge.

HC2: Percy rarely swears in front of others, let alone repeatedly. Profanity lacks to serve a purpose when used all the time, and when he does swear Percy's completely snapped. 

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