Chapter 9

Percy was sentenced to a week of bed rest and constant monitoring and supervision from a certified medical witch. Needless to say, he hated it. He felt imprisoned.

"You need your rest," Madame Pomfrey told him as she checked his pulse. "You fainted from exhaustion."

"I feel fine though," he replied.

"You definitely don't look it, and your body says otherwise, Mr Weasley. Now's not the time to be stubborn." She paused, then let his wrist go. "The tremors will only get worse if you don't get yourself some rest, alright? I can get you some dreamless sleep draught if you would like."

Percy mulled about it for a while, unsure of what the right answer was. Part of him craved to sleep finally, but the other part believed this was what he deserved. He deserved to suffer for all the things he had done, for all the crimes he had inadvertently committed, for all the lives that he had unwillingly taken. He tensed up at the thought, then glanced at the mediwitch.

"Yes, I would like that," he said, words clipped short and said through gritted teeth.

"Wonderful," she said with a smile before fluttering off to attend to other duties. He sighed as he sat in the bed, waiting for energy to return to his bones so that he could go back to his and Oliver's room. He'd rather be in the inn over the makeshift medical centre for whatever unfortunate accident befell the volunteers.

"Percival Ignatius Weasley," came a sharp, almost shrill, voice from the entrance. He turned and saw it was none other than Minerva McGonagall, her cape swooshing behind her as she strode up to his bedside, arms folded. The way she looked down her nose at him made him feel oddly inadequate, as if he were a young boy about to get scolded by his mother.

"Ah, Minerva," he greeted, clearing his throat as his voice cracked. "What brings you here?"

"You know what brings me here, Percy," she said, sighing with exasperation. "You never change, do you? Always overworking yourself."

"Not always," he replied with a slight smirk playing on his lips, "Only most of the time when the time requires it."

"The world is no longer in eminent danger, Percy. You ought to give yourself a break instead of driving yourself to the brink of death every time."

"I hardly consider this the brink of death, Minerva," he said with a tired laugh. He brought a hand to his head to rub his temples, which were starting to ache, before dragging it down his face and letting his hand fall back into his lap.

"You gave everyone quite the fright. Now, give an old lady some room, will you?" she asked. Percy conceded and moved his legs a little, giving Minerva enough room to perch at the edge of his bed. "Oliver truly is worried like a little pup. I'm sure he'll be very happy to hear you are feeling better. Not to mention, your brother's old classmate seemed quite concerned too."

"Ah… well I am fine. And the sooner I am up again, the better, in my opinion."

"Now, Percy. Your help has been incredibly beneficial to us as a team; your magical prowess in building is frankly remarkable. But…"

"I do not like where this is going."

"If I catch you overworking yourself again, I will send you home."

"You need all the help you can get, you—"

"No," she stated firmly, "Your health comes above all of that. You're still recovering from the war, you should give yourself more time to recover now. You can't keep burying your feelings by working, Percy."

"What makes you say I'm 'burying my feelings'? Maybe I just like working."

Minerva laughed, then placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Percy. I was the Head of Gryffindor for all seven years you were under my care. Seeing as by some miracle, it was only you and Oliver that year, I think it is safe to say that I know the both of you very well."

"I'm fine, Minerva. Honestly." Percy sighed, he knew that whatever he said would not be believed anyway. Truthfully, he wasn't fine, he knew that, but he desperately wanted to be fine. He wanted to be okay. He wanted to be alright. But he was too afraid to admit that he wasn't.

"Percy, I can see right through you," she said, "Oliver told me about the episode you had in Hogsmeade." Percy cringed in embarrassment, but Minerva continued. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Percy. War has taken its toll on everyone, and it is perfectly alright to admit a bit of vulnerability," she paused, giving Percy's shoulder a gentle but affirming squeeze, "This is the Gryffindor pride, honestly. Bravery always partnered well with stubbornness… Never want to admit that you need help."

"…Minerva, may I ask you a very sensitive question?" he asked, voice much softer than before.

"Of course, Percy."

"Do you think I'll ever be alright again?"

A silence fell between them. Percy looked up at Minerva, looking eyes for a second, before breaking away and looking down at his hands. He nervously fiddled with his own hands, waiting for an answer to an impossible question.

"Oh, Percy…" Minerva muttered. She carefully wrapped her arms around him and gave him a firm hug. Percy hesitated before returning the gesture, trying to hold back the tears that were welling inside him from this unspoken tension. He sniffled, leaning his head into her shoulder, feeling so much like the little 11-year-old boy who was feeling homesick one night in his first year at Hogwarts. Minerva had scooped him up into her arms and hugged him tightly, telling him that it was all going to be okay. And it was that wash of melancholic nostalgia that overwhelmed him, and he started crying.

Minerva gently placed a hand on the back of Percy's head, ruffling his hair slightly. She leaned her own face down towards him, knowing full well how emotionally draining war can be. And especially for someone like Percy, who bottled up his emotions until they began to overflow. "I cannot promise you anything, Percy," she said quietly, "But I know that you are strong, and you will make it through these times. Okay?"

She felt him nod into her shoulder, sobbing quietly. She held him for as long as he needed, until he had exhausted himself of tears. She carefully laid him back into bed. Even at her age, Percy was as light as a feather. She made a mental note to make sure he ate more, remembering his tendency of forgetting to eat meals when he was younger. She tucked him in, feeling a strong pang of pity in her heart as she looked at him sleeping.

He ran to her for help all those years ago. In retrospect, it felt so much further away than she remembered.

"Percival Ignatius Weasley, what compels you to come calling her in the middle of the night!" she near-shouted at the Floo as she wrapped herself in a warmer bathrobe.

"I am so sorry, Professor, I—" he tried to form words, but she could see even through the flames in her fireplace, that he had been crying. His face was worn down, and his voice especially was cracking, something that never happened with this particular Weasley. Percy was always so perfectly poised that the slightest bit of distress was obvious.

"What is the matter, Percy? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine—" he started, and then it was followed by a huge sob.

"Percy, if you would like to Floo over and speak about it in person, you know I am always happy to listen."

That night, he had spilled his heart and soul out to her. She consoled him, held him, gave him some tea and biscuits. She didn't agree with his choices, no, but in a time like that rejecting him would only bring more pain. What he needed was support, what he needed was a family that wouldn't diminish his achievements. What he needed was someone who would look at him and see him for the talented young man he was, not just another Weasley.

Maybe that was all he wanted, or maybe that was all he needed. Validation from the people he loved the most.

"Looks like I just missed him," came a soft Scottish voice from behind her. She turned and saw Oliver looking at Percy with concern. "Glad he's sleeping, though."

"Yes, well, he is very tired, Oliver," Minerva replied, slowly standing up to approach Oliver. "How's the work coming along?"

"Oh, I was excited to get done with it, so I could check in on Percy."

"He's going to be okay, Oliver."

"I'm just worried, ya know? Like, he said he was meant to be getting better and everything but… he just seems to be getting worse, aye?"

"Yes, I know," she said, putting a gentle hand on Oliver's shoulder, "But all you can do now is be there for him. Tell him to eat, and if you notice him looking tired, tell him to rest—no, force him to rest. That is your job as a friend."

"Oh, but you know Percy, he's stubborn as a mule sometimes."

"Well, just like you," she replied with a laugh, "Peas in a pod, you two."

"Really? People always said it was crazy how different we were."

"Sometimes it is in the oddest places that you find similarities. Anyway, I have duties to attend to. Will you be coming along?"

"Ah, no," he replied, glancing back towards Percy, "I'd like to just… stay here, if that's alright."

"As long as you stay out of Madame Pomfrey's way, I don't see the harm. I will talk to you soon, Oliver." With a graceful swing of her arm, Minerva strode out of the medical wing.

Oliver watched her go, before sighing and pulling up a chair to sit by Percy. He looked peaceful, and he wanted to believe that Percy was at peace, but he feared what was going on inside his mind. He knew how dark things could get for him, and he wasn't going to leave Percy alone if he could help it. Not when he was like this.

Oliver knew for a fact that waking up was always the hardest. He himself feared falling asleep, knowing what may be lurking in the depths of his dreams. So he sat and waited patiently for Percy to wake up.

A/N: You ever just come back to a story you started writing four years ago, and stopped writing two years ago, and have no idea where this is going? Sorry folks nothing happens in this chapter at all. We'll see if I write another. Maybe I will. I did have a story, a very slow burn story about recovering from trauma and coming to terms with being vulnerable. Wuh heyyy.