Percy Weasley (sentimentalist) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-09-20 23:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | george weasley, percy weasley |
WHO: George Weasley and Percy Weasley
WHEN: The day they agreed to meet for lunch (slightly backdated)
WHERE: The Leaky Cauldron, then Percy's flat
SUMMARY: Feelings, lots of them, being thrown about and bellowed and such
WARNINGS: A for Angst
Percy Weasley was probably going to vomit -- no, not because he was disgusted or ill in any way. But he was nervous. He was more nervous sitting in a corner of the Leaky with 2 Butterbeers waiting for his brother to arrive than he was watching the Death Eaters strutting through the Minister’s office like they owned it. He missed his siblings. He’d been wrong about so many things, least of which was how wrong it would feel to cut them out of his life for the sake of his father’s very insensitive remarks. And he could recognize that about himself. Time would tell when it came to seeing whether or not he was too proud to say the right things to be a part of things again. George was the first step, though. He’d been closest in age to the twins, and though they’d had their own little language and built in playmates, though they were polar opposites, he loved them dearly. And every time he spoke, every time he knew he hurt George, it hurt him too. He was proud of his twin brothers, who’d thumbed their noses to the establishment and built their own kind of success. He didn’t have their kind of talent. His talent was rules and knowledge and the liberal bloody use of italics. (All these things running stream-of-consciousness, half-aware, as he stared moodily into his mug and waited for his brother to arrive.) He probably shouldn’t have showed up 20 minutes early. George, on the other hand, was running late for the exact same reason. It was uncomfortable, being nervous. It wasn’t an emotion he did often, the twins normally relishing in being the center of attention, but today George was torn: He was furious with Percy, still. Every time he hadn’t been there grated on him more and more, and while Fred lashed out, George got petulant and sullen to cover the fact up that it hurt. But then there was things like knowing Percy couldn’t actually believe in this Ministry. He got George documents which could have risked his job or his life. What little conversations they’d had since the Ministry had become overtly Purist and supportive of Death Eaters had been more like the old days. He saw glimpses of the Percy he knew. Finally George pushed the door of the Leaky open, hoping that he wasn’t going to regret this. Spotting Percy - which took a few moments since he was looking for red hair and it wasn’t anymore - George made his way over. His usual lopsided grin was replaced with something that sort of felt like a smile but wasn’t quite. “Hey,” George greeted, lifting his wand to tap it to his missing ear and turning it as if he was turning a dial. The hum of the lunch crowd around them faded slightly, the hearing aid letting him focus on sound close by. “This seat taken?” he asked in half-joke, unable to resist giving Percy one more out for them both. Percy looked up with wide eyes, a little shocked that yes this was George standing before him and he made his way halfway to his feet before he knew what he was doing. Everything in him wanted to embrace his brother and ensure that yes, this was him and he was alive. And whole as possible. But he froze halfway there and instead smiled. “Your seat, and your drink.” He slowly sank back into his chair, not really knowing what to do with himself halfway perched and nodded. “Still cold, too. Hey George.” The younger Weasley let himself smile a bit at that, and he tugged the chair beside him out and flopped down, a hand immediately going to the drink. “Thanks.” Idly drawing a line through the condensation as he thought, he finally cocked his head and looked at Percy curiously. It really had been ages since they’d communicated face to face. Part of him wanted to sit here in silence to pressure Percy into speaking up, or apologizing, or something, but the other half that was just relieved he’d shown up at all was too strong. “How long of a lunch do they give you these days?” Now studying him carefully, looking for signs of wear or poor health, Percy could detect little beyond what he imagined were dark circles beneath the eyes of anyone who gave half a thought about their country’s well-being. He continued watching him, ignoring his drink, being more than a little bold in his staring. When George spoke first, he gave a crooked smile. “Technically, salaried employees come and go at will. But I have enough missed lunches built …” That I could spend the day with you. We could walk to your shop and you could show me what you’ve built. That sentence would have been so easily uttered. But he took a drink of his Butterbeer and nodded. “A businessman like you, however …” Then, quickly. “It’s so good to see you, George. I’m --” oh Godric, I’m sorry. “I’m very glad.” Instinctively, George found his lips being tugged into a smile before he straightened a bit. “Yeah…” he started. So good that he hadn’t bothered after… “I’m a bit more lopsided,” he offered instead, gesturing up to his missing ear, his voice that was usually so casual about it to keep others from worrying was edged with a hint of his bitterness. “But I’m still the same old George, you know.” He held back expressing anything else for now. It was good to see him, but it also reminded him of every time Percy hadn’t been there over the past two years. He gripped the glass of his drink tighter. “I can stay for a bit, though. Nice thing about owning said business yourself,” he continued, raising an eyebrow. “ … George.” His brothers were being sacrificed, one body part at a time, to this vigilantism. And he had to do something. The issues with his parents and his older brothers notwithstanding, he loved them. And just like he told Bill, he believed that they all deserved to live. He took a breath. “Of course you’re the same old George. I’m sure you found a way to improve your hearing, despite any spell-damage.” He paused. “I’d like to see what you’ve built.” George clenched his jaw slightly, took a breath and then looked up at Percy. “For my ear? Or in general.” He kept his gaze steady even though his instincts had him wanting to look away. “You’ve been welcome to come by. Any time….” he let the sentence hang pointedly, drumming his fingertips against the glass in his hand. “I thought we were talking about your ear,” he said, brow furrowed. “Did I suddenly say something wrong again?” Percy knew he hadn’t been fair, he knew he’d said things to their father that was hurtful and that his behavior had hurt his brothers -- but he was hurting too. He supposed that it wasn’t something that anybody really wanted to hear, though. Instead of addressing any time he simply smiled. “I would like to.” Eyes narrowing slightly, George finally sighed and reached up to scratch his head. “Here,” he said and after a moment’s hesitation, he brought a hand over to pop the magical hearing aid from the scar on the side of his head. The left side of the Leaky sounded suddenly as if he was hearing it from under water, and he handed the little device over. “It’s… well, not technically from Mungo’s but it’s Mungo’s… brand.” Going to St. Mungo’s to ask for a hearing aid for a vigilante injury would have landed him in a tough spot. Thank Merlin for Mrs. Tonks. He was speaking a bit louder now without meaning to, and couldn’t help but shoot his brother a flash of his usual proud grin. “With a few Weasley-patented tweaks.” Instinctively, he leaned closer, letting his chair slide a mite closer to George. “Genius.” Those slight differences in speech patterns were noticed and catalogued. Percy, carefully considering the device in his hand, turned back to George with a crooked grin. “How many yards of clearance do you have on it and how charm-piercing is it?” Because those were things he thought his brothers would consider - how far to hear, how to get through a muffliato. Smirking, George took a sip of his drink, falling into his habit of playing coy about their products. “Still working on the charm-piercing bit - Mungo’s charms are delicate, can’t mess them up, but for now it’s got all the capabilities of our Extendable Ears plus I can focus it where I want in any given room. Can hear Mum down the stairs two floors from our old room back at the Burrow-” but don’t tell her that. He cut himself off and shrugged. “Not that I’m going to let her know that.” “Impressive.” I’m sure it’s good for vigilant … He took a breath and offered it back to George, moving his hand closer to his brother. “I know you’ll get it worked out here soon.” It was also a product that could definitely help him at the Ministry. His voice dipped slightly. “Perhaps I ought to come and buy a few Extendable Ears. After hours, of course.” Taking a moment to pop the aid back into his ear, George adjusted it accordingly and nodded before slumping back in his chair, lifting a hand a bit to gesture helplessly. “Is there a reason you can’t just come by, Perce?” he let himself ask, the exhaustion from dancing around it all suddenly written all over his face as he let down his guard. “Lunch is great and all, but it would have been nice for you to check in you know, after -” He jabbed toward his ear with a ‘this’ expression on his face. “Or ever?” He wilted, letting his face sag into his hand where thumb and forefinger massaged the bridge of his nose. “It’d be really nice that people wouldn’t think I was spying on what they were saying, sitting right next to the Minister’s office.” As far as checking in … ? “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, George. And I’m sorry that I was too much of a coward to reach out to you after everything I said to dad.” He turned and looked at him out of the corner of his eye -- exhausted, bewildered, unsure of anything at all. “I’m scared to death that I'm going to lose my brothers, one way or the other.” George’s jaw clenched hard now and he stared at the table. “We’ve been right here this whole bloody time, though, that’s the thing. I know you and Dad-” He waved his hand. “You’re both angry, whatever, but you walked away. Stayed away. Changed your hair.” He shifted in his seat to lean forward and lower his voice. “And if you think you can lecture us about being vigilantes when you’re sitting here talking about spying on the Minister?” His nostrils flared. He missed Percy. He thought he was ready for this, but now that they were actually confronting things, the worst came bubbling up the back of his throat. “If you’re so scared of losing us then fucking work with us, you idiot.” It was hard to watch George speak truth to him. It was a hard truth to hear. It was hard, but he kept eye contact and didn’t flinch. And maybe this was his lesson? That sometimes people needed to feel heard and for the moment, it didn’t particularly matter why he was upset or what made him change his hair and cut off contact from his entire family. “It was the wrong choice,” he admitted finally. “It was the wrong choice and I have to live with it. I don’t really know how to find my way back now.” His voice grew firm. “I’m not a vigilante.” George’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, let’s not discuss the latter here in the Leaky, but if you’re actually thinking about doing the stuff you’ve said and want help doing it maybe” The gesturing of his hands became melodramatic as he pointed at his brother with a finger, then rested his chin in hand, elbow propped on the tabletop. “- you should consider rethinking that last bit.” “I’m glad you know it was the wrong choice. We’re not the Blacks, Perce, you’re not disowned, you can come back any time you want and yet you don’t.” George’s face darkened. “You realise how that looks, right? To all of us? You’re fine still being friends with all our friends but no, not your family, we ask just too damn much, apparently.” “ -- we’ll discuss that later,” Percy agreed, lips now falling into a thin, transparent line. He wanted to be a part of the family again, but there were -- “Look, George. It’s complicated. It isn’t as simple as walking back in again and apologizing, then picking up like nothing ever happened. Dad has to apologize and then maybe we can spend some time talking it out. It isn’t like I can walk in and segregate myself based on who I am going to talk to.” He paused. “Besides, it seems like you are all doing perfectly fine in the meantime. Maybe I really was the odd man out. I’m not cut from the same cloth.” George was generally the more even-tempered twin. He was pretty laid back, it took a lot to rile him up. But right now he could feel himself just getting more and more furious by the minute. “That’s bullshit and you know it,” he snapped, nearly cutting Percy off. “Dad should apologize, yeah, and so should you, yeah, but that means somehow that you just stop talking to the rest of us? That you’re no longer a Weasley?” George stood up suddenly, chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Does THIS look like I’m doing fine?!” he jabbed at his missing ear, the absolute necessity of not making a scene the only thing holding him back from shouting. “And if it’s my head next time? Things being ‘complicated’ is really that good of a reason to not visit me? Or Dad when he nearly died? Or mum on her birthday or anythi-” Feeling his throat close with emotion the prankster rarely ever let himself express, George stopped. Shook his head, tried to regain his composure. “No one’s fine right now, Percy. You’d know that if you’d been here.” George moved to push in his chair. “Let me know when you’re willing to show up for more than ‘lunch’, I think I’m done.” Rising suddenly, hyper aware of the blank looks and stares they were now receiving, Percy dropped a handful of Sickles onto the table and reached for his brother’s arm. He held him tightly by the wrist and Apparated them both to a less conspicuous location -- his flat. In his own space where he could yell all he wanted. Percy’s eyes were stupidly wet and he swiped at them, angrily daring tears to re-form before he could get out what he needed to get out. (Somewhere behind them, a very bewildered French bulldog gave a single yip of greeting before freezing in the doorway, unsure of her next move.) “Here. Now you have full license to tear into me for everything I’ve done to you, George. I know you’re not fine and I know it was because you were trying to help Harry, that you were listening to Dumbledore and following along with whatever he was trying to get you to do because of the Order, but what does losing body parts get you. Where is Harry and what is he doing? Why won’t you try to do something to oppose the Death Eaters in the Ministry as a legitimate businessman in Diagon Alley? Why?” He took a deep breath, settled his shaking hands into fists and continued, measure lost to his voice. His cheeks were red. “I’m living on the edge of a knife. One wrong move and who knows what happens -- another Death Eater in the Minister’s office, maybe. Yaxley gave me a nice pounding the day they all killed Minister Scrimgeour, and I hoo -- whatever. I could have said fuck off to the entire establishment but I didn’t, because I want to do well. Not just for me, but for England. For us, even. You’ve proved a Weasley can make it in business, now I can prove that a Weasley can make it in government. And George, Dad was wrong. Dad wanted me gone. He said things, I said things, and I left because my entire life you’ve all made me the butt of your joke. And I was done laughing. This breaks my heart and I want to be a part of the family, I want to protect my brothers and my sister, I want to console my mother and love my father. But you can’t tell me that it’s as fucking easy as walking back with my tail between my legs, letting the ginge go free and taking my licks.” George’s eyes were wide with the sudden change in scenery and they stayed that way through Percy’s tirade, Face feeling hot and having to blink back some moisture in his own eyes, he listened, as best he could, and when it seemed Percy was done, George stood a bit straighter, determined to keep it together. “I’d love to tell you all about what we’re doing with the business to oppose Death Eaters, or what Harry’s up to or any of it but I can’t because you work for them. Even if you change addresses and help sometimes, you still work for them, so you can’t know what we’re doing.” He could have gone on about why being a lone Ministry spy was even more dangerous than being an Order member, but he swallowed, too cut by the rest of his brother’s words. “This is so stupid!” He resisted the urge to shove Percy in the shoulders, not sure what else to do with his hands. “Don’t turn you and Dad being idiots to each other into the rest of us never caring! Stop assuming the rest of us agreed with him! Stop assuming he doesn’t regret anything he said!” George tossed up his arms to the side instead finally. “There’s a bloody WAR ON, Percy, you really think that Fred and my teasing means we don’t want you around?!” “For the last bloody time, George. I don’t work for them! I work for the Ministry. That’s a hard stop and a difference that you’re going to have to get through your head. I wouldn’t put myself at risk for getting you documents, changing addresses and leaking information through Hooter otherwise, so stop saying I work for Death Eaters. I oppose them with everything I am!” Percy wanted his words to be measured but that was more of a bellow, sending the poor little dog scampering back into the recesses of the flat, probably to hide beneath the bed. “It’s stupid, you’re right. It’s all stupid.” But with George’s last words, his voice broke. And unable to utter what he wanted to say and what he didn’t know how to form, he instead flung his arms around his brother’s shoulders and held him as tightly as he could. George was warm and vital and real, and in his flat having this out with him, not because he was angry (he obviously was) but because he cared (and seeing this made all the difference). And if Percy’s own shoulders shook slightly with tears, he would probably deny it later. Any response to Percy’s words died in George’s throat when he felt the embrace and there was a moment where he stood there dumbly, arms still suspended awkwardly from where he’d been gesturing. Then he was nearly forgetting what they had been arguing over, George reached up to grip Percy back, a firm pat to the taller man’s shoulder and letting out a shaky sigh. “Bloody hell…” He almost laughed, a wave of some sort of relief washing over him. He was still angry, he still had a lot of thoughts about how Percy was doing things, but George wasn’t in the frame of mind to push him away. Not after lamenting about how distant he’d been for the better part of two years. Finally, he spoke up, voice hoarse. “...... you know, if you’d just told us you wanted to be a spy we’d have thought you were a lot cooler growing up.” Percy laughed hoarsely, slowly disengaging his grip on George to pull back into something that was a bit more pale and a lot more sheepish. He smiled crookedly and finally spoke. “Look, I know this isn’t over. But it’s a start, isn’t it?” Please let it be a start. Studying his brother’s face for a long moment, a small hesitant smile tugged at George’s lips and he nodded. “A start,” he echoed, giving Percy’s shoulder a pat and then a small brotherly shove. “Look… we can’t… I know you don’t work for the bad guys, but you work Bad Guy Adjacent with the way they’re hiring. I can’t tell you a lot. And you know they could polyjuice you or Imperius you or anything at any moment, right? So yeah.” Taking a breath and letting it out heavily, George shrugged. “It’s dangerous, Perce.” Talking about opposing the Death Eaters was at least less… emotionally heavy. It was something they could still agree on, it looked like. “Maybe not duelling the Lestranges at King’s Cross dangerous, but…” “I know. I could be subject to Legilimency at any time. I don’t doubt some of them would also like to resort to weekly Veritaserum checks, so. Don’t tell me a lot but …” He took a deep breath and focused on the flitting beat of his heart. My brother dueled the fucking Lestranges. “Tell me when I can help or when I can try to keep you safe? Because …” He was losing the words again. He sat down hard on his soft and finally, the little French bulldog came trotting up. She jumped next to him and laid her chin in his lap. He scratched her ears thoughtfully. “Duelling the Lestranges is probably, like. The most dangerous thing you can do.” George watched the little dog, his smile still tired even as he boasted. “Yeah, well, just another Thursday for Fred and I, you know,” he teased, stretching to make his point about how dull it’d been. Then more seriously: “It wasn’t our first choice, believe me.” He paused. “Speaking of Fred, I should probably get back before he wonders what kind of lunch this turned into.” Eyeing Percy carefully, George pressed his lips together before continuing. “It’s been good to see you, though. To… talk.” Percy gave a wide-eyed nod. He didn’t need to know anything else about duelling the Lestranges, other than his brothers survived it. All he needed was Yaxley or even Umbridge digging in his head. So he moved along to the next subject. “Same. Not to Fred, but to. You know. My job.” He smiled tentatively, placing Magdalena back on the sofa before he turned back to his brother. “Agreed. I want to do it again. Soon, okay?” George nodded, despite everything, and despite that he’d have to explain all of this to Fred. That’d be unpleasant. “Yeah. Soon. Be careful? With all the Bad Guys.” He wasn’t sure what else to do, so he reached out to give Percy’s shoulder another squeeze before lifting his wand to apparate. Percy’s hand landed on his brother’s and he squeezed back, nodding. “Same to you. Watch out for the Lestranges,” he said, a little breathless, then stepped back and nodded. When George had gone, he turned to Magdalena who was watching the proceedings with a quizzical expression. “That’s your Uncle George,” he said quickly, offering her shoulders a scratch. Percy straightened his tie and used his wand to smooth his hair. With one more pet, he too raised his wand and was gone. |