Percy Weasley (sentimentalist) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-11-20 12:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | percy weasley |
WHO: Percy Weasley
WHEN: Shortly after his Boggart-Box arrives
WHERE: The kitchen
SUMMARY: Percy v Boggart show-down
WARNINGS: Ummmmm father angst and some gross description? :)
Anonymous boxes truly never managed to bode well in this day and age. The last; eyes. Now this? Percy could hardly know. It could be a collection of shrunken heads or a box full of digits. But the truth was, he was expecting a box. He’d ordered a broom-servicing kit from Brazil for Oliver and he suspected trans-Atlantic flight could necessitate a box of the magnitude which sat on his sleek little kitchen table. And it was easy, convincing himself that this was what was contained in the box. It must have smelled off, due to its travel. Magdalena and Ghost had fled the room as soon as the box arrived. Well, it would be a nice surprise for Oliver. He’d made it home from the office early enough to have dinner on the stove, even. In final consideration of where best to pry the thing open, he noticed a small envelope taped to the side of the box. He reached toward it, prepared to pocket the receipt, and let his hand rest on the corner. As soon as he made contact, the envelope came fluttering down, knocked off by the enraged thumping that began. The box fell apart easily and Percy stumbled back as the dark cloud within the box grew and eventually materialized. It was a tall, thin redheaded man. He looked not unlike Percy. Not unlike how he’d look himself in 20 years. But this man, pale and threadbare, stared at him through dead eyes and a blasted face. Blood dripped from his nose and down his arms from gashes in his flesh that could have only come from snake bites. He lost his feet in the attempt to get away from the figure of his father, Arthur Weasley. “You selfish little boy,” the figure said. “You do not know love. You only know how to disappoint.” Now against a wall, he could cower. Perhaps it would go away? His father. Dead. “ … how to betray. How to abandon. You are not worthy of half the consideration you think you’re due.” His father, speaking the words he’d been so frightened to hear. That visage, so grisly and gormless, with the flesh sagging off the bone. “I never loved you.” Percy stopped, grasped his wand in his sleeve. Now that was patently false. Arthur Weasley had loved his son and for all the ire, for all the words between them, Percy loved his father. Desperately. And there was nothing dead about Arthur … He stood abruptly, eyes narrowed at the figure. Though still pale, still frightened, he had a better handle on his own reaction. This wasn’t his father, after all. This was a Godric-damned boggart. He flourished his wand. “Riddikulus!” Arthur – dead, angry, decaying Arthur – suddenly became a wind-up toy monkey, clanging its symbols together. And Percy, summoning the nearest tea tin, dumped the thing inside. |