As the words were spoken, Percy's features shifted into a stillness that some would mistakenly believe to be relaxation. Some of his Muggleborn friends had commented that it appeared 'robotic' at times, whatever the word meant. Something about automatons.
It was as if his brain shut down completely, forcing his body to rely on automatic actions that had never failed him. He stood up slowly, maintaining balance of his cup and saucer as he reached down to pick up the set that Ron had placed on the table. Rising back up, he began walking equally slowly toward the kitchen.
...murdered...saw her die...witch who killed her...
Slowly, tendrils of memory seeped back into his consciousness. A pretty girl in Ravenclaw colours asking to study together. A stolen kiss in an abandoned classroom interrupted by a nosy little sister. Heartfelt letters written with enthusiastic flair. A smile shared across the platform at 9 3/4. A dance amid the flurry of the Yule Ball. A supportive hand on his shoulder when he was terrified he would lose his job after Mr. Crouch had died. A loving hug when he had nowhere else to go after leaving the Burrow. A ring in a window that he imagined he would buy some day.
The sight of dark, curly hair on an Infirmary bed, awaiting the cure for her Basilisk paralysis. Tears of pain after an argument. Eyes filled with despair and betrayal. A name on a list of witches to be 'questioned'. An owl with only a single word - Run.
He had only just reached the doorway to the kitchen when his hands began to tremble and emotions began to take over. The cups of tea were thrown with great ferocity at the wall, and his rage unquenched, he swept off everything on the kitchen counter - from teapot to kettle to sugar caniser - watching and hearing it all shatter upon the ground in a satisfying roar.
His legs buckled beneath him, landing him on the floor, his hands scrabbling the surface for something - something to throw, something to hold on to. Something that could stop the pain.