Welcome to a world of weariness. What's that, you say? Go update your other stories? I really am trying, but though they do have planned plots, the chapters won't write right now. In the meantime, feast your feels on this.

Disclaimer: I do not own nor profit off of Harry Potter and company, nor do I so claim.

-x-

Everything was quiet. That was Percy's first thought in the hours after the funeral. He couldn't remember the number of times he'd once shouted, begged, cajoled for quiet before. Now, he felt like begging someone to speak.

Quiet was abnormal. Quiet meant there was something deeply wrong in the Burrow. Fred and George were sitting dully on the couch, Ginny leaning into one of their sides without garnering a hint of a reaction. Ron was almost trembling, ensconced on Percy's lap, something he hadn't done with their parents for months now. Even Bill and Charlie were there, but somehow not. Percy found himself glancing at the taller figures of his older brothers- for comfort, maybe, for direction, for what next what do we do- but they were in their own reality, murmuring quietly to each other, hopefully trying to figure something out.

Figure this out.

Mum was dead.

The thought brought a lump back to Percy's throat and he shut his eyes, curling tighter around Ron's warm form, almost too big to fit on his lap anymore. Their dad had been tinkering in the shed on that Anglia again, that stupid illegal car, and their mother had gone in for a habitual scolding. Something, obviously, had gone wrong and the vehicle exploded. The Aurors hadn't been clear on the specifics, but Percy figured how didn't matter. He'd seen the aftermath. When he'd run to the shed, he'd anticipated finding his parents sooty and annoyed, but whole, safe. They were talented, after all, they were magic, and who dies from a little explosion? Fred and George might have survived a hundred of them.

But Mum was in large, messy pieces, and Dad wasn't much better.

Percy had slammed the door shut, aware of his siblings just on his heels. As calmly as his shaking voice could manage, he'd told Fred, if he had been Fred, to floo St. Mungo's. The addressed twin hadn't mouthed off for once, maybe taking in Percy's tone, maybe just the mention of St. Mungo's, but whatever it was, Percy could only spare a silent flash of gratitude before ordering his other siblings out. Out. That had brought up the usual protests, but Percy did not have time to argue and one quiet, furious repetition of the demand had them turning tail.

Leaving him alone.

He'd broken the rules, then, whipping out his wand and running inside, trying not to look at the mess- at his Mum- and focused on his father. His still breathing father. He'd patched up Fred and George by hand after some of their stupider ideas, sometimes by wand after they'd joined the Quidditch team, but this was so far beyond-

Percy had squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and breathed in the sharp tang of blood and done what he could.

His hands were shaking, and a part of him was furious rather than scared, and he clung to the anger, because at least the anger let him act.

Your stupid obsession made you break the law and look what it's done, Percy had thought, trying to stop the bleeding from what had once been a leg, Why doesn't anyone in this family understand there are rules, laws for a reason? Why didn't you- But even the anger was beginning to cloud, eyes blurring with unshed tears, and Percy angrily wiped them away on his arm, careful not to get blood in his eyes, and pushed on. Just keep on, he'd told himself then, pushing back fury and fear alike, keep on.

When the healers finally, finally made it, they'd praised his efforts, told him his father wouldn't have had a chance at all without him, promised to clear up the use of magic while underage just this once, and they were all so calm as they bustled around, a sort of tranquil chaos, that Percy had been able to let go of his father, settling back on his haunches among the mess, and try to breathe. The assistants cooed and soothed at him, but the words were meaningless. Eventually, they pulled him from the room and told him to go wash up.

Numbly, he'd obeyed, walking back to the house. He didn't see Ron, or Ginny- at least those two were kept away from it all- but Fred and George were lingering in the shadows at the top of the stairs, watching as their home was invaded with healers and Aurors, law and medical personnel moving purposefully through. Their eyes, flickering across the sea of activity, focused on Percy with a pleading, lost look they hadn't given him since they were little. Percy found himself shaking his head, firmly, and pointing back up the stairs, remembering belatedly that his arms were still covered in their dad's blood and lowering the arm, too late.

Still, the twins obeyed, vanishing back into the room they shared with Ron.

Twice in as many hours, Percy had thought dazedly, moving to the kitchen sink, This must be the end of days.

It felt like it.

The days that came after had been a surreal flurry of family members and well-wishers coming out of the woodwork, but Bill and Charlie had shown up, and Percy had gratefully passed control back into their hands. They were his big brothers, and they were here to take care of things, and part of Percy wanted to sob with relief, but he couldn't let go that much, not with Ron in his lap and the twins shooting him looks like he'd vanish from their lives next and Ginny so quiet and subdued.

His big brothers were here, but he was still a big brother himself.

So he watched them all, carefully, still holding Ron a little too tightly, though the twelve year old didn't seem to mind for once, returning the embrace with hands clutching the front of Percy's somber dress robes. It was awful and mind-boggling and heart-wrenching but it wasn't completely hopeless.

Mum was dead, but Dad might wake up.

Despite himself, Percy thought that was a little unfair. He could never choose between his parents, but he also couldn't help but feel flashes of the fury licking his insides when he knew it was all Dad's fault. Dad couldn't leave well enough alone, and had to go breaking the law and mucking about over some ridiculous obsession with muggles, of all things- the heat in his face and eyes snapped Percy out of it. He hadn't cried in front of the littler kids yet, and he wasn't going to.

"Percy," a hand landed on his shoulder, and Percy looked up and up at Bill's grave expression, "Can we talk?"

"Yeah," Percy replied, and was amazed at how steady his voice came out. He gently leveraged Ron off of himself and onto the twin not being leaned on by Ginny. Bill and Charlie watched quietly, and followed him into the kitchen.

"We've worked it out," were the first words out of Charlie's mouth, and Percy's heart leaped for just a second before the worried look on their faces registered, "And together we can keep you guys going to Hogwarts and fed- since our family at least owns the land here. But, we're going to have to," he winced, "pop in and out rather than be here all the time if we go that route. That would leave a lot of responsibility on your shoulders, Percy, and we'd really rather not do that. But the other option…" Charlie glanced at Bill nervously, and was plainly relieved when the oldest took over.

"Some of our aunts and uncles are willing to take you in, but," Bill lowered his already hushed voice, "they couldn't handle all of you. We spoke to them during the wake, and even if we sent them the money to take care of you, you'd still be split up."

"You'd be able to visit each other, of course," Charlie butted in, looking almost scared of Percy, and that fear made Percy unclench fists he didn't remember making and take a deep breath, "You just would be living separately."

His first instinct was a big, fat, solid No way in hell, but Percy forced himself to think it through. Great Aunt Muriel would likely be taking Ginny, she'd always been overly fond of the only daughter in this branch, and he could see Uncle Parsifal snatch up the twins. He'd probably end up with Aunt Sorrel, and he didn't know exactly who would take in Ron, but there were options there. He knew it'd be easier on him, and it might even benefit the others, to have some parental figure constantly there, but…

Ron had held onto his robes so tightly. The twins had pinned him with that look.

Ginny was so quiet.

Looked like his first instinct was winning out. "No," Percy said, firmly, feeling a sliver of fear slide and set into his heart even as he set himself on this path, "We're staying together. I can handle it." Can I? Some part of him whispered dryly, I didn't know I was so certain. "I've kept house before when-" he stumbled over his sentence, coming to a faltering end, "Before."

Bill's hand was on his shoulder then, squeezing, and they looked so grateful and Percy wondered if this was what his face had looked like when his brothers had first come back and taken over. He hadn't thought through the fact that Charlie was just three years older than him, though Bill had him for six. He'd known they were grieving, too, but he'd hoped, he'd wanted them to be able to handle it better than he could. This felt a little like they were running away.

That wasn't going to help him, though, and Percy shook the thought away. Their jobs were out of the country and Charlie had just started at a dragon preserve in Romania, and the pay was, well it was better than what they'd get if they took jobs in the Ministry. Percy knew, too, that if Bill came and took a desk job, he'd make less than as a roaming curse breaker for Gringotts. And now, they suddenly had to pay for the upkeep of five younger siblings on top of themselves.

It was alright; they'd dealt with worse financial situations; Percy just wondered if he could hold together everything else.

"You always were the responsible one," Bill was ruffling his hair, sadly, "You know if it's too much you can always floo Aunt Muriel, or Mr. Diggory," His face took on a pinched look as he added, "Or Mr. Lovegood, if you really must."

"Only if you really must," Charlie emphasized, a weak smile breaking out over his face and dying when Percy couldn't return it, "We can help make sure everything's stocked up and-" now Charlie was stumbling over his words, "-clean before we go."

No one had been in the shed since Percy gave over lead to the healers and Aurors, but he knew most of the mess had been cleared away and the automobile parts taken for investigation. All that was left was the blood. They'd kept him quite up to date on what was going on, in the interests of avoiding conflict over movement of- the body.

He hadn't appreciated it at the time.

"It's just stains left," he said quietly, "If you could look after the others upstairs, I can deal with it." Bill looked ready to protest, but Percy continued, more firmly, "It's not something that needs more people seeing it."

Not exactly convinced, but willing to compromise at the steely look in Percy's eyes, Bill sent Charlie to distract the younger Weasleys and tromped off towards the shed, "I'm not leaving you in there alone."

Percy nodded acquiescence and they set off to silently scrub the horror out of their shed. He heard Bill's steps falter when the door was open and he was going to reiterate his offer to do it alone, but then they picked up behind him again and the metal bucket was set on a worktable with a quiet ring of metal on metal. The stains had been left because the magic of the explosion had made them somewhat… resistant to cleaning spells. The Aurors had taken pictures of the scene, then meant to vanish the… stains… and nothing had happened. Scraping at the bl- stains removed them but Aurors didn't have to time to hang around and scrape the drying stains from some poor family's backyard shed. The Weasleys didn't really have the influence for that kind of sympathy.

Some of the festering resentment towards his father for never trying to get a better job than Misuse of Muggle Artifacts slid in and joined the quiet rumble that sounded like a familiar Ford Anglia.

Without realizing it, he'd already dunked his rag in the hot, sudsy water and begun to scrub the old wood of the floor. He paused for a moment when it registered, looking down at the blo- at the stains, but forcefully returned his hands to the task. Funneling the fear and the grief into anger had helped him before, after all. "He'd have never had a chance if it weren't for you, child," the emergency Healer had said, all in a rush, looking far too distracted by his current task of continuing that chance to be lying, "He will live yet." His dad was still alive, if comatose. And he didn't even know if this part of the mess was his or… or hers.

Suddenly, he felt his eyes grow hot with tears, saw the floor blurring before him as he scrubbed. And why not? It was just him, Bill, and the stains now. Who did he have to stay strong for? Guiltily, he hoped Bill would notice his growing tears and pull him close. That was all he would need to finally, finally break down.

Instead, he heard a breathy laugh, and looked up to a sight that shocked him away from his own breakdown. Bill had one hand to his forehead, a wet rag hanging limply from the other and tears tracking down his cheeks. "Sorry Perce," he said, choked, wiping at the tears with an arm, "God, it seems like you're the only one keeping it together."

Percy wasn't sure quite what to do. He'd never… Well, he'd seen Bill cry from joy before, and he'd cried at the burial, but he'd never been the only one there to do anything about it. His throat still felt scratchy, a lump that had formed days ago and remained stubbornly in place solidifying as he reached a tentative hand out for Bill's shoulder. His brother practically collapsed into him at the touch, and Percy found himself holding yet another grief stricken Weasley, this time on the stained floor of the shed, surrounded by a very good reason to cry.

Well, this is backwards, Percy mused, wavering on the fine line between bitterness and hysteria. Firmly, he chopped down on the thought, reminding himself that everyone had lost Mum and if they all thought he was holding up better than he was… well, whose fault was that but his own?

Still, it seemed resentment almost constantly simmered quietly beneath his skin nowadays and it wasn't a fun experience. Taking a deep breath, Percy tried to enfold a little more of Bill in his arms. Percy may have hit a growth spurt, but it didn't seem to be the one everyone else in his family had aimed at. At least Percy had gotten some height. Thank the heavens the twins hadn't hit theirs yet. They would never listen to him again. Thoughts spinning away from the situation with a little bit of relief, Percy politely pretended nothing had happened when Bill had pulled himself together again and they returned to their gruesome task. It felt longer and shorter than it was, and, all in all, in terms of actual labor it wasn't so bad. Probably because the sudden heat of it had kept most of the mess contained in the pieces rather than as spilt blood.

Percy shook the thought with an unavoidable tremor of horror and added a tinge of nausea to his current emotional checklist.

"Alright, that's taken care of," he whispered, sitting back on his haunches and running through everything else that needed to be done, or spoken about, and feeling the sick feeling in his stomach get a little stronger.

"Yes," Bill said, similarly subdued for a moment before he appeared to shake himself and stand, clapping Percy on the shoulder, "Let's go in and get some rest before tomorrow hits us like a train, yeah?" There was so much to do yet. Swallowing, Percy fought down the irrational urge to get everything done just then, to just get it over with and done, and nodded, following Bill back into the house and up the stairs, splitting off at the hallway. Bill and Charlie were sleeping in their parents' room while they were there, in the interests of not adding the stress of crowding back together into their siblings' previously shared rooms onto the pile. This had raised mixed feelings in the younger Weasleys, and while Percy didn't mind it, he'd caught the twins' blank expressions tinged with something angrier when the topic was brought up. Not to mention Ginny's minor tantrum after that supper. That, however, had come up and been dealt with. She'd cried it out and Bill had explained to her satisfaction – or at least so the sobbing went down to a trickle and stopped. Fred and George festering…? More worrisome.

With this thought in mind, Percy took his hand off the door to his room and turned around with a quiet sigh. Doors stayed open in the Weasley household unless one really wanted some privacy or had to change while there were visitors in the house, so Percy didn't wake Ron or Ginny when he poked his head in to check on them. He'd been surprised they weren't having trouble sleeping, but he supposed they were tired out enough from the sheer emotional strain of the situation to sleep soundly. One of the twins, however, was awake. Wide awake.

Percy had eased past the doorframe and seen one tuft of red hair on a pillow just before a voice croaked from beside him, "'lo, Percy," and made him jump right back from the door. "Spying on us in our sleep?" Fred - and it was Fred; now that he wasn't frightened out of his skin, he could see that darker blotch of freckles on the side of his nose – had his face nestled in his hands, elbows on his knees, and shadows beneath his eyes that were emphasized in the low light, hair askew and face pale, "We can't get up to mischief while we're unconscious; promise."

He couldn't help but point it out. "Only George is sleeping."

A finger dropped down to point at him, "There is that."

Percy's arms crossed instinctively over his chest, "Explain."

"Well, what are you doing up?" Fred threw back at him. It was, at least, a valid accusation, and Percy shrugged, consciously forcing his arms to uncross and entering the room before sinking down to sit beside Fred against the wall. If Fred wanted help, he'd explain. If it was a one-time occurrence, he'd probably just tell Percy to bugger off and Percy would have to respond in kind, so Percy would rather be comfortable first if it devolved into some sort of half aware pissing contest.

The silence stretched on and Fred fidgeted beside him. Percy was the only one in the family with any sense of patience so he wasn't surprised when Fred broke first.

"It's not every night. Just the first night after- after it happened and now, with the funeral, and Uncle Parsifal was talking…" Fred trailed off, uncertain, and rearranged himself to pull his knees up to his chest, voice small, "What's going to happen to us?"

"Ah." So it wasn't about the sleeping arrangements, just yet. Maybe Percy was a tiny, little bit to blame for not hashing out the next steps with the kids, but in his defense, he hadn't thought they were thinking about it. Besides, it had only been set in stone today. Well, at least that sick feeling was more than happy about the realization as it settled further into his guts. "None of us are going anywhere. Bill and Charlie figure they can take care of the money side of it and…" It felt a little weird to say out loud something like I'll take care of you, but he'd started the sentence so he couldn't just leave it hanging, "And I'll take care of the house." There. Fantastic.

"Oh," Fred said, not sounding quite relieved, but maybe a little less upset. Half a smirk cracked across his face, looking almost painful, "…Really?"

"I will assume you're doubting Bill and Charlie, to save my ego," Percy sniffed, and the smirk seemed a bit more natural. He ruffled Fred's hair as he got up, and added, more carefully, "I can start some tea, if you want…?"

"No, I think I can sleep now," Fred replied, "Though surely nightmares of your future rule will definitely haunt my soul."

"Such a little snot," Percy replied, wonderingly, as if in awe of the sheer snot his brother personified and Fred grunted rudely in reply, still smirking as he got to his feet and climbed to the top bunk. As Percy passed the door, George turned over in his bed, but didn't rouse, giving a snuffling snore that prompted an amused snort from Fred as he settled in. "Good night, rapscallions."

Fred's eyes caught the light eerily as he chorused back, "Night, Percy."

The next morning was a joy to behold. It seemed any unity from the night before had gone flying out the window and hopping down the road to seek its fortune elsewhere, because the breakfast table very quickly devolved from a quiet meal to an outright screaming match.

It started with Bill announcing his departure that day, and Charlie following it up with his own being tomorrow morning.

"Already?" Percy had asked, sounding more alarmed than he'd meant, and his elder brothers had shared a look that set him on edge, "I mean- it's just that the funeral was only yesterday."

"I'll be taking you into the Ministry for a permit for the use of underage magic before I go," Bill had said, as if that made it better, or even explained why they had to leave so quickly, "And Charlie will stock up for the week."

"You're leaving?" Ron's eyes had been wide, and his voice had been stronger than it had been in days. Too bad on the subject matter, though, "What about us?"

Charlie's tone had gentled, "Percy will be here for you while we're at work, but we'll pop in when we can."

Of course, Ron had not been happy that Percy would be left in charge, and Ginny and George had soon joined in the protests. Fred had, oddly, refrained from adding to the chorus line as the argument had devolved into throwing about accusations of running away, to the elder Weasleys and of being unreasonable, to the younger. Percy would admit that he hadn't exactly been entirely helpful, wanting more of an explanation than Bill and Charlie could provide in between fending off the tag team of George, Ginny, and Ron and feeling more than a little insulted and hurt at the sheer amount of protest his younger sibs were putting up. As per usual, when Percy's temper took hold, his tongue ran away with him and the memories bled a fuzzy red until he calmed himself again and had time to look around at whatever damage he'd wrought. However, when he unfogged and found himself on the tip of a snide barb about the quality of Gryffindor courage, he bit his tongue with a surge of will power and sat back down, having half-stood at some point during the volume gradation from the pitter patter of mice to the full on shouting that was happening now. He could vaguely recall saying something cruel about having himself in charge being better than dumping them on Mum's gravestone and hoping for the best and felt familiar sickness gradually replace the fury that had lit in his belly. The rest of the family was still shouting around him, though, so… perhaps his own remarks had been unnoticed by the rest in the onslaught of their own voices? Still, Percy let his head drop into his hands as the situation escalated around him and Fred, across the table from him, seemed to be winding up like a clockwork bomb, ears turning red and knuckles white.

Finally, it seemed to come to a head for the boy. "Shut up," Fred said, an angry flush across his face from ear to ear, and when the argument continued, he stood and threw his plate to the ground with a shattering crash as his voice soared upward into a shriek, "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Ron turned on him with his usual tact and hair trigger reactions, tears shining above red cheeks, "No, you shut up!"

"No!" Fred stomped a foot down on the plate shards, and the others jumped as the ceramic pieces cracked further, probably into his foot from the looks of it, "Mum is dead and you're all being twits and it's not helping!" A moment of silence passed, and tears welled in his eyes as he sat back down with thump and a quiet, ruined, "And now my foot hurts."

"Alright…" Percy said slowly, standing and pulling once, agitatedly at an earlobe, as he approached Fred like a wild animal, but in the end, thought better of it. Just because Fred hadn't spoken up didn't mean he didn't share the younger Weasleys' feelings about Percy right now, "Charlie, you're going to take care of that foot while Bill and I go to the Ministry and everyone else cools down. …I think we can assume all of us said something stupid and hurtful we didn't mean, but I don't think we're ready to hug and make up just yet, so please, scatter."

While there was clearly fuming going on, a bit of embarrassed shame had crept in with bells on, and Ginny and Ron fled upstairs to their separate rooms to sulk as George plopped himself angrily at his twin's side. Charlie had seen the wisdom in not leaving a wound like Fred's foot untreated for long and was stiffly approaching the twins when Bill huffed.

"I thought I was too busy running away to help," Bill shot at him, clearly remembering more of the argument than Percy did. Not that he didn't agree with the general gist of that.

"You know, it's actually a bit hazy for me, but I can go without you if you're stuck in a snit," Percy snapped back as his temper flared at the reminder and he went for the Floo powder, managing to shakily untie the small bag before Bill followed him, running a hand through his hair as he approached his younger brother.

"We need to go through the main atrium rather than flooing to the department now that Dad's… technically not an employee anymore," he said, instead of starting some mutual apologizing or renewing the debate, and Percy knew it was as much of a truce as he ever got from his brothers.

"Got it," he replied shortly, as neutrally as he could, and Bill nodded vaguely in acknowledgement before they were whipping through the Floo and on their way.

After passing the assistant, Mafalda Hopkirk's efficient identity and schedule check, they were let into the head's office. Priscilla Selwyn, the official in charge of the department, was an unpleasant-seeming woman with a heart shaped face and strawberry blond hair streaked silver that was pulled back too tightly into a bun. Her robes were crisply pressed and the style stank of old money, but she moved with an efficiency that spoke of pride in her job in spite of her obvious contempt for the two bedraggled Weasleys in her office, and Percy could respect that.

Her subordinates handled most of the day-to-day static of the Department of Regulation of Underage Wizardry, but permits for the use of underage magic had to be approved by the head. It wasn't exactly an uncommon process, anymore, what with the war making orphans and pseudo-orphans here, there, and everywhere, but the tradition held out against the increase in appeals.

"Yes, I'd heard about Arthur," she'd murmured in response to their appeal, looking over thin spectacles at them calculatingly before handing over the paperwork. She returned to her own as Percy and Bill filled out the forms with a similarly supplied quill and ink. She'd been polite, thorough, and distant, aside from the initial micro-sneer when they first entered the room, and all in all, Percy felt a tad relieved at the reprieve from the dual sided coin of sympathy and grief with which the funeral had barraged them. They worked quietly and quickly and returned the finished forms without hassle as Madam Selwyn outlined the rules and consequences in a well-practiced monologue that Percy took a few mental notes on. This wasn't a carte blanche permission. Defense spells such as jinxes and hexes were not to be used except, as their title would suggest, in self-defense. Only household spells and some minor healing charms were explicitly approved, but listening closely, one could tell grey area spells that could potentially be used in the management of a household, such as near-jinxes and defense counters, would slip under the radar. Apparition still required a license, obviously, which he couldn't get until next year. All in all, it wouldn't be too hard to avoid overstepping his bounds.

"Thank you, Madam Selwyn," he said with a shallow bow at the threshold, which she received with a sharp nod of her head before distraction overtook her once again.

Bill was shaking his head as they left, "You can't network with a bigoted crone like that, Percy."

Honestly, not everything he did was in context of a goal. Sometimes he wondered if his other siblings remembered he'd been sorted into Gryffindor, too, or if they saw a snake on his robes. "It's called manners, Bill," Percy hissed back, biting his tongue on a sharper reply and rolling his eyes heavenward before going for a more sympathetic explanation than I'm not surprised they're as foreign to you as England, now, "Mum would've wanted me to be polite no matter the person." Well, unless they threatened one of us, and then all rules were off the table and burning in the fireplace.

"Don't go there," Bill warned, and Percy huffed.

"Fine; it's the truth, though."

As it happened, Bill was gone by midday, and Charlie seemed it as he finished packing and then went out to buy necessities for the week. Tensions were still high and he seemed to edge around the other Weasleys in the house while he was there. Additionally, everyone was wonderfully awkward around Percy, who had managed to offend and be offended by both sides.

Charlie received an urgent floo and left that evening.

"I'll only be a floo away," he said hastily as he'd gone, "You know, when I'm not in the middle of the preserve."

"Bye, Charlie," Percy had prompted sardonically when he lingered at the fireplace as if suddenly not sure he was ready to go.

He shook himself, nodded, "Bye," and there he went.

"Supper," Percy decided once the fire died back down, "Come on." They'd been having mostly bland or easy to make foods so far, so Percy had managed to find the locations of almost everything in the kitchen, but tonight he was determined to make an actual meal – no small feat since his mother had ruled the kitchen with an iron fist, cooking both alone and from mental recipes rather than from anything written down. Still, he wasn't completely at a loss. There had been times his mother had, somewhat mysteriously, vanished off to a "quilting circle" that seemed to be all talk and no sew. When Bill and Charlie were around, they'd be "in charge" but Percy was the one who had to make sure everyone got fed, and when they'd flown the coop, Percy had been left with the reins on top of the responsibilities. She'd left instructions, then, but at least he knew enough now to follow a recipe. He was sure they did have actual recipes, somewhere, because during those periods, the recipe was always separate from his mother's notes, on older, yellow parchment in a different hand.

Now, he just had to find them.

"Fred, George, take the middle shelves; Ron, Gin, you're on the lower shelves; I'll take the top. We're looking for a small wooden box. It… might have a rooster carved on the side." When he received blank looks verging on mutinous, Percy found his hands unconsciously on his hips as he demanded, "Do you want a meal tonight or unseasoned chicken and mash?"

They grudgingly hopped to it, and Percy climbed a counter to reach the highest shelves. Only light bickering occurred as paths crossed and hands and legs jostled against one another. George almost knocked Percy to the floor with a near body check in an attempt to avoid stumbling over Ginny once, but that was the worst of it.

"We're not finding anything," Ron groaned, and Ginny took this as her cue to chime in.

"Mum never worked from recipes; are you sure the box is what you think it is?"

George began gloomily, "It's probably a figment-"

"-of your imagination; a flicker from the corner of your eye," Fred continued in a similar tone.

George turned from the current cupboard to an adjacent one with a more thoughtful air, suggesting, "A golden goose for a wild goose chase."

Fred shot back, "A white whale for a vengeful hunt."

"An apple of discord for the fairest of all," George replied.

"That can't count; the myth is all off," Fred argued, but after a pause, retorted, "A will o' the wisp in a foggy bog."

"Are we rhyming now?" George asked.

Their volley continued in the background as they gradually gave up the ghost and abandoned the hunt, prompting Ginny and Ron to break from their task almost immediately when their elder brothers started the precedent. So Percy rolled his eyes pointedly and heaved exaggerated sighs as he continued the search around his unhelpfully bantering siblings, but… Well, he wasn't all that annoyed- he couldn't be that annoyed with the less-than-miserable byplay. Thus, he kept his protests passive-aggressive and quiet, and therefore, nearly missed the box when he finally found it.

"Got it," Percy pulled the box out, interrupting George's increasingly off-topic contributions to whatever it was the twins were doing, and displayed the box for a moment before hopping down from the counter.

"Good, we're starving," Ginny whinged, and Ron nodded loyally.

"We almost asked for that chicken and mash."

"…I won," George added in an aside to Fred, who reared back in mock offense.

"And how do you figure that?" His hand was on his heart, and the two seemed to be gearing up for a truly spectacular bout of bickering. While it was nice to hear his siblings actually engage with one another again, Percy knew one of those rows, real or not, would take more time than they had so Percy quickly attempted to regain control of the situation.

"Why don't you all go…" He cast his net for an activity that would contain them and came up lacking with a lame, "wash up and come help to make dinner?"

"Perce, if you wanted us gone while you reunite with musty parchment, you only had to ask," Fred chimed in, and for just a moment Percy had no idea what he was talking about, until George waggled his eyebrows and looked between Percy and the box. The recipes. Alright. That wasn't the worst thing they'd implied about Percy's bookworm status.

"Out," Percy said, instead of snarking back, and the twins made kissy faces at him as they obeyed, Ron shrugging and saying something about not wanting to help anyway, and Ginny practically fled at the thought of domesticity. He hadn't quite meant to cancel out the previous request but if that's how they took it there was only trouble to be had in correcting the assumption. "It figures," he murmured, poking at the- oh, dear lord it was a puzzle box, "that the only thing to make the twins perk up a little is taking the mickey out of me."

Luckily for Percy's continued sanity, the puzzle was relatively simple, and although he did cut his finger on a hidden edge, the rest of the pieces moved very smoothly afterwards. He hoped he hadn't bled enough to lubricate the thing, but if he had it was lost inside the box's moving parts forever. It popped open with a quiet snick and Percy rifled through the yellowed parchment within with only the slightest trepidation. It was going to be uncomfortable cooking a full dinner for the first time without Mum. Some of the recipes had little history lessons on the back detailing which family members had contributed and how some had been… won in combat? Percy stared at the back of the recipe he was holding and turned it over.

The Zabini Penne Rosa.

Well.

"We're eating stolen intellectual property tonight," he muttered, and got to work. The noodles were a slight bump in the road but he'd substitute long noodles stored maybe a year ago in the pantry and it would probably be fine. Heck, if it went over well with the younger Weasleys, he might scribble down his own recipe for the Weasley Pink Spaghetti and shove it in the box. It was supposed to be more pink than red, right?

Percy tilted his head at the sauce as he considered this point, but decided that it was probably his own preconceptions coloring, if you'll pardon the wording, the pot.

Later, when he was bringing out the main dish to the table, two sets of hands appeared on his shoulder and he barely managed to avoid dropping the bowl, "What?"

"Pasta?" George prompted, evidently willing to throw away his previous snarkiness for food.

"Won't it be just as bland as the usual gruel, gov'nah?" Fred simpered with an affected cockney.

"Our ancestors won this recipe through combat with the Zabini family," Percy informed them with a sniff. His siblings did not seem convinced, so Percy sighed and put down the dish with a thump, "…It's Italian and it'll be fine."

"It's pink," George pointed out, but when Percy levelled a less-than-amused look at him, he amended, "Pink food! My favorite!" Evidently, hunger won out in the emotion smackdown in George's head.

"Pink food is ready!" Fred called up the stairs, and there was a distinct pause before twin sets of feet pounded down and two ginger heads peeked into the dining room.

"It is pink," Ginny agreed, and Ron looked torn between his ever-present ravenous hunger and a need to join in on the entirely unnecessary discussion of how pink the food was.

"Do you want to eat it or frame it for future generations?" Percy asked drily, crossing his arms over his chest defensively, "Sit down."

"Bossy," Fred and George chorused, and Percy longed to rap one with the stirring spoon he was still holding, but he was the mature one here and he had to… Had to… The discussion of how pink the dish was had started up again around him in whispers and Percy retreated to get the veg and all before the twins could provoke him into actual action.

The others seemed to have talked themselves out after a bit, and silence reigned when Percy sat down and everyone began to eat. Sort of. Poking at his food, Percy sighed. "It is pink, isn't it?"

"It looks like worms!" Ron burst out, and the tension abruptly broke as Ginny chimed in with an, "Ew, Ron," and the twins gave shark grins, sensing weakness and adding in their own contributions to grossing Ginny out.

"Intestines?" George asked, while Fred hummed thoughtfully, the two of them suspending a few noodles between their respective forks and inspecting them from below.

"Stretched brain?" Fred suggested, and Ginny made a gagging noise.

"I don't appreciate these jokes," Percy put in mildly, his family quieting, "I'll have you know it was very hard to get this many tentacles on such short notice."

"Tentacles!" His siblings shrieked, most of them with laughter.

A smugly satisfied grin at his siblings and Percy took a sloppy, slurping bite that made Ginny give another little shriek followed by a giggle as the twins and Ron debated what sort of animal the tentacles could have come from.

Normally, Percy wouldn't have given in to the twins' nonsense, but it felt… good. It felt good to be the one making the jokes instead of being the joke. Especially after these past couple of days. Dinner may have been pink and it might not have been a taste the family seemed to particularly love, but it was happier than it had been so far, and Percy went to bed that night with the hope that maybe things were getting a little better.

And, of course, Fred woke him up at one in the morning.

To be fair, Percy didn't think the younger boy had meant to wake him – or at least hadn't decided to yet – but Percy was a fairly light sleeper, and having the hall torch come on as someone lingered in his doorway was enough to bring him blinking blearily to wakefulness.

A squint to make out which twin this was, "…Fred?"

"Yeah, I…" His voice was choked, and he fidgeted in the doorway.

"C'mere," Percy patted the bed, rubbing at his eyes to rid them of sand. Hesitating steps brought Fred closer until he sat down, silhouetted still by the hall light and impossible to read. "What's wrong?"

"I want Mum back," Fred squeaked, before breaking into sobs like a dam had burst.

Percy's first thought was, shit, because he hadn't hugged the twins since they were ten and less crazy, but he was pretty sure there was no other way out of this. So he sat up and pulled Fred into his arms, at an awkward angle for them both, but Fred just fisted his hands in the comforter and cried harder into the front of Percy's pajamas.

"Everyone was laughing," Fred hiccoughed, driving the sobs with words now, "And we made fun of you and she didn't whack us with a spoon or make us degnome the garden and I hated it when she did that and I wanted her to now and-"

"I know; it's okay," Percy said, trying to cut off the nearly unintelligible words before Fred worked himself up any more.

"She's gone."

Percy closed his own eyes now, deliberately not thinking about that as Fred's sobs began to simmer down to the occasional sniffle. "If it makes you feel any better, I wanted to hit you with a spoon a couple times during dinner."

Fred gasped a surprised, wet laugh and began to cry again.

Honestly, Percy was more surprised that Fred had come to him to break down than that it was happening. He felt helpless, again, as he seemed to be feeling every time a Weasley cried on him lately, and increasingly lost, but he chomped down on that feeling with an iron will because he could not afford a panic attack. Percy had to keep it together, since evidently Bill and Charlie weren't up for it.

…And there he went, adding resentment to the pile again. Wonderful. It's not like he didn't understand their reasoning.

"Percy?" Fred's voice was very small, and Percy hummed acknowledgement, "I know you kept us from being split up."

"…Alright," Percy began cautiously, unsure where Fred was going with this, "Did Uncle Parsifal tell you…?"

"I'm not dumb," Fred spat, suddenly all venom and fang, before a sort of teary resignation settled back over him, "I could put it together from what he was saying and how many of us there are. George thinks Bill and Charlie decided to keep us together and just left you in charge while they're working but I know they'd've asked you. They couldn't run away fast enough when it was all settled and they seemed so relieved, I just-" There he went, working himself up again; though Percy was surprised Fred had picked up on all that- though Bill and Charlie were not running away, his mind knew it no matter how much Percy's heart wanted to agree with the statement. They just- needed to cope, too. Plus, they had to bring in enough money together to support the entire Weasley brood instead of just themselves, now. Percy shoved his own resentment to the side to fester away from the current situation with an effort of will.

"They just had to go back to work," Percy said softly, but Fred shook his head, still hiding his face against Percy's shoulder.

"I'm just- I just meant to say I'm glad it's you," Fred's voice was getting back that choked sound, but Percy barely processed it through the weight of that statement, "Usually Charlie's nice and Bill's fun, and I know everyone was upset they wouldn't but… I'm glad it's you taking care of us."

It was like Percy had been thrown back to the days when Fred and George toddled around copying everything he did; a surge of that unrelenting fondness, suppressed but never diminished, had him tightening his hold and squishing his cheek against Fred's head. They sat like that for a while, Fred crying on and off, until George wandered bleary-eyed into the room and plastered himself to Fred's side without so much as a word spoken, pushing Percy back into his pillow as the twins made themselves comfortable in the middle of his bed.

It was a good thing his bed was pushed against the wall or Percy would be falling off the side. As it was, he was squashed between twins and drywall, and he asked quietly, dripping with sarcasm, "Isn't anyone going to ask Ron and Ginny over, too?"

"They won't fit," George muttered, burrowing deeper into the covers as Fred's sniffles gave way to snores.

Trust the twins to ruin any bonding moments – even if they were a part of them.

Percy gave up on the entire situation by turning his back to the two and willing himself to sleep with his cheek against the wall. He toyed with the idea of just abandoning his bed to the twins and sleeping in their room but... He was maybe a little wary of spending the night in their lair. A deep, pointed sigh did not sway the monsters, and Percy spent the night in various degrees of discomfort that translated into confused dreams of tight spaces and face-hugging spiders.

He awoke to a shriek. No, a series of shrieks.

Was… was everyone shouting?

"I'm pink!" One of the twins was squealing.

"You're pink!" The second exclaimed.

Then the first pointed to the second and repeated the phrase, "You're pink!"

"I'm pink!" The second agreed.

They were pink.

Muffled shouting in the distance clued Percy into the fact that his younger siblings had also woken with some sort of issue, and he dragged himself from bed to see to it. The movement caught the twins' eyes and they turned to him as one, pointing, "You're pink!"

His hands and legs, what he could see of them, were, in fact, pink, and Percy eyed the twins, feeling the remnants of the nostalgic fondness Fred had brought back wavering under the current irritation, "…Is this revenge for the noodles? I know they weren't great, but this is an overreaction that merits at least some degnoming of the garden."

"We woke up like this!" A twin complained, and with their freckles currently hidden by the worm-pink coloration of their skin, Percy honestly couldn't tell which was which.

"Alright, enough of this," Percy grabbed them both by the collars of their pajama shirts and began walking them downstairs towards the kitchen. Protests of innocence and complaints of unfair treatment fell on deaf ears as he marched them in and sat them down. "What did you add and when did you add it?" The twins fell silent, glaring mutinously, and Percy crossed his arms, "Well?"

"…didn't add anything," one of them muttered, and Percy rolled his eyes.

"We're pink," he pointed out, and two curious faces poked around the kitchen door as the recently arrived Ginny and Ron cottoned onto what their older brothers were doing about the situation. They, too, sported a worm-pink coloration reminiscent of yesterday's meal. "Go," Percy said, dismissing the peanut gallery, "Unless you'd like it if Fred and George eavesdropped on your punishments?" Ginny wrinkled her nose and dragged a viciously smug Ron away without a word, but one of twins- George?- jumped up from his chair.

"We didn't do it! You can't punish us for something we didn't even do!"

"Then what did?" Percy snapped, losing his patience with the blatant façade, "People don't just turn pink overnight."

"Actually," chimed a voice from the doorway; it appeared Ron had fought off Ginny's hold and was still lingering in hopes of watching his older brothers get their just desserts, but even as he opened his smirking little mouth to poke at the situation, both standing inhabitants of the room fixed him with a death glare. Instead of continuing, he decided discretion was the better part of valor and made his way to a safe zone.

Percy's gaze immediately narrowed back in on the twins, "There's nothing to be gained from lying, here; you'll only make it worse."

"We really didn't do it, Perce," the sitting twin said in a small voice, "but we can try to fix it, if you want."

Wanting to exclaim again that of course they did it; who else would turn everyone pink, Percy forced himself to take a good look at the twins' faces. The standing one looked hunted, indignant, like he was two steps from shouting how unfair it all was and red under the pink hue of his skin. His twin sat hunched in on himself like he'd been physically beaten down, and Percy felt a little sick at the idea that maybe he'd done that, but- but what else could have done this?

If it wasn't the twins… That could make it more than a simple color-changing potion used in a prank. Honestly, Percy would've preferred it if the twins had been at fault. The devil you know and all that; plus, he'd feel less like the villain right now. Deflating, Percy realized he actually did believe them when they said they hadn't done it. They just weren't smug enough for this to be a result of their efforts. Deflating, Percy reached out to both of them, but when the standing one drew back, he only clasped the sitting twin's shoulder, "I believe you. I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions." A 'but you have to admit you're the prime suspects' was on the tip of his tongue and he knew it wouldn't help to say it, but, oh, he wanted to. Fighting it down, he looked from one twin to the other, "But if it wasn't you two, we might need to floo St. Mungo's, and I don't need to tell you money's tight right now." So, if you want to fess up and save us the trouble…

The sitting- Fred, it was probably Fred who shook his head, as if sensing the part of Percy that still wanted to blame the twins and call it a day, "We didn't do it."

"Alright," Percy said, dropping his hand from probably-Fred's shoulder to run it through his own hair in a nervous fidget, "I'm going to go get that Lockhart book."

"That ponce?" George asked, sounding reluctantly civil, with just the hint of a lingering grudge on the edge of his tone.

"Mum swears by his diagnostic charms, lately," Percy replied without thinking, and an awkward sort of tension rang in the room like an already taut string had been plucked. "Be right back," he said, and rushed from the kitchen. As he climbed the stairs, he realized the most likely place for her to have put it was in the side cupboard back in the kitchen, but he was dedicated now and he couldn't just walk back in without looking around elsewhere and giving them all a bit of time to cool off. Ron and Ginny sat at the top of the stairs, having been shamelessly eavesdropping despite repeated warnings and Percy raised an eyebrow at them before dropping it with a sigh. This was not worth another argument just now. "It wasn't the twins," Percy informed them uselessly, as they clearly had already heard that, and gestured at the pinkness of their skin and hair, "I'm looking for Lockhart's book to see if I can fix this; have you seen it?"

"In the kitchen cupboard," Ginny trilled promptly, and Percy fought the urge to cap off his marathon of sighs with yet another. It figured.

"We don't have to turn Ginny back, though," Ron told him solemnly, "She likes it."

"All I said was at least my hair matches my nightgown for once!" Ginny immediately denied, "Don't put words in my mouth, Ronald!"

"Come bicker in the kitchen," Percy interjected, gathering the two and herding them before him as meatshields against the weirdness he'd left vibrating in the air of the kitchen, though also because he figured they should all be involved in figuring this out in case- in case something happened to Percy and they had to tell the staff at St. Mungo's or a pair of Aurors what they'd tried so far.

Not that he was planning on anything, but he was now painfully aware of how things sometimes just happened.

"Pull in a chair," he instructed them as they passed the dining room, and they each dutifully grabbed chairs for themselves in addition to the two that usually could be found in the kitchen. Once everyone was settled and Percy had pulled Lockhart's household guide out of the cupboard, Percy hopped onto the counter and flipped from the table of contents to the spell and its anecdotes, spending a few seconds mumbling the incantation and then practicing the wand movement with little twitches and flicks that didn't translate into the actual spell just yet. Before casting, he told the twins, "If anything strange happens, just floo St. Mungo's immediately, got it?" The twins came out of the whispered conference they'd been having for who knows how long and looked at him with wide eyes, mirrored by their younger siblings and prompting Percy to add hastily, "It's probably just a color changing potion or hex or something, but better safe than sorry, right?" Turning his wand on his own arm, Percy flicked through the incantation and cast, holding his breath until the air around his arm –and likely the rest of him- shined with colors as expected, blue and grey, for the most part, with just a hint of red at the fingertips that Percy barely noticed.

He glanced down at the book, but half the color guide was on the next page, and the colors would only stay for as long as he maintained the spell, so… "Ginny, would you mind looking up the meanings while I keep this up?"

Nodding, Ginny slid the book from his lap and skimmed down the page, flipping to the next when she realized what Percy had just previously, and read aloud, "A grey aura indicates no harmful magic is present in the examined area, meaning no hexes, curses, or magical ailments can be found. A purple aura means a love potion, or-"

"Skip to blue," Ron interrupted and Ginny shot him a glare before visibly skimming the descriptions and continuing aloud.

"Blue auras flag the presence of common hedge magic, such as that performed with minor rituals often involving cleaning, singing, needlework, weaving, embroidery or," her gaze flickered to Percy, "cooking."

"Hedge magic," Percy repeated. He pointed his wand questioningly at Ron, who shrugged his acquiescence to the unspoken request, and cast the diagnosis spell again, more confident now that it had been tested. Ron was still pink, but it was hard to see under the blue and grey that lit up his person.

"Looks like it," Ginny confirmed, "There's a reference here to another chapter on hedge magic, if you want…?"

"No, no, that's quite alright," Percy said, dropping his head into his hand, almost as much to hide his face as give him a second to process. He'd been the one to turn them all pink? And with such a low class of magic? It barely even counted as a spell. The Ministry couldn't even pick it up as it more closely resembled the unfocused effects of accidental magic than the disciplined spells that resulted from a wand. Had it been because he'd at first resented the others poking fun at the color of the meal? It was possible, he supposed, but wait- that was after he'd finished cooking. Had he thought or done anything to… to… Weasley Pink Spaghetti. He'd thought it clearly while the sauce was boiling, since it was an indeterminate reddish-pinkish mess at the time, and it had only gotten pinker from there on out. "Good news is this will wear off soon," he informed his siblings, finally looking back up at them, "There wasn't nearly enough effort put into the spell to keep it going much longer. The bad news is that a throw away thought should not have been enough to have even this effect."

"You thought about turning us pink while you were cooking?" Ron gaped, having connected what dots he had, "Why?"

"I didn't," Percy began, but George cut him off.

"Don't lie, Percy," he said, throwing his own argument back at him with no little vindictiveness, "After all, who else could have done it?"

"I didn't specifically think of turning us all pink, I just-" Steam lost at the memory of his error- not that he had known the consequences- Percy's voice lost its edge, "I just noticed that the sauce was sort of pinkish, and thought, if you all liked it anyway, I could scribble down a recipe for the Weasley Pink Spaghetti, which is the only time I thought of Weasleys and pink in the same sentence, and leads us to the actual problem: that should not have been enough to affect me for a second, much less all of us here."

"Weasley Pink," Fred mused, "Like a paint palette."

"And you specified Weasley pink," Ginny pointed out, a razor sharp smile edging over her expression just as the floo flared in the other room.

"FRED! GEORGE!" Charlie's voice shouted, and Ron and Ginny snuck glances at each other before bursting into giggles at the identical scowls on their older brothers' faces.

"You have to admit, you've got a reputation," Percy put in, unwisely reneging on his earlier promise to himself not to bring it up, and they turned their scowls on him. "Sorry, sorry; I'll handle this, okay?"

Charlie was… not happy to learn Percy had turned them all pink on accident, and he'd given Percy a measuring look through the fire.

"You managed to turn every Weasley pink, regardless of continent, on accident, using hedge magic," the elder brother summed up and Percy was glad he was already pink or his cheeks would be undermining his attempts to look solemn.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, then paused, "I've only heard from you, though, so at least-"

"Every Weasley," Charlie emphasized and, under the pink, Percy blanched. He'd say his power level was average, maybe a little above, but that took either serious, Lord-level power or prepared, hardcore ritual work. There were certain areas that amplified hedge magic- as well as different areas for other magics- which could occur naturally or as a result of extended use and cultivation and… The kitchen was Molly Weasley's domain alone.

"I'm sorry," Percy repeated again, as seriously as he could while his mind raced. His mother was- had been- was a hedge witch? Or at least, a serious practitioner. What had she been doing all this time? "Sorry, Charlie, I have to go," Percy cut off the floo connection, and possibly Charlie's sentence, to zoom back to the kitchen. Fred and Ginny were still in there, talking in subdued tones, as hurricane Percy hit the area. Pots were turned over, chairs were flipped, cabinets opened, and Percy seriously considered ripping them apart for all of a second before they started to turn up. Little English words repeated in concentric circles. Health, one pot repeated. Protection, read the back of the clock. Cooperation, another pot was inscribed. More and more until Percy had a small mountain of items and a larger number of immovable fixtures with blatant evidence of his mother's secret practice. "Why… why didn't she…?" He sunk to the ground, his frenzy deserting him and Ginny shot Fred a frightened look, prompting the twin into action.

"Why didn't she what, Perce?" Fred asked cautiously, but Percy was beyond responding.

His mother had been a serious, practicing hedge witch. Hedge magic was fairly useless for day to day tasks, but over time, will and magic would build up if focused on certain things, like say, one of the most common words in here: protection. Any sort of set up that could turn every Weasley pink from a stray thought meant his mother had been practicing more intensely and for a greater length than Percy could imagine, as she never breathed a word of it to her family. It made sense – a spell for protection would only be stronger if it were kept secret – the universe always seemed to like the idea of kindness without reward. She'd spent, from the looks of it, practically every second in here willing her family, her friends, to be protected. And then his father had lived. But she hadn't.

Why didn't she focus any of that protection on herself?

She'd been away from the blast; Arthur had been right at the epicentre, and yet she had been the one blown to smithereens? Why hadn't that seemed odd to anyone? Even the shack was better off. Was it some sort of… trade off? Or had she never given her own safety a passing thought?

"It's nothing," Percy heard himself say vaguely, and garnered a snort from Fred.

"You just ransacked the kitchen and threw pots and chairs and spoons to the center of the floor at random, before doing… this," he gestured at Percy's kneeling posture before the mound of junk, and Percy sank back on his heels self-consciously, beginning to come back to the situation.

Crap; he was not in the right frame of mind to be giving his family revelations about their mother right now. "Dinner," he said, "I'll let you all know at dinner."

"That's a full day away there, Perce," Fred squatted awkwardly, his voice still quieter than it usually was, and Ginny seemed to muster up her courage and figure out what she should do.

Soon he had a small hand patting his back and a smaller voice saying, "There, there?"

Percy closed his eyes for a second, unsure if he was about to laugh at the attempt or cry because it was working, and took a deep breath. A second later Ginny shrieked as Percy whipped out an arm and reeled her in, "What kind of bedside manner is that?" Her shrieks turned to laughter as Percy tickled her, "Who taught you how to comfort people?"

"F- Fred, help me!" She squealed, and Fred shook his head.

"You've brought this on yourself," he intoned, "For getting too close to Percy-in-a-mood." The last half of his sentence sounded curiously noun-like, but Percy was willing to let it slide for now. "Besides," Fred admitted, inching towards the door, "I'm way more ticklish than you are."

Percy did not let them know at dinner. The day passed only with minor bickering and sniffling and Percy had only hugged crying, snot-covered, normal-colored versions of Ron and Ginny twice each by the end of it – which was higher than average, but lower than expected recently. He had taken another recipe from the wooden box- as innocent a recipe as he could find. He almost shuddered to think of what might happen if he tried to bake shepherd's pie. There were recipes from every country on earth- or at least, any Percy had heard of, and a few he hadn't. He settled on a vegetable stir fry that didn't appear to have been won in combat or hard to make. Checking each pan before he selected one and avoiding the other instruments with writing on them was tedious but necessary to ensure any stray thoughts he had weren't incorporated into the meal; he didn't want anything more dangerous than color-changing to occur.

For his efforts, he was rewarded with a relatively normal-looking meal that he hit with a diagnosis charm, just in case. There was a slight tinge of blue, but nothing like the deluge of light from that morning; it was probably residual from the kitchen itself. The twins were setting the table, and soon everyone was in attendance and picking at the vegetables.

"Vegetables," Ron muttered, "The main course is vegetables."

"We did have meat at lunch," Percy reminded him and Ron groaned.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Percy?" Fred leaned around George to say, sweetly, and George, cottoning on to the tone, echoed his question.

"No," Percy lied blatantly, prompting a frown from Ginny. Part of him didn't want them to know because they could make the same connections he had, see that perhaps she had neglected her own protection for theirs and their fathers, and part of him had been… mulling over the idea of what Mum would want him to do. She'd set all this up, clearly practiced it religiously, and kept it all secret. Wouldn't she want it to stay that way? She must have had a reason, even if part of him were still seething irrationally over the blind spot for herself in her plans.

A hesitant voice broke him out of his musing. "Percy, you were-," Ginny bit her lip, and continued, determined, "You scared me." Not words he'd ever wanted to hear; Percy felt a little sick as she looked at him steadily, "What happened?"

Yeah, screw it; he'd tell the truth and deal with the fallout as it came. Maybe he was letting his anger guide him, maybe it was the guilt that he'd made Ginny, and maybe Fred, too, from the way he was looking, feel… that way. In the end, his motivations didn't matter, as they pointed to the same action. Slowly, he explained what he'd learned about the real reason behind his mother's diligent guarding of the kitchen as her domain alone, and then the reasoning of his own realizations and suppositions as they had come about. Except that… last one.

"Mum was a hedge witch?" George croaked, and exchanged an incredulous glance with his twin, "Only squibs and weaklings work hedge magic!"

"And Mum," Percy ran a hand through his hair agitatedly, "It's the truth. There's etchings all over the kitchen."

"You weren't just freaking out about Mum being a hedge witch," Fred interjected, putting down his utensils and crossing his arms, seeming to gain back more and more determination the longer he had something to ferret out.

"That's… personal," Percy decided carefully, knowing that going that far, to share his suspicions about their father's survival and their mother's death would only screw over any progress that had been made so far. It had for him.

"…What," George said flatly along with Fred.

"Mind your business and eat," he sniffed in response, and the table erupted in protest.

"If you learned something about Mum and you're not telling us, that's not right," George exclaimed.

"We have a right to know," Fred agreed.

"Are you serious?" Ron was asking, at the same time, looking incredulously at Percy. Obviously Ginny had been telling tales.

Ginny's response was lost under her brothers', but Percy waited for a break in the sound to say, "I've told all I know about Mum." Which was the truth since all he had was his own suspicions and his father's survival. Hardly factual evidence, "Am I not allowed to keep my own feelings to myself?"

"What feelings?" George muttered, sending a little stab of hurt into Percy's chest that was quickly covered by irritation.

"This conversation is over," he said, standing and picking up his plate in the same motion, "And the next person to pester me about it gets to help me wash the dishes muggle style tomorrow morning. I'm going to bed."

"Percy, you-" Ginny faltered at the look her older brother sent her, trailing off as he left, "He didn't eat."

"Yeah, well," George's voice was heat and hurt, "The prat can probably sustain himself on his own reflection." When an awkward silence met him, the words lingered in the air, seeming unfinished and George's tone edged into something more defensive, "You all know it's true! He's hiding something and he's always so convinced he's right that he won't listen to a word we say unless it's to kiss his arse!"

"Language," came the tight admonition from the hall before Percy's footsteps stomped up the stairs and a door slammed shut. An angry, mottled flush overtook George's face and he put down his fork.

"And he eavesdrops," he concluded, the anger once again caged in more subdued language, but just as present as before, "I'm not hungry, either. Good night."

My siblings are a joy and a blessing, Percy told himself as he glared at the ceiling that night, a joy and a blessing.

-x-

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