Chapter Text
Percy—
I am afraid that I am writing to you with bad news: you will not be invited to the wedding, or to any of the related celebrations. As much as I had hoped that the wedding would be taking place in brighter times, Fleur and I both agree that if anything, we could all use a cause for celebration. Unfortunately, with the current situation, this also means that you cannot be present. Aside from the seemingly more menial concerns, it is also a matter of the safety of us and our guests.
Though me and Charlie made the decision not to cut you off or chastise you, I also have to be honest with you and say that that decision is becoming more and more difficult to honour, not just emotionally but also practically. Family and politics aside, I’m not sure you realize what you are doing to yourself. Maybe this will be a wake-up call.
Hopefully there will come other opportunities for us all to celebrate together.
Take care,
Bill
The letter is not really a surprise. Percy rests the spoon against his lower lip as he reads it again. “Reads” is not quite accurate, rather his eyes carefully trace the movement of Bill’s hand over the parchment. He looks for where the ink shifts, from refills or because Bill has rested on the quill, tries to look for hidden meanings. There are rarely hidden meanings with Bill, however, a quality he usually appreciates but which now feels stifling. In the beginning of all this he would meet with especially Bill but also Charlie fairly often. They would meet for lunch or dinner or just walks where they would have long conversations about their family or about life after Hogwarts or about the magical world or about politics or about morality. Recently, though, the conversations are shorter. The owls are fewer. He reads the letter once more, measuring the ink as if there could literally be extra length hidden within the potential excess of it on the page. This is when Percy is interrupted.
“Excuse me, are you alright?”
Her accent is a very distinct type of London that he might have been able to pinpoint had he been born and bred in this city. He opens his mouth and realizes he has not the faintest idea of how to replay. “Uh. Sorry?”
London girl hesitates for a moment, during which Percy comes to the realization that the pub is coming to life in the way it only does as Friday evening begins, and that maybe even this quite modest set of robes does not pass for muggle wear. “No, I was- You seemed a bit lost and…” He realizes that she is looking at the parchment and the rust-red ink on it, so he turns it face down on the table. “…My bad, really. I shouldn’t’ve interrupted.”
“No,” he says. “That’s alright. I suppose ‘lost’ isn’t all wrong.” She has one hand fidgeting with her hair and wrapping the tight curls around her fingers. As he speaks, her expression shifts from embarrassment to relief, taking on this gentle curiosity that has him feeling… some sort of way. “I actually-“ he continues, much in the same way as when you haven’t said anything out loud for a day or two and you are unsure if your voice will bear. “I received some bad news. It isn’t anything unexpected, but nonetheless.”
London girl nods slowly. “I’m sorry to hear,” she says. It sounds a lot like an invitation and though maybe he is just imagining it, it is February of 1997 and Percy Weasley has not had anyone ask if he is okay in a long, long while.
“Thank you,” he replies, immediately failing to contain himself. “My brother is getting married and I’m not invited.”
She sits down and looks him over. “I’m sorry,” she says again, before catching herself. “I mean I’m an only child myself, but that sounds really… Are you not getting along?”
Percy pushes the since long empty soup bowl towards the bartender. “You could say that. Rest of the family, mostly. It’s a long story.” She is still observing him. He is not used to people observing him, at least not like this. “I, uh, thank you for asking.”
“Of course. Or actually I saw you and you stood out a little bit from the crowd, and it made me curious, and I guess that’s why I noticed. Audrey.”
Muggle London girl reaches out her hand, so he takes it. “Percy. I worked late so I just stopped by for something to eat.”
“Oh, so it’s a uniform? Are you in law?”
“You know what? My job is the only thing I am talking to anyone about these days and to be frank with you it’s terribly boring.”
“That’s fair. I’m waiting for some friends, she just got dumped so- I suppose that’s why I’m kinda tuned in to people being a bit down? Anyway, if you wanted to come along for a pick-me-up I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”
Audrey is wearing a pale denim jacket, a short dress, and combat boots. It is at this point that Percy realizes that she is very pretty. This is not the kind of thing that usually happens to him. In fact, nothing like it has never happened to him before, so his gut reaction is a resounding “thanks but no thanks”. Percy is not the kind of guy who “goes out”, let alone with strangers, strange muggles at that. Percy is the kind of guy who works late on a Friday evening to not become a suspect actor when his family name becomes yet closer associated to groups which the Ministry of Magic are about to label as “terrorist”. Percy is the kind of guy who works late on a Friday evening because the alternative of cooking dinner for one and spending the whole weekend engrossed in a book is beginning to lose its glamour of independence.
It is this absolute perplexment at even the suggestion of joining this London stranger and her even stranger friends for a non-magical night out in the big city that makes him hesitate. Of course Audrey would not know that about him, she does not know anything about him, or his family.
So why not?
“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not joking!” she says, lighting up into a smile and inexplicably he feels himself mirror it.
“No?”
“No! Who do you take me for, Percy?”
“I don’t know, Audrey, who do you take me for?”
“Someone who needs a distraction? Especially if you’re in law.”
“Bureaucracy.”
“My God, your situation is dire!”
“I guess that leaves me with no choice then, does it?”
“Well, I’m not a psychiatrist, but according to my calculations one option is clearly the better one.”
“What are you, then?”
“An interior designer. Is that a yes?”
Percy hesitates again. He diverts his eyes from hers to linger on the letter before folding it up and slipping it into the inner pocket of his cloak. His brain is all Percy. Painfully predictably Percy, with objections about having to change into something more muggle-appropriate, about how he does not know these people, about how maybe they want to go to a club and he does not like the music they play at clubs or at least the music he thinks they play at clubs and he especially does not like dancing and he especially does not like dancing with the kind of people who go out clubbing. Then he remembers the prefect common room.
1993. Cedric Diggory’s birthday. Roger Davies had smuggled in drinks. With the radio turned up loud and for once they had all gotten along. Cedric had smiled from ear to ear the whole night. When Percy and Oliver left for the Gryffindor dorms, the sun was rising and the couches full of prefects giggling like you only do when about to give in to sleep. Percy ran into Dumbledore a few days later: “I heard that there was a birthday celebration among the prefects for Mr. Diggory?”, he had asked with that knowing look that only he had mastered. Percy had been stunned, flustering as he scrambled for excuses, reasons as to why he had not intervened. “I was happy to hear it. It strengthens me to hear, Mr. Weasley, that you all understand the delight and importance of coming together across the houses, especially among the prefects and Quidditch captains.” Of course, sir. He never told anyone.
“Yeah,” he tells Audrey, strange and pretty London muggle, tasting the words as they leave him and feeling unexpectedly invigorated. “I believe it is.”