Nobody But Yourself

Nobody But Yourself

Chapter two - The greatest glory

"Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." -Confucius

It's been four days, twenty-two hours and eighteen minutes since that fateful day at the Ministry and his hasty escape from home. Percy hasn't done much in these few days, except go to work and sleep, but he doesn't want to sleep any more because all he can see when he closes his eyes are flashes of red and more red, hair and lips; he sees pale freckled flesh and blue eyes, staring at him mercilessly, he sees long fingers circling a painfully throbbing erection; he sees his father.

Percy ponders on the fact that he can still call Arthur "father", after everything that has happened. After all, he touched the man far more intimately than you would usually touch any close relatives, let alone your own father. Percy decides he will try and call his father Arthur from now on. Perhaps that will make the whole situation easier to endure.

"Arthur," he whispers, trying out the new name on his lips.

"Arthur."

It's foolish, but when he thinks of Arthur rather than his father, he can pretend that it's all not that bad. He can pretend that Arthur is a friend of his, his lover even, and not someone he isn't supposed to love.

Love? Is he in love? Percy doesn't know. He frowns slightly, trying to picture his feelings as clearly as he can. He feels sick. His insides won't stop burning; every time he thinks of his father a firework explodes in his stomach, and he wants to throw up. He doesn't know if that urge comes from being disgusted by what he did, or by liking what he did. He doesn't know if the pain will lessen, and he can't concentrate on anything else, really. The only thought that appears at random intervals is "I want to fuck my father," and that disgusts him.

That's why I want to call him Arthur, he reminds himself sarcastically, but the sarcasm doesn't help. Percy is at a loss. It's all wrong, he thinks. It shouldn't be like this.

Back on track, Perce, no need to distract yourself.

Right. Percy knows he can't distract himself for long, because his thoughts will eventually get back to the one person he thinks about in the dull hours sitting in his office, pretending to work, and later at home, waiting for the sky to darken and the stars to rise. His dreams are dominated by that one person, and he can't remember how often he woke up sweating and gasping, his body shivering with the after-effects of an orgasm. Percy can't remember when the last time was that he'd climaxed in his dreams, but it must have been in his schooldays, when he was less controlled and together. But now, after... after what happened, he finds himself losing control again.

Thinking back to the fateful Friday, almost five days ago, Percy shudders involuntarily.

***

Percy stumbles out of the fireplace and prays that his mother is nowhere near. He breathes a sigh of relief when she's nowhere in sight. He doesn't know what he should have done or said to her. He doesn't know what he could have said - if he could have formed any coherent words at all.

He feels nauseous, partly because of his hasty Floo ride, partly because he's still shaking with the after-effects of... whatever it was that had happened in his office. He doesn't want to think about that right now; in fact, he'd prefer it if he never has to think of it again. But Percy knows that he will think of those brief minutes again and again, and he will enjoy remembering how chocolate-sweet his father had tasted, how he had smelled of his musty office room and how much it had aroused him, how--

No! Don't think about it. Not now, not ever.

Percy hurries to his room, as if he can run away from everything, and in a way, he feels like he can. He wants to leave before his father - he shudders briefly at the thought of him; the image of Arthur's half-closed eyes, his mouth slightly open, flashes before his eyes, and Percy forced his mind back into reality - before his father gets over the shock and finds the strength to Apparate or Floo home and corners him, demanding an explanation.

Shaking his head lightly, Percy tries to clear his mind. I need to be rational, he thinks, trying to formulate a plan. What do I need? What can I leave? And where the fuck is my bloody trunk?!

After several minutes of frantic searching, he finally finds his old Hogwarts trunk in the dirty laundry basket, shrunk and looking like a tiny brown toy trunk from Ginny's old doll's house. The trunk is about the size of his fingernail, so he enlarges it, and - without thinking - begins throwing in various items; clothing, books, anything he can get his hands on.

Then a loud crashing sound echoes through the room and Percy jumps. His heart is beating faster than ever, and he is scared out of his mind, until he realises that the sound wasn't the door banging against the wall, thrown open by a furious Arthur Weasley. Percy has just dropped a few books, sending them flying into his collection of bottle caps and rare coins.

Percy breathes a sigh of relief and slumps against the closed door, trying to steady his heartbeat. He looks over at his trunk, and, seeing various items scattered about the room, he realises that his packing system isn't really a system but rather a round of "toss in what you can grab", so he starts rooting through his trunk to take out the useless things he has flung in there in a fit of headless panic only minutes ago.

He finds a three year old copy of Quidditch Weekly, his broken quill and the toy broomstick Charlie got him for his sixth birthday. Shaking his head, Percy also takes out the books he does not necessarily need for his work. After trying to fit everything he does need into the too small trunk, he gives up, and, out of impulse, kicks the offending chest rather hard. Of course, with his luck, he only hurts his toes - without being able to release any of his tension or frustration.

Percy bites back the tears that threaten to fall and eventually, he remembers to use magic to fit everything into his trunk. When the lid of the trunk closes, he sighs heavily and sits down, wondering what he's going to do now. He has no place to go, but he knows he can't stay.

No use worrying about that now, he tells himself. I can't stay here, everything else will sort itself out once I'm gone. I only need to get out of here, away from... him and everything. It will be fine.

He repeats this like a mantra. It will be fine. Everything will work out. It will be fine. Sighing, Percy finally makes his trunk weightless and lets it float down the narrow staircase in front of him. He doesn't pause once, and he doesn't look back. He can't. If he looks back now, he will crack and start crying, he will throw up and break inside. Although he isn't sure if he isn't already broken inside. It feels like he is.

In the kitchen, he hears his mother has started a fire. Percy tries to calm down, tries to find a way of sneaking out without having to face his mother. He doesn't want to talk to her. He doesn't know how he will handle it.

"Percy?"

Percy swallows. "Mum." It's all over now. She has seen him, and any minute now she will notice that something's amiss, and she will ask questions and he will stutter and stammer and blush and feel like throwing up again. Anxiety is weaving a tight net of pain in his chest, and he's trapped inside, glued to his fears and horrors. He can't move.

"Where's your father?" His mum bristles, clearly annoyed that her husband isn't home yet. "He said he would see you after work, and then you two would come home together," his mother continues, busy preparing dinner. "Percy, stop biting your lip. I'm making a stew for dinner, and you your father said he'd be on time." She pauses, looking around for something - her wand. She reaches for it, and a saucepan clatters to the floor. Percy jumps in shock. He's trembling and he looks down at his shaking white fingers.

"So, where is your father now?"

His mother looks over to the old grandfather clock and sighs; Arthur's clock hand still points to "work". Percy breathes a small sigh of relief.

He also feels incredibly stupid. And embarrassed. He has the feeling that his mother can read it in his face - that he just... He can't even think it. He - he kissed his father. Touched him. Brought him over the edge.

Percy closes his eyes for a second. He can still feel his father's hardness in his hand, feel himself pressing tightly against the warm body, hearing his father's gasp as he comes. The shudder of Arthur's body against his and the low moan that escaped his half-open mouth at the moment of climax. He can still smell the sex and the musty scent of the dry old parchment scattered around the office and his father's cologne, mixed with sweat and something not definable. He can still hear the muffled footsteps from the people working on the floor above, and the humming noises of the Dark Magic attractors in Lewis' office down the corridor. He can still--

"Percy, what is that?" His mother stops stirring the stew and points to his hands. "Go wash your hands, dear. I'm sure your father will be right in, and I don't want you eating with hands covered in dirt. Really, what did you do at the Ministry, clean the floor with your hands?"

Percy looks down at his hands and realises that his father's come is still sticking to his palms, mixed with dust and dirt from the Floo travel. His heart stops beating for a moment, and he quickly shoves his hands into his pockets, knowing he'll look ridiculous, but he doesn't care.

"I-I think it's from the Floo," he manages to whisper.

"Floo? Why didn't you Apparate, dear? Are you feeling sick? You do look a little pale." His mum makes a step towards him, trying to feel his forehead, but Percy steps back rather hastily, hitting his hip at the table.

Percy swallows again. He can't stand this. He needs to go. He needs to escape his mother's furrowed brow and the concerned look; he needs to escape the warm hands and the loving eyes.

"I'm all right, Mum. I just need to go to the bathroom." He nearly runs up the stairs, leaving his mother staring at his retreating back with a concerned frown on her face.

He scrubs furiously at his hands, trying to get it all off - the dirt, the soot, the come; maybe he even wants the bare skin to fall off - as hard as he scrubs it at least won't surprise him if all of it suddenly starts falling off his bones and sinews.

Suddenly, he becomes aware of his surroundings, and a memory of his father, standing in the exact same spot Percy is now occupying, stroking his erection, flashes before his eyes. He groans in frustration and storms out of the bathroom, his hands still covered in soap, dripping water on the carpets.

"Percy?" his mother calls. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he yells back, strangely furious. How dare his father make him feel this way? How dare he! Couldn't he let Percy alone, and at peace?

A little voice in the back of his head whispers that it had been Percy, not Arthur, who had initiated the incident earlier that day. He tells it to shut up and grabs his trunk, going back into the kitchen.

"Well, Percy, then we'll wait for your father and eat." His mother has her back to him, still checking the clock every few moments. The clock's hands haven't moved yet, and Percy instantly feels lighter.

"What are you doing with your trunk, dear?"

Percy's heart sinks. How is he supposed to explain to his mother that he'll be moving out - in about two minutes? How is he supposed to tell her that her husband won't come home until he calms down after--

"Are you finally chucking out all that dump you collect - all the Chocolate Frog cards and the fake gold coins? Good for you." His mother doesn't even realise what's about to happen. She doesn't even see that this is maybe the most important night of his life - in a negative way.

"Oh, look, your father is moving!" His mother points to the clock, and really, the hand with Arthur's name on it is spinning wildly for a second, then points at "travelling". Percy suddenly grows cold. For a few seconds, he can't move or think at all. He's coming home. In a few moments, he'll have to face him. And he knows he can't because if he looks into these clear blue eyes, he will break down and sob, crying his heart out.

"Percy, go and set the table, please."

Percy nods absent-mindedly, but then walks out into the hallway, dragging his still weightless trunk with him. He throws over his cloak and grabs his wand tightly. Sounds come from the sitting room - his father comes out of the fireplace, and his mother starts scolding him for being late.

"Where's Percy?" his father simply asks, interrupting his mother's tirade.

"I don't know," his mother replied. "But he didn't seem so well; I think he's coming down with flu or something," she adds with concern in her voice.

"Mmm," his father only replies, and Percy shivers involuntarily. He still can't move - it feels as if he's rooted to the spot, unable to even breathe.

"Percy?" It's his father, coming nearer to the hallway each second, and Percy knows he has to Apparate - now - if he doesn't want to meet his father just yet.

His knuckles are almost white, and his fingernails dig into his palms; Percy can feel little crescents of blood appearing on the pale skin, and his sensitive hands start burning immediately. He doesn't care at all. Taking one deep breath, Percy tries to forget his surroundings, forget his mother's concern and unsuspecting naïveté, and the orgasmic look on his father's face earlier that day. He forgets it all for a second, and with a crack! he Apparates to Diagon Alley, but the faint echo of his father's voice, calling his name, is still etched into his brain.

***

The next morning, Percy - again - wakes up shaking. He feels drained of life, and as he stumbles into the bathroom to clean himself off, he curses the day he started noticing his father in a different light when he entered the room, or daydreaming about him when he was missing from dinner.

Percy shakes his head and steps back into the bedroom. He looks around the shabby backroom of a dingy pub located in Knockturn Alley - a very disreputable neighbourhood, but Percy didn't feel like he deserved to rent anything better than this. Sometimes he watches the patrons of the pub, and he gets scared. It really isn't the best of neighbourhoods, but right now, in the early hours of morning, most of the patrons have left and he can go to work unfazed. Usually, he simply Apparates into his room in the evenings, trying to avoid running into someone. He knows he could Apparate in the mornings as well, but he had noticed right on his first day after he moved out that the short walk helps him clear his mind from remaining images and emotions from his dreams - something he can't afford to think of at work.

Percy finishes buttoning up his robes and then grabs the cloak, hoping to buy some rolls on his way to work. Of course, Madam Lucinda's bakery makes the best rolls in Diagon Alley, but they are nothing like his mum's freshly buttered rolls, still warm from being in the oven only minutes before.

Forcing his mind to think of something else, he opens the door and steps into the corridor, intending to walk out the back door, avoiding the pub owner and his wife altogether.

On his way to work, Percy busies himself with thinking about the last report he handed in. Mister Crouch had asked him to be a judge at the Triwizard Tournament. He wasn't sure if he should accept the post. Of course he wanted to - there was no better chance at getting some recognition other than "Well done, Weasley" and "Oh, another Weasley?"

He arrives at the Ministry and immediately sets to work. He does nothing but work, all the time, because he can't stop thinking about the red-haired man possessing his dream if he stops working. He even avoids looking into mirrors because he knows that his own hair is almost the same colour as Arthur's hair.

"Hey, Weatherby," Linda calls, and Percy frowns angrily. It is bad enough that Mister Crouch keeps messing up his name - he doesn't need his co-workers to do the same in their mocking way.

"What do you want?" he asks, being purposefully rude. Maybe she'll go away if he is rude enough. "I have work to do, and unlike others, I actually do my work," he adds, hoping Linda will leave soon.

"You have a visitor for lunch," Linda says, ignoring his attitude.

Percy frowns and checks his watch. It's time for lunch, really, but he isn't hungry. And who would come to visit him anyway? Unless - no, it couldn't be his father. Percy feels himself go pale. Oh, please, don't let it be Arthur.

"Who is it?" he manages to press through clenched teeth, avoiding looking at the door too closely, or images of his own body, pressing against a hot, unresponsive body will undoubtedly appear in his mind. He grips the edge of his desk, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He doesn't want Linda to notice something.

"Some woman," Linda says dismissively. Percy silently thanks Merlin that it is not his father. "Judging by her hair colour, I'd say she's your mum," Linda continues. "So, shall I bring her in?"

"Tell her I don't want to see her," Percy says tersely, returning his gaze to the parchment in front of him. He can hear Linda gasp in indignation.

"She's your mother! How can you be so rude?"

Percy doesn't react - he fears that he will start shouting if he opens his mouth again.

"Percy! I am shocked. Our little goody-goody has a dark side - he's mean to his mummy," Linda taunts him with an amused note in her voice. Percy's eyes narrow, and his head snaps up. How dare she!

"That is none of your business, Linda. I don't know why you care at all!" Percy hisses, standing up.

"Because," Linda says pointedly, stabbing a finger into his direction, "your mother is sitting in my office for some reason, demanding to see you. I don't care what your problem is, but I'll send her in now. Tell her to disturb someone else!" With that, Linda turns around and storms out of his office, leaving the door wide open.

He can't see his mother now. That's the only clear thought he has, and it echoes through his head over and over again. He can't see his mother now. He can't go back home. He can't.

"Percy?" His mother is standing in the doorway, her figure clearly outlined against the light streaming in from the corridor. Percy freezes, taking in the familiar round shape of his mother, and he almost chokes because there are so many feelings he can't control and it's hurting so much.

"Percy, are you--? Can I come in?" she asks hesitantly, so very unlike her usual bossy self, and Percy finds himself strangely touched by the small voice and the insecurity he hears. Is this really Mum? he wonders, because his mother would never ask if she could come in. She would always storm right in, position herself in front of his desk, hands at her hips, and glare at him, furiously. Then she would demand an answer to whatever question she has, and not leave until he answers.

"Mum," he simply says, not trusting himself to say more. His voice might fail him, or his feelings might take over and break the last bit of control he has left.

His mother steps into the office, quietly closing the door behind her. She comes closer, and Percy can see that she has been crying. He wonders if she had an argument with Arthur - he certainly didn't tell her what happened in his office, and his mother is no one who likes to be left in the dark.

"Percy, we want you to come home," she says, looking up at him, and all Percy can think is that his father never has to look up at him because he's a few inches taller, and it would feel wrong if he would have to look up at Percy.

She looks sincere, though, and her concern for him is evident; Percy is now sure she doesn't have the faintest idea what happened in his office. He slowly starts pushing all his thoughts to the back of his mind, banning all the mixed feelings and strange emotions from his consciousness, and instead of comforting his mother he merely sits back down, slightly calmer now.

Percy doesn't say anything and he doesn't look up at his mother; he simply stares at the floor, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. What could he say, anyway? What do you want? Why are you here? He doesn't need to ask that, he already knows the answer: she wants to persuade him to come back.

"We don't understand why you left, Percy, and we want you to come back," she starts, and Percy stops thinking for a second. Of course he knows why I left, he wants to scream, but he knows he won't. And why does she keep saying "we" - Arthur surely will not want me to come back, not after the incident in my office, he thinks, almost shuddering. He doesn't hear a word of what his mother says.

Percy looks up at her, and suddenly, he feels a pang of bitter jealousy, deep inside of him. She got to spend the last five days with Arthur, got to touch him and hold him, got to hear his voice and see his smile, she got to just be with him, all while he was pining away in that shabby, second-class pub, feeling more alone than he ever did in his life. A tiny part of him clings to the feeble possibility that Arthur may have refused her touch, may have missed Percy as much as he missed Arthur, but he knows he's deluding himself.

"Percy," his mother says suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts. "Why don't you say anything? Will you come back?"

"Mother, I am old enough to have my own place," he says, carefully controlling his voice. His mother will hear his distress if he allows himself to slip up now, and he can't let her know what his real reasons had been. What still are his reasons.

Then his mother's demeanour changes, and fury sparkles in her eyes, glittering in the dark brown irises, making him feel really small under her gaze. He had always been his mother's favourite, the most pampered and coddled of her seven children, and as a matter of course, it always hits him the hardest when she is angry with him. And right now she is seething with rage. But at least that's easier to endure than the hurt look and the teary eyes that claw at him deep inside.

"Percy Ignatius Weasley!" she yells, and Percy winces. Full names are always a bad sign with his mother, especially when she is in this state. "I will not allow you to spend what little money you earn on some dirty, overpriced old place when you can live for free with your family! If you cannot give me a reason for moving out in the next twenty seconds, I will make sure that you return home by the end of the day!"

I want to have your husband for myself. I want to kiss him, and touch him - whenever and wherever I like. I want to hear the little moans that escape him in pleasure, and I want to smell his strong scent. I want to taste his skin, God, I want to fuck him senseless. I want him to fuck me senseless. I want to hug him and see the love in his eyes - not love for a son, but real love, the love he can openly show for you. I want--

"Well?"

Percy sighs. He is hard now, simply because thinking of Arthur's skin, and his fingers, delicately stroking his body, his eyes and his mouth - it all has this effect on him, and he can't help it. That's why he can't go back, that's why he can't spend another year or more under one roof with Arthur. He simply can't.

"So, Percy, I don't see why you should rent your own flat, let alone that... cell you call a room. Your father--" (Percy's head snaps up) "--and I agree on that: You have to come back. We will not let you waste your money like that. If you think you have to be independent and live off your own money, you can give us a small contribution, but we really don't see why it's necessary."

He is - again - at a loss for words, but his thoughts are racing, chasing each other through his brain as he replays the whole visit. Not once had his mother said "I want you to come back." She always spoke of "we" - herself and his father - and Percy starts to think that maybe, yes, maybe Arthur wants him to come back. Of course, it can't be as it was before the incident, and Percy knows that there will be heaps of work waiting for them - but maybe they can make it work. Maybe one day, he'll walk into the kitchen, his father sitting at the table, and he will feel nothing except the love of a son towards his father. It's a nice dream, and Percy thinks it might be worth it. It might be worth risking everything, first of all his sanity - because he knows he will go insane, seeing his parents together, if he doesn't get over it soon.

"So, will you come home, Percy? Please, Percy. Your father isn't talking - he's worried sick and wants you back home with us."

Not talking? Percy feels a perverse pleasure at the thought that Arthur hasn't talked to his wife. It makes him feel special, as if he possess something of his father's that his mother will never have access to.

"Percy?" His mother's voice is now pleading, and he sees that her eyes fill up with tears again. "Come home, please."

Percy closes his eyes for a second, and a vision of what could be flashes before his inner eye: His mother, cooking dinner, one hand swinging the wand like a beater swings his club and the other hand gesturing wildly as she speaks to his father, who is sitting disinterestedly at the kitchen table, the Daily Prophet Evening News in his hands, reading glasses on his nose. And Percy walks in, and he sits down and he is happy, because he's home, and it's family, and he wants that. He wants it badly.

Finally, he opens his eyes, giving his mother a weak smile, and nods. His mother lets out a happy squeak and comes around the table to hug him. When her arms encircle his shoulders, he stiffens, and he resists the urge to step away from the woman (rival), but instead he buries his head in her warm cloak and takes in the smell - the smell of home. Yes, it will take some work, and he'll have to fight to suppress his impossible desires, but right now he thinks it's worth it.

End chapter two