ofpercival:
“They could’ve trusted me not to cause trouble all they wanted, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want attention,” he snapped, face heating up and likely turning bright red from how much he was fuming. How dare Charlie come in and throw words at him like he knew him anymore? Percy used to be able to say they were close; if asked a few years ago, he would’ve still said as much despite the obvious growing distance between them the more Charlie worked and Percy got bogged down with school. Now, though, Percy might as well have been speaking with a stranger.
“Sure, I didn’t cause trouble, but I deserved attention just as much as the rest of them. I love academics, but why else would I throw myself into my work more than anyone else? It’s not just because I loved my studies – I wanted mum and dad’s attention for five fucking minutes without one of our siblings berating me afterward for it. I was a Prefect and Headboy just like you and Bill, yet all I got was bullshit from our siblings and a passing congrats from our parents. Is that not fucked up?”
He shouldn’t be petty, shouldn’t cave and give into his anger like he desperately wanted to, but then his books were falling to the floor and Charlie had him by the shirt, shouting into his face about morals and helping Charlie leave and whatever the fuck else he wanted to scream about. Anger boiled within him, but, surprisingly, also a fierce numbness that he didn’t want to think about more than he had to. How often now had Percy been subject to the scathing words of his siblings? Not all interactions ended in near physical assault, but it was happening enough that Percy was almost used to the outcome with anyone sporting bright orange hair.
It should have been concerning, but Percy didn’t want to focus on that numbness. All he knew now ( and fiercely hung onto ) was his anger, the tension snapping as his brother shoved truths into his face that he also desperately didn’t want to acknowledge. Percy knew what he was doing was right, dammit, no matter how convincing Charlie’s shouting was at the end of the day. Percy couldn’t turn his back on his work now – if he did, then the last several years were for nothing.
Make me.
Percy finally snapped, regaining himself for a moment after being shoved away before reeling his arm back and punching Charlie with all of his might. Pain sprung up his arm, but the satisfying smack of a fist making contact with its target was nearly enough to distract him from the fact. He barely gave himself a moment to bask in the motion before shoving Charlie as close to the door as possible, correcting his stance in case Charlie decided to retaliate. He wasn’t the strongest of his brothers, but even Percy Weasley knew how to wrestle thanks to his upbringing. “Get the fuck out of my office, Charlie. You don’t belong here. You never belonged here! The sooner you’re gone, the sooner we can both get on with our lives, so fuck the fuck off.”
Charlie reeled, stumbled backwards clutching his jaw with a crazed grin. He was proud. He was fucking proud of Poncey Percy Weasley. It cut his anger more than his brother’s words and assumptions had managed to. Left him staring at the man before him that he could barely reconcile with the brother he had left behind all those years ago until that punch had knocked him back.
And maybe Charlie could focus on that, chuckling as he opened and closed his mouth. Doing his best to pop his jaw back into place before Percy’s hands were on him again and he was being pushed, shoved against the door. The handle jamming into the small of his back, all pointy bits in knotted muscles from months of working and forgetting what vacation days were.
“Perce. Didn’t know you had it in you. Thought you purist types were above fighting with your hands. Lost your wand or is that just the Weasley coming out? Cause that’s the thing, isn’t it? You can push us all away. You can do all your traitor fucking nonsense and act out because you didn’t get enough fucking attention– Like any of us fucking did. But you’re still one of us. That’s shit you can’t change.”
Still, he couldn’t let him get away with that.
Hands coming back up to take hold of the formerly crisp, formerly pressed and ironed and probably fucking starched shirt, Charlie shoved his brother harder than he had been pushed towards the door. “You still.” Another shove. “Don’t.” And another. “Get it.” One more for good measure. “I fucking care about you. And I’m not going to let you just get yourself killed. I can go fucking fuck the fuck off but you know I’m not just here spouting shit for my sake. You’re not dumb. You don’t have a fucking death wish. You’re just a stubborn arsehole who doesn’t know when to quit.” With a last half-hearted shove, Charlie once again clutched his brother’s shirt. He stared, no, glared at Percy. Hoping his look would crack whatever the hell had taken over him since words (which had never been Charlie’s strong suit) didn’t seem to be making a difference. “Bastard. Just a bloody bastard.” He unclenched his fist, taking the time to smooth the spot he had utterly wrecked back down to an imitation of pressed and turned for the door.
When he reached it, he turned. “I’m not asking about the sanctuary for me. I am but it’s bigger than that. Just like what you have your fucking nose in is bigger than you. All the poachers bullshit. It’ll be coming your way. Pox and disease and unregulated sales and shit. You’ll end up dealing with it too.”
