Chapter Text
The dizzy spells began the day after they came back from Egypt.
It had been a marvelous trip - or so everyone said. Bill’s grinning face under the desert sun, the twins exploring every cursed tomb they weren’t supposed to, Ginny chasing scarabs with Ron, and Mum smiling like she hadn’t in years. Even Percy had felt something light bloom in his chest for once -pride, maybe, or the rare comfort of being included.
But on the last night, as the sun sank behind the pyramids, a strange fatigue had settled in his bones. The air had felt too thick, his skin too warm. He’d brushed it off as heat exhaustion.
Percy Weasley didn’t get ill.
He was responsible. Reliable. Unshakable.
And now, weeks later at Hogwarts, that weariness had not gone away.
“Brilliant, Fred! You’ve just made her turn purple!”
Fred and George’s laughter filled the Gryffindor common room like firecrackers. A terrified first-year girl sat in front of them, face blotched violet, while smoke still curled from the tiny sweet she’d been tricked into eating.
“It’ll wear off,” George said cheerfully, scribbling notes. “Probably.”
“Perfect reaction time,” Fred added, jotting something on a scrap of parchment. “We’ll call it the Blush Banger. Instant embarrassment!”
Percy froze at the foot of the stairs, his stomach twisting. “What on earth are you two doing?”
Fred turned, smirk fading when he saw Percy’s expression. “Oh, here comes the Ministry-in-Training.”
“You just hexed a first-year with an unregulated sweet," Percy snapped, striding forward. “Do you even think before you act?”
“She volunteered!” George protested. “Didn’t you, Ellie?”
The little girl looked on the verge of tears. Percy’s tone softened immediately. “Go to the hospital wing, Miss, please.”
She scampered off, still sniffling.
Fred rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Perce, we’re not murderers. It’s just a bit of fun!”
“Fun?” Percy repeated, voice rising. “You’re using people - children- as test subjects! You could’ve poisoned her!”
George’s jaw tightened. “Merlin, you sound just like Mum.”
“Someone has to,” Percy shot back. “You two are out of control. You’re supposed to represent Gryffindor, not drag it through the mud with your idiotic stunts.”
Fred’s laughter was gone now, replaced by something sharp. “You love telling people what they should be, don’t you? Always the golden boy, always right.”
“That’s not..”
“Yes, it is!” George cut in. “You walk around acting like you’re better than the rest of us. Like we’re all disappointments waiting for you to fix!”
Percy’s throat tightened. “I just want you to stop getting yourselves expelled! Do you think I enjoy nagging you?”
Fred crossed his arms. “You don’t nag. You preach.”
For a moment, silence hung between them -thick, heavy. The fire crackled in the hearth.
Percy’s face flushed red. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, turning away. “One day, you’ll realize someone had to care enough to stop you.”
“Don’t bother,” George called after him. “We don’t need saving.”
He left before they could see how much that stung.
In the corridor, Percy leaned against the wall, breathing hard. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He could feel it again -the same light-headedness that had started in Egypt. Like the world was spinning just slightly faster than he could keep up with.
They never listen.
He’d spent years trying to set an example, to keep the Weasley name from being synonymous with chaos. But to them, he was just a nag, a bore, the brother who’d rather quote the rulebook than laugh at a joke.
He swallowed against the ache in his throat.
I’m trying to hold this family together, and they think I’m the enemy.
Later that night, Fred and George sprawled on their beds in the dormitory, Lee Jordan flipping through Quidditch Weekly on the floor.
“Can you believe him?” Fred muttered. “Marches in like he’s our dad.”
“Worse,” George said. “At least Dad lets us breathe.”
Lee looked up, brow furrowing. “You two are rough on him. Percy’s... well, Percy. But he means well.”
Fred scoffed. “Meaning well doesn’t give him the right to boss us around like we’re five.”
“I’m just saying,” Lee continued, “he looked sort of sick earlier. Pale. Maybe he’s stressed.”
“Stressed? He lives for stress,” George said. But even as he spoke, a flicker of unease crossed his face.
Fred hesitated. “He has been... off, hasn’t he?”
“Probably just overworking,” George muttered. “He’ll be fine.”
The words didn’t sound convincing—even to him.
The next morning at breakfast, Percy looked perfectly composed, as always. Uniform crisp, posture straight, badge gleaming. His spoon clinked against his teacup in an even rhythm. The twins exchanged a glance but said nothing.
“See?” Fred whispered. “Still breathing. Still bossy.”
George managed a smirk. “All’s right with the world.”
But when Percy looked up briefly, his eyes seemed tired... faint circles shadowing the edges.
Later that day, Percy sat beside Oliver Wood in the library, trying to finish an Arithmancy essay. His hand trembled slightly as he wrote, the ink blotting on the parchment.
“Oliver,” he murmured, setting down his quill. “I think I might need to see Madam Pomfrey after class. Can’t seem to shake this... tiredness.”
Oliver looked concerned. “You all right, mate? You’ve been looking peaky since term started.”
“It’s probably nothing. Maybe a tonic will help,” Percy said, offering a small smile. “I’ll be fine once I get some rest.”
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips when he arrived. “Back again, Mr. Weasley? You look dreadful.”
“Just a tonic, please,” Percy said, voice low. “I’ve been... a bit faint.”
She handed him a small bottle. “Drink this and rest. And don’t come back pretending you’re fine if you’re not. Your prefect duties can wait.”
“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” he said automatically, though he knew they wouldn’t.
Back in the dormitory, the firelight painted the room gold and scarlet.
Percy unbuttoned his collar, sweat beading on his forehead. He took the tonic in one swallow, grimacing at the bitterness.
Usually, it worked within minutes. Tonight, nothing.
He sighed, tugging off his tie and robes. “A shower,” he muttered. “That’ll help.”
As he pulled off his shirt, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror... and froze.
Across his back, faint blue patches mottled the skin, spreading from his shoulders downward like bruises.
He blinked, reached back to touch them. Cold. Tender.
“What in Merlin’s name…”
His hand trembled. The room felt distant, spinning gently around him.
Maybe it’s just poor circulation... from stress.
Yes, stress. That was reasonable. Logical. Something he could fix.
He sank down on his bed, pressing a hand over his eyes. His body felt heavy, but the ache in his chest was worse.
They’ll never understand. They’ll think I’m just being dramatic again.
The fire crackled softly, his Head Boy badge catching the light on his bedside table... gleaming, flawless, untarnished.
Just like Percy was supposed to be.
But beneath the shine, something was cracking.
And it was spreading.