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Percy wasn’t all that observant. He couldn’t access situations in the blink of an eye, he could barely tell what people were feeling half the time. But, he could piece things together.
And there were a lot of things that pointed to Eleanor Birchgrove not having the best home life.
There were a few things that, apart, meant nothing. Small flinches when people raised their voices, a general mistrust of adults, avoidance to being in small, cramped spaces.
If it were just one of these things, Percy wouldn’t have noticed, but then there was the common room incident, where Eleanor Birchgrove, who had gotten too hot sitting by the fire, had taken off her sweatshirt.
The common room had gone silent, and Birchgrove had quickly run away to her room, but it didn’t erase the image from his mind. Her entire arms were covered in marks, a cut here, a burn here. Everyone else had been content to go back to their previous conversations, but Percy couldn’t, the image still replaying in his mind. If he could do something to help, but didn’t, he’d never forgive himself.
So, he went to Professor McGonagall. Then again when a week had passed with no updates. Then again. And again. Enough times that she had finally gotten annoyed and assured him that she had told Professor Dumbledore and that it was in his hands.
So, he’d gone to Dumbledore. Only once, though, because he couldn’t stand having those almost-kind eyes piercing through him as if skinning him.
He would have let it be, but it was almost Christmas, and the thought of Birchgrove having to spend it alone was almost worse than the thought of her having to spend it back home.
That led Percy to one conclusion; he had to invite her over. Bill and Charlie had invited plenty of their friends over for Christmas, and, while the thought filled him with a sense of dread he couldn’t understand, it felt a particular type of cruelness to leave someone alone on a holiday.
Regretfully, that meant talking to Birchgrove, which was not his area of expertise. He sighed, which caused Oliver to look his way.
“Everything okay?” Oliver asked, sitting up on his bed.
He almost nodded, but stopped himself, “... How do you invite someone over for Christmas?”
Oliver started choking, “You want to invite someone over? Who? Clearwater? Farley?”
Gemma and Oliver had been introduced to each other when Gemma, somehow sporting a Gryffindor tie, sat next to him during dinner and started chatting to Percy about a plan to flood one of the Slytherin’s rooms to force someone to change the sleeping arrangements.
It didn’t work, but the amazing part had been that Percy had let himself be led, by Gemma, to do something so incredibly foolish. In his defence, Gemma was good at glossing over details and masquerading one thing as something else. He has really thought he was helping. And he hadn’t gotten into trouble for it.
The problem was that Oliver didn’t really like Gemma after that. And he pretty much only tolerated Penny. So, Percy felt like he was being pushed from friend to friend and the thought should not have made him as happy as it did because he had enough friends to be paraded around.
“No. Eleanor Birchgrove. She’s a Gryffindor.”
Oliver’s eyes lightened in recognition, and Percy was almost sure that he was remembering the exact situation that got him into this.
“I didn’t know you were friends with her?” Oliver asked with a scrunched nose that made him look somewhat adorable. In a bunny rabbit sort of way.
“I’m not, but I don’t want her – anyone – to have to be alone on Christmas.”
Oliver looked at him, and, for a moment, Percy was worried he’d said something wrong, but then the other boy was softening and smiling and looking so, well, fond. “Of course. You’re amazing, do you know that?”
Percy felt his cheeks heat up, and hid behind a book because he knew that the red would clash with his hair, and he didn’t want to look unseemly in front of Oliver. “Thank you. Do you have any ideas?”
Oliver shrugged, “I’d just ask her. Explain that you don’t want her to be alone. I think it’d be sweet if someone did that for me.”
He nodded, then his head shot up to meet Oliver’s gaze, earlier embarrassment forgotten, “You are doing something fun on Christmas, aren’t you?”
Oliver grinned, “Yeah, going sledding with my family. Nothing to worry about here.”
“Oh, right, I just wanted to ask if we were at the gift-giving stage of friendship?” He asked, perhaps slightly nervous from something that definitely wasn’t Oliver’s possible Christmas present stuffed in the back of his draw, “I just don’t want to make it awkward if you give me a gift, but I don’t. Or I give you a gift, but you don’t. Not that I’d blame you if you didn’t get me a gift, I don’t mind, please, don’t feel pressured or anything, that’s why I’m asking. It’s fine to tell me you don’t want to, I won’t be mad, I don’t have a right to get-”
Oliver, who often looked at Percy like he hung the stars whenever he talked, got up from his bed to sit on Percy’s, causing him to teeter off.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Oliver said, so very softly, “I’d love to hear you talk, just maybe not anything bad about yourself. I’d be fine with gift giving.”
Percy brightened almost immediately, “Perfect. Only if you're sure, though.”
Oliver rolled his eyes, “I’m absolutely sure. Are you going to ask that to everyone?”
He nodded; it was a plan he had made before the Birchgrove one. “I have things picked out; I just don’t want to make things awkward.”
“How on earth can giving someone gifts make things awkward?”
Percy didn’t know how to explain that he was very good at making things awkward, so he just shrugged. “I think it’s best to check.”
Oliver patted his leg, then went back to his bed, “Go to bed, Percy. Talk to Birchgrove in the morning. And thank you for getting me a gift.”
He felt his cheeks burn, and instantly turned around to turn off his lamp, “It’s nothing.”
They said nothing more, and Percy was lulled to sleep by the comforting sound of Oliver just a bed over to him.
In the morning, Percy had some semblance of a plan. One, find Birchgrove. Two, ask to talk to her. Three, invite her over? It was a very lose, fragmented steps of a plan, but it did make him feel better.
Luckily, Birchgrove rarely left the common room, and that was where he found her, in the same chair she usually sat in.
“Birchgrove,” he greeted, and hated himself a little when she flinched back, “Sorry. I just wondered if you had time to talk?”
Birchgrove stared up at him, not quite glaring, that seemed too harsh, but also not quite calculating. It was as if fear had been left entirely without anger, but also without dread, it looked, quite horribly, like acceptance.
“Sure,” she said, then nothing more, following him to one of the secret alcoves in the common room where they could talk without interruptions, even with it being almost completely barren due to the pleasant weather outside.
Well, steps one and two went splendidly, which brought good hope for step three. “I wanted to ask what you were planning for Christmas?”
Birchgrove’s brows furrowed, “My Christmas plans? I haven’t really thought about them. I mean, I’m most likely staying here.”
He nodded, just like he’d expected, then. “I was wondering if you’d like to join my family then?”
She recoiled, “What?”
This led Percy to be nervous, and, when he was nervous, he rambled.
“Well, you see, I don’t like the idea of people being alone on Christmas, and my family, they’re nice, they’re welcoming, and I’m sure my mother would treat you kindly. My brothers may be a lot, but I could ask them to leave you alone, I’m assuming that they’d listen.”
Birchgrove blinked, then blinked again. He didn’t know whether it was conscious or not, but there was a slight smile winding its way on her face, “You care about me being alone?”
He nodded, of course he did. “It just seemed cruel, to leave you alone here when I could do something to help.”
Her smile grew wider, before suddenly being snuffed out, “How did you know I wouldn’t go home? Where you – where you in the common room that day?”
“I was,” he said, certain about it, there was no other day she could be on about. “I had tried to voice my concerns with Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore, but I think they’ve been ignoring me.”
He was unsure what exactly he said wrong, but the moment the words left his mouth, Birchgrove hardened, staring at him with vehement hatred.
“You did what ?” She snarled, but it was quiet in its deadliness.
“I... I went to Professor-”
“I heard you the first time!” She interrupted, which was odd, because she had asked for clarification, but Percy had, like he always did, messed up.
“Do you have any idea what you did?” She hissed, eyes pinning him down, “What if someone told them? Do you know how much worse you’ve made it? Or do you only care about yourself, your apparent need to help people. Well, I don’t need help, especially not from a self-absorbed, arrogant boy like you!”
The worse part was, perhaps, not the utter venom that laced her tone, but the fear that he could tell was mixed just as ferociously within it. The knowledge that, because of his ignorance and blind faith, he could have made things much, much worse for Birchgrove the next time she went home.
The rest of the day passed with a quiet sort of contemplation where he hoped an answer would grace him, but it didn’t. Oliver kept shooting him worried looks and Penny had asked what was wrong when they had charms, but he didn’t know what to say, because he was fine, but someone else might not be because of him.
He was completely fine with considering in silence, but he had friends now, so it was not a thing he could do. Instead, Gemma cornered him in the library the second he stepped into it, tugging him into a deserted corner.
“Spill,” she said.
“Are we at the gift-giving stage of our friendship?” He blurted out instead, maybe he was stalling, unwilling for Gemma to look at him with disappointment, or hatred.
“Absolutely, already have yours picked out,” Gemma said, not batting an eye, “Now tell me what’s been bugging you.”
He took a breath. Then another. It felt like an eternity before he started talking. “There’s this girl, Eleanor Birchgrove. I wanted to invite her for Christmas because I’m worried her family aren’t the best. I asked her, and it seemed to be going well, but I was stupid, and I told Professor McGonagall, and now I’ve made everything worse.”
Gemma gazed at him, calculating, then shrugged, “I don’t think it’s your fault that you trusted the person you were specifically told to trust. You might have made things worse,” he flinched at that, but Gemma remained resolute, “but that would not be your fault. Because you're not the one supposed to fix it. You talked to the people who are, that’s all you can do.”
It didn’t seem like enough.
“She’s mad at me. For telling.”
Gemma nodded, “Yeah, I get that. You can’t fix everyone, Perce.”
He frowned, “I don’t want to fix her, I want her to be happy.”
His friend smiled, but it wasn’t at all kind, it was perhaps pity, and Percy has the strangest sensation that it was being directed towards him, “Those two can feel the same. Not everyone wants to be happy.”
His brows furrowed, “Who wouldn’t want to be happy?” He asked, genuinely baffled.
“Do you?” Gemma challenged, and it suddenly felt like they were on the edge of a cliff, and, with one wrong move, Percy would be tumbling off the edge of it.
“Everyone wants to be happy,” he said, resolute, and Gemma let it go.
“Probably. But to her it probably feels like you want to fix her, and that makes her feel broken. Just apologise.”
He nodded, “I’ll do that. And I’ll probably stay here for Christmas.”
Gemma scrunched her nose, confused, “Why would you do that?”
“I don’t want her to be alone,” he said, by way of explanation. It felt enough, it would always be enough, for him.
Gemma just froze, then broke out into a smile, “Of course you don’t. Well, I wish you good luck then. And merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Gemma.”
It was, perhaps, not the best plan. Especially when his brothers had come to him asking why he was staying behind, but all he had to do was mention that he wanted to study in peace, and they left him alone.
The week before break passed uneventfully. He asked Penny whether they were at the gift-giving stage and it turned out that yes, they were. When she figured out he was staying at Hogwarts, she asked whether he wanted to go with her family, even on such short notice. Oliver had asked the same. He had politely declined, saying that he would be fine, and that he’d miss them.
Oliver though, stubborn as he was, had to try again.
“You can always come with me,” he repeated, as if the train wasn’t leaving in an hour and Percy wasn’t even packed.
“It’s much too late to change my mind.”
“No, it isn’t. My mum wouldn’t care, and you could wear my clothes, I don’t mind sharing.”
The prospect was tempting, especially the part where he’d be able to spend all that time with Oliver, but Percy had not made it this far in life without being a little stubborn himself.
“Thank you, but no. I’ll see you after the break. Merry Christmas.”
Oliver looked at him for a beat too long, but nodded, “Merry Christmas,” he said, before leaving.
Part of Percy wondered whether he had made the wrong choice, whether Birchgrove would not want to see him, or whether she’d ended up going back home and he’d be completely alone, but his fear was unfounded when he found her in the common room a few hours later.
She looked at the footsteps and harshly recoiled when she saw him, their eyes meeting. “What are you doing here?”
““I told you, I’d feel bad if you were alone.”
Birchgrove huffed, leaping out of her chair to go up to her dorm.
“Did they find out?” He called after her.
She paused, but didn’t turn around, “No. They didn’t do anything.”
Percy didn’t know what to feel about that. Relief, probably, that at least Birchgrove was safe, but then there was also betrayal, upset. Why hadn’t anything been done? If going to Professor McGonagall had done nothing but put Birchgrove in potential danger, then what was the point to it?
He shook the thoughts away, heading up to his own room. He would see Birchgrove during meals, and he still needed to send all of his friends’ presents and get started on Birchgrove’s.
He usually wouldn’t sit in the common room, it was much too loud for that, but with the decreased number of people he thought it would be a good idea. His room seemed a lot colder without Oliver there.
He had learnt both crochet and knitting from his mother, though he performed the former. It was therapeutic, in a way, a particular pattern to follow, the repetitive motions. When his mother had lost the time to continue teaching him, he had continued himself, borrowing her books, repeating the steps until he could do them in his sleep.
He had never felt ashamed of this particular hobby, but he had learnt to not let much of his personal interest's shine. If he was lucky, and he never seemed to be, he would simply just be ignored, and that wasn’t any different to what he was used to, but he couldn’t help but remember the jeers when his brothers had found out. They had (accidently) unravelled one of his pieces, and he had to bite his cheek to keep himself from crying; he had worked really hard on that.
Maybe, knowing all of that, Percy should have just stayed in the loneliness of his room.
Third years normally ignored him, it would be a little weird for them to talk to a first year, especially one who had two pretty popular older brothers. But they weren’t here now.
“What do you have there?” One of them asked, and that was Percy’s first mistake.
“It’s some crochet,” he answered, as if the question wasn’t a sneer, “I’m making it for a friend.”
The other one rolled his eyes, “Of course you’d like pansy things like that.”
Percy, only ten, raised around his family and no one else, didn’t know what pansy meant, but he could tell by the way it was spat out that it was not a very nice word.
Percy, only ten, still believed that people were inherently good, so his brows just furrowed, no malice in his tone, “Pansy?”
He realised it was the wrong thing to say when the two boys began guffawing at him, “The pansy doesn’t-”
He was going to say more, but he, and his companion, were suddenly drenched in water, then a hand was wrapped around his wrist, and he was being tugged out of the common room.
Birchgrove, the one who was pulling him, was muttering as she did so, “Stupid third years, stupid classmates. Stupid Percy.”
He flinched when she spun around to face him, seething, “What was that? Did you want them to laugh at you more? Why would you do that?”
“I just wanted to crochet,” he said quietly, not adding that he didn’t want to feel alone.
“Not that bit, idiot,” she hissed, “why would you repeat that word?”
Percy blinked, unsure what she was on about, “Pansy?”
Birchgrove clamped a hand over his mouth, “That is not a nice word. We don’t say it,” she said, only removing her hand when he nodded.
“But... What does it mean?”
She closed her eyes, taking a breath to steel herself, “It’s an insult. A very bad one. It’s like a swear word, but for insults. So, you can’t say it.”
He nodded again, because he hadn’t meant to insult anyone, he didn’t even swear, because that felt too mean. Then, his eyes widened, “My project!”
Birchgrove stared at him judgementally, “What?”
“The thing I was working on, I left it in the common room. They would have ruined it by now,” he said, feeling a familiar pressure build up behind his eyes, and he blinked furiously to try and dispel it.
Birchgrove just sighed, “You can start again, it’s not the end of the world.”
“But I need it for Christmas!” He insisted, considering the risk of running into the two boys if he went back.
Birchgrove’s fists clenched, “Look, you’re not going back there. I’m sure your friend will understand.”
“Well, they’re not a friend, not really, I just wanted them to have something and...” He wilted under Birchgrove’s glare.
She was looking at him as if she wanted to punch him, “Were you making me something?”
Hesitantly, he nodded.
She growled, spinning on her heel and grabbing his wrist again, turning to a portrait beside her, “Oi. Go check where the two Gryffindor boys are.”
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that,” the portrait replied, playing a game of cards, “There’s plenty of Gryffindor boys.”
“It’s break, they’re the only two here.”
She glared at the portrait, who admitted defeat quickly, running off with quiet, “Women knew their place in my time.”
Percy observed this exchange curiously, “I didn’t know you could ask the portraits to do things for you.”
Birchgrove shrugged, “If you can talk to them, you can order them around. What else are they meant to do?”
The portrait came back before he could respond, “There’s no one there. I think the two boys you’re on about are currently roaming the grounds.”
Birchgrove nodded, and Percy thanked the portrait, almost jogging to follow the girl.
He was proven right when he found the charred remains of his project, a flower since he didn’t know anything else Birchgrove would like, in the fireplace. He took one look at it and promised to never show any part of himself in public again.
Birchgrove look one look at it, then clicked her tongue, “I prefer ducks. And I’d rather you teach me.”
Percy’s brows furrowed, “What?”
Birchgrove just latched onto his hand, tugging him up the boy’s staircase, then down the corridor to his room. “I’d rather you teach me that... Knitting?”
“Crochet,” he corrected, then frowned, “You want to learn?”
She nodded, “Yes. Consider it my Christmas gift.”
He was still unsure of what she truly wanted (because it seemed impossible that it was to learn crochet, of all things) but if it made her forgive him, he was willing. He took out two hooks and some chunky yarn, passing her some.
“Alright, so, we start with a slip stitch,” he said, then slowly began explaining all the basic parts of crochet. He doubted he’d be able to teach her everything, but it would be a solid start.
He sat with her for a while, Birchgrove getting continuously more and more agitated.
“How about we try again tomorrow, Birchgrove?” He asked, because he now had a duck to make.
Birchgrove huffed, “Call me Eleanor, I’ll call you Percy. And I will get this,” she said, like a threat.
To Eleanor’s credit, she sat with him for a few hours every day to practice. She complained all through the way, cursing quite vividly when she dropped her stitches, and, on one very memorable occasion, setting part of the curtains on fire in her anger. Luckily, it hadn’t spread.
But Eleanor was progressing well, excluding all the minor fire-related setbacks, and, on Christmas morning, Percy found a small, poorly wrapped package amongst the rest of the gifts he was expecting. He had decided to open them all after breakfast, as then he would be less likely to eat all of the sweets at once.
Eleanor was waiting for him when he went down, and she did not like his plan at all, “I opened yours,” she complained, “can’t you open mine? Also, I told you the lessons were my gift.”
“You also said you liked ducks.”
The girl did seem to like them a lot, because she brought the duck he made her along, calling it ‘sir Duckold the fourth’ and pretending to feed it. “Oh, thanks, by the way.”
He smiled, “I’m glad you like it.”
Eleanor scowled, but went back to babying her duck plush, sorry, sir Duckold the fourth, and forced him back up to his room the second he was done eating.
“Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up,” was a constant mantra as he hurried behind her.
When they got to his room, Eleanor made herself comfortable on his bed, looking curiously at all the presents he got. His mother got him a jumper, along with some sweets that he gave to Eleanor. There was another package from his family that came from the twins (in hindsight, that should have been his first warning, but he was happy to get something) which exploded the second he opened it, and only Eleanor’s quick reflexes stopped the rest of his presents getting damaged.
Penny gave him an advanced potion recipe book, and Gemma a lot of ingredients so that he could make them. Oliver gave him a new notebook with a quaffle on it, a pair of warm winter gloves and a new red quill.
Then he got to Eleanor’s gift, and it was... Well, it was a dragon, and, considering the time she had to make it, it was very well done. He was unsure if anyone else would be able to tell it was a dragon, but considering she had asked for a pattern to make one, he was almost absolutely positive.
“Thank you,” he said politely, “It means a lot that you made me something.”
Eleanor scoffed, “It looks like shit.”
He chose not to comment on that. “But you made it for me. Which makes it mean a lot to me.”
Eleanor groaned, “You should be banned from speaking. You're making me like you, and I don’t like that.”
Something dropped in his stomach, and he suddenly felt cold, “We’re not friends?”
“... Of course we are. Fuck you.”
The two seemed contradictory but Eleanor was smiling so he decided to drop it. The rest of the day passed well, and he even managed to convince Eleanor to help him with some potions, though she spent most of that time complaining.
Eleanor convinced him to stay up on New Year with her, stealing snacks from the kitchen. She ended up falling asleep in his room, Sir Duckold the fourth on her shoulder.
When it was time for the rest of the students to come back, Percy managed to drag Eleanor along with him to pick up his friends. Penny was the first one to spot them, skipping over to them with Gemma in tow. Oliver followed behind the two, pretending not to be with them.
“Thank you for the gifts, Percy!” Gemma called out the second she got close enough.
“Yeah, thanks,” Penny repeated, “Honestly, I loved the little rabbits. I added them to my taxidermy.”
Oliver’s nose scrunched, “Taxidermy?”
“It’s a family tradition,” Penny defended, “They’re dead anyway, what’s the problem?”
Eleanor snorted, which caused Oliver to immediately point to her, “See, I don’t know who that is, but she agrees with me.”
“It’s Eleanor. And taxidermy is a little creepy.”
Penny turned to look at Percy, “It’s not a hobby I like, but if you like it.”
Penny latched onto Gemma’s arm, looking very betrayed, “I hate everyone here.”
This caused Gemma to wrench her hand away from Penny, and glance between Oliver and Eleanor, deciding on the latter, “Fuck you. Eleanor’s my best friend now.”
Eleanor, always down to mess with someone, nodded, “Yeah. Fuck you, I don’t know your name.”
Percy felt like, somewhere along the line, he had messed up, but then Oliver was next to him, urging him along.
“Thanks for the cup holders. And the scaled replica of a quidditch pitch. Did you like your gifts?”
He nodded, glad to be leaving the not-quite argument behind; Penny was trying to convince Eleanor to leave Gemma to be with her.
“I loved them, thank you.”
Oliver smiled, soft, “I’m glad, oh and here,” he said, handing Percy a new set of coloured inks, “I found these, and thought you might want them.”
Percy took them, brushing hands with Oliver as he did so, “I love them. Thank you for being my friend.”
Oliver turned red, perhaps from the cold, and they returned to the castle, their shoulders brushing the entire way.