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Title: Soups and Stories
 "Worries go down better with soup than without," his mum would always say when he got sick. Percy Weasley snuffled into a damp handkerchief, laying miserably on his couch. Here he was, in the finest flat the Ministry of Magic could afford for the Minister's Personal Assistant--which made it a very fine place to live, indeed--and he was reminiscing of the Burrow, his decrepit family home. Percy blew his nose and cringed, the sound hurting his ears. Exchanging the abused handkerchief for a fresh one, Percy sighed. He missed the chaos of his childhood home, the clattering of many feet as all nine Weasleys crammed into the small dining room for breakfast every morning. He missed his brothers, especially Bill and Charlie. Ginny, his sweet, little, cherry tart of a sister, and the lazy days by the pond when his siblings played Quidditch. But Percy also remembered the not-so-fun times. Like when Fred and George would take his things and charm or ruin them. Like when Ron and Ginny would splash his books and soak them through in innocent and childish fun. When Bill and Charlie scoffed at his ambitious goals in the Ministry. And when that attention-seeking brat Potter, broke up his family. With his audacious claims that Voldemort was alive, he took his entire, gullible family along with him and the old fool Dumbledore. He, Percy Weasley, was the only one not deluded by Potter's claims. And one day, when everyone would finally see Potter's lies, he would be there, to welcome them back from their insanity. "Heh-ITUSSH! HEH-IITISHOO!" Percy sneezed into his handkerchief. He blew his nose and rubbed it to try and quiet the tickly sensation. "HEH-YUSSHAH! IIISHOO! Sdniff! Sdniff!" Percy groaned. Despite his family's political motivations, he still missed them. ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder,' Percy thought. And he sure felt the absence of his mother's chicken soup. It was the best he had ever tasted, warm chicken broth with soft noodles and carrots. For him, she specially added celery and little chicken pieces. When he drank it, the broth soothed his sore throat and warmed his insides better than her sweaters did--and that was saying something. Percy sighed. He was so lonely, holed up in his expensive flat with no one to comfort or care for him. His mother would fuss over him when he got sick; she would always bring her soup and a nice picture book, to read to him. He got to cuddle up to her, without his other siblings crowding around, drink the soup, and listen to her voice read "Peter Rabbit" or "The Little Broom That Could." And now, in his flat, all miserable with a head cold, he never felt more alone. "HEH-ISHOO! HETISHOO! IIISHOO!" Percy sneezed into his handkerchief. He snuffled once more. Percy groaned as his stomach grumbled. He was finally hungry enough to eat, after three days of being ill, but he had nothing edible in his cupboards. And he wanted his mother's soup. "EEEHSHOO! IIITCHOO! HAAHCHOO! IISHOO! ISHOO!" Percy blew his nose thoroughly, feeling much better after the congestion cleared. His stomach grumbled again. Giving up, Percy got up from the couch and went to his bedroom, where he dressed himself. He went with a warm sweater and wizard robes on top of his pajamas, feeling too tired and sick to bother with dressing properly. After putting on a scarf, cloak, and shoes, Percy took his wand and a few galleons. He was going to go buy soup at the Leaky Cauldron. With a pop, Percy Apparated, forgetting his handkerchiefs behind. "Hullo, Tom," Percy said thickly. "HEHISHOO! ISHOO! Sdniff! ... Could I ged somb chicked soup, please? Thaks." Tom nodded sympathetically as Percy snuffled, rummaging around for a handkerchief. The young man groaned softly when he realized that he had forgotten one. Luckily, dry paper napkins were within reach, so Percy helped himself. Tom was prompt with the package, smiling as he passed it over to Percy. "Feel better Mr. Weasley," Tom said in a gruff voice. Percy thanked him and paid for the food. He got up from the bar stool, nearly falling as his head swam. Luckily, a passing customer caught his arm and steadied him. "Easy there, lad. Are you alright?" said the man who saved him from falling to the floor. Percy looked up incredulously at the familiar voice. "Father?" he croaked. He looked over at the woman next to the man. "Mother?" "Percy, dear!" his mother, Molly Weasley, exclaimed. "Are you alright? You look a bit peaky..." Percy smiled to his father, so the man could release his arm, and replied, "I'm alright. Just a bit... HEHISHOO! ISHOO! ... under the weather, that's all." Arthur Weasley returned the smile and pat his son's back. Even though they were at odds, he wouldn't be cold to his son if Percy was willing to be friendly. Molly, in typical fashion, clucked and stepped forward, feeling her son's forehead. Surprisingly, Percy didn't pull back or snap at her. Instead, he let her fuss. "Well, you don't have a fever. And you are smart enough to bundle up," his mother added, approving, and yet, a tad disappointed that she couldn't fuss over him anymore. She shook her head; "Ron didn't bother putting on a jumper when he got sick during Christmas. He ended up staying in bed for a week with the nastiest cough!" Percy smiled, "That souds like Rond... ISHOO! HIHTISHOO! Sdniff!... I'b sorry, Mub, Dad, bud I think I deed to go back to my flad... IIISHOO! IIITIISHOO!" Percy sneezed desperately into the paper napkins, torn between wanting to run away from embarrassment or stay with his parents. His mum nodded, agreeing. "Yes dear, it sounds like you need to go back to bed. Take care, please," she said. A little nervously, she came and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Percy willingly accepted the affection, dissolving in the warmth of her hug. His father gave him one as well, making Percy's ears turn pink. The two wished him well and turned to go. Percy took the cooling package of soup and prepared to Apparate, feeling much better now that he had seen his parents again. When he got back to his flat, he used a warming charm to reheat the chicken soup and ate it. He noted that he felt full and that it was tasty--but it wasn't as good as his mother's. He lay down on his bed, curled up in the blankets, and wished that once more he could have his mother's soup and hear her reading him a story. The End | |||||
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