It's the most loneliest time of the year
Busy trying to finish KwtL and trying to stop myself from getting sidetracked with what has become an annual tradition of writing an angsty Christmas fic. So here's a throw-back to last year's instead.
Summary: Four Christmases in which Percy Weasley was alone. And one in which he very much was not.
Relationships: Percy/Audrey
Rating: T | Words: 5.5k | Read it here or on AO3
Christmas, 1994
As he descended the stairs, Percy’s ears were met with a cacophony of clanking pots and pans from the kitchen. A mouth-watering aroma wafted up to meet his nostrils. Oh, dear. Mum. We talked about this. He straightened his dress robes as he brusquely took the last few steps down and turned the corner into the kitchen.
As he predicted, every flat surface was covered in food. A dozen mince pies were still left after Mum had sent off the majority of the batch to the rest of the family yesterday, and all week she had been baking biscuits and tarts and cakes. Now, dish-by-dish, Christmas dinner was making its way out of the oven. Percy’s eyes followed a plate of Yorkshire puddings as it flew across the kitchen and over to the dining table. It came to rest beside a large chicken surrounded by roast potatoes, parsnips, and Brussels. Mum pocketed her wand after conducting the Yorkshire pudding dance and turned back to resume stirring a gravy at the hob. Dad smiled at Percy as he entered, then went back to setting the table. Percy immediately took note of three place settings arranged at one end of the long wooden table. Why do they never listen to me?
“Mother,” Percy said with a sigh. “This is too much food for just you and Dad. I told you not to go overboard; I can’t stay for dinner, remember? Mr Crouch is counting on me to make sure everything is prepared at Hogwarts.”
“Well, I thought, you know… Just in case you changed your mind.” Then clearly not able to resist reopening their previous argument, Mum chided, “Surely you can have a small bite before you go.” She waved her spoon at him like a naughty child. “The Yule Ball doesn’t start until eight o’clock!”
“Yes, I know. But I want to get there early!” Percy ground out for what felt like the hundredth time. “There’s so much to prepare and so many people to organise. Someone needs to make sure everything is getting done—tables to set up and the band and the decorations. Merlin knows we can’t count on Ludo Bagman for help.”
“I’m sure the House-elves will have all that taken care of. Really, Percy.”
“There’ll be a feast at the ball, Mother!” he reminded her. “I really don’t need to eat twice. I told you this. I have to go.”
“Come now, Percy,” said Dad, passing a gravy boat to Mum to fill. “Go easy on us. This is the first time your mother and I have been alone for Christmas evening since before Bill was born! Can’t blame us for feeling a bit lonely.” Dad was smiling at him in that way Percy hated so much. That patronising smile that said he saw something Percy didn’t. Which was complete rubbish, of course. Quite the opposite, in fact!
Why couldn’t they understand that this was important! He, Percy, was Mr Crouch’s personal assistant, and this was one of his first real tests. Everything had to go smoothly tonight. Percy was representing Mr Crouch and nothing could tarnish the reputation of his boss or his department.
Or maybe Dad did understand. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he was jealous that in the first six months of his career, Percy was already becoming more important at the Ministry than Dad ever would.
But Percy could hardly say such thoughts aloud.
Percy sighed irritably. The nerve Dad had to go for that guilt trip. It was hardly his fault that Ginny, Ron, and the twins had decided to stay at Hogwarts for the Yule Ball. Hardly his fault that Charlie had said he couldn’t justify the expense of travelling back when he’d already visited twice this year. Hardly his fault that they had uncovered some big new tomb in Egypt, and Bill had needed to cancel his trip home to work on breaking down the curses protecting it. Why did everything always fall to Percy? Why was it always his job to keep this family together?
But Mum and Dad were both looking at him expectantly. And he had to admit that it was rather sad to see them standing there with so many empty chairs around the dining table. And the Yorkshire pudding did admittedly smell divine.
Percy reached up and smoothed back his hair. “Ten minutes,” he said in compromise at last. Honestly, it was really quite magnanimous of him, Percy thought. “One piece of chicken. One Yorkshire. A little gravy. Then I have to go.”
Mum beamed and rushed to kiss him on the cheek. Dad smiled approvingly. Percy took his seat, and Mum began piling far more than just one piece of chicken, one Yorkshire, and a little gravy onto his plate. Percy swallowed his complaint. None of them would ever truly appreciate how much he did for this family.
Christmas, 1995
His flat was tiny. One room. That was it. He’d managed to squeeze a bed in one corner awkwardly butted up against the kitchenette. A desk that doubled as a dining table sat opposite. Percy suspected the bathroom had once been a cupboard before the crumbling walk-up had been repurposed into ‘chique industrial’ flats. Hermes had adopted the top of the bookcase as his perch, nestling himself into the hollow between some exposed piping. He was currently shredding a newspaper for recreation, a repetitive shhhrup echoing in the quiet of the room.
Outside was anything but quiet. The honking of Muggle cars and the rumbling of busses and the yelling of merchants was a constant roar outside the single pane window. But the constancy made it easy enough to ignore.
Percy pushed his glasses up his nose as he scratched out a line on the parchment at his desk. He scribbled a correction in the margin, then read it through again. Shhhrup. He glanced up at Hermes and let out an irritated breath. Then went back to his work.
Yes, it was Christmas. Yes, he could have taken the day off. But he really wanted to finish this report for the office. As Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic, it was, after all, his job to stay on top of these things. The Minister was counting on him to keep his administration running smoothly. With all the wild rumours and accusations the Ministry had to contend with lately… Well, it was all keeping Percy very busy, and he didn’t want to fall any further behind. He definitely didn’t need any more distractions.
Against his better judgment, Percy’s eyes strayed from the document he was working on to a letter lying crumpled on the far corner of the desk. He could still make out the closing line from where it lay:
Love from your brother, Bill
Percy felt his lip pull up in a sneer. Love. How could any of them claim ‘love’ for him. They had turned their back on him—the whole family had. Turned their back on Percy. Turned their back on the Ministry. Turned their back on their country! They had gone off to join some foolish rebellion, and Percy had been left behind as the sole voice of reason.
‘Rebellion’ was the word Percy used when he was feeling generous. ‘Treason’ was perhaps the more accurate word.
Percy had spent the last six months distancing himself from his family. It was just a matter of time before Dumbledore and Potter and everyone associated with them was brought down, and Percy would have nothing to do with it!
But now Bill had the nerve to write to him of father’s injuries. To encourage him to visit Dad at St Mungo’s and ‘mend fences’. To say that surely Percy should be ‘able to see how important family is in times like these’.
How dare he lecture him? When his father had literally been caught dangerously wounded in the Ministry with some utterly codswollop cover-story about an escaped beast that had been previously confiscated by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures? How thick did they think the Ministry was? Did they really think that the Ministry didn’t know that Dad had been up to something shady for Dumbledore? Just because they couldn’t prove it, didn’t mean they didn’t know.
And Percy was just supposed to forgive and forget, just because Dad was injured? Shouldn’t it mean the opposite? Shouldn’t something like this be a wake-up call to his family that they had no place getting mixed up in Dumbledore’s insurrection? Shouldn’t they be the ones coming to him to tell him how wrong they’d been? To ‘mend fences,’ as Bill had put it?
Shhhrup.
Percy dropped his quill to the desk and a splotch of ink marred his report for the office. “Do you mind?” he growled at Hermes. “I’m trying to work here.”
Hermes met his gaze. The owl cocked his head, blinked once at Percy, then his talons gripped another strip of newspaper deliberately. Shhhrup.
A growl escaped Percy’s chest. “You know what? Here. If you’re going to do that, why not shred something worth shredding.” His fist crumpled around Bill’s letter, and he chucked it up on top of the bookcase. Hermes hopped to dodge the projectile and ruffled his feathers indignantly.
Percy opened his mouth to say something more, but he was cut off by a tap tap tap on the window. He spun around. Then was immediately annoyed with himself at the burst of hope and joy he’d felt at the sound. He paused for a moment, staring at the dark shape on the window ledge outside the glass. With a sharp release of his breath, he marched over and wrenched the window open.
Errol tumbled in and onto the desk. The ancient owl was gasping for breath, slumped against the lumpy parcel he’d been carrying. Percy merely stood there and stared down at him. A concerned trill came from atop the bookcase.
Percy’s face felt stony as he stared at Errol for a moment. Then his gaze flitted to the brown paper-wrapped package. It was lumpy and soft, and Percy had no doubts as to what it contained. He knew without looking that it would be mustard yellow, because it always was. Knew there would be not a single dropped stitch. Knew how it would feel, how it would smell. He looked back to the owl.
“What are you doing here?” Errol blinked open tired eyes to look at him questioningly. “I told her I don’t want anything to do with any of them.” But Percy’s fingers twitched as a traitorous part of his heart longed to tear open the paper and run his hands across the thick soft wool. Longed to breathe in the scent of his mother, of his home. The urge only served to make him angrier.
“Take it back.” Hermes let out a warning hiss from atop the bookcase, but Percy ignored him. “Take it back this instant,” he snapped at Errol. Errol looked up at Hermes as though begging for help. The old owl was still slumped and panting and looking utterly exhausted.
Hermes fluttered down to land next to Errol and glowered up at Percy. “What? It’s not my fault they sent him on a long flight to carry a package they knew I didn’t want!” he snapped at Hermes. Then he turned back to Errol who had still made no move to leave. “Well? What are you still doing here? Go on. Get out of here! And take this with you. Go!” Hermes snapped his beak angrily at Percy, then turned to nuzzle encouragingly at Errol. Grasping the parcel in his own talons and nudging Errol toward the window, Hermes spared Percy one last disgusted look before he spread his wings and took flight with the package in tow. Errol followed tiredly after.
“Fine. Side with them. See if I care,” he called out the window after Hermes. But Percy stood at the open window for a long time after watching them disappear into the night.
The breeze coming through the window was bitingly cold, but he barely felt it. He stared after the two owls long lost to the darkness. Dimly he registered that they were flying northeast, which was not the direction of the Burrow, but he refused to allow himself to wonder why. It didn’t matter. Whatever his family was up to, it was none of his concern. They had made that quite clear. They had chosen their side. And so had he.
Slamming the window shut, he turned and marched into the kitchenette. He bent to retrieve his dinner from the larder, kicking the cupboard door shut after. He banged the dinner down on the counter and glared down at the packaging.
Mrs Misley’s Magical Meals for One
TURKEY ROAST
*Tap your wand here and enjoy a warm delicious meal in seconds!
Percy proceeded to prod it so hard with his wand, the packaging ignited. “Aguamenti!” he yelped, smothering the flames in water. He let out a long sigh as what appeared to be half frozen turkey soup leaked from the charred packaging. Cursing under his breath, he scooped the sodden cardboard and some mush that he suspected was supposed to be mashed potatoes into the rubbish bin. He returned to his desk to finish his report.
Christmas, 1996
“Weasley. We’re going,” the Minister snapped through the open kitchen door. Potter had just swept in from the garden and was returning to his seat at the table with the attitude of a petulant child. Scrimgeour was clearly in no better mood; he had not even bothered to come in to say goodbye to the family. The pretence was done with, then. Thank God. Just in time. Because Percy couldn’t have stood a single minute more of it.
Percy stormed through the back door and slammed it behind him, cutting off his mother’s cry of “Percy, wait!” He followed Scrimgeour across the garden, the frozen earth crunching angrily under his feet. Not slowing his speed, he removed his glasses and shook them hard to dislodge the bits of mashed parsnip splattered across them. He brushed another chunk from his hair impatiently before redonning his specs.
Ahead of him, the Minister was walking faster than Percy would have thought possible with his bad leg and walking stick. He seemed as eager to be gone as Percy. Things had clearly not gone well with Potter. So it had all been for nothing. Can’t you see they’re using you, Percy?
Percy wanted to hit something. Fury was bubbling in his chest. All of this had been to give the Minister an in with Harry Potter. And Percy had gone along with it. He’d swallowed his pride and gone along with it because it was his duty. Because he had trusted that it was in the best interest of the Ministry of Magic. But it had all been for nothing. Potter was the most stubborn, pig-headed—
“Dumbledore’s man, through-and-through,” Scrimgeour grumbled under his breath followed by a frustrated growl in the back of his throat. He shook his head and kept walking, pushing his way through the garden gate.
They were all stubborn. The whole family was being utterly infuriating. Why they couldn’t recognise their duty to ally with the Ministry… Why they insisted on sticking to Dumbledore’s secretive agenda when clearly, they were all on the same side… Percy just could not understand them. None of them.
And yet… Percy had walked into the kitchen a little bit ago. And he’d smelled the turkey and stuffing. And he could see the tree covered in fairy lights and Ginny’s paperchains hanging from the rafters in the next room. And he had seen Mum’s famous Christmas pudding waiting on the counter for dessert. And he had seen everybody wearing their Weasley jumpers. And he’d felt Mum hug him, felt her tears on his shoulder, smelled her lemon soap and bergamot scent. And, just for a fraction of a moment, he had felt like a small child coming down to Christmas dinner. And he’d had to avert his eyes to keep from wanting it. Missing it.
Of course the row that started the minute Potter and Scrimgeour had left the room had been very quick to cure him of those thoughts. Barely had the Minister and Potter left the room before Dad had accosted Percy, demanding to know what Scrimgeour wanted with Potter. Dad’s voice was still ringing in his ears. We’re not fools Percy, and neither are you! Surely you can see what’s happening here. Surely you can see that he’s just trying to get to Harry. Can’t you see they’re using you, Percy? Percy felt his teeth grinding together. What did Dad know of duty.
Percy followed Scrimgeour through the gate and swung it shut behind him. The click of the latch echoed in the quiet stillness of the country lane leading into Ottery St. Catchpole. He looked to Scrimgeour who was now stationary, staring out across the frosted hills and shaking his head with a sour look on his face. Percy shoved his hands in the pockets of his cloak and waited. Waited for the Minister to declare the next move. Waited for his next instruction. Waited to do his duty to the Ministry of Magic.
But the Minister merely stood there.
It was a full minute later before Scrimgeour seemed to abruptly remember that Percy was there. He glanced over and looked Percy up and down for brief moment. He didn’t particularly seem to like what he saw. “See you at the office,” the Minister growled. And without so much as a ‘Happy Christmas’, he Disapparated with a pop.
Percy stood on the deserted lane for a long while. It had grown dark and the cold bit through his cloak. He glanced back toward the Burrow. He could just make out the brightly lit kitchen window through the snow-laden vegetation. The shadows of people moved within the square of warm yellow light. Then he turned to stare down the road toward the spot where Scrimgeour’s footprints in the snow disappeared. Beyond stretched a colourless landscape of snowy hills, pastures bordered by low stone walls and scrubby hedges. Wind ruffled his hair and tugged at his cloak.
Percy spared one last glance toward the Burrow before he too Disapparated.
Christmas, 1997
The rumble of the Muggle street below was the only sound as Percy sat with his elbows propped on his desk, his hands clasped together. Even Hermes was quiet tonight. The owl was staring at the window as though expecting something.
Percy too glanced to the window. But there was nothing there. Just as there had been nothing there the last time he’d checked.
The night stretched on, and still nothing came. No owl. No letter. No soft lumpy package.
Had Mum finally given up on Percy and not made him a jumper this year? Had something happened to Errol? Had something happened to his parents? Would he even hear about it if it had?
Percy reached up to pull off his glasses. There was a clatter as he dropped them next to his rapidly cooling and hardly touched tray of Mrs Misley’s Magical Meals for One.
And he buried his face in his hands and wept.
Christmas, 1998
We are so late. The bathroom door was shamelessly open. Percy had a clear line of sight from where he sat on the foot of the bed. He chewed a thumb nail as he watched her getting ready, his knee bouncing up and down restlessly. She kept saying she was almost ready, but her sparkling emerald green dress was still spread on the bed next to him awaiting its wearer more patiently than was Percy.
He cocked his head as Audrey leaned across the bathroom vanity to check her lipstick in the mirror. It gave Percy a rather pleasant view of her backside, clad only in knickers and sheer stockings. Her eyes caught his in the reflection and she winked, a small smile curving up her newly red painted lips. Percy thought she looked rather smug as she turned her attention to her hair.
“You look great. You don’t have to put so much effort in. They’re going to love you,” he assured her.
“I know,” she replied, turning around to look at him directly as she ran her brush through straight dark hair. “Everybody loves me. I just feel like looking pretty.”
“I’m just saying, no one else is going to be particularly dressed up. We’re not really that kind of family.”
“Sometimes, I want to dress up for me, you know?” She laid the brush down on the vanity and gave her reflection one final look over. “It’s not always about dressing up for other people.” She smiled at herself, then marched into the bedroom and picked up the dress, stepping into the skirts.
Percy chewed his lip as he watched her. “Okay. I’m just saying that if you didn’t want—”
“Oh, my God!” Audrey straightened, and she turned to look at him as though she’d just realised something. There was a moment’s pause as she studied him, the dress bunched around her hips as though she’d quite forgotten what she was doing. Percy tried not to stare at her lace-clad breasts.
“What?” Percy asked, startled by her sudden outburst.
Audrey didn’t speak for a moment. She shimmied her arms into the sleeves, eyeing him with a sudden frown on her face as she did so. Still with her eyes on him, she reached around to zip up the back. Percy made to stand to help her, but she just shook her head and did it herself, arching her back to reach the top. But never once did her eyes stray from his face. “You’re nervous!” she accused him.
“What? I’m not—”
“You are! You’re completely terrified! You think they’re going to hate me!”
“I don’t think they’re going to hate you.” He pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Yes, you do! You’ve been dragging your feet about introducing me to your parents for weeks! You don’t think I’m going to fit in with your family!”
“It’s not that…”
“Then what?” she demanded, but she had a teasing smile on her red lips.
“They’re going to love you,” he said weakly.
“You said that already,” Audrey insisted. She was refusing to let him off the hook. “Fess up. You’re ashamed of me.” Her broad grin acknowledged that no man in his right mind could ever be ashamed of her and she knew it.
“You’re going to fit in great with my family,” Percy assured her, shifting uncomfortably. He found his gaze traveling to his shoes. “You’re… you’re going to fit in better than I do,” he added in a mumble.
He glanced up at her just in time to see her teasing smile faulter. “Percy…” she said gently.
Percy looked away again, leaning his elbows on his knees. He felt the bed beside him sag as she sat next to him and felt her eyes on the back of his neck. Then a gentle hand he didn’t deserve caressed the hair back from his forehead.
“It’s not you I’m ashamed of,” he managed softly. “It’s me.” She was so quiet, he had to turn to see if her face would show what she thought of that. But she was merely gazing at him sombrely, her expression inviting him to go on. “You’ve only ever seen me at work or among friends. But my family…” Percy bit his lip and stared at the ceiling as he tried to consider the words. “I’ve done terrible things. Said terrible things. I turned my back on them. For three years, I did everything I could to distance myself from them. But if I had just done what I should… Maybe I could have helped… Maybe I could have stopped… Maybe he’d…” Maybe he’d still be alive. But Percy couldn’t say those words aloud. Not even to Audrey. Especially not to Audrey.
“Anyway. Family gatherings… They can be… hard. Everybody pretending like none of it ever happened.”
Audrey took a moment before she answered. “Has it occurred to you,” she said at last. “That maybe they’re not pretending? That maybe they’ve just moved on? Forgiven you? And that maybe it’s time to forgive yourself?”
Percy glanced at her, and she was gazing at him. He saw no doubt in her eyes. She merely seemed as though she were waiting for him to cotton onto something that was terribly obvious to her.
“How could they possibly forgive me for something like that?” he asked her. And he looked into her eyes, desperate for them to hold an answer to a question he had asked himself a hundred thousand times, but never uttered aloud before this moment.
Audrey just smiled as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. “Because they love you, you tosser.”
Percy felt a huff of disbelief escape his chest, and he turned away, shaking his head. “You don’t even know them.”
“I don’t have to. I know that you love them. And I know that I love you. And I have excellent taste, so obviously they agree with me.”
He looked at her sidelong. And the grin on her face was enough to break through the gloom. He laughed in spite of himself. Reaching up, he cupped her cheek in his hand and her smile shifted from mischievous to affectionate. They simply gazed at each other for a long moment, smiling like idiots.
“I love you too,” Percy said at last.
“Well, good,” Audrey shrugged. “Because it would be really inconvenient if I loved you and you didn’t love me ba—”
But Percy cut off whatever wisecrack she might have had in store for him next by pulling her face close and kissing her hard on the mouth. He felt her grin against his mouth before submitting, and her lips softened against his.
Percy had kissed her a thousand times and would kiss her a thousand times again, and still he would not have gotten over the thrill at feeling her lips against his. The way they always moved and parted in time with his as though to a well-choreographed dance he couldn’t remember learning. The way they made his heart pound and his stomach clench. The way they made him feel like the most important man in the world and the humblest, all at the same time.
Loosing himself in the feeling, Percy buried his hands in her silky hair and felt hers running up his back. He deepened the kiss contentedly, but she pulled back slightly, and he felt rather than saw her smile. “I thought you said we were going to be late,” she whispered against his lips. “I know how you hate being late.”
Percy groaned. He did hate being late. Audrey laughed softly, pecking him lightly on the lips before pulling back fully. They allowed themselves one moment more to simply look into the other’s eyes. Audrey’s gaze darted down to his lips and a funny smile tugged at her cheek. Percy thought she was considering kissing him again, but she stood up determinedly. “Give me a minute to fix the damage you’ve done to my hair and makeup. Then we can go.”
Percy threw his head back and drew in a deep steadying breath as she disappeared into the bathroom again.
They arrived at the garden gate to the Burrow hand-in-hand. Percy felt Audrey give his hand a gentle squeeze before they walked up the garden path. The door was flung open before they could knock.
“Oh, Percy, thank goodness!” Mum flung herself on him, hugging him tightly there on the front stoop. “I was getting worried! You’re never late.” She pulled back and looked him over as though assuring herself that he was alive and whole.
“Sorry, Mum—” Percy began. But before he could get another word out, she caught sight of Audrey standing just behind him.
“Oh, and you must be Audrey! At last! We’ve been telling Percy to bring you for weeks and weeks!” Percy found himself pushed aside as she dove to hug Audrey. But somehow he didn’t mind one bit. Audrey smiled at him from over Mum’s shoulder.
“Oh, you’re so pretty!” Mum said, patting her own hair back as she took Audrey in up and down. “Come in! It’s freezing out here! I’ve knitted you a jumper. I so hope it fits; Percy wasn’t much help when I asked your size.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Audrey laughed, shooting Percy a mischievous grin. “Men are so useless at that sort of thing, aren’t they?” The pair of women walked into the house arm-in-arm in happy excited conversation as though they’d known each other for years, and Percy followed behind.
There was a rush of movement and sound through the crowded kitchen as they entered. Calls of ‘Hello’ and ‘Happy Christmas’ echoed in the cramped space. Percy found himself separated from Audrey as Dad came up to hug him and Charlie slapped him on the back and George poured him a drink.
His head felt like it was floating in all the noise and conversation. Before he could respond to one person, another was greeting him. Percy craned his head to check in on how Audrey was getting on; he saw her shaking hands with Harry and, to her credit, she did not appear painfully starstruck like most people were when meeting him.
Drinks and half-eaten appetisers were claiming spots at the table, but few people were seated yet. Percy couldn’t help it as his gaze travelled to a particular empty chair at the table. He was sure it wasn’t empty by coincidence. No one wanted to sit in that particular spot.
“Hey! Looking good, Audrey!” called Bill across the room, cutting into an unpleasant reverie. Percy turned back to look over to Audrey himself. She had slipped on her first of what was sure to be many Weasley jumpers and was grinning at him from across the room. The lumpy olive-green wool far from complimented her sparkly emerald dress, but she wore it with so much confidence, the runway models were sure to be adopting the style by next season. A small cheer went up around the room and Audrey’s grin widened.
“Percy, dear! Come and get yours,” Mum called, and Percy picked his way through the throng to them. As Mum turned to collect another jumper from under the tree, Percy felt his arm wrap around Audrey’s waist. She squeezed him back.
As he’d known it would be, the soft wool was a mustard yellow. As he’d known it would, it had not a single dropped stitch. As he’d known it would, it smelled of lemon soap and bergamot. “Thanks, Mum,” he said softly, kissing her on the cheek.
“Alright, come along, all of you!” said Mum, waving him off, though she had a touch of a blush on her cheeks. She began shepherding them all toward the dining table. “It’s dinner time!” she called to the room at large. Another cheer and some laughter as the group migrated toward the table.
Percy followed suit, but he paused to look around the room. For a moment, he just stood there, clutching his Weasley jumper to his chest. He looked around the table as his family took their seats, all chatting amongst themselves, all laughing and smiling and relaxed. Their faces were brightly lit by the candles on the dining table. And before them was a spread of all of his favourite foods. And Ginny’s paperchains were hanging artfully from the rafters. And the fire was crackling merrily. And everything was perfect.
And yet everything was wrong.
Percy felt his feet faulter. They seemed unable to make the final few steps to the table. His breath was coming fast and shallow. He felt as though he were caught midway through Apparition. As though a tight rubber band was compressing his chest. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong in this warm and loving house, surrounded by warm and loving people. He didn’t deserve it. How could it be that he was here and someone else was not. When it had been Percy who had had squandered their last chance to ever again have them all together in this room.
“Er, Perce,” said George as he pulled out a chair across from him. Percy blinked several times as he tried to clear his head enough to really take him in. George gestured to his lips. “Trying out a new shade? I think red clashes with your hair a bit.”
Percy merely continued to blinked at him bemusedly for a moment. Then he felt heat flood to his face, and his hand shot up to scrub at his lips. Several snickers sounded around the table. He glanced apologetically to Audrey only to find her grinning at him in a way that reminded him uncannily of Fred. He sighed. His glare was made rather less effective by the traitorous smile tugging at his lips. “You didn’t tell me on purpose.”
Audrey shrugged. “I thought the shade suited you quite well.”
The kitchen was filled with laughter and the screeching of chairs on the floor as everybody took their seats. George was still sniggering and Dad was smiling fondly at him and Mum was piling food onto his plate and Audrey was beaming at him. As fast as it had come, the rubber band around his chest was gone. When he at last sat down, he felt he was exactly where he belonged.
And when Audrey sat herself in the empty seat beside him— the one seat everyone had been avoiding— no one seemed to mind at all.
Least of all Percy.
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7 Types of Internal Conflict for Your Protagonist
External conflict can always make readers more interested in a story. The fist fights, car chases, and fictional battles might make them hold their breath, but so can internal conflict. Check out the primary types of internal conflict your protagonist can experience to add more depth to your stories.
1. Morality Conflicts
Everyone eventually reaches a point where they question their morals. We have to believe in our morals as individuals to prioritize them. It’s not enough to have your parents or other leaders in your life tell you what’s right and wrong. You won’t hold the same morals until you choose them on your own.
Characters also reach these crucial points. It’s part of their character development like it’s part of our personal development.
Your protagonist may only grapple with one question of morality in your story or they could encounter many. The morals will most likely align with your theme so they make sense within your plot.
Example: Your protagonist is a scientific researcher and leading a trial that could result in a cure for a new illness. They know they shouldn’t take bribes and wouldn’t compromise their career, but someone who nearly qualifies for their trial offers a life-changing amount of money to get included even though they’ve already been ruled out.
The protagonist has to choose—do they stick with what they trust is morally correct or do they take the money and use it to help pay for a family member’s legal battle in criminal court? Do they view it as potentially saving two lives at once? Or do they reject the bribe and face whatever consequences could have possibly been avoided?
2. Self-Identity Conflicts
Your identity is something that morphs with time. People rarely settle on one version of themselves forever. Life makes us reconsider things from different perspectives as we go through periods of challenges and peace. Characters also grapple with their identities when faced with similar situations. It makes them take a stand, hold their ground, or chase new goals, which is much more interesting for readers.
Example: Your protagonist considers themselves an optimist because they’re a firefighter who has saved many lives. When they realize their chief has been starting all the fires their station ever fought, your protagonist begins to view people more pessimistically. It affects how quickly they’re willing to risk their life for others, which results in challenges and a character arc they wouldn’t have experienced without this fundamental change in their identity.
3. Religious Belief Conflicts
It’s much easier to stay firm in your religious beliefs if nothing challenges them. If a challenge or major question arises and your beliefs hold firm, that makes your identity stronger. It doesn’t always happen that way though.
When your protagonist faces this type of internal conflict and realizes their opinions or feelings contradict their religious beliefs, it can take them onto a path that shapes a new identity. These choices are hard but real. Readers who are going through the same experience or experienced the same questions before will get absorbed by your story because it’s relatable.
Example: Your protagonist attends a religious gathering every week. The group fundamentally believes their religion exists to help those in need. Prejudices begin to invade that group, so people start choosing their own well-being instead of helping others.
Your protagonist watches their religious family pick sides and has to question if they really believe in helping others or if they choose the familiarity and safety that comes with the approval of their longtime religious family.
4. Societal Role Conflicts
Societies have predetermined roles or expectations for people based on factors like their gender, sex, and economic status (just to name a few). Sometimes these roles feel natural to people and other times they don’t. We all have to decide what feels best for us on an ongoing basis. Your protagonist may need to choose their societal role, reject it, or shape a new one to portray your theme in a relatable way.
Example: Your protagonist goes to a university for the first time. They’ve been encouraged by everyone they know to start forming a large friend group. That’s what people are supposed to do in college, their loved ones said. But your protagonist is an introvert and values only a few friendships at a time. They have to choose if they’ll push themselves to become a social butterfly or if they’re happier as the person they’ve always been.
5. Political Opinion Conflicts
Political opinions can create all types of internal conflict. You may believe in a certain candidate or party during one part of your life and support something completely different in another part. Those values change as we experience new things and meet new people. Characters can face the same internal struggles as they recognize changing values or reject opportunities for change.
Example: Your protagonist may have never formed strong political opinions. They meet a new person who becomes their best friend, but their government starts passing laws that make their best friend’s life much harder because they’re part of a marginalized community your protagonist hasn’t empathized with before.
Your protagonist now cares for that community, so they have to decide if they’ll make different political choices that could ostracize them from the community they’ve been part of all their life.
6. Love Conflicts
There are numerous types of love—self-love, your love for your family, and your love of a potential romantic interest or current partner. These come into conflicts in stories all the time because people experience them every day.
The conflicts result in choices—does your protagonist choose to continue loving a specific person or do they fall out of love? Do they fight for that love or realize it never actually existed? These are just a few ways this inner conflict can play out.
Example: Your protagonist has three siblings. They’d give their life for their siblings because they’ve lived in an emotional and physical home environment that’s been unsafe all of their lives. However, your protagonist is also the oldest child who has to leave home when they’re 18.
They have to decide how to best love their siblings—do they leave them at home with a parent who is a threat to their safety so your protagonist can achieve an education or job that pays enough to create a new home for them? Do they get the legal system involved? Do they get their siblings and run away together since your protagonist is now old enough to lease an apartment, pay bills, etc?
7. Personal Journey Conflict
Existential crises make characters come to life by breaking their identity apart. These moments are unfortunately a real part of life, so readers want them in their books to help them cope, understand the changes, and generally feel not alone in their hardships.
This internal conflict happens when we question why we’re in this world or what we’re supposed to do with our lives. Sometimes there’s a clear answer after we start searching for it, but other times there isn’t. How your protagonist’s internal journey to a new purpose unfolds depends on your theme and plot.
Example: Your protagonist spent their life dreaming of becoming a politician. They wanted to help people and change the world, but they lost their first three attempts at running for local office. The third loss devastated them.
If voters don’t want them as a leader, what’s their purpose? Who are they if they aren’t a leader who changes the world through effective policies? The answer may come through the plot events that follow. If they don’t get an answer, sometimes it means their purpose already exists in their life and they’re overlooking it.
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Reading through the basic types of internal conflict will help you shape your future protagonists. If you align your desired theme with an inner conflict, the external events in your plot will be much easier to choose. Your readers will also connect with your story better because they’ll see real problems reflected in your protagonist’s character arc.
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