If one walked into a certain bar in one of the more disreputable parts of London, one might find a red haired wizard sitting at one of the tables near the corner. Those that visit the bar often enough, know he has claimed the spot for his own.
A few times near the beginning there were some who had tried to make small talk with the stranger. His hurt, cold, blue eyes, if not his reticent demeanour, soon chased them away and they learn to leave him alone.
But with a bit of careful manoeuvering and the aid of a few drinks, one may get him to speak. One my beware, however, for his story is a fantastical one that few can find it in their hearts to believe.
He might tell of the Dark War that took away his childhood, or perhaps of the pains he learnt to his for the sake of being perfect. He may speak, instead, of the way his loyalty brought about his downfall, or of the family which abandoned him and the law that cursed him. And if one is rather lucky, he might even whisper his name. A name that most have heard, in the children's book they all read. A name that ever gave any importance. A name that could have, should have, made a difference. A name that no longer mattered.
Percival Weasley
Notes: For TGS' Through the Universe Challenge: Prompt: Percy Weasley.