The Weasley house was, as it had always been for the past few weeks, completely full. There was hardly any room to move around, and some people were having to resort to sleeping on the floor with cushions in various parts of the house, but nevertheless everyone was reluctant to leave the familiar house. And anyways, Mrs Weasley enjoyed the company, and the opportunity to fuss over everybody. Since her son's death, she had been doing anything and everything to keep her mind away from it. There was a slight downbeat to everyone's life, but the Burrow's normal atmosphere helped them all immensely. Not to mention the fact that Teddy Lupin was staying with them, brightening everyone's days. Even Percy was still staying at home as he wasn't yet back to his normal self, and had agreed to stay with his family when they needed each other most, instead of returning to the Ministry. It had become obvious to the now extended family that Percy was blaming himself for Fred's death.
One day when Percy was on one of his familiar lone walks to the top of the garden where Fred's grave lay, Ron bounded up the garden, putting a hand on Percy's shoulder as he reached him and bending over as he tried to catch his breath, as he had run rather a long way. They said nothing until they reached the end of the garden and sat down on the grassy bank. Percy had said hardly anything over the past weeks since the Battle, nearly as little as George. Ron suppressed a sigh thinking of his older brother hiding in his room, speaking to no-one, left alone with his memories of Fred.
Suddenly, Percy seemed willing to talk;
"It's all my fault…" he said in a barely audible whisper, proving just how upset he was. Nothing was ever Percy's fault, no matter how obvious it might be that it was, but right now, it wasn't even his fault at all.
"I shouldn't have… I should have… I should have done something… anything." After quite a long pause of Ron sitting awkwardly not knowing the right words to say, and Percy wallowing in self-remorse he said, "George blames me doesn't he? He thinks I should've saved him. He's my little brother… it should've been me," he concluded miserably.
"Stop it," said Ron strongly looking at his brother he had disliked for so long, looking at him looking so upset, so full of regret… no matter what had happened, he was still his big brother, and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder, "the only person here who blames you is yourself. George doesn't know what to think. He's not really here… he'd never blame you. We all know that you would've stopped it if you could." He was starting to choke up thinking about his brother, tears slowly sliding down his cheeks.
Ron hoped it had been as painless as possible. 'Quicker and easier than falling asleep' as Sirius had said. He hoped he hadn't been too scared. His brother, the practical joker, the one who had always made everyone else happy when it looked as though all hope was lost. He hoped he was okay.