i always dislike the endings that are too far into the future if they don't fit into the context of the story, but i really felt like this was appropriate and it was absolutely wonderful to write. i thought of adding more explanations at the end, but i feel like the ending stands alone. so thanks to everyone for reading and i would appreciate a few reviews if you'd made it this far! xx

Little Glass Houses

Epilogue

Fifteen years later

"This is unnecessary," Percy said, as he stood awkwardly into Madam Malkin's shop, with a tape measuring sizing him up. Like he needed a tape measure to let him know that he'd finally filled out and looked like a regular old bloke of his age. Even his mum looked satisfied whenever he walked inside with his tweed jackets and black trousers. Beside him, his seventeen-year-old daughter was tapping her golden ballet flat onto the floor, looking at him critically. Lucy was beside her, bored out of her mind that they were at a clothing shop when she'd rather be playing Quidditch with her cousins. "Quite unnecessary." He nervously ran his hand over his unruly red curls. "The most unnecessary thing that I've ever done actually." He then glanced back at the rack of new shiny robes. "Molly! What do you think of those? Why don't we buy you some of those…things?"

"Oh no, you don't," Molly walked over towards him, smoothing out the now-altered suit. Lucy followed her, carrying the new shiny black loafers that she'd also bought him. "Not this time."

"You're going on a daaaate," Lucy said in a sing-song voice.

Percy did not want to go on a date. Percy wanted to disappear off the face of the Earth, thank you very much, and not be bullied by his teenage daughters into clothes that he didn't want to wear. But when Percy glanced at the mirror, he did have to admit that he did look dashing in that nicely cut navy suit. Molly was fixing his tie, which was something that she'd learned from her namesake. It was shiny silver. Lucy put his shoes down and brandished him with cufflinks. He heard that old, degenerating bat, Malkin, laugh.

"Where are you taking her?" started Molly's interrogation.

"Um…um…" Percy tried to remember that restaurant that Lucy had booked a reservation for him, without telling him. His sweet, lovely seventh-year Ravenclaw had decided to forge his handwriting and ask the woman in cubicle five out on a date, which was the most ludicrous thing he'd ever heard, especially since he was technically her boss now. "Seafoam Restaurant."

"Seaside Restaurant," Lucy tut-tutted. "If you forget, dad, it's by…you know, the seaside."

What kind of name was that anyway?

Before Percy had a chance to retaliate, Molly doused him with more cologne than an excited sixth year. He coughed at the assault. In forty-five minutes, he was expected to apparate to this woman's doorstep, compliment her looks and take her to a restaurant with an uninspired name.

"We made these cards in case you run out of thing to talk," Lucy stuffed a couple of flashcards into his pocket, and his suit pocket suddenly felt heavy. "And no woman wants you to talk about your kids on the first date so that's a no-no topic. And please, don't tell her about how you're making Uncle Bill babysit us when Molly is of age."

Percy went red. "But she already knows that—"

"Here!" Molly thrust a bouquet towards him. Red roses, hardly platonic. "And bye!" she shoved him into the fireplace, which had Floo-ed him straight into the living room of the woman from cubicle five. He felt a heaving sheen of sweat develop in his hairline. What was he supposed to say? That his daughters were worried about him? That they thought that fifteen years of living alone was too much? That Molly was scared to get a job and leave him alone because she didn't want him to be 'so lonely'?

That he carried his ex-abuser's (and he could finally call her that, and it had been years) letter everywhere like they shared an unfathomable love? That he had it in his pocket now?

Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. There she was, the woman from cubicle five, standing by with a toothy smile and that florescent pink lippy that sent his heart into palpitations.

He straightened his back because he was her boss for Merlin's sake. He was the Head of the Department of Transportations. He did not go into a raging panic every time that he smelled a whiff of perfume anymore. He was far beyond that but smelling a little of Primpernelle's Love Potion Commotion was not the same as taking a woman out on a romantic date. Or well, given the fact that he was involved, it would hardly be romantic but…

"Oh!" the woman from cubicle five grabbed the bouquet from him. "These are beautiful, thank you, Mr Weasley! I mean…um…" she looked just as nervous as him, which should make him less nervous. "Can I call you…?"

"Percy," he finally said. "My name is Percy."

"Yes, I know! You're my boss," she blushed and looked down at her strappy heels. "I'm Dee—Audrey." He knew and felt his heart thudding into his chest. She was wearing the same perfume that Penelope did, but it didn't smell the same on her. "Well, you already know, since you asked me out and…I've never…" she cleared her throat. "Anyway! Seaside Restaurant, is it? That's such a peculiar name."

It was a peculiar night. They sat at a table next to a window. Percy would usually get lost into the swirls of the tablecloth, and the smell of the salty water but he'd managed to be semi-engaged into a one-sided conversation. Audrey told him about her pets, her obsession with baking and what she thought of the wizarding newspapers and tabloid magazines. She ate with gusto, as he picked at his meal. At the end of the night, she tried to kiss his cheek and he didn't let her. He moved to feel the cheek that she'd almost kissed and could feel his fingers go numb. When he got home, Molly and Lucy were sleeping and Bill was passed out on the couch, with a half-eaten container of Thai chicken curry.

Percy's heart raced when he heard the roaring thunder outside.

He walked towards the window and stared at the inky sky. There was not a splutter of stars anywhere. It was a black blanket, swallowing and encompassing. He took out Penelope's letter from his pocket and smelled her one last time. Nothing, but he could still fabricate the smell of white lilies in his mind. He could still see the greys in Peter's gravestone. He could still hear her voice sometimes in his sleep. Then he took the letter out of the envelope. He resisted the urge to read it because there was just nothing left to say.

Instead, he folded it into a paper plane and watched it fly away.