Disclaimer: Characters and places in this story belong to J.K. Rowling.
"But Angelina, surely you can tell me! I'm your oldest friend," crowed Parvati. Parvati's head, rather, as she was talking through the fireplace in the small house Fred had bought with his first million from Weasley Wizard Wheezes. It had been a week since the incident, and everyone wanted a piece of what they considered the story of the century.
"Angie! This is bigger than the boy who lived is! My network is considering shooting a movie; we'll buy the rights, of course. We're giving it the tentative title 'The Man Who Died!' Run it by those relatives of yours, eh?"
"Really Parvati, can you be daft enough to think that I'd want to talk to you at a time like this. I'm busy enough as it is, and I need to go somewhere with Fred. I'll give you a ring in a few years, when everything settles down, all right?"
Parvati's head began to shrink in the fireplace as Fred walked into the room.
"Hello, love," he greeted her. "Who was that?"
"Another 'old friend' in the gossip business," she sighed.
"Me and George will have to send the lot of them care packages when this is all over."
"George and I, darling," she corrected him automatically.
"George and you, what?" He asked. They played this game quite a bit. She would correct him and he would be deliberately daft about the correction. He sipped his coffee, waiting for the next part of their usual routine. She usually said something about how she and George were out to correct all the papers of all the school children in England.
"Are having a torrid love affair," she finished apologetically as he spit coffee on the floor. It was nice to keep things fresh. "You were severely misinformed when your mother told you that you were completely identical. George is much better in bed."
"That's it, wife," he said as he sat his mug on the coffee table. "You've enraged me to the point where I'm going to have to do something drastic."
"What exactly would that be?"
"Tickling."
Angelina's eyes grew wide. She was horrifically ticklish, and Fred knew it. Her knee banged into the coffee table as she backed away from him. He was advancing quickly, only a few feet away now and she sprinted to the doorway.
Rather, she sprinted near the doorway, until she tripped on the rug and was sent sprawling to the floor. She cried out and Fred rushed to her.
"Are you hurt?" He asked, suddenly the concerned husband and not the jokester.
"Nothing sprained but my pride," she assured him.
"Good," he smiled. "Because I've got you trapped now. I'm giving you one final warning. If you say 6 little words I'll go easy on you."
"I'm sorry and I love you?" She tried.
"Nope. 'Fred's a tiger in the sack.'"
"I am not saying that."
"You will or you'll get tickled within an inch of your life."
She said it.
Eventually.
George sighed as he stepped out of the fireplace and into his house. He only had time for a quick shower before he had to be back at his Parents. He'd been busy with the rest of the family trying to get the funerals planned. Neville's grandmum had died a great long time ago, so the Weasleys were handling things. The papers were calling them lucky. "Another Christmas massacre prevented" and all that tripe. It wasn't much comfort to know that they were "lucky" when Percy and Neville were dead. They'd forgotten to owl Pen, what with all the medi-wizards and aurors flying and apparating all over the place.
From what they'd discerned, it had happened something like this: Percy had recalled Fred and George hiding his wand earlier, and while cowering found it poking him in the rear when he'd accidentally sat on the dustbin. He'd grabbed it, and quite simply administered Avada Kevadra on Voldemort. Or not simply, rather. Voldemort had done the same thing, and there they were. Percy dead, Voldemort dead, and the rest of them staring at a dead body and a thing on the floor, which they could only assume, were the remains of Voldemort. The Death Eaters had fled, picking up their robes and scampering like so many ninnies away from the scene. Mr. Weasley had called the ministry before much had happened, and seven Death Eaters had been killed trying to escape. Lucius Malfoy, both Senior and Junior Crabbe and one of the Goyles had been among them. Neville had been found in the yard. Strike that. What was left of Neville had been found in the yard. Evidently, the information Neville had possessed was quite important, and Lucius hadn't wasted time trying to pry it out of him. The garden gnomes were running about cackling wildly and generally making a mess of things.
Pen had shown up at the door later that evening, when the Weasleys and the rest of them were heading to Diagon Alley to get away from all of it. When she saw them all about to step into the fireplace and Percy not there, her face fell.
"He's gone on ahead, has he?" She queried. "I did hope to talk to him about..."
She broke off as Mrs. Weasley began to cry again.
"Oh. Well then." Pen's bottom lip began to tremble, as a child's does when they're trying to be brave. "I need to..."
She left then, disapparated right out of the living room, without even finishing her sentence. She'd called George and Alicia the next day and told them she'd like to give a eulogy. She'd known it was unusual, an ex-wife doing the eulogy, but she felt she owed him that much.
So here they were, a week later. The family and friends of Percy, dressed all in black dress robes, gathered around the living room of the Burrow. They weren't there just for Percy, but for Neville, and for all that'd died in the great period of darkness.
Ginny sat crying with her handkerchief dabbing at her eyes every other moment, waiting for Pen to start the whole thing off.
"I know that many of you hate me," Pen began. "Because I left the man who saved us all." A tear began to slide down her cheek. "I didn't know then, none of us did. We just knew that he behaved like a great insufferable git. I won't say Percy was a good husband. He was just as poor of a husband as I was a wife, and it was a part of him. But he was a good person, a good friend to have on your side. I loved him, as all of you did. And I think he'd love to see us all here, sobbing for him, because we never did it in life. Molly was the only one of us who worshipped him. He died thinking we all hated him for his great pomposity, and the Percy I knew would love to see us here eating our words, warbling on about what a great man he truly was, and how we never realized it."
There was silence following this. None of them would have said it, but it was true. Percy had behaved like a great ass, and they had all called him on it daily. Pen was the only one who would say it.
"I know I'm the ex-wife, and I'm supposed to be a bitter old hag, and I am somewhat. But as I said, I loved him, and I'm not going to dishonor his memory by lying about him. So, in conclusion I say to him, to his memory, that I love him and in the end he was much greater than I ever believed him to be."
With that final word, Pen walked up to the graduation picture of Percy on the mantle which was furiously pointing to it's Head Boy badge, and kissed it on the cheek, murmuring "I'll always love you, HB." She then spun on her heel and walked out the door.
"But Angelina, surely you can tell me! I'm your oldest friend," crowed Parvati. Parvati's head, rather, as she was talking through the fireplace in the small house Fred had bought with his first million from Weasley Wizard Wheezes. It had been a week since the incident, and everyone wanted a piece of what they considered the story of the century.
"Angie! This is bigger than the boy who lived is! My network is considering shooting a movie; we'll buy the rights, of course. We're giving it the tentative title 'The Man Who Died!' Run it by those relatives of yours, eh?"
"Really Parvati, can you be daft enough to think that I'd want to talk to you at a time like this. I'm busy enough as it is, and I need to go somewhere with Fred. I'll give you a ring in a few years, when everything settles down, all right?"
Parvati's head began to shrink in the fireplace as Fred walked into the room.
"Hello, love," he greeted her. "Who was that?"
"Another 'old friend' in the gossip business," she sighed.
"Me and George will have to send the lot of them care packages when this is all over."
"George and I, darling," she corrected him automatically.
"George and you, what?" He asked. They played this game quite a bit. She would correct him and he would be deliberately daft about the correction. He sipped his coffee, waiting for the next part of their usual routine. She usually said something about how she and George were out to correct all the papers of all the school children in England.
"Are having a torrid love affair," she finished apologetically as he spit coffee on the floor. It was nice to keep things fresh. "You were severely misinformed when your mother told you that you were completely identical. George is much better in bed."
"That's it, wife," he said as he sat his mug on the coffee table. "You've enraged me to the point where I'm going to have to do something drastic."
"What exactly would that be?"
"Tickling."
Angelina's eyes grew wide. She was horrifically ticklish, and Fred knew it. Her knee banged into the coffee table as she backed away from him. He was advancing quickly, only a few feet away now and she sprinted to the doorway.
Rather, she sprinted near the doorway, until she tripped on the rug and was sent sprawling to the floor. She cried out and Fred rushed to her.
"Are you hurt?" He asked, suddenly the concerned husband and not the jokester.
"Nothing sprained but my pride," she assured him.
"Good," he smiled. "Because I've got you trapped now. I'm giving you one final warning. If you say 6 little words I'll go easy on you."
"I'm sorry and I love you?" She tried.
"Nope. 'Fred's a tiger in the sack.'"
"I am not saying that."
"You will or you'll get tickled within an inch of your life."
She said it.
Eventually.
George sighed as he stepped out of the fireplace and into his house. He only had time for a quick shower before he had to be back at his Parents. He'd been busy with the rest of the family trying to get the funerals planned. Neville's grandmum had died a great long time ago, so the Weasleys were handling things. The papers were calling them lucky. "Another Christmas massacre prevented" and all that tripe. It wasn't much comfort to know that they were "lucky" when Percy and Neville were dead. They'd forgotten to owl Pen, what with all the medi-wizards and aurors flying and apparating all over the place.
From what they'd discerned, it had happened something like this: Percy had recalled Fred and George hiding his wand earlier, and while cowering found it poking him in the rear when he'd accidentally sat on the dustbin. He'd grabbed it, and quite simply administered Avada Kevadra on Voldemort. Or not simply, rather. Voldemort had done the same thing, and there they were. Percy dead, Voldemort dead, and the rest of them staring at a dead body and a thing on the floor, which they could only assume, were the remains of Voldemort. The Death Eaters had fled, picking up their robes and scampering like so many ninnies away from the scene. Mr. Weasley had called the ministry before much had happened, and seven Death Eaters had been killed trying to escape. Lucius Malfoy, both Senior and Junior Crabbe and one of the Goyles had been among them. Neville had been found in the yard. Strike that. What was left of Neville had been found in the yard. Evidently, the information Neville had possessed was quite important, and Lucius hadn't wasted time trying to pry it out of him. The garden gnomes were running about cackling wildly and generally making a mess of things.
Pen had shown up at the door later that evening, when the Weasleys and the rest of them were heading to Diagon Alley to get away from all of it. When she saw them all about to step into the fireplace and Percy not there, her face fell.
"He's gone on ahead, has he?" She queried. "I did hope to talk to him about..."
She broke off as Mrs. Weasley began to cry again.
"Oh. Well then." Pen's bottom lip began to tremble, as a child's does when they're trying to be brave. "I need to..."
She left then, disapparated right out of the living room, without even finishing her sentence. She'd called George and Alicia the next day and told them she'd like to give a eulogy. She'd known it was unusual, an ex-wife doing the eulogy, but she felt she owed him that much.
So here they were, a week later. The family and friends of Percy, dressed all in black dress robes, gathered around the living room of the Burrow. They weren't there just for Percy, but for Neville, and for all that'd died in the great period of darkness.
Ginny sat crying with her handkerchief dabbing at her eyes every other moment, waiting for Pen to start the whole thing off.
"I know that many of you hate me," Pen began. "Because I left the man who saved us all." A tear began to slide down her cheek. "I didn't know then, none of us did. We just knew that he behaved like a great insufferable git. I won't say Percy was a good husband. He was just as poor of a husband as I was a wife, and it was a part of him. But he was a good person, a good friend to have on your side. I loved him, as all of you did. And I think he'd love to see us all here, sobbing for him, because we never did it in life. Molly was the only one of us who worshipped him. He died thinking we all hated him for his great pomposity, and the Percy I knew would love to see us here eating our words, warbling on about what a great man he truly was, and how we never realized it."
There was silence following this. None of them would have said it, but it was true. Percy had behaved like a great ass, and they had all called him on it daily. Pen was the only one who would say it.
"I know I'm the ex-wife, and I'm supposed to be a bitter old hag, and I am somewhat. But as I said, I loved him, and I'm not going to dishonor his memory by lying about him. So, in conclusion I say to him, to his memory, that I love him and in the end he was much greater than I ever believed him to be."
With that final word, Pen walked up to the graduation picture of Percy on the mantle which was furiously pointing to it's Head Boy badge, and kissed it on the cheek, murmuring "I'll always love you, HB." She then spun on her heel and walked out the door.