Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me. For everyone that has reviewed, my hearty thanks to all, they mean a lot. I hope I am not disappointing you. Please accept my apologies for the likely delay between this and the next chapter: work is hectic, but rest assured, there will be more.
Percy Weasley stood, looking at the young man in the cell for a long time. Just looking. Taking in the messy black hair, the emerald eyes, the way his robe fell off his too thin frame. The deep sores just visible under his sleeve where he'd scratched until he bled, and then scratched some more. Percy Weasley stood, and watched, and felt an uncomfortable lurch of guilt in his abdomen that it had come to this.
He looked at the young man, and remembered. Remembered years ago when the man had been just a boy. A boy with a shock of messy hair, those piercing green eyes, his frame even then too thin. Undernourished. An orphan. Friend of Ron. Ginny's first crush. A young boy, who even then seemed to have an uncanny knack of being in the eye of any storm of trouble brewing near him.
Percy Weasley hadn't believed Harry when he said that Voldemort had returned. Maybe it was because he simply didn't want to believe it. Or more likely he had simply been too selfish to even conceive the idea as possible. He wanted a career- Fudge seemed the best way to advance that career. Unfortunately Fudge didn't see that Voldemort being back, even if it was possibly true, was news that should be made public. He tried to discredit Harry, Dumbledore, anything about Voldemort's rising, and Percy had gone with it. Given up his family, his friends, everything in the pursuit of a career that had fallen even quicker than it had risen.
And it was in the ruins of his career that Percy Weasley had met Casper Williams. Amiable enough bloke, but in his presence Percy felt strange. He realised, when he looked at Casper Williams how very much they were alike, and how much he despised that. It was like looking in a mirror, and Percy did not like the reflection it gave. Casper Williams had offered him a job in his new Ministry. A good job, really. Assistant in the department of Transportation. Not quite up there with Junior undersecretary to the Minister, but it was still a job, in the ministry. Percy Weasley should have been happy.
And yet, Percy Weasley was not. He'd tried. He still had his apartment in London. He still had a circle of associates from the ministry. He still had his job when much of the Wizarding world struggled to even get one of those. But Percy Weasley was far from happy. Percy Weasley was a lonely, miserable man, with a massive hole he just couldn't fill in his life.
Until he'd said hello to his father at work. Until he'd popped into see Fred and George at their shop. Until he'd gone home, tail between his legs, ready to beg his mother to forgive him for being so stupid. Pride really did come before a fall, and Percy had suffered the biggest of these. But the Weasley family, for what they lacked in money more than made up for in love, and this included their wayward son. Mrs Weasley hadn't asked for an apology, even though Percy had given more than one. She hadn't even asked for an explanation. Instead she had put her arms around him, brought him near and cried solidly for half an hour on his shoulder.
And now he was here. On ministry business of course. Ostensibly he was there to inspect the prison and its transports links. He was actually there to apologise to Harry Potter.
He rapped on the bars, watching as Harry jumped. Percy wasn't sure if the surprise on his face was because of who was knocking on the bars, or just the fact that anyone was knocking on his bars. Percy knew it had been at least six weeks since another soul had been to visit. He beckoned Harry over, watching the debate play out on Harry's face as to whether to follow or not. 'Harry, I'm sorry' were the first words out of Percy's mouth.
Harry merely nodded.
'I can't stay long. I'm not meant to be here at all.'
Again, a single nod to his words.
'How are you holding up?' Percy asked lamely. He could see how he was holding up, and it wasn't very well. His question, however, brought a spark of humour briefly to Harry's eyes.
'Harry, I need you to know that I'm sorry. The others, mum, dad, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, everyone…they would be here if they could.' Percy had a pleading quality to his voice, wanting Harry to understand that although it was Percy that was there, he came as a representative of the Weasley family.
The sound of a cell door crashing closed near by made him jump. He stepped closer to the bars, his voice more urgent. 'The trail is in three days, Harry. You're to appear before the Wizengamont on the charge of using an unforgivable against another wizard. Casper Williams is convinced that putting you away will somehow heal society- obviously he is much mistaken but the public, unfortunately, believe him. There is nothing in law to say that you have to have representation- however, we will have one on hand, ready, should you want one for your use. I don't know how they will attack you, Harry, what evidence they can use. But you must stand firm. I'm not an expert in law, Harry, but Hermione's been reading, and she believes the best you can do is claim self defence. She doesn't think bringing up the prophecy will help, but it's likely it'll come up anyway.' Percy's words were coming out in a tumble now, trying to say as much as he could in the shortest amount of time so as not to raise any suspicions back at the ministry. 'Hermione says the best you can do is point out that Voldemort struck with the Killing curse first, and you were simply reacting to that. She doesn't know what impact it will make, but you could point out to the court that it wasn't the killing curse you cast, although she said how much you reveal is up to you.'
Faster and faster the words came, pouring out under the pressure of time. 'One other big problem is that your magic has been contained for so long. You have to remain in control at all time! You have to bring it under your control. It's going to be difficult, but it is imperative you must not lose control, however much you want-'
'Percy.' The voice was merely a whisper, a croak, but it stopped him in his tracks. He looked up at the emerald green eyes that stared at him in wonder almost. Percy realised how long it had been since Harry had had any human contact, that even he was looking good at the moment. 'Thank you.' He said, simply, truthfully. 'Thank everyone.' And Harry stepped back from the bar, as a door opened down the corridor. Percy whispered goodbye, stealing a last glance, a quick grin at Harry before he stepped back himself, walking quickly up the corridor in the opposite direction, disappearing into the maze of Azkaban before it could be discovered with whom he had been speaking. 'No, thank you, Harry Potter.' Percy whispered as he slipped away.
There was smoke everywhere, catching in his throat, blinding him. He knew that Voldemort was out there somewhere- he could feel him. The pain in his scar prickled violently, his head aching as he maintained full occlumency shields. A dark evil seemed to permeate the very air all around. It was ironic, that the site of the final battle should boil down to the very place where Voldemort was not only born, but had been risen again using Harry's own blood. Around him, bodies seemed to litter the graveyard. Both death eaters and the order's own had fallen, a bloody end to a bloody war. Now Harry stood alone, looking evil in the eye, face to face with the man that had caused so much destruction. For he was just a man, now. Lord Voldemort had fallen with the destruction of the Horcruxes, and Tom Riddle stood in his place, also alone.
When Harry thought back now, it was almost with a hazy recollection. He dreamt often, about the cloying smoke, or the pain of the many curses he'd already had to endure, or of watching Tom Riddle crumple. It was ironic that of all the men and women killed that night, both from Tom's own or the order, the only person brought to trial that Harry knew about, was himself. Of all the good people murdered that night, the one who had caused so much terror, and destruction, that had taken so many lives, was the only life considered worth prosecuting over.
Harry wasn't a fool. He knew he wasn't any better than anyone else. That he wasn't more powerful than anyone else, whatever the jokes at the Prophet wanted to believe. He just happened to be born with the fall of July, an infant touched by a curse that he couldn't even fully recall. He'd had trials in life like everyone else. Had to choose his own life's path like everyone else. Had been responsible for the death of another. Whatever choices he had made, whatever life had thrown at him, he'd somehow managed to get through it. But now he was feeling desperate. There didn't seem to be any options here, any way out. His luck, it seemed, after all this time was finally running out. There was no clever Hermione finding solutions, or Ron, game for anything standing by his side. This time he was alone, and hurting, and not able to see a way out of the mess that life had currently presented to him.
He was truly desperate.