Title comes from one of Dumbledore's speeches from the Goblet of Fire movie: "Dark and difficult times lie ahead. Soon we must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy. But remember this: You have friends here. You are not alone."

This fic is part of a series! You can find a list of all the fics in the series with links in my profile.


The Battle of Hogwarts ended at approximately half past five in the morning. Two and a half hours later, Percy reported for work at the Ministry. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the new interim Minister for Magic, at least until they could organize an election, and so Percy went to him and asked what he was supposed to do.

"Go home, Weasley," Shacklebolt told him, which was the last thing Percy wanted to hear.

"With all due respect, sir, don't we need all hands on deck right now?" Percy asked, clasping his own hands behind his back so Shacklebolt couldn't see how badly they were shaking.

"With all due respect, Weasley, you clearly haven't slept since the Battle, and you look about ready to pass out on me," Shacklebolt replied. "Go home. Get some rest. Grieve with your family. Everyone who fought at Hogwarts is getting a week of vacation time anyway."

"You fought at Hogwarts," Percy countered. "Sir."

Shacklebolt's lips twitched, like he might smile. Percy couldn't imagine smiling right now. "I did, but someone has to keep things moving. I can do that well enough on my own. You can relax."

"Sir-"

"I don't want to make this an order, Weasley, but I will," Shacklebolt warned. "Go home and get some rest. You don't have to take the full week if you don't want to, but at least take a few days."

The last thing Percy wanted was a few days alone with his thoughts, but he nodded jerkily. "Yes, Minister."

It felt as if everyone was staring at him as he left, although Percy knew they weren't. He kept his head down and ignored everyone around him until he left the Ministry, and then he only spared his surroundings a brief look to make sure he was alright to Apparate home. He was, so he did, and he immediately regretted it.

Percy had spent the first hour or so after the Battle at Hogwarts with all the others, mourning and celebrating together. He talked with Aberforth, caught up a bit with Oliver Wood, and used his skills with household charms to begin cleaning up the castle. He spent some time with his family, but not much. He was still an outsider there, still didn't quite fit, so he didn't try to force it. They'd all be happier if he stayed away, and so he did.

When people finally began to leave Hogwarts, Percy did as well, returning to his flat. He took off his filthy robes and burned them, knowing he could never wear them again without remembering everything that had happened, then he showered for over half an hour, rubbing his skin red and raw. After that, he made himself a cup of tea, looked around his horribly empty flat, and Apparated to the Ministry to escape it.

And now he was back in the too-quiet flat he'd tried to leave, and it was no better than it had been before.

For a moment, no longer than a heartbeat, Percy considered Apparating to the Burrow. It wouldn't be empty there, he knew, but that was part of the problem. His family would be there, but they wouldn't want him to be. It would be better for everyone if he stayed away. Instead, he turned on the spot and Apparated to the Hog's Head. Aberforth would probably have something for him to do, and if not, Percy would head up to Hogwarts and continue helping with the cleaning there. He'd find something to keep himself busy. He had to.

The Hog's Head was quiet, so quiet Percy thought at first that it was empty. After a moment, though, Aberforth came down the stairs, a frown on his face.

"Weasley? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Do you have anything for me to do?" Percy asked. "The Minister told me to go home."

Aberforth's frown deepened. "Then why aren't you there?"

"I need something to do," Percy replied, hoping Aberforth wouldn't make him explain more. "Can I help out here? Do you have cleaning that needs to be done?"

Aberforth studied him for a moment, then shrugged."The bar always needs cleaning. You eaten anything yet?"

"Just a cup of tea."

Aberforth nodded and disappeared upstairs again. Percy supposed that meant he could clean, so he got to it. Aberforth was right, the bar always needed to be cleaned, so Percy conjured up some supplies and began to scrub, relishing the physical labor. He'd nearly finished when Aberforth came down with two plates of food.

"Eat," Aberforth said, putting one in front of Percy.

Percy looked absently down at the plate, then went back to scrubbing a particularly stubborn stain. "I'm not that hungry."

"Eat," Aberforth repeated, pushing the plate towards Percy.

Percy considered being stubborn himself and ignoring the plate a little longer, but he really wasn't in the mood for a fight. "Fine."

Upon eating his first bite, Percy found that he was actually far more hungry than he'd thought. He finished his breakfast in record time, then sipped at the cup of tea Aberforth placed in front of him. Aberforth waited for him to finish, then he asked, "Why'd you come here?"

"What?" Percy asked, looking up from his empty cup.

"You said the Minister told you to go home," Aberforth said. "Why'd you come here?"

Percy flinched, just a little. "I can go, if you-"

"Didn't ask you to go," Aberforth grunted. "Asked why you came."

"My flat is too empty," Percy said quietly. "I don't want to be alone."

The natural follow-up, of course, was to ask why Percy hadn't gone to the Burrow, to his home, and spent this time with his grieving family. Aberforth didn't ask, however, and for that, Percy was grateful. He knew his family didn't want to see him, but that didn't mean he wanted to talk about it.

"Stay as long as you want, then," Aberforth said, collecting the empty plates and mugs. "The pub isn't open today, but I'll stick around."

"I wouldn't want to impose-"

"You're not imposing," Aberforth grunted. "You can sleep upstairs, if you want. Pick any room, they're all empty."

"I can pay for a room," Percy said quickly.

"You're cleaning, that's enough payment," Aberforth replied. "You'll probably need to clean the room before you sleep in it."

Percy shot a quick glance at the stairs, then looked away. He was tired - he'd been awake for over twenty-four hours, after all - but he didn't think he'd be able to sleep. He wasn't sure he could ever sleep again. How could he sleep, after all he'd seen?

"What are you going to do?"

Aberforth shrugged. "Sleep, maybe. Clean up the mess in the back room that everyone traipsing through my bar made. Dunno."

Percy looked down at his hands. "Are you sure I'm not imposing? I could go up to Hogwarts instead. I'm sure they need help up there."

"How would giving me free labor be imposing?" Aberforth retorted. "You can stay or go, whatever you want. Either is fine with me."

Percy nodded slowly. "Thank you. For breakfast. And…"

Aberforth grunted, then he went back upstairs with their plates and mugs. Percy went back to scrubbing the bar. It was fairly mindless work, but he needed that. He needed something where he didn't have to think, where he could just let his mind be empty. Later, perhaps, he'd need jobs that filled up his mind so much he didn't have room to think about anything else, but not yet. He needed not to think at all.

Percy bent over the bar, and he kept on scrubbing.


It wasn't until the next day that Percy saw anyone else from the Battle. He wasn't actively avoiding people, but he certainly wasn't seeking them out either. Aberforth, he could trust not to bring up topics he didn't want to discuss, but other people would want to talk about what happened, or they'd ask him about his family, or they'd want to know what made him change his mind, and Percy absolutely couldn't have any of those conversations. The longer he could put them off, the better.

And then, midday on the day after the Battle, Minerva McGonagall walked into the Hog's Head.

"Professor," Percy choked out. "D-Do you need something?"

McGonagall did a double take. "Mr. Weasley? What are you doing here?"

"He's been helping me clean up the place," Aberforth said, striding out of the back room. "What are you here for, Minerva?"

McGonagall looked at Percy for another moment, then looked over at Aberforth. "I'm here to tell you, and Mr. Weasley, I suppose, that we're going to have a memorial service at Hogwarts tomorrow. To honor everyone who fell in the Battle. You don't have to come, of course, but everyone who fought is invited."

"When tomorrow?" Aberforth grunted.

"Noon."

Aberforth grunted again. "We'll think about it."

McGonagall's eyes were on Percy again, her brow slightly furrowed. He went back to washing glasses and tried to ignore it.

"You need anything else?" Aberforth asked.

McGonagall seemed to snap back to reality. "No. I simply wish to offer my condolences, Mr. Weasley, about-"

"Thank you," Percy interrupted. He wasn't sure he could stand to hear his brother's name spoken aloud right now.

"Have you spoken with your family at all?" McGonagall asked cautiously.

"Minerva," Aberforth said, a note of caution in his tone.

"Of course, it's none of my business," McGonagall retracted quickly. "But if you haven't, I do think they'd like to speak with you." She was silent for a moment, perhaps waiting for a response, then she looked over to Aberforth. "I should be going. I'll see you tomorrow, if you choose to come."

Aberforth nodded, and McGonagall left the pub. Percy vaguely realized he'd been holding his breath since she asked about his family, and he forced himself to exhale slowly and inhale again.

"You alright?" Aberforth asked.

"They don't want to speak with me," Percy said. "I know they don't."

Aberforth grunted. "Do you want to see them?"

"I don't know."

"You can go whenever you want," Aberforth said. "But you can also stay here for as long as you want. Your choice."

Why are you being so kind to me? Percy wanted to ask. Don't you know what I did? Don't you know what I said to my own father? Don't you know how I treated my family? Don't you know that nothing I do will ever make up for that, and maybe I shouldn't even try?

His brother had been laughing at Percy's joke when he died, after all.

"Thank you," was all he said. "Are you planning on going to the memorial service tomorrow?"

Aberforth shrugged. "Dunno. You?"

It felt shameful and disrespectful not to, but Percy also knew his family would likely be there. "I think I'll go, but I'll stay in the back. Hopefully no one will see me."

"I'll go with you, then," Aberforth replied. "As long as we don't have to get into any conversations, it's fine with me."

"Are you sure?" Percy asked. He had the feeling Aberforth was only agreeing so Percy didn't have to go alone.

"Seems rude not to go, honestly," Aberforth admitted. "But that doesn't mean I want to talk to anyone."

"Alright," Percy agreed. He felt the same way. "So we'll just keep to ourselves."

"Maybe wear something to cover up that hair of yours," Aberforth suggested dryly. "Everyone'll want to talk to a Weasley."

"I'm not sure they'll want to talk to this one," Percy replied, but he made a mental note to bring a hat.

Aberforth hummed and went to return to the back room. Before he could make it all the way there, Percy blurted out, "Do you think Professor McGonagall will tell anyone that I'm here?"

Aberforth paused. "Don't think so," he finally replied. "Minerva tends not to interfere with that sort of thing. I think she'll let you tell people on your own terms. Course, if anyone asks where you are, I'm not sure she'll lie either."

"Should I ask her not to mention it?" Percy asked. "I can talk to her tomorrow about it."

"I'd just leave it alone," Aberforth advised. "Anyway, if anyone comes here and tries to start something with you, you can just turn them into a goat. That's what I'd do."

"I'm fairly certain that's also illegal."

"You're a war hero now, they'll let you get away with it."

Be that as it may, Percy still didn't want to turn anyone into a goat. He thought he understood what Aberforth was really saying, though. Percy could stay here, and if he needed help or support, Aberforth would provide it. He'd keep an eye out for him, and he'd make sure Percy got the space he needed.

It was more than Percy deserved. He was still glad to have it.

"Anything else you need?" Aberforth asked. "I've got to finish inventorying."

"I'm alright out here," Percy replied. "The glasses are almost all washed."

Aberforth grunted. "Make sure you take a break for lunch."

"I will," Percy promised. They'd started this arrangement when Percy began helping out at the Hog's Head occasionally during the war. Aberforth mostly let Percy do as he pleased, even when Percy was overworking himself, but he was a stickler for making sure Percy ate three meals a day. It wasn't worth fighting over, so Percy did his best to remember.

Aberforth nodded, then returned to the back room. Percy tried to go back to washing glasses, but he felt exposed. He'd known, of course, that anyone could theoretically enter the Hog's Head and see him there, but he hadn't thought anyone actually would. Seeing McGonagall had shaken him. The Hog's Head didn't feel like quite the refuge it had ten minutes ago.

Percy set down the glass he was washing and decided he'd take his lunch break early. There wouldn't be anyone upstairs, after all, so that would give him privacy. As for the future…

Well, the next time someone entered the Hog's Head, he'd just keep his mouth shut.


At noon the next day, wearing a hat and a set of ink-black mourning robes, Percy went with Aberforth to the memorial service for those lost during the Battle of Hogwarts. The crowd was large enough that he could disappear, especially with his distinctive red hair covered. Percy found a seat in the back and claimed it, and Aberforth sat down next to him.

"Feels like Albus's funeral all over again," Aberforth grunted.

The last time there had been a funeral here, it had been for Aberforth's brother. Now, it was for Percy's.

As the clock struck twelve, McGonagall stepped up to the small podium that had been erected at the front of the crowd. "Thank you for coming, everyone," she said, her voice just loud enough to carry to the back where Percy sat. "Today, we honor those whom we lost."

McGonagall began to read off a list of names, and Percy felt his stomach twist tighter and tighter with every name she read. It lurched at the name Colin Creevey, and he remembered how he'd forged paperwork to keep the Creevey brothers from being arrested as Muggle-borns. He'd thought he'd kept Colin and Dennis safe. He'd thought it would keep them alive. Apparently, he was wrong.

Fred's name was at the very end of the list, and even though Percy had known it was coming, hearing it aloud still made him feel like he'd been stabbed right through the heart. His eyes sought his family in the crowd. They weren't hard to find; the whole group was sitting towards the front, a red-headed, freckled mass. Charlie was there, apparently returned from Romania for the funeral. Harry and Hermione were with them too, Harry holding Ginny's hand while Hermione held Ron's. With both of them, it made seven children, but only five were Weasleys. There should have been six.

Once, there would have been seven, but Percy didn't deserve to be there anymore.

Aberforth didn't say a word to Percy, didn't touch him, but his quiet, solid presence was a comfort nonetheless. He was there, at least. Percy didn't have to be alone. Perhaps he deserved to be alone, but he didn't have to be.

McGonagall spoke some words Percy barely heard, something about how everyone who fell would be remembered forever. She waved her wand, and a small white memorial grew out of the ground. Even from the back, Percy could see that it was covered in words, and although he couldn't make them out, he could guess what it said. The names of the fallen would be remembered, so long as they were on that memorial.

It was a cold comfort. Percy didn't want Fred to be remembered, he wanted him to be alive.

McGonagall stepped away, and Percy was starting to feel relieved at how short the service had been when Shacklebolt stepped up to the podium. He began to speak about Professor Lupin and Auror Tonks, both of whom had been killed in the Battle, and Percy realized what must be coming. People would speak about the friends and loved ones they'd lost. People would go up and share stories of them.

If anyone began to speak of Fred, Percy didn't think he'd be able to handle it. If that person was a member of his family, he knew he wouldn't be able to handle it.

"Can we leave without anyone noticing?" Percy whispered to Aberforth as Shacklebolt finished speaking and someone else, a student Percy didn't recognize, took his place. "I- I can't-"

"We could probably sneak away," Aberforth whispered back. "Do you want to?"

"If anyone goes up to talk about-" The name caught in his throat, but Aberforth could obviously tell who he meant, because he just nodded.

"Alright."

There weren't too many people who wanted to speak at first, but as the service continued, people seemed to become emboldened to share their stories. Other Hogwarts students went up to tell stories of Professor Lupin, and family members spoke about their fallen loved ones. Percy knew he should be listening to the stories, to respect the dead, but he could only sit and wait tensely for the moment when someone went up with a story about Fred Weasley. He knew it was only a matter of time.

And then a dark-skinned boy with dreadlocks stepped up to the podium, and Percy knew he had to leave before Lee Jordan even opened his mouth.

He reached blindly for Aberforth, who must have seen Percy's distress, because he was already getting up. Luckily, they were in the very back row, so Percy didn't think anyone noticed them leaving. Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps everyone saw and thought he was an awful person for leaving in the middle of a tribute to his brother, but he couldn't care about that. He had to get out.

Percy stumbled down the path back to Hogsmeade, barely aware of Aberforth at his side. He had to get out, he had to get away, he had to escape the looming shadow of Hogwarts and all he'd lost within those walls.

He didn't realize they'd reached the Hog's Head until Aberforth guided him inside, sitting him down at one of the tables. "Do you want a drink?"

"No, thank you," Percy replied, then he thought better of it and said, "Actually, do you have firewhiskey?"

"This is a pub, of course I have firewhiskey," Aberforth replied. He ducked behind the bar and came back out with a bottle and two glasses. They appeared to be clean, so they must have been from the stack that Percy had washed the day before. Aberforth set one glass down in front of Percy and put the other in front of his own seat, then he opened the bottle of firewhiskey and poured them each a generous slug.

"Do you want to talk?" Aberforth asked.

Percy knocked back his drink, then reached for the bottle to pour himself more. "I was there, when he died," he said, staring into the glass instead of looking up at Aberforth. "I distracted him. I… I told a joke, and Fred was laughing, and then…"

He couldn't quite remember it, which made it even worse. There had been an explosion, and then everything was fuzzy for a few moments, until he realized he was next to his brother's body. He had a vague memory of Harry helping him hide Fred's body, and then he remembered the pure rage he'd felt when he saw Rookwood, the one who'd killed his brother, going after other students to add to his death toll.

Percy dueled Rookwood until he fell. He wasn't sure if Rookwood survived the Battle. He didn't care.

"I know it doesn't help to hear it," Aberforth said, "but it wasn't your fault."

"You're right," Percy said, "it doesn't."

After all, it didn't make Fred any less dead.

He'd carried the body to the Great Hall, when the Battle paused. He'd been one of the only people who knew where it was hidden, and he was the only one available, so he'd gone back to the suit of armor and retrieved his brother's body. It had almost been like Fred was sleeping, except Fred had never been so still in his life, not even in sleep. Percy remembered wishing, back when they were younger, that Fred would stop constantly moving, wishing that he could just stay still and shut up.

His stomach lurched. He swallowed his second glass of firewhiskey.

"Does it ever stop hurting?" he asked, looking down into his empty glass.

"It was different for me," Aberforth said, knowing immediately what Percy meant. "I hadn't spoken much with Albus for years."

"I haven't spoken much to my family for years either," Percy said wryly.

Aberforth snorted. "The last time I really sat down and had a talk about something important with Albus was probably before you were even born. My brother and I were never close. If we weren't related, I don't think we ever would have spent much time together. When he died…" Aberforth shrugged. "It still hurts sometimes. I'll think of something to tell him, then remember I can't. But it doesn't hurt too badly, most of the time."

Percy twirled his glass between his hands. He couldn't imagine this pain ever stopping.

"I had a sister too," Aberforth said quietly, after a few long moments of silence. "Ariana. She died when we were both kids. That one still hurts every day."

"I didn't know."

Aberforth downed his firewhiskey. "Don't talk about her much. She died when she was fourteen."

Percy didn't ask how she died. The last thing he wanted to do was tell someone how Fred had died, so he couldn't imagine Aberforth wanted to tell him what had happened to his sister. Instead, he poured new glasses of firewhiskey for both himself and Aberforth. He held out his glass, and Aberforth, looking bemused, did the same.

"To being left behind," Percy said, tapping his glass against Aberforth's.

"I'll drink to that," Aberforth replied, and they did.


Percy was in the back room when the next visitor came to the Hog's Head, and he was incredibly grateful for that when Aberforth's gruff, "What do you want?" was answered by a familiar voice saying, "Have you seen my brother?"

Bill, Percy thought, and he wasn't sure if he was happy to hear his brother's voice or about to be sick all over Aberforth's inventory notes.

"Which one?" Aberforth asked.

"I think you know which one," Bill said, his voice a bit sharp. "Have you seen Percy?"

"What's it to you?" Aberforth demanded. Percy could practically see the way he'd be crossing his arms over his chest.

"He's my brother," Bill said, and for a heartbeat, Percy could hear anguish in his voice. "Look, can you just… Are you going to tell me if you've seen him or not?"

And Percy could picture Bill too, the way he'd rake his fingers through his overlong hair in frustration. He had scars now, Percy reminded himself, altering his mental image to include them. He'd only briefly seen them in person, but he knew they were there.

"If your brother wants to see you, he'll find you," Aberforth said. Of course, he was entirely aware that Percy was in the back room, and Percy could hear the invitation in his words. If he wanted to see Bill, he ought to go out now.

Which was all well and good, of course, but Percy couldn't move.

"Will you tell him I'm looking for him?" Bill asked, sounding helpless. "If you see him, that is? Tell him that Mum wants him to come home."

Percy was shaking. He still couldn't move. It was strange, he thought, that his body could move without his volition, but it couldn't do anything he asked.

"I'll let him know," Aberforth agreed. "Now, are you going to buy something, or are you going to leave?"

Percy heard the sound of footsteps and the door opening, then Bill said, "Tell him we just want him back, okay? Everything that happened before… It doesn't matter anymore. We just want him to come home."

"I'll tell him if I see him," Aberforth said, and then there was the sound of the door closing behind Bill, and the pub was silent again.

Aberforth knocked on the door to the back room, but he didn't enter. "Did you hear all that?"

"Yes," Percy choked out.

"Do you need help with the inventory in there?"

Percy could hear the question Aberforth was really asking. Do you want me to come in, or do you want to be alone?

"No," Percy said. He felt as though he ought to say more, to explain himself, but the words caught in his throat.

"Alright," Aberforth agreed. "Tell me if you do."

He walked off, and Percy bent over the stack of crates he was supposed to be inventorying, trying his best to breathe. His family wanted him back. Bill did, at least, and he said Mum did as well. He hadn't mentioned anyone else, but he'd said we

He'd also said that everything that happened before didn't matter. Percy wasn't sure that he agreed.

He wasn't ready to go home yet. He wasn't ready to face his family. If he could send them a note to let them know he was alright… But they'd try to find him if he did, and he didn't want them to find him. The fact that Bill had known to go to Aberforth was bad enough. What if someone else came, at a time when Percy wasn't in the back room? And once he went back to work, Percy knew he ran the risk of running into his father, or perhaps other Order members who would pass word on to his family. If he wanted privacy, he didn't know how much longer he could keep it.

He'd face his family eventually. Someday, he'd feel up to it, wouldn't he? This strange, sick feeling in his stomach couldn't last forever. He just had to work through it.

He remembered what Aberforth had said about his family on Boxing Day, after hearing Percy drunkenly ramble about his family the night before. Families can love you and still hurt you. Of course you miss them. They're family. Doesn't mean they shouldn't be better to you.

Right now, after all they'd lost… It wasn't the time to work through things with his family. Percy wasn't even quite sure how to work through things, or if he really wanted to do it. Regardless, he knew it wasn't the time. He had some time to figure things out. He'd take it.

And if another member of his family came… Well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.


"What's your plan with work?" Aberforth asked, at lunch on the sixth day after the Battle. "Shacklebolt gave you a week off, didn't he?"

He had, and that week was nearly up. Percy had originally dreaded the idea of taking a week off at all, but now, he wasn't sure he wanted to go back to the Ministry. There would be people there, people who knew about his brother, people who knew his family, people who would pity him. Percy could practically feel it already, the choking thickness of other people's sympathy, sympathy he didn't deserve. He'd have to face that at the Ministry. He'd also have to face it anywhere outside the the Hog's Head, so perhaps he ought to get used to it now.

He didn't necessarily need to go back yet. Shacklebolt would give him more time off if he asked, Percy was fairly certain. He hadn't decided yet if he would.

"I haven't made a plan yet," Percy admitted quietly. "I'm not sure what to do next."

"You can stay here as long as you like," Aberforth grunted. "Pub's never been this clean before."

"This is certainly a more relaxing job than working at the Ministry," Percy agreed.

And then, as if the universe specifically wanted to spite him, the door to the pub opened and Harry Potter stepped inside.

Percy froze, wishing he could hide. It was too late, though; Harry had already seen him. His eyes widened, and his gaze flickered from Percy to Aberforth.

"I- I didn't mean to interrupt anything," Harry stammered. "I just…"

Whatever he was just there to do, Harry trailed off instead of saying it. He looked at Percy again, clearly confused.

"Potter," Aberforth said, just before Harry could open his mouth. "Do you need something?"

Harry looked over at Aberforth. "I wanted to thank you," he said. "For using your bar as a pass-through during the Battle. And for fighting with us. And for saving me and Ron and Hermione. And for… everything, really."

"Going around with a speech for everyone?" Aberforth asked dryly.

"I haven't seen you around," Harry said. "I've already thanked most of the others. I… I thought I might see you at the castle, but I haven't, so I came down here." His gaze flickered over to Percy again. "Do you two… Percy, what are you doing here? Your family is looking for you."

"I'm aware," Percy said. His voice sounded stiff and awkward, and a bit overly-pompous. He didn't know how to stop that.

"Oh." Harry looked a little lost. "Are you… Do they know you're here?"

"No, and I'd rather they didn't."

Harry looked confused and a bit crestfallen. "They're looking for you," he repeated. "I thought you worked things out, back before…"

For a moment, Percy was furious. Who was Harry to interfere with matters in his family? Harry wasn't a Weasley. He thought everything was his responsibility, he thought everything was something he could fix, he…

He was just a boy, and he wasn't doing anything wrong. The anger left Percy as quickly as it had arrived. Harry wanted to help. Percy couldn't fault him for that.

"I think we all have things to work through, before we work through that," Percy said stiffly. "We all need some time."

"I think your mum would like to see you," Harry said. "But… I won't tell anyone I saw you, if you don't want me to." At Percy's surprised look, he added, "I've been trying to find a place to have a moment of peace since the Battle ended. I haven't found one yet. If you've got one, I'm not going to take it from you."

"You can come here sometimes, if you'd like," Percy offered automatically. At first, he wasn't sure that he really meant it, then he took a closer look at Harry and noticed the bags beneath his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped just slightly. Percy had never been Harry's biggest fan, but part of that had been because he always saw Harry not as a savior but as a boy. Right now, Harry was a boy who was still only barely of age and desperately needed some rest. Percy wasn't sure they'd ever be friends, but he could give Harry that much.

"It's not your bar to invite people to," Aberforth grumbled, but Percy knew he didn't mean it. Sure enough, he turned to Harry and added, "But I suppose you can come around, if you want."

"I… I might do that," Harry said slowly. "Thank you."

"Do you want a drink?" Percy asked, holding up his bottle of butterbeer. "Or something stronger?"

"I should probably get back to the castle," Harry said, a bit ruefully. "Maybe next time."

Aberforth raised his own bottle in an obvious salute, and Harry ducked his head a bit as he left the bar. He looked young, painfully young. Percy wasn't all that much older, but in the moment, he felt ancient.

"You still want to stick around?" Aberforth asked as the door closed behind Harry. Percy knew what he was really asking.

Your family is looking for you. Do you want to go home?

"I'm not sure," Percy said honestly. "I'll decide tomorrow, I suppose."

Aberforth grunted. "Pub's open to you as long as you want."

"Thank you," Percy said, looking down at his bottle of butterbeer. He picked it up and played with it between his hands, twirling it back and forth. "Families are difficult."

Aberforth huffed out a laugh and raised his bottle of butterbeer once more. "I'll drink to that."


When Percy went back to the Ministry, he wasn't sure if he would be staying or not until he reached his desk, sat down, and immediately knew he had to leave. He stood back up, feeling a little wobbly, and walked up to the Minister's office and knocked on the door.

He told the fear washing over him that it was unnecessary, that Shacklebolt sat behind that door now. The fear didn't listen.

"Come in," Shacklebolt called. Percy stepped through the door. "Ah, Weasley," Shacklebolt said, looking up. An expression of concern crossed over his face. "Are you alright?"

"I can't stay here, sir," Percy said, proud that his voice remained even and almost outwardly calm. "I'm requesting a leave of absence. I… I don't know how long it'll be, but-"

"It's alright, Weasley," Shacklebolt said in his slow, calming voice. "You're not the only person taking an indefinite leave right now. When you're ready to come back, tell me."

"I will," Percy promised.

"And if you decide you're not coming back at all, let me know that as well," Shacklebolt added. "I wouldn't blame you if that's what you decided. You wouldn't be the only one to quit either."

"Yes, sir."

Shacklebolt's eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you alright? Do you need anything? We're trying to set up a support network for survivors of the Battle."

The word survivors made Percy's gut lurch. "I'm alright, sir," he said, hoping Shacklebolt couldn't see the way he suddenly felt like he might throw up. "I- I don't need anything."

"Your family-"

Percy should have been expecting Shacklebolt to mention his family, but somehow, it caught him off guard. "I know, sir," he said, cutting off whatever Shacklebolt had meant to say. He expected it would be something about how his family missed him, or how they could come together to grieve, or how they could all support each other. Whatever it was, Percy didn't want to hear it.

"Can I leave, sir?" he asked before Shacklebolt could say anything else.

"Of course," Shacklebolt replied gently. "I wish you the best, Weasley."

"Thank you, sir."

Percy left the Minister's office, gathered a few things from his desk, and left the Ministry. He felt like people were staring at him, just like it had a week ago, right after the Battle. This time, he cared less. He still kept his head down until he was out.

If he'd waited only a few more minutes, he would have run into his father, coming in to speak with Shacklebolt. He didn't know that, but if he had, he would have left even quicker.

Percy didn't go to his flat this time, but straight to the Hog's Head. Aberforth was in the back room, but he came out when he heard Percy enter.

"Can I work here?"

"For as long as you want," Aberforth agreed.

Percy nodded, then he grabbed a dishcloth and got to work.


Percy was tidying up behind the bar when Harry came in next, slinking in the door like he was trying to hide. He didn't look like someone who wanted to be spoken to, so Percy kept his mouth shut.

After a few minutes, Harry came up to the bar, still tentative. "Are you working here?"

"I am," Percy replied. "Do you want a drink?"

"Er, butterbeer?"

Percy pulled out a bottle of butterbeer. "Do you want a glass, or will you just drink it out of the bottle?"

"Are the glasses clean?" Harry asked.

"I've cleaned them all."

"Then I'll take a glass, thanks."

Percy took out a glass and filled it with butterbeer, tilting the glass and twisting the bottle the way Aberforth had showed him to get just the right amount of foam at the top. Harry watched him silently. When Percy set it down in front of him, Harry wrapped both hands around it, but made no move to drink.

"Are Ron and Hermione well?" Percy asked after a moment.

"Yeah," Harry said, seemingly grateful for the conversation starter. "I mean, they're as well as they can be, given the circumstances. They're not hurt, if that's what you're asking. And, er, no one else in you family is hurt either."

Percy nodded, not quite sure what else to say. He didn't want to talk about his family, especially not with Harry. He didn't begrudge Harry his closeness with them, but nor did he want to hear about it.

"Could I ask you something?" Percy asked, when the silence grew too much to bear.

Harry looked a bit wary. "What is it?"

"In early September, a few people broke into the Ministry and helped a group of Muggle-borns escape," Percy said. "It wasn't planned by the Order. Was it you?"

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding and looking a bit relieved by the question. Percy supposed it was probably simpler than many of the questions people were asking Harry nowadays. "It was me and Ron and Hermione. Breaking out Muggle-borns wasn't the plan, but it worked out."

Percy nodded. He'd wondered about that ever since Aberforth told him the Order hadn't planned that attack. It had been part of what pushed him to work with the Order himself, and he'd wanted to know if his suspicions about who was behind it were correct.

"D'you mind if I ask you a question?" Harry asked.

"What is it?" Percy replied, hoping it wouldn't be anything about his family.

"How do you know Aberforth?"

That was a marginally simpler question than what he'd been expecting. "I passed information to him from the Ministry so he could pass it on to the Order."

Harry's eyes widened behind his glasses. "I didn't know you were a spy."

"No one did," Percy replied. "Aberforth was the only person who knew."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"The more people who knew, the more danger I was in," Percy replied. "If the Ministry found out, I would have been imprisoned. If I were lucky, that is."

That was part of the reason, after all. Percy didn't want to lie to Harry, but nor did he want to share with him the full truth.

"Right," Harry said, looking down at his glass. "What sort of information did you pass on?"

"Anything I could," Percy replied. "I… was in a position where I had access to a great deal of high-ranking people and their information. They all saw me as fairly invisible, so many of them spoke freely around me." He hesitated, then added, "I also forged family documents for Muggle-borns."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, frowning slightly in confusion.

"The Ministry declared that magic was either inherited or stolen," Percy said, feeling vaguely ill even as he said the words. "Muggle-borns were deemed thieves, but if they had a magical relative, then it meant they'd inherited their magic. So I forged documents linking Muggle-borns to wizarding families, or sometimes forged paperwork to make a grandparent out as a witch or wizard."

"How did you keep it a secret?" Harry asked. "Wouldn't someone notice?"

"The records from the 1940s are a mess," Percy replied. "There was war in our world and the Muggle one, and there were refugees coming to Britain from all over, and a great deal of them were never properly documented. It was simple to adjust old records or add new ones."

"And no one knows about that either?" Harry asked.

"No one but Aberforth."

"You could tell people now," Harry suggested. "The war is over. You don't have to worry about being found out."

Yes, Percy thought, but who would believe me?

That was his main concern when it came to telling people about what he'd done during the war, after all. He'd helped, but he'd kept his head down as he did it, and no one had known what he was doing. If he came forward now, who would believe him? Given what he'd done before, who would have any reason to?

"Perhaps," was all he said aloud. "Is something wrong with your butterbeer?"

"Oh, yeah, right." Harry lifted the butterbeer to his lips and took a sip. "I'm not really that thirsty," he admitted as he set it back down. "I just figured I should order something."

"You don't have to," Percy replied. He doubted Aberforth would argue. "It's not like we're particularly crowded at the moment."

Harry looked around the empty pub. "Yeah, I guess."

Percy hesitated, then went back to his cleaning. He felt like he ought to say something more to Harry, but he didn't know what.

"Do you mind if I stay for a while?" Harry asked. "It's just- It's quiet here, and there's no where else where I can have some time alone."

"Stay as long as you like," Percy replied. "Aberforth will probably come out with food in an hour or so, if you want to stay that long."

"I don't need food," Harry dismissed quickly.

Percy snorted. "Try telling Aberforth that. He places a great deal of importance on three solid meals a day."

Harry blinked. "Oh."

"I have work to do in the back room," Percy said, looking down at the bar. "Do you mind-"

"Oh, no, go ahead," Harry replied quickly. "I'm gonna go sit down at a table, if that's okay."

"Sit wherever you want," Percy replied, and then he ducked into the back room and closed his eyes to breathe for a few moments. Harry hadn't said anything about his family, and it was fine that he was there, it was fine, but…

It had been almost a year since Percy had been able to speak to anyone but Aberforth without being very, very careful about what he said. Apparently, he wasn't quite used to speaking casually with anyone else, not anymore.

"You alright?" Aberforth asked as he entered the room with a pad of paper and a quill.

"Fine," Percy replied automatically. "Harry's here. I gave him a butterbeer."

Aberforth nodded. "Right. You comfortable with that?"

"It's fine," Percy replied. "This is a pub. People are going to come in. It's fine."

"Not that many people come in," Aberforth replied. "I think the Three Broomsticks is already picking up some customers again, but I don't think we're going to for a while longer."

"Will that be a problem financially?" Percy asked. He'd never really given much thought to Aberforth's finances before.

Aberforth shrugged. "I've got money. That's not a concern. I prefer the pub quiet anyway."

Not for the first time, Percy wondered why Aberforth even ran a pub when he seemed to dislike interacting with most people so much. Then again, Percy wasn't always a fan of interacting with people, and he'd started more or less working at the Hog's Head too.

"Potter's not going to bring his friends here, is he?" Aberforth asked, frowning.

"I don't think so," Percy replied. "He said he likes the quiet here. I think he wants to spend some time alone."

Aberforth grunted. "Don't we all."

To be honest, Percy hadn't thought much about the possibility of Harry bringing friends to the Hog's Head. If he brought anyone, Percy knew he'd bring Ron and Hermione. If he brought Hermione, it would be alright. Percy would prefer that he didn't, but liked Hermione, and they'd always been cordial, if not quite friendly. If Harry brought Ron, however…

Percy very much hope Harry didn't bring Ron.

"You looking for something to do?" Aberforth asked. Percy knew the question he was really asking: did Percy want something to take his mind off of all this?

"What do you need?"

"Some of the rooms upstairs could use dusting."

Percy nodded. "I'll do it now."

The rooms did need dusting, but he knew Aberforth didn't really care about that. He appreciated the effort anyway. Perhaps it would help take his mind off of things.

It didn't, not really, but it was worth a shot.


A week passed, and then another. Percy worked at the Hog's Head, although in truth, there was very little to do; very few customers came, and he'd already cleaned the bar and the upstairs rooms. He was thinking he might give the whole pub a thorough washing next, if Aberforth didn't mind. They might have to close for a day to do it, but the pub was empty most days anyway.

Harry came occasionally. He never brought anyone else with him, to Percy's relief. Most days that he came, he just sat quietly at one of the tables. Sometimes, he would order something from the bar, but more often than not, he wouldn't. Percy wondered how much people were hounding him when he was outside the Hog's Head, that he would come to visit so often. The Hog's Head was a good refuge, though, and no one came for Harry while he was there. No one came for Percy either, not since that one time Bill came asking around. Professor McGonagall must not have told anyone he was there. Percy wondered if his family was still looking for him, but he couldn't bring himself to ask Harry about it.

Some nights, Percy went back to his flat to sleep, but most nights, he stayed at the Hog's Head instead. The room he normally stayed in was slowly growing more and more personalized the more he used it. He was starting to wonder if continuing to rent his flat even made sense anymore, but he wasn't quite ready to give it up yet. Besides, Aberforth hadn't seemed to mind him staying in the Hog's Head, but they'd have to have a conversation before Percy fully moved in.

Then again, Percy thought as he and Aberforth had their usual dinner together in Aberforth's kitchen, perhaps it wouldn't be too difficult a conversation after all, given that he was already at least halfway to moving in.

"Food's good," Aberforth grunted as he ate. Percy, who had cooked that night, nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment. "Family recipe?"

The food suddenly seemed thick in Percy's throat. "No," he said, swallowing with difficulty. "It's one of the first things I taught myself to make after I moved out."

Aberforth gave him a searching look, then sighed, putting down his fork. "Look. I'm not one to talk about feelings, but you need to."

Percy blinked. "What?"

"Your family," Aberforth elaborated. "You miss them."

Percy looked down at his food. "I do."

"Well?" Aberforth asked. "What are you going to do about it?"

"They don't want me back," Percy said quietly.

"Your brother didn't seem to think so when he came around looking for you," Aberforth countered. "And Potter said they were looking for you too. Try another excuse."

Percy's head jerked up. "It's not an excuse."

"You're afraid," Aberforth said flatly. "They hurt you. You hurt them. I won't lie to you, it's a right mess, but ignoring it won't make it any better. Besides, I thought you liked cleaning."

"I don't know how to clean this," Percy replied. "I can't- I don't know how to fix it."

"And?"

"And what?"

"There's more to it," Aberforth said. "You said you don't know how to fix it, but you could try. Why haven't you tried yet?"

"Because- Because-"

"Because?"

"Because you're right," Percy burst out. "I hurt them, and I can apologize for that, but they hurt me, and I don't know if they know it."

Aberforth looked at him with the same piercing expression his brother used to wear so often, like he could see right through you. "Why don't you tell them?"

"Because-" This was a truth that was twisted deep in Percy's chest, one that wouldn't come loose easily. None of this conversation had been easy, of course, but this… "Because I-"

Aberforth just looked at him with that searching gaze. Percy swallowed hard and forced the words out.

"Because I don't know if they'll care."

Aberforth let out a long sigh. "Did I ever tell you how I made up with Albus?"

"I didn't know you did."

"We didn't speak for years," Aberforth said. "Neither of us wanted to make the first move, I think. He was the one who did it in the end. I'd just bought the pub. He was teaching at Hogwarts. I suppose I could have bought a pub farther away, if I'd really wanted to avoid him, but I think I wanted to get it out as much as he did by that point. He came down and walked in, and I've never seen him as uncertain as he was right then."

"And what happened?" Percy asked.

Aberforth shrugged. "It had been years. Some things had mellowed, some things had festered. We didn't talk about much of anything important that first day, but he came back, and he just kept coming. It wasn't always pretty, I'll tell you that. We yelled at each other, and one time we came close to dueling. And we were both afraid that we were the only one who wanted to make things better. At least, I was, and I'm pretty sure he was too. But we talked it through, and it got better. We were never close, but we never had been. It was better than it had been before."

"So you think I should speak to my family."

"I think you should do what you think you should do," Aberforth replied. "But for myself… I'm glad I ended up speaking with Albus. I would have regretted it if I hadn't."

The unspoken context there makes Percy's stomach twist. Aberforth would have regretted it if Dumbledore died without the two of them making up. Fred died before Percy had the chance to properly patch things up with his family. He'd apologized in the Room of Requirement, he'd fought alongside his brother, but he hadn't made things right, and Fred died before he'd ever have a chance to.

The war was over now. His family should be safe. Percy didn't have to worry about them anymore. They weren't going to die.

Except people died all the time, and if he waited too long out of some misplaced confidence and was wrong…

"I'll think about it," Percy said. "I'm not ready yet, but maybe one day I will be."

Aberforth nodded once, then went back to his food. Percy had the feeling this conversation had filled his quota for emotional conversations for the rest of the year. To be honest, he felt similarly, so he went back to his food as well.

They ate in silence. Percy had a lot to think about, after all.


As it turned out, Percy didn't have the luxury of thinking on it for too long. Two days later, while Harry sat in the corner of the Hog's Head with a mostly-untouched glass of butterbeer, the doors flew open and two horribly familiar figures strode inside.

"So this is where you've been hiding," Ron said, walking directly over to Harry's table. "We've been wondering where you kept disappearing to."

"Ron insisted on tracking you down," Hermione added. "We won't tell anyone else, of course."

"You didn't need to come find me," Harry said. For an instant, he looked over the top of Ron's head and made eye contact with Percy, behind the bar. In that moment, Percy felt like he could read Harry's mind just as clearly as if he'd used Legilimency. If he left now, Harry wouldn't tell Ron he'd been there.

It was a generous offer. It was one Percy would like to take. It was one Percy couldn't take, because he couldn't move.

He didn't know why he kept freezing up like this every time he was faced with the prospect of seeing a member of his family. It was an inconvenient response, to say the least. It was especially inconvenient now, when all Ron had to do to see him was turn around. And he would turn around, Percy was certain of it. He knew his brother, and he knew what he would do. Ron would look at Harry's butterbeer, and then he'd say-

"I could use a butterbeer myself, I think. Hermione, what about you?"

Hermione didn't have a chance to respond, because with the words, Ron turned towards the bar.

The look on his face… Emotions flashed by too quickly for Percy to read, not that he wanted to read them anyway. But when Ron's face finally settled on one emotion, it was a clear one. Anger.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Working," Percy replied, aware that the response was short and clipped and sounded far sharper than he meant for it to sound. Honestly, though, he was surprised he'd managed to say anything at all. He still felt strangely disconnected from his body, and he still couldn't move to walk away.

"Working?" Ron repeated. "Working? You're bloody working? Where the hell were you when we buried Fred? Where the hell were you when we had the memorial at Hogwarts? Where the hell were you when Mum was crying herself to sleep every night, or when Bill went looking for you, or when Dad tried to find you at the Ministry?"

Percy tried to say something, but whatever small mercy had let him get his first response out had run dry. There was a lump in his throat, and a tightness in his chest, and no words would come out.

"Do you even care about any of us?" Ron demanded. "Or are you just here, working like you always do? Why are you even working here anyway? Tired of betraying the family at the Ministry?"

"Ron," Harry said quietly. "Stop."

"Did you know he was here?" Ron demanded, whirling on Harry. "Did you know the whole time?"

"I've known since a week after the Battle," Harry said. "He asked me not to tell anyone."

"You've seen how my mum is-" Ron began, clearly furious, but Hermione put a hand on his shoulder.

"Ron, don't."

Ron shrugged off the hand and turned back to Percy. "Aren't you going to say anything? You've been hiding for weeks. The least you could do is tell me why."

And Percy would, perhaps, if he could force the words out. He didn't know what he would say, but he would say something, because clearly that would be better than saying nothing. Ron was furious. If Percy found the right words, maybe he could make that better.

But every word he could think of, whether it was right or not, was stuck in his throat.

"What's going on out here?" Aberforth demanded, coming in from the back room. "What's all this yelling in my pub about?"

"Bill asked you if you knew where Percy was!" Ron yelled. "He said he even checked the Hog's Head, and he couldn't find Percy anywhere. He was here the whole time!"

With one gaze, Aberforth seemed to assess the situation. To be fair, it wasn't difficult to assess, with Ron red-faced and yelling while Percy stood frozen behind the bar. Luckily, Aberforth also seemed to know what to do.

"Right. Weasley, if you want to yell at your brother, do it somewhere else. You're not harassing my employees right in front of me. This is a pub. Either buy something or get out."

That was, in Percy's experience, not exactly Aberforth's usual business model. Harry was enough evidence of that. He knew why Aberforth was saying it. He didn't know if he was grateful or not.

He still couldn't speak.

For a moment, it looked like Ron would keep yelling, then he huffed out an angry breath and turned away. "Fine. I'm leaving."

Hermione shot Harry a helpless look, then followed Ron to the door. Harry sighed and got up as well, and they were all almost out of the pub when Percy suddenly found his voice again.

"Wait."

All three of them turned back, but Percy was only looking at Ron. They'd never been especially close, but suddenly, all Percy could think of was when Ron was little, old enough that he wasn't as helpless a baby as Ginny but young enough that he couldn't be left unattended. Percy, four years older and eternally as responsible as someone twice his age, had helped Molly take care of Ron in those days, watching over his little brother and keeping him safe. That closeness hadn't lasted long - Ron had grown to prefer spending time with Fred and George instead - but that didn't mean Percy had forgotten it. Perhaps Ron had, but Percy still remembered the feeling of Ron's chubby little hand in his, the way Ron would laugh when he saw butterflies in the garden.

Ron was his little brother. Ron was family. Percy desperately missed his family.

"Do you actually want me to come back?" Percy asked, his voice uneven. "Does Mum- Does Dad-"

"Mum always wanted you to come back," Ron replied. "Dad went to the Ministry to find out where the hell you were. Bill searched everywhere for you. Charlie wrote to all your friends to see if they had any idea where you might be."

Slowly, Percy stepped out from behind the bar. "If I came home, would that be alright?"

Ron rolled his eyes, but Percy was pretty sure it was just for show. "Yes, you prat. What part of what I just said did you not understand?"

"Ron, be nice to your brother," Hermione scolded under her breath.

Harry looked at Percy, a question in his eyes. Percy inclined his head just barely in the smallest of nods.

"You two should go back," Harry said quietly. "Hermione and I can give you some space."

Ron frowned slightly, then he nodded. "Alright. Perce, you coming?"

Both Ron and Percy could Apparate on their own, but Percy still let Ron take his hand as they turned on the spot and left for the Burrow.

It looked the same as ever, tall and homey and leaning ever so slightly to the side. Ron didn't let go of Percy's hand as he started walking to the kitchen door.

"Mum! Guess who I found!"

The door opened before they reached it, and Percy watched as his mother caught sight of him. Her hands flew to her mouth, and for a horrible moment, Percy thought he'd made his mother upset again. But she looked happy, even if her eyes glittered with tears. Percy couldn't blame her for crying. His eyes weren't exactly dry either.

"Percy. You're home."

Percy's throat had closed up again, and no words would come, but this time, it didn't matter. His mother crossed the yard to him and pulled him into her arms, and they didn't need any words at all.