DISCLAIMER: I am not JK Rowling. I do not own any Harry Potter characters I am merely taking them out to play.

Percy heard her come in and tried to control his breathing so she would think he was asleep. He had his back to the door, facing the small, white-curtained, window that overlooked the square. He felt a draft as she picked up the covers and slid quietly in beside him. He flinched when she touched his arm.

"The girls are sleep," she whispered and he could feel her hot breath on the back of his neck.

He grunted as though she'd woken him even though he'd been lying in this postion, curled up on his side, for the better part of an hour. He knew sleep would not come to him - not tonight - maybe tomorrow but not tonight.

"Were you sleeping?" She asked gently.

He grunted again and pulled his shoulder away from her an inch or so.

"I know you weren't," she said as she withdrew her hands and her mouth, which had been hovering near his ear.

"Then why did you ask?" He muttered.

"Why were you pretending to be?" He could feel the fight in her. She wanted him to engage her. He didn't think he had the strength - not tonight.

"Do you always return a question with a question?" He could hear the disinterest in his tone and he hoped she could too.

"Do you?" She returned heatedly.

Instead of responding he pulled further away from her - closer to the edge of the bed and curled up further into a ball.

"Percy," she said with a sad little sigh, "what have I done?" He hated that she assumed his mood was due to her and that she was making him feel guilty among everything else he was already feeling.

"Why does everything have to be about you?" He heard the venom in his tone - knew it would hurt her - but could not contain it. There was so much pain in him - it had to come out somewhere. He would regret his tone in the morning but tonight - tonight he just wanted to sleep.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She was getting angry again.

"It means you haven't done anything," he returned, "why do you assume that my behavior has something to do with you?"

"Because you've been a great prat all day."

"And why should that've been your fault?" He rolled over slightly so he could look at her over his shoulder. She was propped up on one elbow, just like he knew she would be. "Do you know what today is?" He asked her sharply.

She shook her head slowly with a glowering look in her eyes. He knew she was biting back her tongue.

"You don't?" He shouldn't have been surprised really. She hadn't lived in England during the war. She hadn't lost family on this day so many years ago. It didn't have the same significance for her that it did for him.

"I said no," she replied harshly. She was barely containing her anger.

"You didn't say anything," he couldn't help himself.

"You know what I meant when I shook my head," she snapped.

"It's the second of May," he told her but she just gave him a blank look so he elaborated, though it was painful, "the anniversary of Fred's death."

"Oh," a look of dawning comprehension came across her features.

He turned back to the window so he wouldn't have to look at her. She was an only child as were both of her parents. She didn't even have cousins growing up. She could never understand the depth of the pain he felt when he thought of Fred - his little brother. He had been there, though he never told her that. She didn't need to know that he had watched his brother die, actually saw the life go out of his eyes. Fred had had more life in him while he was alive than anyone Percy had ever met. How could it be possible that he was dead? And bitter thoughts crept in on his mind again. Why had he wasted so many years fighting with them? How had he let his ambitions get in the way of his family? How had he not seen that they had been right all along? Fred had told him once that there was nothing more important than family and Percy remembered thinking he was young and stupid. Now he knew Fred had been wiser than he, Percy, could ever hope to be. And Percy wondered, not for the first time, how he had been sorted into Gryffindor. Gryffindors were loyal and Percy had only ever been loyal to himself. He should have been in Ravenclaw, he knew, what had possessed that hat? But he had come back - something Ginny liked to remind him of when he confided in her his true feelings. She told him it took a lot of courage for him to apologize and ask them to forgive him. He liked to believe her. He liked to think they didn't blame him.

He had made so many mistakes when he was young and stupid. It still amazed him that his family had welcomed him back with open arms. He had felt like the black sheep his whole life - like he never really had a place in the family. Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, and Ron were so different from him. They had all been quidditch players (even Ginny) and he had despised flying ever since his first time on a broom. They had this charisma and self-confidence that somehow missed him; they were courageous, fearless, and daring while he was none of those things. But in the days and weeks that had followed Fred's death he felt a closeness to them that he had never thought possible. They mourned together and held each other and cried together. They all knew how the others felt - well all but George. No one could know how he felt no matter how hard they tried.

He remembered, on the two-year anniversary of Fred's death he had been alone with George in the sitting room at the Burrow. How they had come to be alone he'd since forgotten but he remembered there being a silence between them that seemed to say more than all the words they had ever spoken aloud. There was sorrow in it but also a comfort he didn't understand. They were sitting across from one another, both staring at the merrily dancing fire in the hearth lost in their own separate worlds but each aware of the other. Percy had been fighting back bitter resentment at all the time he had wasted and how badly he wanted to take it all back.

Then George had broken the silence in a quiet voice, "I'm sorry, you know."

Percy had looked at his younger brother, bemused, "For what?"

"For what I said to you," George had said, "just after the funeral."

Percy had known what he was talking about and had known, the moment the words had left George's mouth, that he hadn't meant them. "I know," he had replied with a nod.

"I never told you though," George had said, "and I want you to know. I didn't mean it."

Percy had nodded, "I never thought you did," he had replied quietly. And he had remembered, very clearly, what George was apologizing for. After the funeral they had gone back to Burrow and George had gone into the garden to be alone. Percy, wanting to comfort his brother, had stupidly followed him. It had been his own fault really; he should have left him alone. George had been angry, Percy had known, and he shouldn't have pushed him. But he had asked if he was ok and George had gone off. Of all the things George had yelled at him the only one Percy remembered was, 'I wish it had been you instead'. George had been told that Percy and Ron were right there when Fred had died, that it could have been any of them, or all three of them. The words had cut deep into his heart and haunted his dreams for months afterward.

"You know," Percy had said quietly, "sometimes I wish it had been me."

"No," George had shaken his head, "Don't say that. I wish I'd never said that. I never meant it."

Percy had half smiled at his brother, "Sometimes I think, if it had been me, you wouldn't have been so deeply affected -"

"That's not true!" George had cried. This conversation seemed to have been torturing him, but Percy had felt it was one they needed to have.

"Fred was your twin," he had continued, "it wouldn't have been the same."

"He was my brother, you are my brother, it is the same," George had pleaded, "I've never once wished you were dead Perce, never."

Percy had sighed, "Even so, I think Fred would've been able to help the family better if it had been me."

"Not true," George had shaken his head violently, "Fred was really torn up when you were estranged from us. He hated it. I don't think he would've recovered if you had died." The doubt he felt must've showed on Percy's face because George had continued, "No, really. He put on a good show but when you left, it really tore him up. As much grief as he gave you, Perce, I know Fred loved you."

Percy had felt his throat constrict and tears well in his eyes. "I loved him too," he had said quietly.

"I know," George had replied.

"I'm sorry too," Percy had continued, "for what I did, I was -"

"I know," George had cut across the rest of Percy's sentence, "you're my brother. I know you're sorry."

Percy didn't know what to say. A comfortable silence stretched between them and he had known then that he was forgiven – that George didn't blame him – though Percy thought he should. It was a relief such as he had never felt before.

***

"I'm sorry," the woman lying in bed beside him whispered, pulling Percy from the depths of his thoughts. "I forgot."

Percy nodded but said nothing. His anger at her was gone. He didn't have the energy to be angry. He just wanted to be alone. He pulled further away from her and curled himself into a tighter ball. "Just leave me alone," he whispered.

He could feel her eyes on the back of his head but after a few minutes she laid all the way down without comment. He felt tears leaking out of his eyes, running over his nose, and pooling on his pillow. He let them fall without wiping them away. They were for Fred and he refused to be ashamed of them.

"Percy," his wife whispered in the darkness.

He didn't respond.

"I love you," she continued quietly.

He closed his eyes tight as more tears leaked out of them. He was being a jerk, he knew. She didn't deserve the way he was treating her. "I wish you didn't," he replied quietly, "I don't deserve it."

He felt her roll over toward him and gently touch his back. He didn't flinch or pull away. She rubbed his back in a comforting, gentle way. "You don't have to deserve it," she whispered. He relaxed into the feel of her hands on his back. "I love you," she told him again.

"I love you too," he replied in a choked voice. He didn't deserve the wonderful woman in bed beside him. She was much too good for him – he'd thought so since the day he'd met her. He had tried to convince her many times but she wouldn't have it. She loved him, she told him over and over. No matter how he treated her – she loved him. He didn't understand it but he trusted it – he trusted her.

A few minutes later he fell into a deep sleep with thoughts of the woman he loved – whose love he didn't deserve. All thoughts of Fred were driven from his mind and along with them went his guilt over his brother's death. He was loved and that was, in the end, all that really mattered.

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