Percy was putting in almost all his time at the office. His new flat was still undecorated, as he hadn't given himself a day off since he started working. Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had given him back his job as Junior Minister. The job was very different than it had been last year, as he was no longer afraid that his bosses might kill him.

Working kept him distracted. He didn't give himself time to think about the battle, or anyone that may have died in it. At least he didn't until the Minister had given him a rather unfortunate assignment.

"Mr. Weasley?" His assistant, Miss Turnpole, knocked on his door. She had been on the run last year because she was a muggleborn, but she seemed eager to return to her job. "The architects want a meeting about the design for the Memorial." Percy did his best not to flinch. Fighting in the battle was difficult enough, but now it was his job to commemorate those that had died.

"I'll meet with them tomorrow. I have to write to the Creevey family for photographs of their son. It seems he took more photos of other people than let photos be taken of him."

He turned back to the note he was writing. He would send it by muggle post in the morning. He looked up and noticed that Miss Turnpole hadn't left yet, but she was clutching a piece of paper in her hand. "Is there something you need, Ms. Turnpole?"

"Umm," she looked surprised that he addressed her. "Well, it's just that I was looking over the names of people who died in the battle, and, well—"

"And you saw the name Weasley," Percy finished. He had been expecting someone to notice the name. Miss Turnpole looked nervous, as if she was contemplating whether she should ask a question. "He's my brother."

Ms. Turnpole looked down, ashamed she brought it up. "It's okay" he told her, and he turned back to the letter.

The cabinet doors in his office suddenly popped with force enough to push back both of their hair. Ms. Turnpole rushed over to it to shut it. "Sorry about that," she said, "It's been temperamental recently. I've asked for someone from magical maintenance to come down and fix it." she bit her lip and turned to him. "I just thought, well, if you ever wanted to talk—but I guess you have your family for that." She shook her head.

She was partly right, but he felt slightly separate from his family. He had abandoned them for the better part of three years. He was grateful that Fred had forgiven him before he—no, he couldn't think like that.

Ignoring it won't make it go away A voice in his head told him, he died and there was nothing you could do.

No, it should have been me he thought back, I was standing right there. I should have died in the blast. I shouldn't have distracted him. Why did I choose that moment to tell a joke? "It was all my fault." He didn't realize until she gasped that he had said it out loud.

"No it wasn't!" she said, "I mean, I wasn't there, I don't know, but I'm sure it wasn't. It's just—my mother had a saying." She frowned as if trying to remember, "'The only person at fault is the one who actually did the action.' I mean, usually she was referring to her broken dishes, but I think it means that the only one who is really at fault is You-Know-Who. Does that make any sense?"

Percy was unsure at first, but he slowly nodded. "Your mother was a smart woman." He told her.

Ms. Turnpole smiled at him and nodded, "Thank you, Mr. Weasley."

He shook his head. "Please, call me Percy," he said.

She smiled and turned to leave, "Thank you, Percy. And you can call me Audrey."

He nodded. "Thanks, Audrey," he found himself smiling at her. Thanks, Fred.