READ THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE: Given the original note on this story, I feel like these next two chapters need to come with a warning. When I began this fic, I intended it to be a one-shot exploring the grief of a family that doesn't get closure after tragedy. I don't know if it was current events or just the desire to keep this story going once I'd come back to it, but chapters 6 and 7 bring that closure (and a few more Weasleys) to this story. There is, however, an epilogue to this story that can stand on its own. So if you prefer to skip these two chapters and maintain the original intent, it won't hurt my feelings at all.

Chapter 6

Arthur woke to the sound of laughing. It was a sound he hadn't really heard or appreciated in ages. He got up and got dressed and went downstairs, where he saw Fred and George entertaining Audrey with a some story or another from Percy's youth. A box of snack cakes sat on the table, and Audrey reached for one, bringing it to her lips.

"I wouldn't! Arthur called out, the twins have a habit of-" he stopped short as Audrey took a large bite from the pastry. She savored the flavor as dust from the icing sugar covered the tip of her nose and small bit of lemon cream dribbled onto the table.

"It's delicious," she said. Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise. He approached the table and reached for one.

"My apologies," he said as he took a bite. "I guess I just expect all baked goods from these two to be-" Arthur was silenced momentarily in a puff of pastel smoke. "Canary cremes," He finished with a cough, trying to ignore the yellow feathers that escaped his lips. The twins and Audrey burst out laughing.

"Meet the newest product from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," Fred said. "Sunrise Snacks, a delicious — and reasonably nutritious — breakfast with a surprise-"

"Or two" George added;

"Or three in every box! Now for the reasonable price of three galleons a dozen."

"Charming," Arthur intoned as he wiped the what appeared to be yellow greasepaint from his brow and rolled his tongue around his teeth, checking for more errant feathers.

"Sorry about that, dad," George said. "We're trying to phase the feathers and whatnot out of the formula. Guess it still needs a little tweaking."

"The hair color works nicely though," Fred said.

"Yes, it's quite fetching," Audrey added.

"Hair color?" Arthur rose from his seat and stared into the window, trying to get just the right angle to catch his reflection. Neon yellow stared back at him in place of his customary red locks.

"Blazes, boys!" he said. "You expect people to go to work like this?!"

"It should wear off," Fred said. "And if it doesn't you can always wash it out."

"Wash it out…" Arthur muttered as he left the kitchen, making for the loo and a shower. George rushed off behind him.

"Better make sure he doesn't grab the joke shampoo by accident. It's charmed to make you look bald."

Audrey barely stifled a giggle as he ran off. And then it was just her and Fred. She finished her pastry in silence, calmly wiping the dab of sugar from her nose and scooping up the bit of cream with her fingertip. Fred shuffled nervously on his feet.

"What's wrong," Audrey finally asked him. He was silent for a moment before finally speaking with a stuttering halt.

"I don't imagine Percy talked much about us," he said.

"He did some," Audrey replied.

"Probably nothing good." Fred didn't sound accusatory or angry. If anything he sounded resigned. Even a little bit sad.

"He had some grievances," she admitted. "Sometimes jokes that flirt with cruelty can cross a line." Fred looked appropriately admonished. "But he also said – in between antagonistic antics – he said you always knew how to make him laugh. And that was a treasure for those days when he couldn't find much to laugh about at all. He'd think of you and that gift."

Fred laughed, grateful for the relief of an issue that had been hanging over his head for far too long.

Soon, Arthur returned, freshly showered and red-haired and George followed. They got to work on the roof and eventually even the Lupins, Remus and Tonks (don't call her Nymphadora!), arrived to help. It was a big job that took most of the morning and into the afternoon. They had just finished and cleaned up, settling down for a light meal when a man came bursting through the door.

They all rose to their feet, wands out, unable to comprehend how he had gotten past the security wards. What was the point of wards so magical they required fixing the roof by hand if they didn't actually do their job, after all?

But then Arthur got a closer look. It was Davis, his coworker, covered in sweat and dirt and shaking as he fell to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Davis kept saying. "I'm so so so so so sorry." The women came with cloths and bowls of water, stripping him of his spoiled shirt and trying to wipe through the grime in search of wounds.

"Merlin's beard!" Remus exclaimed.

"What?"

"Those markings," Remus pointed to Davis's array of tattoos.

"What about them?" Arthur asked. "He got them after his marriage imploded." Arthur purposely didn't look at Molly, preferring to avoid an even bigger reminder of just how close their own marriage — still not fully healed — had come to complete and utter ruination.

"They're not just tattoos," Remus said. "This is dark magic."

"Dark magic?"

"Think the Imperius curse mixed with, I'm guessing," he said as he traced the lines running across Davis's chest and down his arms, "a fair pit of poison."

"You're saying these tattoos…made him do things? Had control over him?" George said.

"Yes, and are now killing him," Remus said grimly. "Likely for breaking through his orders to do something contrary to what he had been told to do."

"Can you help him, Remus?" Tonks asked.

"I can try." Remus got out his wand and began to wave it over the marks, his eyes closed as words were muttered just under his breath. Sweat began to form on his brow. But just then Davis bolted upright, grabbing for Arthur.

"Hold him still!" Remus shouted as people lunged for him, holding him down, but Davis would not be deterred

"No!" He said. "I have to tell – I have to tell Arthur!"

"Tell me what, old friend?" Arthur said, kneeling closer to Davis's face.

"I'm sorry," Davis whispered.

"Sorry for what?"

Davis stuttered and sputtered.

"P…P…Percy," he said lowly.

"Percy?" Molly exclaimed. "What about Percy?" Davis's eyes began to roll back in his head.

"Davis!" Arthur yelled. "Davis, listen to me," Arthur said. "What about Percy?"

"Not missing," His voice was barely a rasp.

"Not missing? Do you know where he is?"

Davis nodded, the movement sending him into a coughing fit.

"We need to keep him still and quiet if we want to save him," Remus said.

"Please, please," Molly said as she dropped to her knees next to Davis' head. "Mr. Davis, please, if you know where my son is, please tell me? Where's Percy?"

Davis mumbled something about a field. And an underground cellar near where roses bloomed. Molly knew it. When she was a girl, her mother used to take her there to pick flowers for the dinner table. And for funeral marches.

Without waiting for any more information, she grabbed her wand and took off running. Arthur and the rest of the Weasleys followed. Audrey looked like she wanted to but also turned back to Davis.

"We've got this love," Tonks said. "Go with them."

Audrey did, running so fast to catch up, but when they reached their destination – indeed old wooden doors set into a mound of earth and surrounded by roses and wildflowers – she couldn't bear to go in. The twins stayed by her side, each supporting her at an elbow. Arthur pried the doors open, and he and Molly disappeared into the darkness.

Inside, it was cold. Downright frigid, actually. Molly couldn't imagine anybody held captive down here for more than a day, much less the weeks to months that Percy had been gone.

"Lumos," she whispered shakily.

A thin ray of light emanated from her wand. There was a long table at the center of the room, and they approached it slowly. Percy was atop it.

A low moan escaped Arthur's lips as he dropped to his knees. Molly went down with him.

"It's okay. It's okay," she cried, trying desperately to comfort him and convince herself that it was.

But it wasn't.

His hair was neatly brushed. His skin was free of dirt and blemishes, but it was cold. His arms were folded neatly at his chest, a broken wand, the two ends side by side, in his hands.

Percy Weasley was dead.