disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters involved with the original story

unedited

the journal

epilogue

8 years later

In the early British night, the summer air felt chilly. A breeze rattled the branches of the garden and voices chattered scattered across the plot of land. Percy sat alone at his table, arms crossed tightly across his chest, pulling his light jacket closer. He tilted his head back against the back of the chair, looking up through the tree branches above him at the black sky. Hardly any stars were out tonight.

Percy had given up his childhood dream of working for the Ministry as soon as his journal had been found, and sometimes he wondered if his 7-year-old self would be disappointed in the course his life had taken. Even if young Percy would be, present Percy wasn't. After Hogwarts he slowly transitioned himself to the muggle world, working at a bookstore in downtown London and continuing his writing on the side. When he was 20, he wrote a short story that got published in an anthology, and just that felt like his world was coming together. And now he was publishing his own book with a muggle company, just like he'd always dreamed. He was 23 now, and it almost seemed too young for his life goals to be working out.

His book release party was supposed to be a time for him to converse and celebrate, but it made him just as happy to sit and watch the festivities. Oliver had been clinging to his side, bouncing around like an excited puppy, and he was honestly so grateful for his best friend. His dad was bombarding any muggle he could reach with questions and the rest of his family was conversing and happy. Oliver had disappeared somewhere, and Alex hadn't been able to make it—he'd been living in America since going to college and the cost of a flight was just too high, but that was okay. He was happy.

The war was hard on his entire family, including him. Fred had died and Percy almost found himself slipping into old habits after 6 years of breaking them, but then he channeled all that energy into writing and now here was—basking in the glory of being a published author like he'd always dreamed. His book was about a troubled, introverted kid, who met a group of great people that exposed him to life and all the things that make it beautiful and interesting—things like drugs, music, friendship and art. It was a story of recovery and reflection. It was a story of life.

To outsiders reading the novel, it'd simply be a creative take on humanity and life, but those close to him knew the personal chord it struck with him. The story wasn't exactly his own, but the struggles and the triumphs faced by his main character were ones he very personally related to, and writing it had been cathartic. He hoped sharing it would be cathartic to others.

The chair beside him shifted as someone sat in it. Assuming it was Oliver, he smiled to himself.

"It's about time you reemerged, Oliver. Where'd you run off to?" He tilted his chin back downwards, and was surprised to find Bill there instead.

"Sorry, not Oliver."

"Well, that's fine."

"So, a published author, huh?"

"Apparently so."

"Your book was really good. I liked it a lot."

"Thanks."

"Percy, I'm proud of you. Really. I'm so proud of you."

Percy smiled at his brother, and the mutual understanding between his 15-year-old self and his brother's 20-year-old self sparked strong still. A comfortable silence settled, and after a few minutes, Percy excused himself to sneak out back and catch a brief smoke. The habit was bad for him—he knew that—and although he had drastically cut back on his smoking tendencies, he had never quite been able to quit completely. Maybe that be the next endeavor of his life.

About halfway through his cigarette, he was joined by a woman about his age he'd never seen before, dressed in a yellow sundress. He glanced over at the woman leaning against the wall. She appeared to be of Indian descent, and she stood at about 5'8 with a deep complexion and thick, dark hair.

"Want a smoke?" He asked.

"I don't smoke. I just wanted to get away from the crowd for a moment."

Percy nodded in understanding, and flicked his cigarette, watching glowing ashes drift towards the pavement and spark out.

"If I'm being completely honest," she said suddenly. "I haven't read a word of your book yet. But my uncle raved about it to me."

"That's quite all right, I'm really not offended. Who's your uncle?"

"Just another author with the company. He brought me with him so that I could get a copy of the book straight from the author himself."

"Well, I hope you enjoy it. I'm Percy Weasley, by the way. Pleasant to meet you." He stuck his free hand out and she shook it with a smile and a mock curtsey.

"I'm Audrey Kehal. The pleasure is mine."

He took a final drag from his smoke, feeling the flame lick away at the short roach that remained. When the heat nipped at his finger, he dropped it on the pavement, digging his heel into the short stick, grinding still-glowing ashes beneath his step.

"You really shouldn't smoke you know. It'd be a shame to lose a creative visionary to cancer. How'd you get into that habit, anyway?"

"It's a long story."

Audrey opened her mouth to reply, but then George's voice was echoing down the street.

"Percival, your fancy publisher is looking for you. Better hurry on into the garden again." George scampered off after that, and Percy laughed at his little brother's antics, glad he was acting like himself again—like he did before Fred died.

He never thought he'd owe his success to the twins, but he did, in the end. If they hadn't read his journal and actually expressed genuine concern for him, he'd probably be stuck in some dead-end job at the Ministry, still separated from the family he craved for so badly. It was one of the reasons Fred's death had hit him so hard—he owed so much to his brother, and it didn't feel like he'd ever thanked him enough.

"Well, you don't want to keep your publisher waiting," Audrey said, breaking the silence between them.

Percy almost felt disappointed to be going back into his fantasy world. He didn't really know why, but being with Audrey had felt refreshing, and he'd only just met her.

"Yeah. Duty calls, I guess," he replied, tilting his head towards the ground and shuffling off with his hands in his pockets.

"Hang on," she called after him, pulling his book out of her purse and holding it out to him. "I have to get a signature, for proof I knew you before you took over the world."

Percy smiled, and took the book and pen in his hand. As he finished off his signature—he'd signed so many books tonight, it felt like second nature—she continued.

"Why don't you write your number down for me too? If it's such a long story, maybe you can tell it to me over coffee on Sunday morning."

"I'd like that."

As he and Audrey headed back towards the garden, he smiled, and realized he really, really would enjoy that.

Oliver ambushed him as soon as he was done speaking with his publisher, gushing about how proud he was again, and boasting to the whole crowd that this talented twat was his best friend. From under the weight of his best friend's arm, he smiled at Audrey across the garden.

Maybe quitting smoking wasn't the only part of his next journey he'd embark on. Perhaps there was something more.

And Percy had never been gladder to own a muggle phone.

a/n i tried to upload last night but ffn was messing up and just gave me an error every time i tried to upload a document

thank you to everyone who followed me throughout the journey of adopting this story. i'm sorry updates were always so sporadic and sometimes short. i hope my version of the journal lived up to your expectations. i hope i went about my brief glimpse into recovery properly. overall, i hope the story was everything you all would've hoped. thank you to reviewers, favoriters, followers, and just readers. i really appreciate all of you.

happy new year.

-c.v.