Emboldened by his initial success with his mother, Percy felt like moving on to helping another member of the family. His choices were pretty limited between Charlie, Dad, Ginny, and George. Approaching Ginny felt like approaching an angry bear, and same went for George. Percy decided to try his father, using the same tactic he'd used on his mother.

That Saturday, another bright beautiful day, he took a deep breath and approached his father. "Dad?"

"What is it, Percy?"

"Err, well, I was wondering if you might want to come on a walk with me. Mum and I went a few days ago, and it was quite lovely."

"I'm not going to the grave."

"I didn't say we were." Percy backtracked quickly. "We could just go walk around the village. Maybe climb Stoatshead hill?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Why are you doing all this, Percy?" Arthur looked up. "Don't you have a cauldron bottom report to write or something?"

"No." Percy stepped back, stung. "I made a commitment, when I went back to work, that I would spend more time with my family."

"Can't you go spend time with someone else? I want to be left alone."

Percy shook his head. "I wanted to spend time with you, Dad. I love you. And I'm a bit worried about you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, it's been two months since the battle. All of us are still grieving, obviously, but I saw Mum smile for the first time in months. You're just sitting here, not doing anything but drinking. It concerns me."

"It's not your job to worry about me." Arthur said. "I'm the parent, you're the child. Now, I've asked to be left alone. You'd best make yourself scarce before I make you make yourself scarce."

"Well, if that's how you feel." Percy turned away, the edges of his vision blurry with tears, and walked away towards the stairs. Losing Fred was bad enough, but now his father—who had never given up like this before—seemed to be slipping away too. Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he'd stopped outside George's room and was knocking on the door.

"What do you want?" George yanked the door open, glaring at him. He had dark circles under his eyes and he looked like he'd lost quite a bit of weight.

Percy gulped. "I was wondering if you wanted to go on a walk with me?"

"Walk where? I'm not visiting—"

"We don't have to go to a specific place." Percy said. "We can just take a lap around the village. It's a beautiful day and I figured we could go enjoy it."

George paused for a moment, clearly weighing his options. "Why not?" he muttered. "It beats being in here. Let me get my shoes." A moment later he emerged, wearing a stained T-shirt and a filthy pair of trainers. Percy had been expecting his appearance to be rough, but hadn't expected the dark circles to be quite that large. "What?" George grunted. "Let's get on with it."

Percy nodded and they went outside, heading for Stoatshead hill. They plodded along in silence, for Percy was unsure what to say. He'd never had much in common with either of the twins, and knew for a fact that George wouldn't want to hear about the book Percy was reading or how the ministry was rebuilding. The only thing he knew for a fact that George was interested in was the joke shop, and he dared not bring that up right now. He couldn't ask what George did all day and he didn't dare ask how his brother was coping, so they continued in silence.

At the top of Stoatshead hill they paused for a moment, taking in the view, then without speaking they nodded and headed back down. On their descent, George finally spoke. "Have you heard anything from Ron and Hermione?"

Percy shook his head. "No. I imagine if they wrote they'd send it to Mum and Dad, or maybe Ginny."

"Oh." George nodded. "I was just wondering if—" he leaned forward and Percy stiffened as he caught the smell off George. It was the smell of alcohol, and it meant George was going down the same path as their father. Percy slowed his steps, thinking that if he kept them outside for longer then George would have less time in his room near alcohol. Soon Percy was lagging behind even though he was the taller of the two by half a foot.

"Oi!" George turned around as they approached the Burrow's back garden. "Are you coming or not?"

"I am, I am." Percy muttered distractedly. If he could get George out on more walks, perhaps he could turn things around before George developed a real problem.

"I'm going back to my room." George muttered as they drifted into the kitchen. He stopped at the foot of the stairs. "Thanks. This was nice."

Percy smiled as he watched George walk away, but his mind was reeling from the revelation that George was likely day drinking. This wasn't good. He sighed and turned back to the living room, where his dad hadn't moved.

"How was the walk?" Arthur grunted.

"It was nice." Percy said. "I wish you would've come, but . . ." not wanting to start an argument, he trailed off. The living room was a mess. The family clock was haphazardly placed on a side table, the same place it had been put when the family left for the battle of Hogwarts. The couch was littered with books, dirty clothes, dirty dishes, and bits of yarn. More yarn tangled and spilled from the basket in the corner, along with a half-completed knitting project. Probably another sweater. Closer to the fireplace were several empty Chinese takeaway boxes and a knee-high forest of empty alcohol bottles.

"Gross." Percy flicked his wand and all the takeaway boxes and bottles flew into the trashcan. "In fact, why don't I clean up around here?" Percy was one of those people who couldn't stand a messy space; it frazzled him and his mind felt like it was filled with fuzz. It had earned him the nickname of "neat freak" from his brothers, among other, less kind ones.

He flicked his wand again and sent the books flying back to the shelf, the dishes flying into the sink, and the dirty clothes flying to the laundry basket in the scullery. Another flick of the wand and the dishes began scrubbing themselves.

"Only thing left is the yarn basket." Percy said to himself. Dad didn't look up, in fact, his head drooped until his chin was resting on his chest. Percy watched for a moment, rage bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Everything in the world was in a state of disrepair and Arthur Weasley couldn't even clean his own damn living room, much less be a stable and present parent for his surviving children. Mum kept abandoning knitting projects and making stew no one felt like eating, but at least she was trying.

Percy flicked his wand again, performing a detangling spell. All the different colors yarn flew through the air and rolled themselves up into neat little balls, including a half-finished knitted item that had been sitting, untouched, on the couch for two months. The orange thing unravelled all the way, curling up into a little ball and diving into the basket next to the others.

After cleaning the living room he went upstairs and picked up the book he'd been reading, a heavy tome on the social history of dragon pox, and spent a peaceful few hours sprawled on his bed in the sunlight, absorbed in the book.

A few hours later Percy was jolted from his peaceful reading by a horrible scream. He leapt from his bed, certain that Dad had died, choked on his own vomit, and it was all because Percy had left him alone in the living room. He jumped out of bed and bolted down the stairs into the living room, where he instead saw his mother standing over her yarn basket.

"What happened to the vest I was making?" she bellowed.

"What vest?"

"The orange one! The one I left on the couch! Did you do something to it?"

"Mum, I used a few spells to clean the living room. I used one to untangle all your yarn, and—"

"How dare you!"

"How dare I?" Percy snapped, rage flooding through him. "I was cleaning the living room, which is something no one else in this house is doing. I was trying to help and I didn't think the spell would unravel the vest. Besides, you haven't touched that thing in two months."

"You have no right to come in and move my things!"

"I have the right! I live here too, and I wasn't going to settle for living in filth!"

"In filth?" Molly shrieked. "In filth? You have the gall to call our home filthy? Go to your room!"

"Mum, I am a grown man!"

"I will treat you as such when you act as such! Go to your room! No supper for you! I can't even look at you right now."

"But Mum—"

Arthur stood up, looming to full height. "Percival." his voice dripped with venom. "You are giving me a migraine. Get. Out."

"Fine." Percy turned on his heel and flounced out of the room. As he passed through the kitchen, Charlie gave him a look of scorn. Percy glared back and stomped upstairs to his bedroom.

As he lay sprawled on his bed, book untouched, he once again weighed the merits of moving out to his own place. Bill had his own place and hardly came around anymore. He'd only been back to see off Ron and Hermione, though he did send owls and patronuses. But it made sense for Bill. Bill was married; of course he wasn't going to live with his parents. If Percy moved out, it would make him look like an asshole. No, he wasn't going to be that person again. He was not going to leave at the first signs of difficulty, not this time. He glared at the ceiling, knowing that sticking it out this time was going to take all of his willpower.

Percy tried going back to his book, but he couldn't focus on it. He kept replaying the week's events in his head. He'd felt good having things to do and moving on from the past. It didn't mean he wasn't still mourning Fred, of course. But he simply could not function without things to keep him busy. He'd never quite learned how to relax and hadn't ever slowed down with work since he started Hogwarts. It kept him sane, and he wasn't going to stop trying to drag his family out of the backwaters of grief just because they didn't like it.

He rolled over and fell into a light sleep, punctuated by odd dreams in which talking balls of yarn ridiculed him and then Fred appeared, taunting him, asking, "come on, Perce. You wouldn't hurt Mum like that, would you?"

Maybe it was because he'd gone to bed so early, but Percy woke up in a cold sweat at one in the morning and couldn't go back to sleep. He'd been sent to bed without supper again, and figured he might go down and grab some food. The house was dark and quiet, and he fervently hoped he would not have another unpleasant late-night encounter with Charlie.

Thankfully the whole place was quiet, the living room and kitchen empty. His parents, George, Ginny, even Charlie, all were in bed. There was no one there but him, no one to keep him company save for the dying embers of the fire and the half-empty bottle of alcohol on the side table. Percy looked from the bottle to the food in the kitchen and back to bottle, then shrugged and took a long, deep swig from the bottle.