It was a beautiful Sunday in late July, one that Percy did yet know would later be etched into his memory for all eternity. He and George went for another walk, another of their usual loops.

"It's so bloody hot out here." George groaned, fanning himself with one hand, his T-shirt sticking to him with sweat. They were stopped at a low stone wall under a tree, taking a break in the shade before slogging back home through the tall grass and the bright sun. "Why'd you take me out here?"

Percy shrugged. "We do this every day. Did you not want me to take you out today? Because if so, then you should've said something before we made it to the top of the hill."

"No, no. It beats staying at home."

"Good. Because you're one of the only people in this family who's not mad at me for something. Mum's mad at me for cleaning the living room." Percy began ticking them off on his fingers. "Bill's mad at me because I won't lay off Dad. Dad's mad at because I, shocker, don't like when he's drunk all day. Charlie said terrible things to me last month, and Ginny—"

"Is just being herself." George finished. "She holds grudges. I beheaded one of her Barbie dolls when we were kids and she didn't talk to me for a month. She'll come around eventually."

"Yeah, well." Percy sighed. "I don't like it. I'm trying to be a good person. I'm trying to look out for everyone, and it only makes things worse. I dream about moving out and getting my own place again. Do you ever feel like living in the house with everyone is just suffocating?"

George nodded. "It does feel that way. But I'm not sure if I want to move out."

"I think about it all the time." Percy muttered. "My own place, calm and quiet. But I'm not going to do that right now, not until the family is in a more stable place."

"You sound like Charlie." George said. "Isn't he going to stay home until the family's more stable? Whatever that means."

Percy's face darkened at the mention of Charlie. "I don't sound like him."

"What happened between you two? Come on, Perce, I may stay in my room all day but I'm not blind to the goings-on around here. What happened?"

"We're not on speaking terms." Percy said stiffly. "I've decided it will remain that way until he apologizes."

"Wow, really?"

Percy nodded. "I've come to a lot of realizations lately. One is that I drove myself crazy trying to please a lot of bosses who treated me like crap. Umbridge was probably the worst."

"Blimey, I forgot you actually worked for that toad!" George cackled.

"Right." Percy said, slightly annoyed. "I put up with bosses who treated me like crap, until one day I realized I didn't have to put up with that anymore. I had a family who loved me and I should spend time with them instead. But the other thing I realized? I don't have to put up with anybody who treats me like crap, and that includes my own family. I don't have to put up with Charlie treating me like crap. I'm not a family punching bag."

"Did Charlie say you were the family punching bag?

"He implied it, and he implied that he thought things would be better if I was the family punching bag." He sank down onto the stone wall next to George. The golden light was filtering down through the leaves of the tree and the wind kicked up the dust under their feet so that it spun in the sunlight.

"Look, the sun's moving downward." George pointed to the western sky, clearly desperate for a change of subject. "Should we get going?"

"Sure." Percy got up and plodded along behind George. It had been a good day, all things considered. He and George had had a much longer conversation than usual. So much longer, in fact, that he decided to push his luck. "Do you know when you might re-open the joke shop?"

George sighed heavily. "I don't know, Percy."

"Your own space." Percy offered. "Peace and quiet, like we were talking about earlier?"

"It's not like that!" George said.

"But you said the house was suffocating!"

"This isn't like you moving out. This is the business that—that Fred and I built together, and you should understand that!"

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry." Percy muttered. "It's just that you brought a lot of joy to people with that shop. I'm sure people could use some joy in their lives again."

"I don't have any joy myself!" George snapped, his pace quickening as his voice got louder. "How am I supposed bring joy to others when I don't have any myself? You may not have noticed, what with you keeping yourself so busy, but I am grieving the loss of my brother!"

"How dare you!" Percy grabbed George and spun him around so that they were face-to-face. "How dare you! You saw how Fred was the first to welcome me back! You saw how I held his body after he died, you saw how I went after the man who killed him. Don't you dare insinuate that I haven't noticed you grieving! I am trying to help you!"

George threw off Percy's arm and kept walking. "You're not doing a very good job of helping me, are you? You're just blundering around like a bull in a China shop! Why can't you just stop moving? Why do you constantly have to be moving around going to work and writing reports and cleaning the house and dragging me out on walks? Did it ever occur to you that I am grieving and that I want no part in whatever weird things you have planned?"

Percy blinked as if he'd been slapped. "It did occur to me. Moving has been helpful for me. I can't stay in one place too long. If I do, the grief catches up with me. I close my eyes and I see Fred's face lying in his coffin. I stop moving and I remember clutching his body after the wall fell on him. It just hurts too much, so I have to keep moving. It's helped me, so I thought it would help you."

"Here's a suggestion, Perce. In order to help someone, you have to actually ask them what they need!" George stormed the rest of the way down the path and into the Burrow's back garden.

"You don't know what you need!" Percy snapped, running after him. "I'm trying to help you."

"You're not my mother!" George shouted. "You're just my annoying brother who disowned his family for a fucking promotion at work!" He wrenched the door open and slammed it in Percy's face.

Percy banged the door open so hard it rattled on its hinges and followed George inside. "I have told you that I'm trying to move past that and be better! You don't want me to be better, do you? You want me to always be terrible, that way you have a convenient scapegoat whom you don't feel bad using as a punching bag. Or maybe you're just hoping I'll run out on you lot again! Well, unfortunately it doesn't work like that, because I have no intention of letting myself fester in my room drinking the way you do." Even as Percy said that he knew he'd touched a nerve. George pulled back and punched Percy in the face. Percy retreated into the living room, where Ginny sat in an armchair reading a book and their dad sat in that damned armchair with that damned fire whiskey. He glared at them, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose. It had already stained his shirt, dark blots spreading, marking him.

"What did you do now, Percival?" Arthur snapped.

"Ask George what he did!" Percy said. "He started it! I'm not the one going around causing bodily harm."

"You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" George came in. The blood from Percy's nose was smeared on his hand. "You couldn't leave me be, to grieve on my own? No, you had to meddle in our business and drag us all into your stupid schemes. We're not you, Percy! We can't just get up and go to work like there's no problem!"

"It helps me!" Percy snapped. "It helps me with my problems. At least I'm dealing with it in a constructive way! I want you to have a healthy coping mechanism too. I don't want you to end up like Dad." Percy grew quieter. "I don't want you to be slumped over in that pathetic armchair, drinking fire whiskey all day and ignoring the world around you. There's so much of life that you deserve to experience."

"What do you think you're doing?" Arthur stood up, his face darkening in anger. "What gives you the right to criticize me? I am your father!" The last sentence came out in a roar.

A younger Percy might have backed away, or maybe shouted in response, but Percy merely looked him in the eye. "You're my father? Act like it. You have seven children and lately you have not been a functional or stable parent for any of them, not even the one who's six feet under. Instead you have sat in this damn armchair for more than two months, ignoring everything happening around you, and that's what gives me the right to criticize you! I'm sorry if I don't want George to end up like you, but it's true."

"You have the gall to say this to me?" Arthur shouted. "After all I've done for you!"

"Someone had to tell you."

"And treat George like this?"

"I'm trying to help him!"

"No you're not!" George shouted. "You're meddling in my life and trying to get me to conform to your version of normal. You've been completely disrespectful to all of us during this time and I am sick of it! We wouldn't be in this situation if Fred were still here." George glanced around the room, then shouted, "I wish you had died instead of Fred! We all do!"

"No you don't." Percy said. He looked around the room. Ginny was inching toward the door, trying to leave without being noticed. George was huffing like an angry bull, Percy's blood drying in the creases of his palm. Arthur was standing by his chair, still clutching that bottle of fire whiskey, his face red with rage. "Don't you?" He faltered, his heart hammering faster and faster in his chest. The only sound that broke the silence was Ginny's footsteps on the stairs as she fled the room.

"Look, Percival." Arthur took a step forward, his eyes bloodshot. "With you and George fighting like this, I'm not going to lie, sometimes I think things would be easier if you had died instead."

"Oh. Well if that's really how you feel." Percy turned on his heel and walked away. He was oddly calm as he went up to his room and began packing his bags. It was true, he didn't have to put up with people who treated him like crap. This applied to his family too. His father had just confirmed a nagging suspicion that lived in the back of Percy's mind—that his family would rather have Fred instead of him. It all made so much sense. If Fred were still alive, the joke shop would still be open and the family would be whole. They would have all pretended to be sad at his funeral, then moved on with their lives. He flicked his wand and summoned all his belongings, watching as they soared across the room and landed neatly in a bag. He just had to pack all of his things, then get out. Out of this house, away from this den of ugliness. Away from these people who would rather have him dead.

When he came downstairs, he found his father blocking his way. "Excuse me." he muttered.

"Percy." Arthur choked out. "Percy, please, talk to me. I didn't mean what I said."

"Oh, you did."

"I didn't, Percy. I was angry, and I said something I regret now."

"Save it." Percy pushed past his father toward the door.

"Percy, please. Percy, I love you."

Percy turned around, one hand on the doorknob. "Well, Father, if it means that much to you—"

"Yes, Percy?"

"Never fucking talk to me again." Percy wrenched the door open and disapparated.