The first few days of Percy's new life were a blur of cheap hotel rooms and gritty bars, all muggle. The last thing he wanted was for some wizard to find him and drag him back to the Burrow, and so he'd stuck to the neighborhoods of London that were solidly muggle.
He knew he could never go back home. He'd long tortured himself thinking that he wasn't good enough, would never measure up. It was a fear that drove him to study hard, earn twelve O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, secure a good ministry job right out of school. As the war drew to a close, though, he realized he'd failed to measure up in a completely different way: with the family. He was the prodigal son, the one who'd stabbed his family in the back, then returned later with a set of half-assed apologies and an empty promise to do better.
He couldn't say he hadn't tried to do better. He'd tried to help Mum and Dad, tried to be a good brother to George. In the end, it hadn't been enough. They'd confirmed a nagging fear he'd had: that they didn't want him, that they'd rather have Fred instead. Well, he got the message all right. He wasn't wanted.
Perhaps if he did go back, there would be open arms and apologies ready to welcome him. He thought about it, going as far as appearing into the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole one night, but then he panicked and went back to London. Every time he thought about home, the words of the argument echoed in his head again: I wish you had died instead of Fred. We all do! Sometimes I think things would be easier if you had died instead.
He could never go back. Not when things were like that. He could not eat at that table or sleep in his old bed if every time he heard those words. He didn't have to put up with people in his life treating him like crap—not Umbridge or Scrimgeour or Thicknesse. Not Charlie or George. Not even his parents. He was alone now. Every time he remembered this, he downed another pint.
He'd left on a Sunday. It was Saturday night—or perhaps early on the next Sunday morning—that a wizard finally caught up with him. Kingsley found him crumpled in an alley near Tottenham Court Road.
"Percy, is that you? Percy, get up."
Percy opened his eyes to find the new minister of magic standing over him, wand lit to reveal the trash around them and the minster's disappointed face. "Minister? What are you doing here?"
"No one's heard from you in a week, Percy."
"I am a grown man! I can go where I please!"
"Well, your family is worried sick. They filed a missing person report on Thursday."
"Oh, so now my family's worried about me?" Percy slurred. "Would be the first time. Hey, minister, why don't you butt out of business that doesn't concern you?"
"Your family tried to contact you for three days before filing a missing person report! As former head of the auror department, missing person reports were my business! It is also my business when one of my employees misses a week of work and is later found stupid drunk in an alley!"
"Do I still have a job?"
"Yes. I told you, we are short on employees at the moment. We need you."
"Well maybe I don't want to be your employee anymore!" Percy tried to raise himself up on his elbows, but fell back into a pile of trash. "Consider this my two weeks'—no, my two days' notice!"
Kingsley shook his head. "I will not accept that from you. I can't control whether or not you choose to work at the ministry, but I will not allow you to make important life decisions while drunk!"
"Fine." Percy scowled at him.
"I will be contacting your family immediately to let them know that we've located you. I will let you sober up, and then we will discuss your employment status."
Immediately. Kingsley would probably send a patronus, and then within minutes his family would be here. The last people in the world he wanted to see. Knowing he had only minutes, he clambered unsteadily to his feet as Kingsley began casting his lynx. He turned on his heel and disapparated to his old flat.
It was a miracle he hadn't splinched himself. He'd never apparated drunk before and promptly threw up on the living room carpet as soon as he arrived. He was safe now, but for how long? His mum had found his flat before and she would probably be here again. He lifted his wand and began casting protective enchantments, including a fidelius charm. He made himself his own secret-keeper. Now no one could locate this flat unless he gave them the location. Satisfied, he promptly passed out on the couch.
. . . . . . . . . . .
By Sunday afternoon he was able to think rationally, albeit with a raging headache. His first thought was that he had to quit his job. Work had been his solace, but there were just too many people in the ministry who knew his parents. What he needed was distance, a place where his parents didn't have access to him. They wanted him gone, well, they would get their wish. He drafted a letter to Kingsley, explaining that he was leaving his job immediately.
And what will you do next? That sly voice in his mind was his conscience.
"Shut up, Conscience." Percy snapped. "I don't need your help anyway." He cracked open the bottle of vodka next to him and took a sip. "Maybe this will help you go away." He folded up the letter and sealed it with wax. "There. Posting that tomorrow."
What now? You're out of a job.
"I don't know!" Percy pondered his options. "I'll get a job somewhere else. Maybe Gringotts? No, dammit. Bill works at Gringotts. What about Hogwarts? They must need a new defense professor. No. McGonagall would keep asking me about my family. Open a bar in Hogsmeade?" Percy laughed. "Imagine me working at a bar! Why are there so few career options for wizards?" He sighed and took another sip, realizing that he might have to leave the wizarding world behind completely. "What do you think, Conscience? Leave the wizarding world behind, or go to another country? I do have that work experience in international magical cooperation. Ugh, but imagine dealing the French! Or—the Americans!"
You don't like dealing with foreigners. Especially Americans.
"I don't!" Percy was slurring his words a little. "They're so loud. I had to meet with some Americans a few years ago, and they complained about British food the whole time! Maybe I just stay in Britain, but become a muggle. Things are so easy in the muggle world. There's so many of them. The wizarding community in Britain is so bloody small. There's only about ten thousand of us. There's nowhere to hide. Tell you what Conscience, I'm staying in Britain and becoming a muggle. You know, Conscience, you have some really good advice." Percy took another sip of vodka.
"I could stay in London." Percy mused. "Anyone can hide in London. It's a big enough city."
Everything's in London. Diagon Alley. The ministry. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
"I said it's a big city!" Percy snapped. "There's eight million people here! Trying to find me will be like trying to find a bowtruckle in a haystack!" He sighed. "It could work. I might have to change my name and find a solidly muggle profession, but it could work. I could start a new life. No one needs to find me."
Are you really just going to up and leave like that? Never let your parents know about your wellbeing?
"Yes!" Percy snapped. He closed his eyes, hearing George's words: "I wish you had died instead of Fred! We all do!"
They were angry.
"They knew what they were doing." Percy sighed and rubbed his eyes. "For George to say that . . . and then for Dad to back him up! I don't ever want to see them again. Every time I think about any of them, I hear George and Dad saying those things. I can't do it! I can't!"
They lost one son. You're really going to make them lose another?
"They don't want me!" Percy shouted. "They don't want me, Conscience!"
You won't give them closure, either? With Fred they had closure. You're going to torture them, not knowing where you are or if you're even still alive!
"I know!" Percy snapped. "I don't want them to know where I am!"
You'd really do that to your mum? To your mum, who has done nothing but love you and protect you? Is this how you repay her?
"Well what choice do I have? There's no way to let her know about my whereabouts without the whole family finding out! I wet the bed once when I was seven, I told Mum, and a month later Auntie Muriel was telling me off for wetting the bed! There's just no way to let her know anything. It's unfortunate, but it's the way it has to be."
You're sure about that?
"Well, let me sober up all the way, then sleep off this hangover." Percy said. "But I'm pretty sure. I'm going to become a muggle, Conscience. Watch me!"
