This was a delicate errand that would require discretion. It would also require a few spells to change Percy's appearance, since Diagon Alley was a hubbub of wizard activity. A few spells to change his hair color, his eye color, and the shape of his nose, and he was off.
Diagon Alley was still rebounding from the war. Most shops were still shuttered, including—he noticed with a pang—Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. But the essentials were still open: Gringotts, Flourish and Blott's, Madame Malkin's. His first stop was Gringotts, where he managed to get in and get to his vault. He took out all his money, exchanged it for muggle money, then closed his account. He strode out into the bright sunlight feeling a little bit like he'd gotten away with murder, with a magically shrunken bag of money in his pocket. He was terrified of running into Bill there, but his older brother was nowhere to be found.
His second stop was Flourish and Blott's. It was August now, prime time for Hogwarts students to be shopping, and indeed they crowded the store. Percy slide along the back wall and selected the book he was looking for: one on protective magic and concealment charms. It was a battered copy, the only one left on the shelf. These had been quite popular during the war. He thumbed through the pages, reading through the spells: salvio hexia, repello muggletum, fidelius, and the anti-apparition wards. There was nothing he didn't know about in here, so he left the tome where it was and headed out.
He had the whole thing planned out. He'd created a muggle-worthy resume that listed his work experience as being at a muggle government agency and his education being at a private school no one had heard of. The resume had also been enchanted; any muggle who read it would be gripped by a fierce conviction to not ask any follow-up questions. He also planned to move to a different neighborhood, and once that was settled he was going to place every protective charm he knew around his flat. No one would find him unless he gave them the location. He was certain he'd be safe there. After all, these enchantments had protected people from death eaters during the war. Harry Potter's parents had been protected from Voldemort, at least until they were betrayed. Percy would be his own secret-keeper, so no betrayal here.
He walked down the street, trying to think if there was anything else he needed. He planned to live as a muggle now, so no more wands or potions ingredients or spellbooks. That meant no more pain relief potion or pepper-up potion to stock his medicine cabinet, he realized. As he stared at the apothecary shop, an old memory bobbed to the surface of his mind.
"Conscience?" he whispered aloud. "Do you remember the restricted section of the library?"
I do.
Conscience was swift to respond. Ever since that drunken conversation with Conscience, Percy found that he was having whole conversations with himself. That probably wasn't a good sign.
Sixth year. You needed one book about the uses of a horrific potion used to make yourself younger by stealing other people's youth. Some seriously messed-up stuff. An extra credit essay that Professor Lockhart probably didn't even read. But that book also mentioned something called an indicator potion.
"An indicator potion." Percy squinted at the apothecary. There was no way the apothecary carried that. They carried some ready-made potions, for wizards either too lazy or too unskilled to make their own, but they wouldn't carry something like this. This called for a trip to Knockturn Alley.
He slipped through the litter passageway that led to Knockturn Alley, carefully to keep his hood up and his wand at the ready. Even with the recent defeat of Lord Voldemort, there were still plenty of unsavory characters hanging about. He ducked into the nearest store—Dragon Claw Apothecary—and scanned the racks of potion. There were horrible potions in here, draughts of living death, poisons of all types, acids, love potions and confundus potions. But all the way at the end of the rack was what he was looking for—an indicator potion!
He picked up the vial of clear liquid and studied the back of it. The label read, "Indicator Potion. Pluck out one hair of the person whose life you intend to track and place it in the bottle. The potion will turn black upon the death of the person in question."
This would be perfect. Percy paid and left, the potion tucked safely in his pocket. He had no qualms about walking away from most of his family, but the sticking point—as Conscience knew—was his mum. She hadn't been a part of that argument and was likely destroyed by his absence. He couldn't leave her without any kind of closure, he knew that much. But if he maintained any kind of contact with her, the entire family would know whatever he told her. It wasn't possible. But this way, the indicator potion would provide some small measure of calm for her.
He paused at the end of Diagon Alley, taking one last look at the wizard community he'd been raised in. For a moment the feeling of longing raised its head, trying to yank him back into that world, but he pushed that feeling deep, deep down and stuffed it in a jar. This world had hurt him, he reminded himself. This world wanted him dead, and he had no use for a world that wanted him dead. He flicked his cloak around himself and apparated home.
Back home, he set the money bag and the potion on the table and stared at them for a long moment. Once he did this, there was no going back. He'd come crawling back to the family once only for it to blow up in his face. There would not be a second crawling back.
He plucked a hair out of his head and dropped it into the potion, which frothed and turned a milky white. White meant alive. Once he died, the potion would turn black. It was the most closure he was willing to provide his family. He wrapped the potion in a parcel and began writing a note to accompany it:
Do not try to find me. I have taken steps to ensure that any search of yours will be fruitless. In the parcel is what's called an indicator potion. It will be the milky white color for as long as I am alive. When I die, it will turn black. —P
Percy sealed the letter with wax, attached it to the parcel, and went to the owl cage in the corner of the living room. "Hermes?"
The owl had traveled with him for a long time, from Hogwarts to his flat, then back home and back to the flat. He'd been fending for himself for the last week while Percy went on drunken benders. Percy held out the parcel, blank with no name or address written on it. "Hermes, I need you to deliver this package to the Burrow for me. And after that . . ." Percy gulped. "After that, you can't come back here. I'm going to be a muggle now. You can't come around if I'm living in a muggle house. You need to go to Hogwarts. There's an owlry there, and you can live out the rest of your years there." The owl cocked his head; did he understand? "You'll have to be a school owl. It's not so bad. There's a lot of kids out there whose parents can't afford an owl. That was me, up until I became a prefect. So you go there and be an owl for those kids, ok?"
Hermes cocked his head again and extended a clawed foot. Percy tied the package around his foot and carried him to the window, fighting the wave of emotions that rose inside him. This owl had been with him through thick and thin. "Goodbye, old friend." He released Hermes into the air and stood at the window, watching until his beloved owl became a tiny speck on the horizon.
"Alea iacta est." Percy muttered as he closed the window. The pieces were falling into place: the last tie with his family had been severed with the sending of the parcel. Hermes would have a new home. Percy had his protective enchantments, a couple of new flats he was looking at, and a resume that would help him secure a muggle job. There was only one thing left to do.
Percy aimed his wand carefully at a printed copy of his resume. If he performed this spell correctly, the change would appear on every copy of his resume, even the ones currently in the hands of muggle employers. They would even forget that they'd seen anything else on the resume. He flicked his wand and the letters at the top forming the name "Percy Weasley" warped and bubbled until they read Ignatius Prewett.
Percy knew he would have to change his name. The Weasley family was simply too big and too notorious. Even surrounded by muggles, you never knew who had a sibling or a kid who attended Hogwarts or who might be a squib. Percy wasn't particularly creative, so he settled on the first surname that came to mind, his mum's maiden name. He hadn't planned on changing his first name, but he didn't like the sound of Percy Prewett so that had to go too. He couldn't think of any names other than his middle name, so he went with that. Ignatius Prewett. It was a little weird, but it worked ok. Ignatius Prewett. He was going to leave Percy behind and become Ignatius.