Disclaimer: Same as before. Not even in my dreams.
Morning in the Weasley household bustled about in the usual breakfast chaos. Molly, the red haired matriarch of the family, put platters of eggs and bacon in the center of the table. Four hungry sons instantly started vying for the food. Once the initial flurry calmed down, her husband filled his own plate. As Molly started cooking the next batch of food, a late riser began walking down the stairs. "Ginny, dear," Molly called to her. "Since you're up, could you knock on your brother's door for me?"
The ten year-old groaned. "It's always me." She turned upstairs. A couple seconds later: "RON! GET YOUR LAZY BUM OUT OF BED!"
"Hey!" a red haired boy a year older then the girl protested as two identical thirteen year olds started laughing.
"Oh, you and Ron aren't the slugabeds today," one of them called.
"It's you and Percy!" the other supplied. "Mr. Perfect himself!"
"That's right, Fred," the first twin replied. "Perfect Percy Weasley is having a lie-in this morning. So be sure to bundle up..."
"...We're getting snow this afternoon!"
"Don't be daft," Ron said.
"It's more likely than Percy sleeping in," George retorted. "He gets up first even when he's sick."
Molly frowned as she cracked another egg. "The twins are right."
"We're getting snow?" Ron blurted.
"It's July," his sister called down the stairs.
"Bill, dear," Molly turned to the eldest son. "Run a vial of Pepper-Up potion to Percy. And you know the charms to check temperature and hydration? Arthur, maybe we shoulder get St. Mungo's on standby floo."
"Now Molly," her husband replied. "We don't kno--"
"Percy slept in! It must be serious!"
Seeing her husband and visiting son staring at her with less than convinced expressions, Molly drew her wand and quenched the fire on the stove. She strode to the stairs as Ginny barreled down them. "He's not in his room!"
The breeze picked up as the slender redhead laid back in the grass. Loose, curly hair blew over his face. Hazel eyes opened and watched the waving strands. The sensation felt oddly pleasant. As long as Percy could remember, he had gelled his hair smartly back. This morning he had wished to slip out quickly and hadn't bothered. While his normal style looked more professional, something about just combing his hair felt incredibly freeing.
But so did having two hands.
He raised his right arm and stared at his unharmed wrist. His wand and writing hand, it took him to the top of his Hogwarts class and further in the Ministry than any nineteen year-old should expect.
Everything he thought he dreamed of.
Sighing, he sat back up. He grabbed the Muggle sketchpad and set of colored pencils off the book bag next to him. When his lost hand had registered, the thought of never drawing again had pained him. As he could already cast spells left-handed--extremely useful when the twins tried to sneak up on him in the middle of his homework--he could practice writing until he developed a legible script. But it would never match the elegant, precise control needed to define a sketch. Next to that, the impact on his Ministry career he could not care about.
Never mind that he gave up sketching to achieve it.
Percy sighed and selected a blue pencil. He began outlining the clouds overhead. That decision had freed up the study time needed to make prefect, then Head Boy. It allowed him to claim top scores on his OWLs and NEWTs. Yet it had trapped all his stresses inside.
And he had not even noticed.
Now, as each line unraveled a knot inside, it became clear: while he had never quite fit with the rest of his siblings, the real rifts had started midway through his fourth year. The twins had learned enough magic to be a menace instead of an annoyance. Charlie became more distant as he stressed over whether to play pro Quidditch or dare dragons to eat him. And Percy's patience for them plummeted to zero. Losing his temper less might not have solved things, but it could only have helped.
Instead, he snapped at every little thing, working his way to three years estrangement from his family.
In retrospect, his father may have had reason to feel suspicious of the promotion. But did he really have to call Percy incompetent? And why could he not see how negligent Dumbledore had been?
If only he had not blown up at his father like that. It made working at the ministry hell. He hated knowing those cold brown eyes would slide past him without a hint of recognition. He had forced his own eyes to avoid the figure as they passed in the halls, a shield against his own shame. After Harry had proved Voldemort's return, things went from bad to worse. Before, he had taken comfort in working for the good of the Wizarding World. Without that, he thought he had nothing...
When the Death Eaters attacked the Ministry, it had seemed like relief. Despite his achievements, Percy lacked confidence in his abilities. Certain he would die, an odd calm filled him. He walked to the battle as most around him tried to find escape routes. Determined to take as many white-masked fighters with him as he could, he focused solely on the current dodge and attack. Where the battle drifted, whom he fought with and who had fallen did not register.
Then the man who had stood next to him for several volleys cried out as his leg buckled. Fear started to fill Percy as he moved to cover the fallen ally. The move took the two remaining Death Eaters by surprise. That gave him the chance to dispatch one. After a minute, he got lucky and dropped the second.
Only after he knelt down to aid the fallen man, did Percy consciously recognize his father.
He quickly realized that he had known that all along--but not before his blurted 'Father!?'
The older Weasley did not take offense. He just smiled sadly at his son's flushing face. "Your Uncle Gideon used get like that when fighting. You always did remind your Mum of him."
For the first time in years, Arthur Weasley had looked his son in the eye and acknowledged him. And everything Percy had wanted to say at such a chance collided and jammed in his throat. All he could do was stare dumbly at his sitting father. Before Percy could unclog his words, the older redhead's expression closed and he turned away, staring down a side corridor. Sighing sadly, Percy also turned away. He could hear the sounds of battle nearby. They grew louder. He spared a glance at his father: his mangled leg could not hold weight. His breathing had grown more strained.
The light of a stray curse flashed across the end of the hallway. Any minute the battle could turn from one hall and flow straight at them.
"We need to find you cover," Percy said abruptly.
At the same time his father spoke. "You should get out of the open."
Ignoring his father's words, Percy squatted behind him, shifting his wand to his left hand. He slipped his other arm under Arthur's and wrapped it around his chest. Percy stood, wincing as his father hissed in pain. "I just need to get you into the nearest office. I'll try not to jar your leg too much."
The older redhead brought his hand up to his son's wrist and attempted to pull the arm away. "You can't defend yourself wi--" Arthur's hand slipped down his wrist, catching against the Muggle ID bracelet Penny had given him for his nineteenth birthday. "You!" His father stiffened in Percy's arms. "That was you that night in the hospital?"
"I'm sorry," Percy blurted. "I was told you wouldn't wake."
"So you ran out?"
"I knew I shouldn't have gone," Percy admitted as he started walking backwards, dragging his father.
"Why even come, then?" Arthur demanded harshly, keeping most of his pain from his voice.
"I couldn't stay away."
"Didn't act like it at Christmas. There was no sign of you then."
"I know when I'm not wanted!" Percy snapped.
"When you're not wanted!? You left."
"After you disowned me."
"Di-DISOWNED!? Percy! I didn't! I'd ne--"
"'No son of mine would ever question Dumbledore'," Percy mimicked.
"I never meant--"
"Never mind the countless times Dumbledore nearly got my youngest kids killed."
"I never said that!" his father protested. "And where did you get such a loony notion of Dumbledore?"
"Loony? LOON--" Percy paused and drew a deep breath. "Trolls chasing Philosopher's stones and head trauma from giant chess sets. Allowing three-headed dogs to in live in the castle. Turning a blind eye to the twins' jaunts in the forest. Petrified cats and ghosts and schools that wouldn't close. Petrified students and schools that still didn't close. Ginny got nabbed as a result! Werewolves roaming loose under the full moon. Allowing Hagrid to 'teach' care of those blast-ended demons. Second Task. How could you and Mother not?"
"If you felt that way, why didn't you say anything before Fudge gave you that job?"
"I did! But heaven forbid you bother your time with me!"
"Percy!" his father exclaimed, sounding hurt. "You know that's not true!"
Percy snorted.
"I've always had time for--"
"Everyone else."
"And you!” Arthur protested.
"To toss me a book--"
"You like books!"
"And send me to my room," Percy continued over his father's interruption.
"You'd run off to read!"
"While you played Quidditch--"
"You won't even touch a broom!"
"Or Gobstones with the others!"
"OH, COME ON!" Arthur exploded as Percy finally reached the office door. "You always cared more about your own goals then family! Thinking mere school badges--"
"I worked hard for those badges!"
Were all the family should talk about!"
"I suppose it would have killed you to be half as proud as you were of Bill!" Percy angrily waved his wand at the door to scan for magic.
"And later, how you had 'important work' to do--"
"Or offer me a single bit of advice!"
"After Fudge promoted you--"
"Still not good enough for you!" The office had no people or traps. Percy spelled the door open. He barely noticed his father's words as they started talking over each other.
"We were too beneath you!" Arthur continued on, heedless of his son's voice. "Fudge and Scridgemour are gone, and you still can't bear to even talk to me!"
"Even now, you clammed up after you realized you were talking to me!"
Father and son both fell silent as Percy finished dragging Arthur into the large office. It rather looked like the Department of International Magical Co-operation's conference room. Percy shut the door, and spotted a poorly repaired scratch on the door. It was the familiar conference room. How did he get to the fifth floor? He had been down on the seventh in the Ludicrous Patents Office...
His father's words sank in. "I never thought," Percy started just as his father started speaking:
"I've always been proud--"
The ceiling at the other end of the room shattered, debris flying at the pair. Before they could move, Percy found himself falling. Pain induced stars filled his vision. His breath flew out of him as he hit the floor. His father fell on top of his left side. Percy gasped for breath and choked on dust. He blinked as his vision cleared. Light and noise streamed down from the ceiling.
"...Think the last one fell through the hole my stray hex made," a voice called from above.
"Be careful!" another voice cried as Percy struggled to sit up. The pain he had initially felt had receded, though his entire right hand had filled with a dull ache. His father slid limply off of him. A Death Eater had fallen through the hole from the floor above and appeared to have either died or knocked himself out.
Died or knocked out...
"Dad?"
Bubble-gum pink hair and a hand clasping a wand lowered themselves through the hole. "He's down here, all right," Percy heard the first voice say dimly, as he turned to the side. Arthur Weasley lay limp on the floor, dull eyes staring blankly. A piece of support beam sat in his chest. Percy stared at the base of the beam, and noticed a piece of familiar chain. Somehow his ID bracelet had come loose and gotten stuck under the beam. Blood stained his father's robes around the wound. Not much, but the dark red liquid had not been there before...
Percy hugged his knees to his chest as he fought back the tears brought on by the rush of memories. The sketchpad and pencils sat forgotten next to him. Stupid, he thought angrily. He's not gone anymore.
But he was, another part of his brain answered. And you can never make things right with that father.
And without that, his brothers and sister would never have forgiven him--nor allowed their mother. His father's death had marked the permanent loss of his whole family.
Though Percy had not realized that at the time…
He had just stood there, tears running down his cheeks as a gnarled ex-Auror persisted in trying to shove a calming potion down his throat. Granted, telling them his father had a bad leg wound had been rather daft given the giant piece of shrapnel lodged in his chest. And they had had no business knowing if his father had meant to disown him or not.
Though that statement had made the man--Moody, Percy recalled--soften his manner towards him.
Still, grief did not automatically equal hysteria. If anyone needed the blasted potion, it was that junior Auror--Bonks?--with suddenly tawny hair. She would not shut up about how sorry she felt. Tears streamed down her face as she treated his handless wrist. Percy frigging knew that the cave-in had been purely accidental. If anything, he should have a word with the maintenance wizards. Had they maintained the Ministry to official specifications, the floor would not have collapsed so spectacularly from one stray reducto.
No matter how questionable her use of blasting spells in a subterranean complex.
Or mine, or Dad's, or the Death Eaters...
Still, the woman had just killed his father. He would have preferred not to be around her while he mourned. Instead, he had to listen to her put on a show over someone she probably never even met…
There's nothing to mourn now, he told himself firmly, sniffling. With luck, there won't be again. Percy sighed and stuck his hand in his pocket, caressing the small pin he had slipped in there. He had loved receiving it the first time around. Proof that someone had recognized his achievements, he tried to never let it out of his sight. Everything after school had made it feel meaningless. And given what his father had said...
Coming to a decision, Percy grabbed his bag and stowed the pad and pencils. If nothing else, he could change how his family saw him. He stood and walked briskly back to town.