Pairing: Percy/Neville.

Rating: PG-13.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Characters owned by J.K. Rowling.

Summary: Evidence can't change what you know to be true. WARNING: Character death.

Author's Note: The title is from Blaise Pascal: "The heart has reasons which Reason does not know." Many, many thanks to Kimagure for the beta.

Forget light; forget sound: in a place like Hogwarts, the thing that traveled fastest was gossip. Ginny--eyes swollen and voice thick with tears--had barely finished choking out the news before Neville could hear it whispered in the corridors: "Did you hear about Weasley's brother? Percy, the one who was Head Boy a few years ago? He was a Death Eater, and now he's dead..."

He'd pushed past Ginny, aware that he should apologize but not able to. She'd never been anything but kind to him; once she'd figured out just why Percy could so often be seen in the village when the Hogwarts students had a free weekend, she'd made a point of treating Neville much like yet another brother. Even today, when she could be excused for thinking only of her own grief, she'd known that no one would think to call him into Dumbledore's office for the news. "I didn't want you to hear it from someone like Malfoy," she'd said. "I thought--" And then she'd broken down, and Neville had fled, fighting the urge to shake her and demand that she take it back.

No.

Not "no, please tell me you're joking," or "no, I don't believe it," or "no, I don't want to hear any more." Just no.

No, it wasn't true.

Percy was not a Death Eater. Had never been a Death Eater. Would never be. Not his Percy. Not the Percy he remembered at Hogwarts, the solemn boy who had helped him with his homework and steered him to the right staircase and never, ever laughed at him. Not even once.

And not the Percy he'd met again years later, the one he'd run into--literally--at the train station last June and found himself talking to for hours. The young man who had always had time to listen to Neville, no matter how busy he'd been. Who had written him at least four times a week, awkwardly beautiful letters. Love letters--they had always been love letters, even before either of them had admitted it.

They had to have been controlling him. All it would have taken was the Imperius Curse and, once they'd gotten all they needed from him, a hastily-done Dark Mark to make it look like he was helping them voluntarily. And if an eighteen-year-old boy could work that out, why not the Death Eaters? There was no other way. His Percy would never have betrayed everything, everyone, he loved. Never.

He was crying now, throat burning with the effort required to keep from screaming, from throwing back his head and just howling that it wasn't true, it didn't happen, none of it was true. Crying, and there was no one to care, because the only person who ever had cared was--

The door opened, and Ron walked in--slowly, like a sleepwalker, his face frozen to a mask of blankness, his eyes gone dark and lost-looking. He looked at Neville, taking in the tears, the clenched fists, and said, "You've heard, then. About Percy." He was a Death Eater, and now he's dead...

"Yes. Ron, I'm so sorry." "Sorry" didn't begin to explain how he felt, but it was easier to fall into the polite social formula, especially as Ron had never acknowledged before now that Neville and Percy even knew each other.

Ron shrugged. "I just--I used to give him a hard time, you know, about him selling out his family to get ahead. I didn't really believe he'd do it."

"He didn't," Neville said automatically. "He couldn't have."

"He did!" the other boy snapped. "Ginny told me about you two ages ago, so I know you might not want to believe there was anything but good about him, but he did it. He betrayed everyone. He was ambitious and ruthless and he just didn't care what happened to any of the rest of us as long as he got what he wanted, and I'm glad, Neville, I'm so bloody glad he's dead..."

"He wasn't like that. He was never like that," Neville protested, and now, when Percy was no longer there to ask him to keep silent, things he'd been aching to say for months burst forth. "But you never even bothered to look, and you never cared how much you hurt him, and if you ever say you're glad he's dead again, I'll--"

"You'll what?" As quickly as it had flared, the anger faded from Ron's voice; he just sounded tired.

"I don't know," he said, feeling more than a little drained himself. "Just leave me alone."

"I'm sorry, Neville. Honestly, don't you think I wish it wasn't true? He was my brother. But it is, and pretending it's not isn't going to make it go away. He was a Death Eater."

Did you hear about Weasley's brother? He was a Death Eater, and now he's dead...

"He wasn't."

"He had the Dark Mark; how much more evidence do you want? My dad saw it on his arm when they had him identify--"

"He didn't have the Dark Mark!" Neville protested, and this time it wasn't just that he couldn't make himself believe. "Not on Saturday," he added.

"He had to have. The evidence--the Ministry said that he had to have been working for You-Know-Who for months."

"He didn't. I'd have noticed."

"It was pretty far up his arm. His sleeve would have covered it."

"Er. No. It wouldn't," Neville said, and he tried not to remember, tried not to think about the last time they...and oh god, it was the last time, the last time forever and ever that he was ever going to see Percy again. Did you hear about Weasley's brother?

Ron grimaced, but didn't comment. "Well, then, he didn't have it until later. Maybe he was trying to hide that he was on their side," Ron said. "But he was definitely working for them. The Ministry says that a lot of important documents went missing from Percy's department, and there were over a thousand Galleons in his bank vault that no one could account for." He was a Death Eater...

And it was all a lie. Percy had promised him--they were going to get a flat once he'd left school; Percy had found one off Diagon Alley--on the fourth floor and the floor creaked, he said, but they could afford it, and it wasn't far from the Ministry offices, and they would be together.

But they weren't. And they never would be. ...and now he's dead.

"That's not--"

But Ron interrupted him. "I don't want to hear it, Neville. I know you're upset. But don't try to make me believe it didn't happen the way they say it did. Because if it did, I can hate him, and I can be glad, and it doesn't have to hurt." He shrugged. "You should try it."

"I can't."

The door opened, and Dean stuck his head in. "Ron? They sent me to get you. Your mother's in Dumbledore's office."

Ron nodded. "I'll be there in a minute." He scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand. Once Dean had gone, he said, "I don't think there's going to be a funeral."

"I wouldn't expect that there would be."

"Just wanted to let you know that we're not...that if there were, I'd tell you."

"Thanks." Everyone was going to want to forget about Percy as quickly as possible, he was sure. Pretend he'd never existed, that there'd never been a Weasley son between Charlie and the twins, one who'd tainted the family name.

Well, he couldn't. Wouldn't. Wasn't going to listen to the headlines in the Prophet or the whispers in the hall.

Did you hear about Weasley's brother? He was a Death Eater...

Untrue, and nothing would ever make him accept it. Even if no one ever believed him, he knew that, for once, he was absolutely right.

...and now he's dead.

He'd thought he'd hated the Death Eaters before, had thought the blank and broken look in his parents' eyes had been enough to make him understand how much he could hate. But he'd never known his parents, couldn't remember anything of what they were like before. He could remember Percy. Knew that even the thought that he could betray everything he cared about would have sickened him.

The Death Eaters must have needed to pin suspicion on someone, and who better than Arthur Weasley's son? Discredit both father and son, cast suspicion on the Ministry in the process--it was a perfect plan.

Except that I know it's not true. Neville's fists curled tighter, until his nails tore half-moons into the flesh of his palms. Oddly, the slight pain let him think more clearly, distracted him a bit from the bitter ache that had been with him since Ginny had found him. It's not true.

If only someone else believed me.