The warbling tones of Celestina Warbek drifting through the radio gradually woke Percy from the dreamless, heavy sleep he'd fallen into the night before. Her wavering voice echoed dully off his bare bedroom wall, sounding distorted and odd as it bounced off the chipped plaster. For the briefest of seconds, in that strange, magical period just before consciousness fully returned, his heart fluttered slightly and he imagined he was home. Then flutter turned into a full-scale pounding panic and he bolted straight up in the bed, grabbing his glasses and glancing at the clock.

"Shite!"

He fell out of bed, the blankets tangling around his legs as he crashed ungracefully to the floor, catching his forearm on edge of his nightstand. Only the weakest of curses fell from his mouth as he staggered to his feet, half-running to the bathroom. It was only after he'd already slathered his toothbrush with paste and shoved it haphazardly in his mouth did he realize that it was Christmas and he didn't need to go to work and he'd clearly forgotten to deactivate his alarm the night before.

"Foark," he muttered around his toothbrush, all the energy leaking out of him like a potion in an unregulated, substandard cauldron.

Dropping his still-gooey toothbrush in the sink, Percy sat down on the toilet, wiping the stray paste from his lips with the sleeve of his pajamas. Now that his panic had faded, he realized a pair of trolls was doing a badly choreographed can-can in his head, tripping and banging into this temples and behind his eyes. Groaning, he rubbed his head miserably.

Right. The party. Well, parties was more accurate, but the previous evening blended together so seamlessly in an alcohol-induced haze, it might as well have been just the one. Dropping his glasses on the bathroom floor and scrubbing his eyes, Percy rose gingerly to his feet and shuffled without any real purpose back to his bedroom. He collapsed face-first on the bed, burying his head into his pillow, not intending to move for some time.

"Business as usual."

That was the slogan drifting around the office down at the Ministry. The new Minister seemed just as keen as the last one in his quest to shore up the general public's trust in the Ministry of Magic itself, to prove to the people that, yes, they were doing something about He Who Must Not Be Named, thank you very much. Inspire confidence in the common wizard and witch, the managers told them. They showered the Ministry underlings with bright, yet strained, smiles, then forced them to engage in uplifting team exercises that usually involved some form of personal humiliation as a way to lighten the depressing mood that had settled into every nook and cranny of the office.

The task of looking optimistic and cheerful grew harder every day when someone would fail to show up for work one morning, their name a casual mention in the growing list of the dead. A sick sort of gallows humor replaced the usual office jokes. Just the other day, one of Percy's office mates walked up to his desk and told him that he wanted his blotter when he died. Perhaps it was only a way of coping, but the disturbing rush to redistribute office supplies became something of a party itself when a coworker no longer needed them. Percy had a nice collection of quills now, each belonging to a person whose name no longer showed on the payroll.

So, when the holidays rolled around, not caring that the world was exploding and the people were in no mood to celebrate, the office party went on anyway. Percy found himself railroaded into the decorating committee, putting up green and red decorations that sparkled and glimmered with Christmas joy. Everything was perfect, but nobody appreciated it. His office manager tried about six times to get them all together and sing a rousing rendition of Gustaph the Rednosed Hornback, but nobody really got into the spirit. Eventually, he gave up along with the rest of them and the normally festive party was spent drinking sour eggnog and looking down at the floor.

The eggnog disappeared rather quickly, a barrel of potent firewhiskey replacing it. It, too, quickly emptied. While the mood was not festive, per se, at least people were starting to relax some, laughing about things Percy couldn't remember for the life of him, but he knew whatever it was, it probably wasn't nearly as funny as he thought at the time and most certainly involved bad jokes about how many Death Eaters did it take to use a Put-Outer. He did vaguely recall hitting up a nice girl from accounting, nearly managing to get her back to his place, but sadly her husband showed up at the last minute. The offer remained extended, but Percy never cared for being a third-wheel and let them go with some regret, but not much.

After that, he hopped unhappily from party to party, hosted by important people and their friends, parties he normally wouldn't be invited to, but given the times, what was one more? He poured enough alcohol down his throat to drown even the most stubborn of sorrows, finally getting to the point where he forgot about the war, forgot about his loneliness, and reveled in the fact that a Death Eater could show up at any moment and hit him with any variety of painful curses and he probably wouldn't feel it. That moment of pure inebriation marked the highlight of the whole evening, as that was the whole bloody point. He was fairly certain he did something he should regret with an individual whose face escaped his memory at the moment, but that was perfectly acceptable, under the circumstances.

All in all, it had been an utterly miserable and totally appropriate evening.

His own flat, small, unattractive, and possessing an unusual odor he never could track down, depressed him every time he walked into it. He tried to lighten it up a bit, dragging in a small tree from the leftovers at a muggle lot, decorating it with a few winking lights and glittering ornaments, but its branches hung listlessly and the needles were turning brown and falling off. But, the tiny amount of Christmas spirit he tried to force into the miserable space was beaten to death by the vengeful demon of pathetic hopelessness and the looming, very real risk of painful death or devastating injury. No colorfully wrapped presents sat under the nearly dead tree, no shouts of Christmas joy rang through the building, and even the light snow falling outside his window looked gray and unhappy.

Decorating wasn't his forte and since he spent nearly all his time at work anyway, he didn't find it worth his time to make the effort, aside from his routine cleaning of the place. His furniture, all second-hand and shabby, only filled the purpose of filling space in the flat. The only personal affects in the entire place were his books, neatly lined up on his single bookshelf, and a few empty picture frames on the mantel. The frames, technically holding pictures of some of his friends from Hogwarts, such as Oliver and Penny, as well as one of his entire family taken when they were all still getting along, were always empty, as their inhabitants didn't want to be in the flat any more than Percy did.

Any other morning, work day or not, Percy would be out of his flat at the crack of dawn, going down to Diagon or somewhere else, getting something to eat and wandering around aimlessly. The threat of Death Eater activity made the places cherished by the Wizarding world near ghost towns, but Percy didn't feel the sort of fear everyone else did. If they were going to kill him, which he sort of thought they might, they'd kill him. There wasn't much he could do to prevent it. He didn't have it in him to get that excited about it.

The last time Penny visited, only a month or so ago, she inferred that he might, just might, be depressed. He remembered shrugging at the suggestion, not arguing with her, but not exactly agreeing either. He didn't feel depressed, only resigned. She stayed the night and they had a wonderful time, sharing the warmth between the sheets and so much more before she grabbed her clothes and hurried away. Every time they came together, Percy got the distinct impression there was still a good chance it might work between them and he knew she felt the same way. She left anyway. Maybe, after the war, if they both survived, they could pick it up again. Or maybe not. There didn't seem much point in planning a future in a world so uncertain.

So, this dreary, wet morning, Percy found himself perfectly content to continue to lie in his bed, his face getting hot as he breathed into the pillow. He looked forward to sleeping the day away then going back to work in the morning, picking up his copy of The Daily Prophet and learning who else died while he hid from the world. Maybe looking forward wasn't the right way to put it, he thought as he snuffled into the downy softness around his nose, but looking backward wasn't any better of an option.

He tried to will himself back to sleep, but the pounding in his head wasn't getting any better. It took him several seconds to realize the pounding wasn't coming from inside his skull, but rather from somewhere else. Sniffing, Percy raised his head in bleary confusion, wondering without much enthusiasm what the hell was going on.

The door.

He wanted to ignore it, but he couldn't. Pushing himself up on his hands and knees, Percy crawled out of his bed, his toes flexing as they touched the rough carpet. After two tries, he successfully opened the door to his bedroom, walking out into the living room with his eyes closed, maneuvering around his furniture by feel and just a touch of instinct. Most of his contemporaries had sets of complicated code words and charms and other such things to verify that a friend, and not a foe, stood on the other side of their doors. Percy didn't have such a system. He didn't care.

"What?" he grumbled unhappily as he threw open the front door, squinting at the fuzzy figure standing in front of him.

"Good morning, Mr. Weasley," said a far too chipper voice. "Mind if I come in?"

Percy did mind, especially considering he didn't know who the hell was talking to him. The voice sounded familiar, but without his glasses, he couldn't see a damn thing. It wasn't up to him, however, as the man pushed past him into the flat anyway.

"Nice place," the man said, limping slightly as he walked into the room. "Get dressed. I have a job for you."

"What?" Raising his hands, Percy pulled at the corners of his eyes, which he found helped him see a little better, but not much. "Today's a holiday."

"No rest for the wicked. Get dressed, or you're fired."

Between the pulling and the squinting, Percy finally recognized the man in his flat. It was Minister Scrimgeour. In his flat. Looking at his bookshelf and glancing at the empty picture frames. In his flat.

Percy nearly fell over.

"No time for that," said the Minister, noticing Percy's lapse. "Get dressed. You're going to go wish your mother a Merry Christmas."

"I am?" Percy asked, wondering if he was dreaming. It all seemed too surreal to be reality. Sure, he somehow managed to keep his job, thanks to a couple of well-placed bribes, a good deal of sucking up, and all matter of other degrading things, but he hadn't really spoken with the new minister at all since he took office.

"Of course," Scrimgeour said, grabbing Percy's arm and dragging him across the floor in the direction of his bedroom. "It's Christmas. It's a time for family."

"But, Minister, sir, my family and I... We don't exactly get on these days." Percy's protests fell on deaf ears as the Minister manhandled him. He was much stronger than he looked, yanking at Percy's pajamas and using his wand to pull out a fresh set of robes from his closet.

"All the more reason to make amends."

The Minister waved his wand several times in front of Percy's face, an unspoken sobering spell slamming into him with the force of a troll on steroids. Percy gasped at the sudden clarity, this time well on his way to falling over good and proper, but the Minster's hand caught his arm fiercely, keeping him on his feet. His glasses were shoved painfully on his nose and, for the first time that morning, Percy saw the dangerous, slightly maniacal, and frightfully determined look on the Minster's face. Percy felt his knees starting to buckle again, the sobering spell performed much stronger than necessary, combined with the unusual circumstances of the last three minutes, making his stomach roll painfully. The Minister grabbed Percy's upper arms in bone-crushing grip with both of his heavy, hard hands, dragging him so close, he could smell the breakfast the Minster ate in the tight air between them.

"It is imperative, for the good the Wizarding World and the good the Ministry, that you wish your mother a merry Christmas," the minister said darkly, shaking Percy hard a few times for emphasis. "Do you understand me?"

Actually, Percy didn't understand a damn thing, but since Minister Scrimgeour looked just this side of insane, Percy wasn't going to argue with him. Instead, he nodded weakly, the Minister's hairy, lion-like face relaxing into a peculiar smile that reminded Percy distinctly of a big cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting antelope in one of those muggle nature films he caught awhile back. The minister let him go harshly, shoving Percy back a few steps.

"I like you, Weasley," Scrimgeour said pleasantly, as if he hadn't just barged into the flat of one of his aides, dressed him, and scared the living daylights out of him. "You know why?"

"Not especially," Percy said, straightening his glasses and smoothing out the wrinkles of his robes. He picked up his wand and slipped it into a secretive pocket, rolling his shoulders a few times.

"I like you because you're smart," Scrimgeour said, waving for Percy to follow him, leading him out of the flat. "You've got a good head on your shoulders and you're loyal the Ministry and all it stands for, even in the darkest of times. Do you know what that kind of loyalty is worth?"

Not much, Percy thought, thinking of his pitiful bank vault at Gringrotts as they walked out of the flat. The morning sun was only just starting to peak through the London smog and the two of them walked down the snow covered sidewalk, heading for a safe place to apperate away from prying eyes. Not many people were up and about, most sleeping happily or sharing Christmas with their family and loved ones safe and warm inside their homes. The muggle side of London always held a kind of attraction for Percy. For one thing, it gave him relative privacy that the Wizarding districts did not. Also, being around people who had no idea the world was falling to pieces made each day a little more bearable. Most importantly, the rent was cheaper.

"It's immeasurable," Scrimgeour went on when Percy didn't answer. "The only way we're going to defeat He Who Must Not Be Named is if we put up a unified front. We can't be squabbling amongst ourselves. It's important that all of us work together for a safer, better world. The Ministry has the resources, the people, and the ability to be that unifying force, but not when renegades are running around undermining our efforts. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Percy said, following the Minister into a dark, littered alley.

"Of course you do," the Minister said, turning to look Percy head on. "You understand it so well, you were willing to sacrifice your family for the cause, isn't that right? You can't buy that kind of loyalty. Rent it, maybe, possibly even hex it into existence, but it takes sterner stuff to really believe it."

"I've always felt the Ministry was the best hope for the world," Percy told the Minister, not to earn points in his favor - he was too tired and confused for that sort of political subterfuge right now. No, he spoke from the heart, something politicians were warned to never do, but he felt it was right in this circumstance. "Our government was chosen by the people and put in place to protect them and look out for their best interests. Without it, what's left but anarchy? If the people want change, they have the right to insist upon it themselves, not have it forced upon them by an outside force."

"Exactly," Minister Scrimgeour said with a pleased nod. "That's why I like you, Weasley. You understand how the system works. You'll go far in this game. I can tell."

"Thank you, sir," Percy said, but he didn't make any move to apperate, scratching his head. "But, I'm still not understanding why you need me to wish my mother a merry Christmas. Please excuse my ignorance, but I'm confused, sir."

"Part of being loyal means doing things without question," Scrimgeour said sternly, waving his finger in Percy's face. "You don't need to worry about the specifics. Just do as I tell you and everything will work itself out."

Ahh, now the world made more sense, Percy realized with a start. This was yet another one of those, do what I tell you, don't ask, be a good little peon and maybe, just maybe, we'll give you a raise or at the very least, we won't sack you. He'd almost forgotten, in his scant moments of post-drunkenness hangover, that he was the Ministry's bitch. Well, at least that cleared things up a bit.

"Okay." Percy carefully took the Minster's arm to guide him as they apperated to The Burrow.

The happy thought, the one that kept him from losing his mind and killing everyone at the office, drifted through his mind. Someday, he told himself, it would all be worth it. He'd be Minister of Magic, or, failing that, at least some kind of high-ranking official, with lots of money, a beautiful wife, adorable children, with a flat that didn't possess a strange odor, where the photographs of his friends and family would be content to stay in their frames, and all this getting kicked around and bullied would be a distant memory.

The world twisted and ached around him as they disapperated from the alley and, a few seconds later, Percy found himself wishing he owned a better pair of boots as they appeared in a snowy field a reasonable distance away from The Burrow itself. He purposely didn't put them too close, wanting a moment to gather himself and his emotions before returning to the home he left behind over a year previous and hadn't seen since. Taking a few breaths, he said nothing to the Minster, simply leading him in the right direction across the snowy ground.

Of all the times the Minister could have chosen to force him to return to his family, Christmas time was the worst. It always represented some of the happiest times Percy shared with his family. The smell of fresh-cooked turkey and warm coffee on a snowy morning, the cries of joy from his siblings as they opened their gifts, proudly showing off what appeared at the foot of their beds during the night, the warm glow of a roaring fire while his father told funny stories to make them all laugh - it was the best. The first Christmas after he left home, a depressing time almost as enjoyable as this Christmas was panning out to be, he couldn't even bear to look at the gift his mother sent him, sending Hermes back with it while fighting the urge to be sick.

Nothing would ever be the same again, he could never be part of it, and he didn't want his happy memories of Christmas past muddled up with his Christmas present. It didn't take a genius to know how it must have looked to his siblings, how it must have broken his mother's heart when he sent the present back, but he couldn't stand it. It hurt too much.

And now, he was back, walking across the fields to The Burrow, looking warm and inviting as always. Even from a distance, he could hear the voices of his family raised in contentment drifting through the still, quiet air. Every faintly heard sound of laughter stabbed through him like a knife and Percy hated the world more than ever. Not even the thought of how it would all be worth it in the end was enough to console him.

He chose the back way on purpose. He didn't doubt his family would be in the kitchen, the center of the Weasley household for all occasions. The large window over the sink would give his family plenty of time to register his arrival before he and the Minster actually hit the door. He hoped, going in this way, he could avoid the awkwardness of having to knock and possibly being told to go to hell in front of his boss.

Knocking, in general, felt stupid. It would be as if he were requesting entrance, an entrance he was certain wouldn’t be welcome. So, he simply opened the backdoor and let himself in like he still lived there, saving them all the trouble of wondering what to do with him. His mother's stunned, yet happy and hopeful, face cut him deeply and he steadfastly averted his gaze somewhere above her head, keeping his own expression impassive and stoic.

Silence hung in the room like corpse from a rope and Percy couldn't find it in himself to say anything, not until the Minster poked him quite painfully in the back with his walking stick.

Lowering his gaze he said, with as much control as he could manage, "Merry Christmas, Mother."

"Oh, Percy!" she cried, throwing herself forward and wrapping her arms tightly around him, a hug so hauntingly familiar, Percy felt himself freeze up.

After a few seconds, he hugged her back awkwardly, but it didn't feel right. He didn't want to be here, had no business being here, yet here he was, about to break his mother's heart for no doubt the umpteenth time. She let him go after a minute and Percy heard the Minister talking, but it didn't register. He fixed his eyes on the wall once more, even as he felt the piercing stares of his brothers and his father tearing apart his very soul.

"Oh, Perce!" his mother said, heartfelt, as the Minister rattled off a blatant lie, putting Percy in the most awkward position imaginable. His mother's hand came around the back of his head and she pulled him down, placing a warm kiss on his cheek. It felt more like a slap across his face.

The Minister kept talking, the room got silent, but Percy didn't care about any of it. All he could see were his mother's eyes, shinning up at him with so much love and hope. He could feel himself dying inside. After moment that passed in an instant, yet seemed to take an eternity, Harry and the Minster were gone, out the backdoor.

An uneasy silence filled the room once more. Everyone was looking at him with accusing eyes. Their unspoken thoughts were as clear to Percy as if they were shouted in his ear. How dare he come here and spoil their holiday, just to give the Minister a chance to get to Harry? How dare he raise his mother's hopes when it was clear to everyone in the room, save her, he was only going to dash them? How dare he?

Percy knew he had no say in how things panned out. He didn't bother saying as much to his family. They wouldn't believe him or understand. There was little point in trying to defend himself, not when he didn't feel like he had anything worth defending.

"I'm so happy you're here," his mother said, breaking the silence, reaching up to caress his cheek. She frowned slightly. "You look tired and too thin. Are you eating enough? Have you lost weight?"

"I'm not sure," Percy said uneasily.

His mother t'sked. "You're not taking care of yourself," she said in that familiar, motherly tone of hers. She put her hands on her hips, shaking her head, but her smile returned full force. "Well, I can take care of that. Goodness, we're going to need another chair."

She kept talking to herself as she bustled out of the room, hurrying to go find something for Percy to sit on. He watched her go with a sinking feeling, not helped by the reproachful eyes staring at him from all angles. It looked like everyone, save Charlie, was here. Even that pretty Veela girl whose name Percy couldn't remember - Florence? Felice? Florianne? - was sitting next to Bill, looking at Percy with confusion, her lips pursed and she regarded him with a sideways look. And, to make matters worse, Mr. Lupin was here as well, looking more tired and worn than Percy remembered seeing him in ages, his expression completely blank and revealing nothing.

"What do you think you're doing, Perce?" Bill said quietly, but not angrily. If anything, he sounded disappointed. "Bringing the Minister here to manipulate Harry under the guise of wanting to see us... It's cruel, to Mum most of all."

"It wasn't up to me," Percy told him, leaning back against the kitchen counter and sighing. "Believe me, Bill, I don't want to be here anymore than the lot of you want me here."

"And yet, you're here," Fred said, twirling his fork and frowning nastily.

"What a surprise," George added.

"It's not that simple," Percy tried, but he could already see this was a battle he was going to lose. He never should have answered the door that morning. That, or he should have sucked it up and gone home with that nice girl in accounting and her husband. Maybe then the Minister wouldn't have found him. "I can't exactly tell my boss 'no' when he shows up at my door."

"Yeah, but I'm sure you didn't try," Ron said, then raised his voice in a singsong fashion. "Oh, yes, Minister! I'd love to help you, Minister! Who cares about my family when I can suck up to you a little more?"

Percy closed his eyes as Ron and the twins started laughing. He took off his glasses, wiping them on the sleeve of his robe, even though they weren't dirty. At least it saved him from having to look at their faces, even if he could hear their cruel voices just fine.

"Can we not do this? Please?" Percy was surprised at how pleading his voice sounded. He didn't intend for it to come out that way, but he really couldn't handle any of this baggage right now, especially when it wasn't his fault he was here. He slipped his glasses back on his face, blinking as the world refocused itself. "Can we please just pretend to get along or, barring that, ignore each other for the time being? For Mother's sake?"

"Like you care about Mum's feelings," Ginny piped up. Her arms were crossed on the table and she narrowed her eyes. "Do you know how badly she was hurt when you sent back the present last year? I've never seen her so upset."

"You don't understand," Percy said, defeated. "None of you ever did."

"Oh, boo-hoo," Ron retorted, rolling his eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"

His father, who had been blessedly silent up to this point, stepped forward, looking Percy straight in the eye. "Don't you dare hurt your mother, not on Christmas, not today," Arthur said quietly, but with great purpose. "We don't need this, Percy."

"I wasn't the one that started this," Percy snapped, standing up straight and meeting his father's gaze. "I wasn't the one who attacked that night. You were."

"That's because you wouldn't listen." Arthur shook his head. "So drawn into all of this... subterfuge. Why couldn't you just listen to me? You’ve always been too stubborn for your own good."

"At least I'm not a liar."

It was the like everyone else in the kitchen disappeared, the only one in Percy's world at the moment was his father and his angry look. The air between then was tense and strained, bringing back horrible memories of that fateful night when Percy left home, he'd hoped, for good. They'd been seconds away from coming to blows that night, his mother at a complete loss, unable to intervene in her shock, not that she didn't try. It was, without a doubt, the worst night in Percy's life and he had no desire to relive it now, here in the kitchen.

Remus stood up from where he'd been slouching in his chair, putting a gentle hand on both Arthur's and Percy's shoulders, trying to calm them down.

"Let's just take it easy," he said kindly.

"Stay out of this!" Percy slapped Remus's hand away, whirling around on the werewolf. "The last thing I ever want is an opinion from someone like you!"

"Hey!" Ron leapt to his feet. "Leave him alone! God, you're such a bigot, Percy."

"His being a werewolf has nothing to do with it!" Percy fixed Ron with a look so sharp, his younger brother actually looked surprised, shrinking back. He turned back to Remus, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. "You knew! For all those years you knew and you said nothing! And they call me selfish! You have no right to judge anyone!"

An air of confusion settled around the kitchen. "What are you talking about, Percy?" Ginny asked, her eyebrows drawn together as she looked between the two of them.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Percy said, waving his hand dismissively. "It's far too late." He glanced back at his father. "You didn't believe me then and you won't believe me now. The point is, you've never given me any modicum of respect, no matter how hard I tried to earn your favor. I worked hard to make something of myself and all I got for it was suspicion and accusations. I have never lied to you. Not once! I should have known better than to expect any kind of consideration from you, especially given you've never once treated me like an equal."

"It's hard to treat someone like an equal when they go around acting like they're better than you are," his father said sharply.

"That's only because, in spite of everything, I am better than you," Percy hissed, "and you can't stand it."

Something wet and slimy smacked Percy on the side of his face, mucking up his glasses. Letting out an angry shout of surprise, he reached up and wiped at his cheek. Mashed turnips. Looking around the room, he saw Fred had his wand out, waving it lazily at the bowl on the counter.

He looked at Fred, who was smirking at him, but didn't say anything, didn't even contemplate retaliating. It wasn't worth it. None of them were worth it.

"Here we are." His mother came back into the kitchen, holding a chair and a small bundle under her arm. Her happy expression fell when she took in the room, its infuriated inhabitants, and the mashed turnips on Percy's face. She dropped the chair and leaned on the back, sighing and suddenly looking much older and much more tired. Without a word, she turned and walked back out of the kitchen, into the living room.

"Now see what you've done?" Ron said, looking like he was ready to throw more mashed turnips on Percy at the first opportunity.

"I never did anything," Percy said, giving them all one final angry look before leaving the kitchen and following his mother. He heard someone about to follow up, but a quiet word from Bill left him in peace. It was probably the first intelligent thing anybody did all morning.

He found his mother sitting on the couch, her arms folded around the wrapped bundle in a sad embrace, her eyes turned to the beautiful Christmas tree in the corner. Percy hesitated a moment, then sat down next to her, following her gaze. It was a lovely tree, even with the... He frowned, leaning forward and squinting. Was that a garden gnome at the top?

Shaking his head at that ludicrous sight, Percy hesitated only a moment, then reached out and put his hand on his mother's arm. She tensed slightly at his touch, then relaxed, closing her eyes. Percy hated to see her like this.

"I'm sorry," he said, unsure of what he was apologizing for, since there was so much to apologize for.

"Do you remember that Christmas?" his mother said, not opening her eyes. "You were eight, I think. The sun hadn't come up yet, but you came running down the stairs. I was in the kitchen. You tripped over the last step, but it didn't stop you from jumping into my lap to show me what Santa brought you. That notebook - the cover was red? And the quill set you wanted so badly. You spent the whole morning sitting there with me, writing in it, trying out the different colored inks. I remember you were so particular about your handwriting, wanting each word formed perfectly. You wrote me a poem."

"About garden gnomes with shoes," Percy said, unable to hold back a smile.

"Your father wanted to buy you a miniature racing broom," his mother continued, still lost in her memories. "I remember him saying that a boy your age wouldn't want a notebook and quill set, but I knew better."

"Just as well, since brooms make me nervous," Percy said with a tiny laugh. "I really loved that present. I liked the way I could make the lines disappear after I finished writing, so everything was neat and straight, but flawless. I still have the notebook and the quill set. Even when they stopped self-inking and the notebook was full, I kept them."

"We got Ginny a new doll that was supposed to talk, but it didn't work right." His mother reached out her hand and covered Percy's with her own, squeezing it gently. "She was upset. You didn't want her to cry, though, so you sat with her all morning while your brothers were outside playing, holding up the doll and talking for it when it wouldn't, just to make your little sister smile. Even when we returned it to the shop and got the charms fixed, she always preferred it when you played with her instead. And then there was that time that Ron fell while you two were exploring the forest not far from here and you carried him on your back all the way home, telling him stories to keep him calm until I was able to clean up that scrape." She laughed. "The day after you left for Hogwarts, Fred and George were so down. They missed having you around. They wrote you every day, remember that?"

"Poor Errol looked so tired," Percy told her, thinking back on those early days, lonely and homesick at Hogwarts. "They liked to tell me about all the things they got away with now that I wasn't home anymore. I think Fred told me he was annoyed I was gone because without me to keep them on their toes, they were going to get sloppy and lazy."

"They looked up to you," she said quietly. "You were such a good older brother, always looking out for them. I know you covered for Fred and George more times than I can count, helped Ginny wash her hands at the sink when she was too small to reach, always helped me set the table and get dinner ready, would stay up late reading to Ron when he had a nightmare and couldn’t sleep..."

"I was the older brother," Percy told her. "That was my job. At least, I thought it was. They didn't like it anymore when we got older, though, thought I was bossing them around. I just wanted them to do well and be safe."

"I know." His mother opened her eyes, looking at Percy sadly. "You are so much like my brother Gideon, it amazes me. Sometimes, I resented him, too, for always treating me like his little sister. I never realized how much that meant to me until he was gone forever. I don't want your siblings to have to wait until something that terrible happens to realize it. It's ridiculous that something so stupid as a difference in political opinion should tear us apart like this."

"But it's not about that," Percy reminded her gently. "It's not about that at all."

"I wish it was." His mother sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder and Percy put his arm around her. "I don't understand it... I can't figure it out. What happened?"

"You didn't trust me," Percy said, not wanting to say it, but there was nothing else he could do at this point.

"I trusted you," she said, looking up at Percy. "I just didn't want you to get involved."

"Father didn't trust me, then," Percy replied. "I don't know why, but he didn't. I don't think I've ever given any of you any reason to doubt my intentions or me. I would never do anything to put any of you at risk. You're my family or, at least, you used to be. That hasn't changed, not for me. I still care about all of you, still worry about you, even if they won't let me be a part of you anymore."

"But there must be something else," she said, and her voice wavered. Percy looked down and saw a stray tear rolling down her cheek.

Percy didn't argue with her. There was something else, something terrible, but to tell his mother the truth would tear her apart. He couldn't do that to her, not when there was nothing more that could be done to change it, not now. The time had passed for any attempt at making amends and to bring it up now would only make her feel guilty and broken. It wasn't her fault.

"I didn't want to come here and have things go like this again," Percy said, pushing aside his own memories. "It's better that I stay away."

"It's not better," his mother said. "I miss you so much. I love you and I want you home. It's not right for families to be separated, not when the world is like this. I can't stand the thought of losing you."

"You'll always have me," Percy promised, hugging her. "Even if I'm not here, you still have me. Nobody ever understood me better than you. Nobody ever cared about me better than you. For everything that's happened and everything that will happen, I'll never forget that."

His mother was truly crying now and Percy hated to see it. He wiped away the tears on her face and kissed the top of her head, twisting around to hug her a little better and resting his forehead on her shoulder. She sniffed and rubbed his back in an all-too-familiar throwback to his childhood, when she'd calm him down after a particularly bad night or a particularly rough day.

Pushing away from him, she wiped her eyes briefly, then held out the package to him. "I want you to have this," she said, sniffing. "I kept it, just in case you ever came home."

Percy recognized the package instantly, the same Christmas present she sent to him the previous year, the one he couldn't bear to look at and sent away. A tiny film of dust covered the paper and he knew she probably hadn't touched it since the day Hermes flew back with it in his talons. He brushed his hand over the colorful ribbon, faded only slightly with time.

"It wasn't that I didn't want it," he told her, looking down at it with no small amount of shame. "I just... couldn't accept it. All I could think of was every thing I was missing, every thing I'd never be a part of again. It hurt."

"I know," she told him, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "At least, that's what I suspected. The others, well, I refused to hear what they were saying. I know you. I know my son. But, I had to let you know I still loved you."

"I never doubted it."

With little fanfare, Percy tore at the wrapping paper. He half-expected to find a sweater inside and he wasn't mistaken. Soft, butter-yellow, and skillfully knitted to fit him perfectly, it made his fingertips tingle when he touched it, so warm and so much like home. When he lifted it from the nest of wrapping paper around it, he was surprised to discover something else inside of the package. Setting the sweater aside, he picked up the object and smiled.

A notebook, identical to the one he received so many years ago, and a new set of quills and inks. He ran his fingers along the cover, smiling at the memories, opening to a fresh page. On the inside of the cover, his mother had written him a note. It was his poem.

There once was a little garden gnome,
Who the people threw far so he'd roam,
He didn't admit defeat,
Found shoes for his feet,
And walked proudly right back to his home.

Percy looked up at his mother, giving her a shaky smile. She said nothing, simply reaching into the front pocket of her apron and pulling out a clean handkerchief, wiping away the mashed turnips still on his face. Then she pulled his head down and kissed him firmly on the forehead.

"You're always welcome home," she said, giving him a firm hug. "You're still my baby."

"And you're still my mum," Percy said, not wanting to let her go.

Unfortunately, he heard the backdoor open. Apparently, Harry and the Minister finished their conversation. Percy had little doubt as to what the Minister wanted to discuss with him. It was no secret around the office Dumbledore was keeping Harry from their clutches, and with good reason, Percy thought. The poor boy had enough on his shoulders. He didn't need to become a pawn for the Ministry. He believed, quite firmly, that the people's trust had to be won, not forced. Harry would support the Ministry when he felt they were doing some good. If Percy had any say about it, and he hoped someday he might, he wanted that time to come soon. Change came slowly, but damned if he wasn't going to help push it along, make the Ministry something the people could count on and trust to protect them, make it an institution worthy of consideration. Even if it meant getting kicked around by his superiors and forced to do their dirty work for the time being, he wouldn't give up. His father called him stubborn and he wasn't wrong.

"Weasley, we're done here," Minister Scrimgeour said, poking his head into the living room. "Let's be on our way."

It wasn't a suggestion so much as an order. Percy stood, as did his mother, and he gave her one final hug before gathering up the presents she gave him. He looked at her consideringly, trying to memorize her face, even though he'd know he'd never forget it.

"Be careful," Percy pleaded with her. "Whatever it is everyone here is involved in, whatever is going on with Dumbledore, please be careful."

"You, too," she said quietly, and he could see tears shining in her eyes once more. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Mum," he said, then smiled. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Percy."

The End

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