It was his fault. All his fault. No one could tell him otherwise. After all, he was standing right there. Right next to him. Hardly an arms length away, and it was he who lived and the other who died. His younger brother. His stupidly happy, stupidly brilliant, stupidly wonderful younger brother.

He should've protected him. He should've tried to cast the younger redhead out of harms way. Throw himself in the fray instead of the other. Then he could still be laughing. Still making others laugh and cry with too much mirth in their eyes. He, on the other hand, could only remember one laugh he had provoked, and it was the last of the better Weasley.

Percy Weasley, sitting on the edge of his bed, held his head in remorse, a week after the final stand at Hogwarts he had hardly eaten a thing, hardly spoken a word, hardly had crawled out of his room locked at the top floor of the burrow. Turning his horn-rimmed glasses askew, he shoved a thumb into the corner of his eye before dragging it below the bottom rim, removing another tear. With a wet scowl he turned to the window. Erol was flapping outside, thumping into the window with hopes of making his way in.

The lanky 20 year old stalked over and threw open the window, hissing a curse towards the old owl without any obvious reason besides the fact that his heart was deeply cut. He ripped open the envelope the owl offered, reading over the lines quickly before letting it fall to the ground.

He was sick of dry condolence letters.

There was no amount of 'I'm sorry's, no amount of 'thinking of you in your time of need's, no hug large enough, no letter long enough to make him feel any better.

Falling back onto his bed with a flop, he let out a whimper as his body heaved with more sobs.

All his fault. It was always his fault. All he did was cause more tears, more grief. Fred was his exact opposite. The better opposite. The only grief Fred made was directed towards those with authority. Those like his Head-boy of an older brother. People who the wizarding world could get on along fine without. Just look at the pain Percy had already caused.

He docked points every chance he got.

He looked to get people in trouble.

He walked out on his family.

Turned to a corrupt system.

Turned a blind eye on the truth.

Picked sides against his family.

Ignored them completely.

All to come back at the last second only to be spared instead of Fred. Instead of the twin who gave so much more than Percy ever could. Who made the morbid world a little brighter with dangerous fireworks that scared of administrators and evoked cheers.

Who was the essence of fun.

Who was easily liked by all.

Who would no doubt be greatly missed but never forgotten.

Percy wouldn't have been missed. He was the black sheep in his family. Easily. It should've been him. It shouldn't have been him who was spared.

Things would've been better that way…

So the third Weasley stayed up in his room. Crying and reliving a past better than his present. For anything could've been better than the present. The morbidly horrible present…