Chapter 1

Waking up was always the hardest.

Dreamless sleeps were hard to come by, and when he had finally found himself in the blissful peace of oblivious unconsciousness, the sleep just never lasted long enough. He would lie awake in bed for hours, refusing to get up and face the terrors of reality that stood before him. He would look at himself in the mirror with disgust at the face of the (traitorous, useless) gaunt ghostly blur that was his reflection. That was who he was, he had to remind himself; he was Percy Weasley.

It was a week after the war had ended, and it was Fred's funeral. No, he stared at himself hard in the mirror and ran a hand through the messy red curls that needed cutting, no. He would not go to the funeral. Nobody would want him there; he would just bring more grief than anything else. He carefully slipped on his glasses and blinked as his reflection became sharper and clearer. He stumbled out of the bathroom and out towards the kitchen of his tiny, immaculate flat. Well, not so much immaculate now, he thought to himself, seeing as everything was strewn about carelessly. He hadn't had the chance to clean it after the war; they had raided the place three weeks ago, and of course they found nothing. Percy Weasley, if anything, was good at covering his tracks.

He filled his glass with water and pulled out the box of painkillers. He needed something to fix the throbbing pain in his head and in his chest. The healers told him he was fine, physically, anyway. Nights were always filled with nightmares now. He would wake up in cold sweat and with a scream, and he wouldn't know what to do. Bill had come over to try to talk to him, but he shooed him away. He didn't know if he had the energy to deal with his family just yet. They would only mock him, he thought, they would hate him. They already hated him. He swallowed the pills; it should have been him that died, not Fred.

He hadn't left his flat in the whole week after the battle. His hands would break out into tremors when he did, and he just couldn't face the judgemental gazes of those in muggle London, no, they didn't understand what he had been through, what any of them had been through.

The memory of the war itself sent shivers down his spine, and the next thing he knew, he was sprawled out on the floor, out of breath, dazed, and shaking. His legs had failed him again, just like he had failed his brother, and just like how he failed his family. He was a failure. It should have been him. He reached up to adjust his glasses, but his hands were shaking too much and he couldn't think, so he just lay there. It's what he deserved.

He was broken out of his daze when the doorbell rang, followed by angry raps at the door. He knew who it was, and he knew he had to open the door, but he couldn't find the energy to lift himself off the floor. He closed his eyes and ignored the continued knocks at the door.

"Percival Ignatius Weasley, you open this door right now!" came the angry Scottish tinted voice from the other side of the door. "Alohomora!" was exclaimed, and the door opened with a loud click. Percy sighed as he heard the heavy footsteps stomp over to him, and he was greeted with the angry face of Oliver Wood in a neat black suit leering over him. That face quickly changed to one of pity, and the scot knelt down beside Percy, helping him to sit up and lean his back against the kitchen counter.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Oliver, I'm fine," he replied, strain in his voice that said the opposite, "It's just the tremors. The healers said I will be fine as soon as I get over the shock of the battle."

"You're taking it very hard, aren't you?" he said perceptively. Percy always hated that Oliver could see right through him. 7 years of rooming together in Hogwarts did that to a person.

"Yes, Oliver, I'm taking the death of my little brother very hard because I did indeed see him die in front of my very own eyes and I could do nothing to stop it from happening." He looked down to his pale hands to see that they were shaking violently now. Oliver reached over him and pulled him into a tight hug.

"You'll be alright, there there," he said, trying to be comforting, "But you still have to come to Fred's funeral."

Percy sighed and shrugged Oliver off, "I know my parents sent you because I won't listen to any of my siblings, and you know that I won't go."

"Percy, they need you."

"No," he spat back sharply, "They don't need me. Three years they never needed me and it isn't suddenly going to change. It's better if I didn't go. I'll just make everyone upset."

"Look, your Dad looked like a mess and he specifically begged me to come and find you and to bring you back. He said you can take your time with coming home and stuff, and they won't pressure you in the funeral. They've talked it over, but they just want you to know they want you at the funeral."

"Stop lying to me."

"You know I'm not lying, Perce," Oliver sighed, "You know I'd never lie to ya. You're my best mate."

"Oliver, I'm not going and that's final."

"I'll carry you over there if I have to."

"Look, I appreciate the sentiment, but," he paused and stood up adjusting his glasses and tousling his curly red hair, "I really can't come. I'm busy."

Oliver snorted incredulously and stood up, looking up at Percy with a look of complete disbelief, "I was told you resigned from the Ministry."

"Exactly," he replied, "I'm looking for a job."

"That can wait, you have plenty of cash in the bank, Perce. You can take one day off to pay respect to your brother."

"I can't pay respect to someone I—"

"You're going to say killed," Oliver sighed, "But you have to come to terms with the fact that it's not your fault. It will never be your fault. It was a bloody war, Perce! People were going to die."

Oliver reached up to place a hand on Percy's shoulder, stupid guy had to be taller than him, and just tried to be reassuring. He could feel him trembling under his hand. Oliver took a moment to glance around at the ruined room. There was glass swept away to the corner along with the picture frame that it came from. It was so unlike Percy to not clean up a mess. He walked over to the mess and saw the gently moving photograph nestled between the glass shards.

"Don't look at that," Percy protested weakly. He had tried to hold onto Oliver's wrist to stop him from going, but his grip was still weak and tired.

Oliver recognised the pretty lass in the photograph anywhere, with her long blonde hair and kind smile: Penelope Clearwater. She moved slightly, her hair falling gracefully over her shoulders as she seemed to laugh in the portrait. She was Percy's ex-girlfriend come best friend. It wasn't fair. Percy suffered endlessly for some things that just weren't his fault. It was in Percy's guilty nature. Inside of that pompous, arrogant little sod was a man who only wanted to be accepted. Percy was like a rubiks cube, Oliver thought, remembering that one toy Percy was challenged by a muggle born to solve. Percy had solved it almost instantly with his brilliant mind, however Oliver just couldn't understand it. That's when Percy described the algorithms behind it. Percy was like a rubiks cube; he was complex until you figured out the algorithms of understanding him. Oliver sighed. He knew when Percy was hurting, even when his face didn't show it.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Percy," he said, "I'm so sorry. She was a good friend." He heard a hiccup of what seemed to be tears behind him, and when he turned he saw Percy leaning against the kitchen counter with his head in his hands. He walked over to the redhead and gave him a pat on the back. "It'll be alright."

"Stop telling me that it'll be alright!" he shouted between the sobs, "My brother was fucking killed in front of me and I did nothing. And Penelope, shit, Penny. Oliver, I let her die."

"You've got to stop blaming yourself for everything, mate," Oliver said, "You saved so many people. Your parents don't know, and so many people don't know and they may never know, but think of the lives you saved, Perce. You helped them run, and you risked everything to save them."

"I couldn't even save those closest to me."

"We all have to make sacrifices. You could have never known that Penny would be caught on her way out. You could have never known."

"I wish I did."

"We all wish we did, but there's nothing you could have done. You've done so much."

"I could have done more."

"You left your entire family to protect them. If that's not dedication, I don't know what is, Percy. Everything you've done, you've done for them and for the good of all wizards."

"I just—"

"None of that, Percy. Your parents don't know it, but you were a hero. The silent hero that saved the world from behind. They don't know it, but I do, and so many others do."

"I-I," he started, faltering on his words, "I have to go change, Oliver."

"Where you going?" he asked, confused as Percy walked stiffly towards his bedroom. That wasn't the response he was expecting.

"I'm going to join up with the Death Eaters," he replied, a hint of a smile on his lips as he turned to look at Oliver, "Obviously. You're not dressed for a funeral."

"I'm in a black suit, mate! What more could you want!"

"We're talking about Fred, not me."

AN: I really love Percy so here's a story about him and post-war stuff. There are no relationships as of yet planned except for the canon one in the future. I like to think he suffers a lot from the trauma of the war, so it's good that he has friends there to help him out.