Okay, so this is going to be a story probably nobody will review...

Basically I love Percy. I'm probably the only person on the planet who does, but I do. Maybe it's because I get the whole not being from a lot of money and being in a big family and having ambition. Poor Perce. I hope you'll like it...

I'm aware that this will probably be read by a lot of HP obsessed fans...And that's good. But just to warn you, I don't know eeeeevery single miniscule detail, so if I get something wrong, please be nice, don't poke me with sticks. However, when it comes to things I don't think have been explained, I use creative license.

Please review. Even if it's to laugh at me for writing a Percy fic. :)

This all takes place soon after Voldermort's defeat, and Fred's death.

As Yet Untitled.

Chapter One.

If the inhabitants of Kestrel Way had looked out of their front windows out on the street one particular stormy morning, they would have noticed coming up the road, a young man with hair of ginger, stumbling as he dragged a heavy trunk beside him. There was no protection for him as the rain struck his body like shrapnel as he struggled to move with the violent gale, making it nearly impossible to remain balanced. The young man moaned and his hand wavered to his clammy forehead. He needed to find the number of that house quickly; he needed a bed to rest in while the after effects of what he had done took its toll over him.

The Weasley's family grandfather clock stood in the corner of the sitting room, the ominous ticking resounding in the unusually quiet house. For silence to infuse itself into the home of more than half a dozen people was odd enough, especially when the rest of the Wizarding World was still celebrating the downfall of Voldermort. But it was as if this place was separate to the rest of their kind. There was too much pain in this house, too much loss, too much brokenness. Even the Weasley's ghoul seemed to be aware of it and floated noiselessly through the attic. George Weasley sat alone, watching the clock dully, his eyes on the golden hand with his brother's name on it. Fred. The now unmoving hand, in the midst of the rest of the family's. For this was no ordinary clock – it did not tell the time. Instead, around the face there were scattered the name of different locations, and each hand pointed to the location of where that person was situated.

MINISTRY, SCHOOL, HOME, HOSPITAL, PRISON, LOST, QUIDDITCH, MORTAL PERIL, MISSING and DEATH were some of the places listed. George twitched as Fred's hand remained still, on DEATH. His eyes did nor leave the clock.

The young man almost collapsed outside of the house he had been looking for, sitting heavily on the trunk. The fever was almost making him blind, shadows seemed to drain away the colours around him and his hands clutched to the trunk as if the world was turning and he would slide off.

What had he done?

He remembered the burning of his face in humiliation, as he had stood in front of his family, "I was a fool! I was a pompous prat, I was a – a-"

That smile, that goodwill on his brother Fred had answered his pitiful stuttering, "Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron?"

"Yes, I was!"

"Well, you can't say fairer than that."

A cry came from Percy now, as he leant forward, his hands clutching at his hair, heaving sobs. A gut wrenching sob, but nothing would make the guilt go away.

He had abandoned his family.

He had abandoned his family.

He had abandoned his family.

He had been in a position to help. Perhaps something could have been done! Perhaps Fred's life could have been saved, perhaps, perhaps. There were so many uncertainties in life, he knew this, but he had also known, being in the ministry he could have done something. He had wanted to return to his family sooner and make ammends but he had not till the last minute. And his brother was dead.

A flashback from years ago. The scarlet Hogwarts Express waited as students streamed aboard. His Mother was fondly tidying his robe as she murmured, "Now you'll look after the twins, won't you?"

He had abandoned his family.

George's gaze strayed for one moment from his twin's hand on the clock, to Percy's. Nothing had penetrated his thoughts since Fred's death, but he did stare at Percy's hand.

MISSING.

Gregory Prewett was expecting a client. He looked in the mirror, straightening his tie, pleased with himself. He was his own man now, not having to work for any stuffy boss. Old Watson at the tavern owed him a few quid, saying he'd never make it as a freelance accountant. Wouldn't make it indeed!

He turned his head to the side as he heard something at the front door. It wasn't a knock as such, but more like a thud. He pushed his glasses up and went over to the door, peering through the peep-hole.

At once he opened it, and a young ginger-haired fellow toppled in on to the carpet.

Gregory stepped back at once as the young man leant against the doorframe and pulled himself up. He looked dazed and weak, his skin as pale as parchment.

"Can I help…?" Gregory's voice trailed as he recognised the man's features.

"Please…" Percy murmured, "Please…I need help…I'm Molly's-"

"I know just who you are!" Gregory hissed, "Off with you! Off with you now!"

"No please – I have nowhere to go. I've left…I've left and you're the only one connected to us –"

Gregory laughed at this, "Connected? That's a bit rich, isn't it? I spent my whole life being reminded how I wasn't connected to you lot. You and your tricks and your spells! A squib! You all treated me like a leper. Glad I got out when I did. 'Course, I wasn't expecting any of you to be trying to win favours with me."

The boy was too weak to argue, and a slight jab of guilt swept over the accountant. He hadn't really known Molly too well, only being distant cousins, but she had seemed nice. No matter though, he had sworn he'd never get involved with the likes of those people again.

"What's the matter with you, anyway? You're not going to vomit all over my doorstep, are you?"

The boy slumped to the ground again, miserably, leaning his head in between his knees, "Isn't that kind of sick…I snapped my wand. I mean, wands snap all the time, but…But it's rare for a wizard to snap it himself…Extension of their magic, like breaking an arm…Was expecting some discomfort, but…" the boy's body tremored.

Gregory looked up and down the street, anxious that the client would arrive.

"So you're not going to die then?" he snapped.

Percy moaned, but shook his head, "I'm alone, Sir…I just need some help with adjusting to – to being a Muggle, that's all."

"Adjusting to being a Muggle, eh?" Gregory shuffled back into the house and after a few moments returned.

Percy looked up hopefully but blinked in confusion as a pamphlet fell into his lap.

"Adjusting to life as a muggle?" Gregory chortled, "There's a bus stop just down the road there. And here's the timetable. Do what I did, do it the hard way and figure it out yourself."

The door closed on Percy who could feel a fresh bout of tears springing forth. In spite of this he forced himself up and stumbled along again, dragging his trunk. He shouldn't have expected anything more, anyway.

He closed his eyes, thankful that the storm had subsided a little anyway. What would a muggle bus be like? Would it be like the Knight Bus?

Mrs. Weasley was now looking at the family clock, her hand on her heart as Percy's hand moved slowly between LOST and MISSING.

"I don't know what the meaning of this is, Arthur," she whimpered to her husband who was beside her, "I – I saw him go to bed, I-"

Arthur squeezed her hand, "Molly sweet, you need to rest."

"We have Fred's funeral tomorrow! Arthur, we need to find him!"

Her eyes wandered to the clock once more, where the hand finally rested on MISSING. Molly Weasley sank to the couch behind her, confused, but looked up as there was a tentative knock on the sitting-room door.

"Mum?" Ginny hung by the doorway, uncertainly. Nobody had really spoken for days. It felt peculiar to disturb the silence, "Mum…Percy's things have gone – and I found this."

She moved forward finally, holding in her hands the broken pieces of a wand, then handed them over to her Mother gently.

Molly sat there holding the remains of her son's wand tenderly, "But I don't understand – why would he leave? Arthur – Arthur, you need to find him, he can't be far…"