The lane leading to the Burrow was as familiar as it was foreign. Percy stood at the edge of the property, his neatly pressed robes a stark contrast to the wild tangles of the garden beyond. He adjusted his glasses, his fingers trembling against the frames. Time had aged Percy in more ways than he could count, but the Burrow was still just as magnificent and homely as he remembered. Time changes some things, but others stay the same.
The house leaned precariously, as if years of magic and laughter had fused the bricks together. It was unchanged, a portrait of a life Percy no longer fit into. The windows glowed with warm, golden light, and he could hear muffled voices, laughter echoing through the walls. War hadn't taken the joy the Burrow brought to the Weasley brood. It had just blocked and snatched some from the joy.
He took a step forward, then hesitated. What was he doing here? Did he really think he could walk in and pretend everything was fine? That he could bridge the canyon he had dug between himself and his family with a single visit? Christmas doesn’t fix everything. He remembered how they reacted last time they saw each other. The screams, the spells, the tears. The street of Diagon was filled with gossip for days after their unfortunate encounter. Could he really go through that again when it wasn't in the open? Could he really just waltz up unannounced and hope everything would be fine? Would they even be ready to listen?
Percy turned his back on his home, the weight of the moment crushing him. He was halfway down the lane when the image of Fred flashed in his mind—Fred as he had last seen him, alive and grinning, his arm slung around George’s shoulders. Percy stopped, the memory pinning him in place. The forgiveness the twins gave him, a ghost of what he wishes he could have.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the darkness. “But I can’t do this.”
A tear slips down his cheek, just as a drop of rain lands on his shoulder. Fred was crying with him. The heavens opened as Percy apparated away, away from his family at Christmas and away from the memory of his younger brother.
—
The Burrow had never felt so cold. It wasn't the chill of the winter air creeping through the cracks in the windows, or the biting wind outside that had brought the snowstorm in, but something more insidious, more unforgiving. The silence that had filled the house since the war ended had finally cracked, and the pieces of the past shattered like glass under the weight of unspoken words.
After three nights being back home for Christmas, nearly two years after the war, Percy had hoped things had changed. Last Christmas he did not manage to gain the confidence to go see his family, standing outside the Burrow before turning away. This year, George himself had dragged Percy there. They had been working together, George coming to terms with losing his twin, and Percy leaving the ministry and working on his healing. Knowing it was needed, Geroge forced his brother to join everyone.
Percy stood at the kitchen table, sorting through old family letters, trying to avoid the tension that wrapped around him like a suffocating fog. His mother was at the stove, her back to him, stirring a pot of stew, though he could tell she wasn’t paying attention to the food. Her hands trembled.
Ron, sitting by the fire, glared at him with an intensity that made Percy’s stomach twist. They hadn’t talked since the final battle. Not since Percy’s sudden return after months of silence. It was as if they all expected him to come back and be the same Percy they had known—cheerful, loyal, earnest. But he wasn’t that Percy anymore. He hadn’t been for a long time. The rest of the family was keeping their distance, they were in the living room, but everyone could see Ron was about to blow. He could never keep his anger in check and this had been brewing for over a year.
“I don’t understand why you couldn’t have helped us,” Ron muttered, his voice thick with resentment. “You disappeared, Percy. Left us to do everything while you... you were off playing spy for the bloody Ministry.”
Percy flinched, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. The truth was more dangerous than the lies they all had believed. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done, but he had done it for them—for everyone. For the future. It had to be done and unfortunately Percy was the one to do it.
“I wasn’t playing spy,” Percy said quietly. “I was doing what needed to be done.”
Molly’s shoulders stiffened. “What needed to be done?” she echoed, her voice rising. “You mean leaving us behind while you made deals with the very people who kept us in the dark? It has been a year! A bloody year and you are still acting like you weren’t turning your back on us.
Percy bit his lip, the weight of the past pressing down on him. He had been so certain it had all been for a greater good, that the ends would justify the means, but now, with them looking at him like this, it felt like betrayal.
“I didn’t leave you,” he said hoarsely. “I couldn’t tell you, Mum. I couldn’t tell any of you what I was doing. I couldn’t risk you getting dragged into it.”
Ron stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back. “You think that was fair? You think it was right to shut us out? We needed you, Percy. We thought you were dead. And when we finally find out you’re alive, you’re too busy—” He broke off, his face flushed with frustration. “Doing what, exactly? You helped them send Muggleborns into hiding, forged papers for the Ministry’s traitors, and we had no idea. You just—”
“Enough, Ron,” Percy snapped, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t abandon you. I was working from the inside. The Ministry was crawling with people who wanted to tear us apart. I helped build a rebellion. I helped people escape. I helped keep the Muggleborns safe. Do you understand? I couldn’t risk it, Ron. Not with everything at stake.”
Molly turned, her face pale, her lips trembling. “And you think we could understand that? You left us in the dark. Your own family. Do you know what it did to us, Percy? We thought you’d chosen them over us. We thought...”
“I didn’t choose them,” Percy said fiercely, his voice shaking with the weight of everything he had kept locked away. “I chose all of you. I chose the war, the future, the people who couldn’t fight back. I couldn’t leave them to die.”
The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Molly’s tears glistened in her eyes, and Ron’s chest heaved with barely contained anger. Percy wasn’t sure what hurt more—their anger or their disappointment. He had sacrificed so much, and for what? To be accused of betrayal by the very people he had fought for?
“I’ll tell you everything,” he whispered, his throat tight. “But you have to understand—I did what I did because I thought it was the only way we’d win.”
The rest of the family trickled in, wanting to hear this.
“Are you sure Perce?” George questioned, resting his hand on his shoulder, knowing his older brother still struggled with all he did during that time.
“Yes. I am sure.” Percy took a deep breath. “It all started a month after Voldemort's public return. Things changed quickly inside the ministry…”
Flashback
Percy sat in his office, the golden light of the setting sun slanting through the high windows. On his desk sat a pile of files, each stamped with the Ministry’s cruel edict: Muggle Born Registration Commission.
“What the fuck?” He questioned, shocked.
“Don’t let others hear you say that Percy.” Ben, his next door coworker said quietly.
“But this is wrong!”
“We just have to rebel quietly without questions alright?”
“So what?” Charlie hissed. “You tell us you saw something and was shocked and think that fixes things?”
“Never, but you need to understand how quickly things changed. Ben was fired a week later, and put to trial the day after that. We had to be discreet, we had to be quiet.”
“So what, you just sat there?”
“Never.”
Flashback - the first escape
There was a knock at the door, and he stiffened.
“Enter.”
A woman stepped in, clutching a small child to her chest. Her eyes darted around the room, landing on Percy. “Mr. Weasley… they said you might help us.”
He rose, his heart pounding. “Who said that?”
“Please, I don’t have time,” she whispered urgently. “They’re coming for us. My husband’s already…” Her voice cracked.
Percy closed his eyes, the weight of her plea crushing him. He grabbed a blank set of documents from his drawer and began writing furiously. “You’ll need these,” he said, sliding them across the desk. “They’ll get you on the next train to Scotland. There’s a safehouse there—”
The child whimpered, and Percy froze, his quill hovering over the parchment. For a moment, all he could see was Ginny, six years old, clutching his hand as they explored the garden at the Burrow.
“Go,” he whispered hoarsely. “Now. Before someone sees you.”
Back in the Burrow’s kitchen, Percy’s voice cracked as he recounted the memory. “Every day, I saw people dragged into interrogation rooms. Families torn apart. I couldn’t save all of them, but I saved who I could.”
“Liar.” A hiss was heard coming from Ron. He still didn’t believe Percy, not after Percy ignored them for a while before the ministry takeover. He didn’t realise there were issues in the ministry long before Voldemort put his supporters in charge. None of them realised how much Percy had to give up, how hard and cold he had to pretend to be to keep the people he loved safe.
Flashback – The Raid
It had been a routine day at the Ministry—or as routine as any day could be under Voldemort’s regime. Percy had been walking through the Atrium when he spotted a group of Snatchers dragging a young man toward the Floo network. The boy’s glasses were cracked, and his face was streaked with blood.
“Blood status?” barked the lead Snatcher.
“Half-blood,” the boy stammered, his voice shaking.
The Snatcher sneered, raising his wand. “Liar.”
Percy stepped forward before he could think better of it. “What’s going on here?”
The Snatcher turned, his expression souring. “None of your business, Weasley. Unless you want to verify the paperwork.”
“Actually,” Percy said, pulling out a roll of parchment, “it is my business. As Senior Assistant to the Minister, I oversee all detainee transfers.” He locked eyes with the boy, willing him to stay silent. “I’ll take it from here.”
The Snatcher hesitated, then let go with a grunt. Percy led the boy away, his heart pounding in his chest.
“You’ll have to run,” Percy whispered once they were out of earshot. “Don’t go home. Don’t even go back to your own neighborhood. Do you understand?”
The boy nodded, his eyes wide with terror. Percy handed him a slip of paper. “This is the address of someone who can help.”
“Perce, why didn’t you tell us?”
“I couldn’t.”
Flashback - the questioning
“Are you mad, Weasley?” whispered the trembling clerk as Percy slid a stack of Ministry forms across the desk. “If they catch you—”
“They won’t,” Percy said curtly, his quill scratching against the parchment as he signed a falsified order. “This will get you and your family out. Use the service entrance, not the Floos. The wards won’t detect you there.”
The clerk hesitated, her eyes darting toward the door. “Why are you doing this?”
Percy didn’t answer. He couldn’t. If he thought too hard about the answer—about the toll this double life was taking—he might lose his nerve.
The silence in the Burrow’s kitchen was almost unbearable after Percy’s revelations.
“Do you want me to continue?” He questioned, seeing the ashen faces of his family.
“Yes.” Arthur whispered. And so he did. He told his family of the forged half-blood birth certificates he made. He told his family of the raid he participated in where they broke muggleborns out of jail cells. He told his family about walking into the trial chamber everyday to deal with the dementors and transcribe what is said so he knew who to help next. He told his family of watching Umbridge kill children out of anger. He told them of the daily tests he had to undergo, the torturing with the cruciatus, the interrogations to prove he believed in ‘the cause’ and that he had rejected his family. He told them about coming home every night and sobbing as he listened to the radio of the twins' voices, knowing as long as there was PotterWatch and he could hear Fred and George he knew his siblings and parents were safe. He told them about the food he took to those waiting, giving up his lunch for them. He told his family everything and in the silence that followed, he knew this was it.
Molly sat at the head of the table, wringing a dish towel in her hands as though it could absorb the weight of what she’d just heard. Ron hadn’t moved from his place at the other end of the table, though his arms were no longer crossed; they hung limply by his sides, his head bowed. Ginny sat frozen in a chair, her face pale. Geroge had tears streaming down his face. Bill and Charlie were supporting Arthur, who had collapsed half way through. The others, dotted around with faces of shock, were cowed.
Percy shook himself out of the memories. He had gone too far, losing himself back into the dissociation state he entered after a nightmare to keep himself calm. He left the room, claiming he needed some air. The door had barely clicked shut behind him when the conversation began.
“He really did all that?” Ron said, his voice hoarse. “He really stayed behind… for us?”
“For us, for them,” Ginny murmured, her eyes fixed on a knot in the wood of the table. “For all those Muggleborns. And we didn’t even notice.”
Molly exhaled shakily, dabbing at her eyes with a crumpled handkerchief. “He was so distant. So cold. I just thought he… didn’t want us anymore. That he chose the Ministry over his family.”
“That’s what he wanted us to think,” Ginny said, her voice sharp. “He did it on purpose, didn’t he? So we wouldn’t worry about him. So we’d hate him instead of…” She trailed off, her throat tightening.
“Instead of realizing he was risking his life every day,” Ron finished, running a hand through his hair. “Blimey, do you remember how furious Dad was when he heard Percy had stayed in the Ministry? Said he was as good as working for You-Know-Who?”
Molly winced as if the words had struck her. “He was furious,” she whispered. “And I agreed with him. We all did.”
Arthur, after being helped to a seat, was uncharacteristically silent through the argument and its aftermath. At this point though, he interjected, knowing he needed to speak. His voice was soft, but there was a weight to it that made everyone turn to listen.
“We misjudged him,” Arthur said, his tone tinged with regret. “Percy has always been… difficult, yes, but he’s also always had a strong sense of duty. I should have known he wouldn’t have stayed at the Ministry without good reason.”
Ron frowned, his guilt morphing into frustration. “But why didn’t he say anything? Why let us all think the worst of him?”
Arthur looked at Ron, his expression pained. “Because if he had told us, Ron, we might have tried to stop him. Or worse, we might have been targeted because of what we knew. Percy was protecting us, even if it meant pushing us away.”
Ginny crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her eyes glistening. “Fred would’ve understood,” she muttered.
The mention of Fred’s name cast a shadow over the room, but Ginny pressed on, her voice trembling. “Fred would’ve teased him, called him a prat, but he’d have understood why Percy did what he did. Why couldn’t the rest of us see it?”
“I don’t know,” Molly said softly. “I don’t know why I couldn’t see it.” Her voice cracked, and she buried her face in her hands.
Ron shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not just you, Mum. I said some awful things to him, too. I thought he’d abandoned us, just like you did. Just like everyone did.”
“But he didn’t,” Arthur said firmly. “He never abandoned us. He just fought in a way we didn’t understand.”
The room fell silent again, the weight of their collective guilt hanging heavy in the air.
Percy stood just outside the kitchen window, his hands braced against the cool stone of the wall. He’d only meant to step outside for a moment, to breathe and gather himself, but he hadn’t gone far. Their voices had drifted out to him, muffled but unmistakable.
He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the words—Ron’s frustration, Molly’s regret, Arthur’s quiet wisdom, his siblings' stumped silence—tied him to the spot.
The back door creaked open, and Percy straightened, startled. Ginny stepped out, a blanket draped over her shoulders. She gave him a long, searching look before speaking.
“They’re just trying to make sense of it all,” she said softly. “We all are.”
“I wasn’t trying to make anyone feel guilty,” Percy said, his voice brittle. “I just… I couldn’t keep it inside anymore.”
Ginny stepped closer, her eyes scanning his face. “You should’ve come back sooner.”
“I know,” Percy whispered.
She hesitated, then reached out, gripping his arm. “But you did come back. That’s what matters now.”
Percy swallowed hard, unable to speak. Ginny tugged at his arm, guiding him back toward the house. “Come on. Let’s sort this out properly.”
When Percy re-entered the kitchen, the room fell silent again, all eyes turning to him. For a moment, he thought about turning back, retreating to the solitude that had become his refuge over the past few years. But then Molly stood, her tear-streaked face crumpling into a hesitant smile.
“Percy,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Come sit with us.”
Percy hesitated, then nodded, taking a tentative step forward. Ginny nudged him gently, and he crossed the room to sit at the table.
“I… I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Percy began, his voice tight. “But I thought you deserved to know the truth. George knew, he had to living with me and my nightmares, but I never wanted to burden any of you.”
Arthur reached across the table, placing a firm hand on Percy’s. “I wish you had, but we understand. We don’t need to forgive you, Percy. There’s nothing to forgive.”
Percy blinked, stunned. “But—”
“No,” Molly said firmly. “We were wrong, Percy. We’re the ones who need to ask for your forgiveness.”
Percy’s composure finally cracked. He lowered his head, his shoulders shaking as tears slipped down his cheeks. Ginny moved to his side, placing a comforting hand on his back.
Ron cleared his throat, his voice gruff. “We’re still going to call you a prat, though.”
Percy let out a watery laugh, and for the first time in what felt like years, he allowed himself to believe he could be part of his family again.