Oblation: (n.) the act of offering a sacrifice.

St. Mungo’s always had been and always would be the worst place to wake up. Percy remembered falling from the old oak tree in their garden, long turned into a new wing for Ron and Ginny, and waking up with a broken arm in St. Mungo’s with his mother fussing and arguing with the healers. The sound of Molly Weasley’s frantic voice is absent, though, and when Percy manages to get some stock of his surroundings he finds his wrist tied by a hanging rope to the side of the hospital bed.

“Severus,” He calls out softly, but no one responds and panic grips him. “Severus!” His voice cracks and the word is jumbled but he tries to roll over, but the rope holds him fast.

The curtain surrounding his bed is pulled back and a healer comes in with a team of orderlies and Percy can’t help but wonder if this was all for show as four perfectly healthy young men and women were ordered to hold him down.

“Severus, where’s Severus?” Percy tried to claw at the hanging rope, but his fingers had no coordination and his tongue was like lead in his mouth.

“Take this, Mister Weasley, it will help,” The healer was holding out a potion bottle and Percy flailed, trying to slap it away.

“No, where’s Severus, tell me where he is!” Percy strained and struggled, trying to get a glimpse of the man’s familiar dark head. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “He’s dead.”

“Mister Weasley, please, this will be easier for everyone if you don’t struggle,” The healer drew her wand and Percy looked up at the woman and felt so… Utterly defeated.

“No,” He whispered, shaking his head. “Just let me die… If… If Severus is dead, please, just let me die.”

The healer didn’t accept that and in a moment a thumb is jammed into his jaw, forcing his mouth open so that the potion can be poured down his throat. The fact that he didn’t choke on or inhale it is probably due to a spell not taught at Hogwarts for fear of student misuse. Percy didn’t have time to think about that, not when he fell into oppressive darkness once more.

The next time he woke he was allowed to maintain consciousness. Percy Weasley, golden student of Hogwarts, proceeded to make his continued existence the problem of every member of the St. Mungo’s staff that came to him. From demanding nearly nonstop to see Severus, to speak to someone, to outright making a healer cry with the vicious invective he threw at her after tossing a lunch tray at the door. No one could get him to stop, not the head healer, not his mother when she came to visit him, not even the Auror that was summoned when Percy had violently kicked an orderly that had tried to convince Percy to use a bedpan.

“I want to speak to Severus, I need to see him!”

A week after he had woken, he was escorted out of his hospital room on legs that wobbled like a newborn colt and delivered to a hallway where he was met by Harry Fucking Potter.

“Percy-”

“Where is Severus?” Percy managed as he stared at Harry, leaning against a wall as his legs threatened to give out. “You clearly managed to revive me, where is he?”

“Percy, let’s go sit down,” Harry’s voice was so gentle that Percy felt himself shattering from within just from the sound.

“No, you don’t understand, I need to-”

“I saw the memories,” Strong, calloused hands grasped Percy’s arm to keep him from falling. “I’m here to tell you that they are being reviewed as evidence for your trial.”

Percy was sure that everything else had frozen, that he could hear a pin drop in the silence. “Those were private.” He choked out accusingly, his throat constricting as his heart pounded.

“He gave them to me,” Green eyes met a matching set and Percy felt tears spilling over his cheeks. “To save you.”

“Fat lot of good it will do,” He looked away, trying to steady his breaths. “Is he… is he here?”

“Yes.”

“I want to see him,” Percy straightened as best as he could.

“I don’t think-”

“Please,” Percy whispered, unable to keep his voice from cracking. “I… I never got to say goodbye.”

They stood together for a long moment before Harry nodded to the orderlies behind Percy, taking the thin patient’s arm to support the majority of his weight. They walked for what felt like a small eternity and when they came to a door marked “Morgue” Percy felt his breath catch in his throat.

“We don’t have to do this, Percy.”

“I have to say goodbye,” Percy whispered. “I have to.”

Harry knocked, and a mortician answered the door, looking over the two as he stood in his thick black robes. “Ah, Mister Potter, Mister Weasley.” He gave them both an apologetic look. “I’m afraid that it’s… There’s only so much I could do… The damage was-”

Percy straightened his back and gave the man his most stern look, thinking of Severus standing before a classroom of unruly first years, “Where is Severus?”

Severus, as it turned out, was in a glass stasis chamber, one of dozens in the morgue, some occupied, some empty.

“Can I touch him?” Percy asked softly as he rested his hand on the glass. “Please?”

“I’m afraid not, the spells are keeping him preserved for the funeral.” The mortician stared at Percy and he could feel the man’s pity. “I can leave you for a few minutes.”

“Please?” Percy whispered, staring at Severus’ face. He didn’t look at Harry or this stranger, he couldn’t bear for them to see his pain as he stood over the body of his lover.

When the doors closed, Percy let out a wretched sob, one that clawed through his chest, out of his throat, past his teeth as he pressed his forehead to the glass. The sobs grew louder, stronger, and Percy rested his hand upon the edge of the table, right at the seam where metal met glass.

“Severus, Severus, please, wake up,” He choked, staring at the man’s pale face. Thin lips drawn in a softer line than they usually were in life, his brows softened and eyes closed, as if he was merely sleeping. If it weren’t for the enormous jagged lines of flesh at the man’s throat, torn open by Nagini’s fangs, then Percy would have believed that his desperate pleas would be heard. “I love you, Severus, I love you so much.” Percy stared and wished he could see his lover’s eyes one last time. “I will love you until the stars turn cold.”

When his sobs finally calmed, he was still allowed time alone, so he leaned his body over the glass case, taking weight off of his weakly shaking legs, and stared down at Severus’ face as he began to recite the man’s favourite story. “This is the story of the great war that Rikki-tikki-tavi fought single-handed, through the bath-rooms of the big bungalow in Segowlee cantonment. Darzee, the tailor-bird, helped him, and Chuchundra, the musk-rat, who never comes out into the middle of the floor, but always creeps round by the wall, gave him advice; but Rikki-tikki did the real fighting.”

“You are Percival Ignatius Weasley, of The Burrow in Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, correct?”

“Yes,” Percy stared up at Kingsley Shacklebolt as the man looked down at him from the seat of Minister of Magic. Pius had been killed, Percy had been informed, and he had been replaced by Shacklebolt, who Percy had always considered fair, if biased and painfully loyal to Dumbledore. Flashbulbs went off and Percy knew that there were hundreds of reporters, witnesses, and even his own family sitting surrounding him as he stood trial, but he couldn’t think of them. Of any of them.

All he could think of was Severus, who was in the process of being buried. They couldn’t hold his body at the morgue indefinitely and the waning likelihood of Percy’s release had led Harry to make the effort of burying Severus himself.

“You stand before the Wizengamot today accused of the willful and premeditated murders of Rufus Scrimgeour, Bathilda Bagshot, as well as the practice of Dark Arts in the service of Lord Voldemort.” Shacklebolt looked down at Percy with a frown. “How do you plead?”

He stood in the the too-small cage that had held him years ago at his hearing regarding Barty Crouch Senior’s untimely demise, the hanging rope binding his wrists, and he knew that this time… This time there would be no mercy. There would be no Lucius Malfoy to handwave and buy Percy’s freedom. “Guilty,” Percy whispered, his heart pounding.

“Louder for the court scribe, Mister Weasley,” Shacklebolt called.

“I plead guilty,” He stared up at the man, his voice rising to be heard over the ripple of murmurs and shouts of the gathered crowd. He could hear Molly’s sobs and wondered if she remained there out of a sense of duty, or from some misplaced idea that Percy had been arrested by mistake.

“Order in the court!” Shacklebolt barked, pounding his gavel.

“Witness for the Defense!” A familiar voice called and Percy glared as Harry Potter himself stepped forward, staring up at Shacklebolt defiantly. “Harry James Potter.”

“Mister Potter, what do you bring before the court?”

“I bring this,” Harry held up the battered, destroyed remnants of Tom Riddle’s Diary and Percy reeled away from it, causing the cage to rattle and sway as he tried to escape the cursed item.

“Get that thing away from me!” He hissed, his shoes unable to get any purchase on the bottom of the cage as panic gripped him. “Get it away!”

“This was a horcrux, containing the soul of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Voldemort,” Harry explained as he placed the diary in front of Shacklebolt. “I destroyed it in my second year of Hogwarts, not realizing fully what it was. Percy Weasley was possessed by it for nearly a year, resulting in the petrifications of several students, a ghost, and Mrs. Norris.”

“Who is Mrs. Norris? She is staff?” One of the witches on the Wizengamot asked.

“She is the caretaker’s cat,” Harry explained before he gestured to the diary. “Might I examine the Defense?”

“You may, Mister Potter, but may Mister Weasley please be advised that as you are not true legal representation that he is not required to answer any of your questions,” Shacklebolt looked at Percy with an arched brow.

“I am aware of my rights,” Percy said simply, looking at Harry even as he remained pressed as far away from the diary as he could.

“In your own words, Mister Weasley, please tell us how you came into the possession of this diary,” Harry held up the destroyed book and Percy took a deep breath.

“I was not the intended recipient of the diary. It was placed in my little sister’s cauldron by Lucius Malfoy during an altercation with my father at Flourish and Blotts. I needed a new diary for the school year and could not afford one, so I convinced my sister it was not actually meant to be hers and took it. During the beginning of the school year I found that writing in the diary did not record my classes or schedule or notes, but instead allowed me to communicate with someone that at the time I only knew to be Tom Marvolo Riddle…”

Everything spilled from Percy’s lips. The blackouts, his unfortunate discovery of the rooster he had killed, even how he had destroyed Harry’s own bed when he discovered the Diary had found a new owner after his attempts to get rid of it. He hesitated, looking down at his hands when he came to his return to Diagon Alley after that summer.

“And then, Percy?” Harry gently prompted and Percy took a deep, steadying breath.

“I went to Knockturn Alley… To Borgin and Burkes.”

“And what did you find there?”

“I found the book Secrets of the Darkest Art. I… I was confronted by Professor Severus Snape, and in the confusion I stole the book from Mister Borgin. I needed to know what had happened to me. I was…” Percy worked his jaw and glanced at Shacklebolt, then looked back at Harry. “I was hearing Tom’s voice. I couldn’t escape it, and I was terrified. Professor Snape provided me with a lifeline that I was desperate for, allowed me to read the book in his offices after school to try and puzzle out my own life. I discovered horcruxes during that time.”

“This is that book, correct?” Harry reached into his bag, a bag that had once been Percy’s own, given to Ron in the heat of the battle of the Department of Mysteries.

“Correct,” Percy whispered, staring at the cover.

“How did you lose possession of it?” Harry asked, staring up at Percy with an attempt at a reassuring smile.

“I did not lose it,” Percy said simply. “I gave it to my brother, Ronald Weasley, knowing that he, against all fucking reason, was still a very good friend of yours and… According to Sev - Professor Snape’s conversations with Dumbledore, was helping you try to seek out Voldemort’s horcruxes.”

Harry drew out another item from the bag and Percy’s expression softened before he could stop himself. “Percy, could you tell me what this is?”

“It’s a scroll case.” Percy bit his lip before he sighed and explained further. “I enchanted it at the end of my third year at Hogwarts so that it would work much like a vanishing cabinet. There is a twin that it has and I was able to send confidential messages via that scroll case to the other.”

“Who has the twin of this scroll case?”

“Severus Snape had it, I’m sure it has now been confiscated by the Ministry,” Percy wrung his fingers. “When Professor Snape was Headmaster Snape I used his own case to send messages to that one, hoping that my brother had maintained possession of it.”

“That’s not everything you did, isn’t it?” Harry smiled and Percy worked his jaw. “You delivered the Sword of Gryffindor to me in the Forest of Dean.”

“Yes.” Percy whispered. “I… I summoned it from the Sorting Hat and… And Severus and I placed it in the lake.”

“Why?” Harry asked, and it was such a simple question that it confounded Percy as he blinked at the young man. “You were both Death Eaters, sworn to Voldemort. You did all of this at great personal risk. So I ask again: Why?”

Tears rolled down Percy’s face and he stared at Harry silently, listening to the murmurs of the crowd around them. “I was scared.” He whispers, and swallows, before he said softly. “I was scared that he’d win. That… That you wouldn’t figure it all out. Ron was… Ron was with you and Ginny was at Hogwarts and Severus-” His voice cracked and Percy crumpled. “I wanted to die. He thought I was a horcrux. He was going to - he was going to take my body and lock me away, like he did when I had the diary, but it would be forever.” You could hear a pin drop in the courtroom outside of Percy’s ragged sobs. “I was going to die. I knew I was. I deserved it for everything I did, but I… I needed you to win.” Percy stared at Harry, green eyes meeting green. “Even this, here, now… This is better than the fate that would have awaited me at the hands of Tom Riddle.”

The Wizengamot deliberated Percy’s case for a week.

On the seventh day he was summoned to the courtroom. He was still bound by the hanging ropes, still held in his cage, standing before the court wane and sick with anxiety. His mother and most of his family were noticeably absent, only Arthur, Ron, and Ginny sat observing the sentencing. Percy bowed his head to avoid their gazes and the flashbulbs of the reporters.

“Percival Ignatius Weasley, you have stood trial for a multitude of crimes, each one horrific in their effects and devastation that they have wrought than the last.” Percy raised his chin defiantly, glaring up at Shacklebolt as the man spoke. “For your crimes, you are to be sentenced to ten years in Azkaban.”

Silence and then a riot. Some people demanding a longer sentence, others demanding less, and Harry Potter’s voice rose above it all, only to be silenced by Shacklebolt’s gavel pounding on the podium for order.

“We have reviewed the evidence, as well as your own memories, which we believe to be the whole truth of the matter. We the Wizengamot find you guilty of innumerable crimes committed in the name of Tom Riddle.” Shacklebolt stared at the two. “Ten years imprisonment is just for the severity of your actions and your case will be reviewed six months prior to the completion of your sentence to assess whether you pose a threat to the public or not.” Shacklebolt waved his hand and Percy hung his head as he sobbed softly. “The case of Wizarding Britain v. Percival Ignatius Weasley is hereby closed and matter of record.”

“Please,” Percy called out weakly, looking up at Shacklebolt. “Please, just kill me. Please! The killing curse, a dementor’s kiss, beat me to death, torture me, poison me, but please, just kill me!” His entire chest shook as he sobbed and leaned against the bars of his cage. “I can’t - I can’t, please, I’m so tired, I’m so tired, I just want to sleep, please let me sleep!”

He was lowered through the floors to be passed to the Aurors and escorted to Azkaban, throwing his head back to howl at the ceiling.

“Just kill me!”

“He spent all that day roaming over the house. He nearly drowned himself in the bath-tubs, put his nose into the ink on a writing table, and burnt it on the end of the big man's cigar, for he climbed up in the big man's lap to see how writing was done. At nightfall he ran into Teddy's nursery to watch how kerosene-lamps were lighted, and when Teddy went to bed Rikki-tikki climbed up too; but he was a restless companion, because he had to get up and attend to every noise all through the night, and find out what made it. Teddy's mother and father came in, the last thing, to look at their boy, and Rikki-tikki was awake on the pillow.”

“Shut up!” A woman’s voice howled from several cells away and Percy scowled as he peered out between the narrow slits built into his cell. The cells of Azkaban were square, barely bigger than a closet, six feet by six feet by six feet. Percy’s head didn’t even brush the ceiling, but his hands could easily touch it if he raised them over his head while standing. There were three inch intervals in the bricks, turning the entire area into a barred cell with the ceiling above him being the floor of another cell, onwards and upwards. Between each column of cells was enough space that the Dementors could freely move about. There were rumors that Aurors would soon replace the horrible creatures, but Percy doubted it.

“Shut up yourself!” Another voice howled. “I like this story!”

Percy sighed and closed his eyes as he sat on the floor of his cell. They were all in stasis, and therefore felt no hunger nor exhaustion, they had no need for food, for water, for sleep, and as such the boredom was all that was left to them. The hanging ropes tied tightly about their necks were heavy, coarse enough to scratch their necks raw with every breath and motion.

In the time of his imprisonment Percy had probably recited the tale of Rikki Tikki Tavi a thousand times over, trying to keep some of the remaining warmth that had not been stolen by the chill of the dementors’ presence. He hadn’t been able to attend Severus’ funeral, it had taken place after his trial and sentencing, even though Harry had tried to convince the Ministry to release Percy, punishment for his crimes was considered fitting.

His memories had been returned to him before his transport to Azkaban, and he cherished them beyond all measure. More than the promise that Harry had made to him that Severus’ grave would be placed on the Hogwarts grounds.

“Continue, Mister Weasley,” Percy looked over at Lucius’ cell, a few feet away from his own, and wondered if the Ministry worker who had placed them both so close had a morbid sense of humor.

Green eyes drifted closed and Percy focused on the memory of Severus’ low double-bass telling him the story. ““I don't like that,” said Teddy's mother; “he may bite the child.” “He'll do no such thing,” said the father. “Teddy's safer with that little beast than if he had a bloodhound to watch him. If a snake came into the nursery now-” But Teddy's mother wouldn't think of anything so awful.”

“Weasley!” A voice snapped and Percy’s eyes opened as he stared up at the Auror standing before him. “Auror Savage, I’m here to retrieve you. Your appeal went through, you’re being released.”

Percy blinked slowly, uncomprehending of the man’s words. “Appeal?”

“That Harry Potter must be a great friend, he got you a hell of a defense.”

“He’s not a friend,” Percy whispered as he stood, following Auror Savage out of the cell.

“Not a friend, eh?” The man peered down at Percy, eyes narrowed. “You’re getting out on his good graces, aren’t you going to go thank him?”

“I’d thank him more if he let me die in the Shrieking Shack,” Percy whispered, refusing to look higher than the man’s shirt collar. He was broad and muscular and could easily overpower Percy. His wand was holstered at his hip and Percy wondered if attacking the man would make him draw the wand, kill him in self defense, end this miserable existence once and for all.

“You’re a pretty thing, you know?” Savage asked as he gripped Percy’s chin, tilting his head up so that he could peer through Percy’s dirty, cracked glasses at his green eyes. “Clean you up a bit, wouldn’t mind bringing you home with me.”

“I’m not a stray cat,” Percy whispered, avoiding the man’s inspecting gaze, letting his lips pull into a sneer when a thick thumb jabbed between his teeth to inspect his mouth.

“Heard lots of things about you,” The man growled lowly. “Rita Skeeter wrote a whole section about you in her biography of Snape.”

“She works fast,” Percy didn’t allow his heart to skip at the thought of seeing a photograph of Severus on that book cover, he didn’t allow himself that hope.

“Come on then, we have a portkey back to the Ministry, get you processed out,” Savage shook Percy’s face before shoving him away, striding quickly down the hallway with Percy following slowly behind.

He was portkeyed to the Ministry in his ragged prisoner’s garb, marched through the halls where he once served as assistant to the Minister of Magic. He stood before Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mafalda Hopkirk, the latter of which giving him a pitying look that made his head hang further in shame. He didn’t want to suffer her gaze, he didn’t want to be here now.

“Percival Ignatius Weasley,” Shacklebolt spoke clearly, staring down at Percy sternly. “Your appeal has been noted and you have found by the Wizengamot to have committed several counts of criminal action under duress and threat of violence. Taking into account your involvement with Severus Snape and his own memories, you will be released with your sentence being time served in Azkaban.”

It was… Strange. He had never considered that he’d be released from Azkaban at all, much less what felt like so soon after his initial sentencing. Clearing his throat softly, Percy spoke up for the first time since he entered the Ministry.

“How long was I in there?”

“Eighteen months,” Shacklebolt said, trying to be gentle even as he stared at Percy. “Mafalda will process you out, but you just need to sign here.” Percy’s finger was pricked with a wand tip and when he pressed his finger to the document his blood coiled into his signature on the surface. “Mafalda, transfigure him some appropriate clothing while you sort out the remains of the estate.”

Percy frowned, looking up at Mafalda quietly. “Estate?”

The woman gave him a pitying look. “Come with me, Percy, we’ll get you some tea, some food, and everything will be sorted.”

He wasn’t sure how long they walked, but Auror Savage followed the entire way, a looming shadow in a brown trench coat that watched Percy as if he wasn’t some pathetic, unarmed prisoner, still weighed down by the hanging rope about his neck. Mafalda’s office was decorated in tasteful creams, with splashes of Ministry purple in the carpet, wall art, and a rather lovely looking couch that was set before Mafalda’s desk. When Percy stepped in, Savage followed, standing beside the door as if he was guarding it from Percy’s escape.

“Now we have some paperwork to do, and once we fill this out you’ll be released from your bonds and then you’ll be taken to 14 Spinner’s End. Your previous belongings have been kept there due to the fact that the residence was willed to you.” Mafalda explained as gently as she could while she waved her wand and produced tea, biscuits, and a sandwich for Percy.

Percy frowned as he stared at the food, then looked at Mafalda. “Willed?”

“Ah, yes, the will,” Mafalda dug through her desk and produced a purple file, opening it to reveal a document that read Last Will and Testament. “This is the Last Will and Testament of Severus Snape, in it he leaves everything, Spinner’s End and all of its contents, to you. He also left you many of his possessions from Hogwarts. Regrettably all of his potions and ingredients were left to the school, but he left you quite a few notebooks specifically in this document.”

“The house?” Percy whispered, his heart aching as he stared at his old colleague. “H-he left me… Spinner’s End?”

“Yes,” Mafalda didn’t seem to know what to say and Percy felt for her, even as his own world collapsed in on itself. The wave of devastation washed through him and Percy covered his face as he tried to contain his soft sobs of anguish. “It’s alright, love, it’s alright.” Mafalda came around the desk, sitting beside Percy as she rubbed at his shoulders, drawing his trembling form against her. “Shh… It’s alright, it’ll all be alright in the end.” She lifted his head and smiled, wiping at the tears on his face. “If it’s not alright, then it’s not the end.”

Percy sniffled, wiping at his eyes as he accepted a tissue from Mafalda, wiping at his nose and eyes as he breathed raggedly. “Where was he buried?”

“With all Hogwarts Headmasters, on the grounds.” Mafalda smiled and Percy was quietly grateful that she had been the one assigned to his case. “Now, may I have your left hand?”

Percy felt the tingle of magic as Mafalda pricked the finger of his left hand before guiding him to press to the parchment on her desk. “Here.” She flicked to another piece of paper. “And here… Here… And this one too… Three on this page, I apologize.”

When they finally made it to the final page Percy touched his finger to the bottom line and his signatures sprawled across the page instinctively. There was a tingle, and then a rush and Percy gasped as he felt suddenly dizzy with the feeling of his own magic coursing through him. The hanging rope tied tightly about his neck fell limply to the ground, like a dead snake suddenly falling from his shoulders.

“Are you alright?” Mafalda asked, pouring him a cup of tea from the set and insistently holding the cup out to him. “Peppermint tea helps, I’ve been told.”

“Thank you,” Percy whispered weakly, accepting the cup. He sipped at the hot liquid, shivering as he felt his magic coursing through his veins with no channel to flow from.

“Now, Percy,” Mafalda looked apologetically at the younger man, her hand resting upon his knee. “Your wand was, regrettably, a stolen one and as such was returned to the rightful owner after your trial and sentencing. The Ministry has given you an allowance for acquiring a new one and that allowance comes to two galleons.” She placed the round coins before Percy on the desk, beside the sandwich he had yet to touch. He wouldn’t take them. He didn’t need a wand where he was going.

“Thank you, Mafalda, you’ve been…” He didn’t have the words for what she had been to him through this waking nightmare. Understanding, kind, generous.

“I believe that you kept an eye out for me while you worked here, Percy,” Mafalda whispered, smiling at him. “At great personal risk. Being the one to maintain your case, to do this… It’s the least I could do.”

Percy nodded, feeling tears in his eyes. “Thank you… For… For helping. For everything. For… For believing the best of me.”

The woman stood, stepping around her desk to give Percy a tight hug. “You were always such a good boy, Percy, and I’m only sorry that I had to wait for so long to tell you that.” Mafalda pulled back, adjusting her robes before she looked over Percy’s shoulder at Auror Savage. “Now. Auror Savage will floo with you to Spinner’s End, unless there is something else?”

A shake of his head and Percy placed the barely touched cup of peppermint tea down. “Thank you, Mafalda,” Percy smiled and left, following Auror Savage through the Ministry hallways to the floos.

When they arrived in Spinner’s End Percy was hit with a wave of scent and how familiar it all was, preserved in time. He could smell books, the faint smell of the moly plant that Severus kept in the windowsill, chewing the stems and leaves and flowers. He looked around the sitting room and let out a shuddering breath as he moved up the stairs to the bedroom.

Everything was exactly as it had been. Nothing was out of place, even the bedsheets were made with hospital corners the way Severus liked.

“Was expecting someone to be waiting for you,” Savage said casually, drawing Percy’s attention to the way the man loomed in the doorway. “Your family, Potter, someone.”

“The only person who would care is dead,” Percy whispered, watching the way Savage strode around the room, lifting up the last book that Severus had been reading in bed. “You can leave.” He spoke more sharply as he grasped the book and placed it perfectly back down, staring at Severus’ pillow, adjusting it just so before he smoothed the edge of the blanket of any imaginary wrinkles.

“You want some company?” The man asked, and Percy knew a non-request when he heard it.

Savage was tall and broad and muscular, with a square face and hooded eyes, so unlike Severus, equally dissimilar to Lucius. But Percy could pretend. He was good at that.

“Don’t kiss me,” He whispered, staring up at the Auror. Savage’s grin broadened as he leaned forward, his greedy hands groping and dragging at Percy until the slimmer man struggled away. Before Savage could protest Percy grasped at the man’s hand and dragged him to the bathroom. He was dressed in rags and covered in eighteen months worth of filth and he didn’t want Savage to be here longer than necessary. “Come into the shower.”

It was cramped, more cramped than it had been with Severus, but Savage didn’t seem to care as he grasped Percy’s slick hips, feeling him up as Percy scrubbed at his red curls. There was nothing arousing to Percy, but he closed his eyes and folded his arms against the tile, resting his forehead on a wrist, and waited.

The hurt was the first thing that struck Percy, but it was a familiar hurt, grounding even as it burned and made him gasp and choke on his breaths. Lucius had never been gentle with him and as Percy grunted and pressed his arms to the chill of the tiled wall he tried to relax, to allow Savage whatever he wanted. Percy kept his eyes closed, let himself go limp in the man’s demanding, controlling grip, and thought of Severus.

Severus who had always been so careful with him, but sometimes, so rarely that Percy treasured it, lost himself to passion. Severus who looked at Percy as if he was the man’s sole purpose for living, for drawing another breath. Severus with his dark eyes and dark hair and severe features but who kissed Percy as if his mouth held the last antidote to a poison that was killing the man from the inside out.

“Severus,” Percy sobbed into his arms, his shoulders heaving as he felt hot tears leak from his eyes.

Savage groaned and shoved Percy’s head further against the tile, grunting as he came, spilling inside Percy before he pulled back. Percy’s legs gave out and he slumped onto the floor of the shower.

“Get out.”

“With pleasure.” Savage sneered, and when he stepped out of the shower Percy waited until he had heard the man dress, then the pop of apparition, before he allowed himself to curl up in the bottom of the shower, hot water still pounding upon his back as he let out a ragged sob.

When the water went cold Percy gathered himself and straightened, climbing out of the shower. He stared at the towels for a long moment, dripping wet and shivering in the draft of the house before he finally grabbed a clean one from the cabinet and dried off, moving to the bedroom. He found some of his clothes in the dresser still, folded neatly, and donned the soft, worn fabric of his sleep shirt and underwear. He stared at his reflection in the mirror mounted behind the dresser and thought of the strange mirror he had seen in his fifth year, how it had shown Severus standing beside him, and he quietly wished, with every fiber of his being, to see the man’s face one last time, to hear his voice saying sweet nothings, to feel his cool, calloused fingers on his cheeks.

As if drawn by an invisible force, Percy turned from the mirror and opened the closet doors. There, hanging within on a few stray hangers, were Severus’ black robes, embroidered with protective spells, the cloth thick and durable, protective against the elements and damage. Gathering one hanger gently, tenderly, Percy laid it out upon Severus’ half of the bed, resting the shoulders of his robes over the pillow that still bore the smell of Severus’ hair. It was silly, and he knew it was, but he didn’t resist pressing his face to the worn, warm wool, to the scent of potions material and fire and ash and the man’s skin that had somehow been perfectly preserved under the stasis charm placed on the house.

Tears rolled down Percy’s cheeks and he sniffled and sobbed softly into the fabric, clutching at it and wishing beyond all hope that this pain would pass.

After a moment he began to speak, softly, his voice wavering with emotion. “If Rikki-tikki had only known, he was doing a much more dangerous thing that fighting Nag, for Karait is so small, and can turn so quickly, that unless Rikki bit him close to the back of the head, he would get the return-stroke in his eye or lip.”

The door to 14 Spinner’s End had five locks on it. Two magical, three muggle. When Percy peered through the peep hole at the earnest face of Harry Potter standing on his doorstep he sighed and undid all of them, letting the door swing open just enough for Potter to enter.

“Sorry I didn’t come by sooner,” Harry whispered as he looked at Percy. “I wasn’t informed of when you were released.”

“It’s fine,” Percy whispered. “Tea?”

He still had Bathilda’s tea set and he made tea the muggle way, boiling a kettle on the stove.

“Your wand wasn’t returned to you?”

“My wand was a stolen wand,” Percy sighed as he stood in the piss yellow kitchen, trying not to look at Harry.

“You weren’t given an allowance.”

“I didn’t take it,” He shrugged and scooped three spoonfuls of tea into the pot. One for Percy, one for Harry, one for the pot.

“Why not?”

“What business is it of yours?” Percy scowled at Harry as the kettle began to whistle. He poured the boiling water into the pot and let the tea steep. “I’m alive, you can clear your conscience and I’ll stay out of your hair.”

“I don’t want you to be miserable and alone,” Harry whispered and Percy glared at him quietly, looking away. “Don’t shut me out, Percy, I understand what you’re-”

“You understand what I’m going through?” Percy laughed as he poured each of them a cup. “The Great and Beloved Harry Potter understands what I’m going through? He understands that I’ve lost the only person who gave a single fuck about me, but it’s alright because what?” Percy glared at Harry. “My family is so loving and understanding? My family hates me. I’m a blight on the Weasley name. I have no friends, all of my friends from school likely hate me. My work colleagues sentenced me to a decade in Azkaban and then only changed their minds because of you. The Death Eaters? I’d rather die than call them my friends.”

Harry stared at him and Percy could see the pity in his eyes. “Percy-”

“You know why I didn’t get another wand?” Percy whispered. “Because it’s useless. Because I failed the only man I’ve ever loved.” He choked on the last word, placing the teacup down and shaking as he stared at it. “I placed a blood spell on him and it failed.”

Silence, and then Harry whispered softly, “What?”

Percy stood, grabbing the diary where he had made notes in the quiet of Malfoy Manor’s library, pouring over dark and ancient texts. “A spell of blood protection.” Percy choked out, showing the diagram he had drawn of Severus’ chest, of the lines and runes he would need to draw to place him under the protection of Percy’s blood, of family ties. “I cast it on Ostara, in the eleventh hour, using my blood, invoking the name of my oldest ancestor, and it failed.” His shoulders hunched as he clutched at the pages of the diary. “I failed him.”

The only sound in the room was Percy’s ragged breathing, trying to contain his sobs, and then Harry spoke. “I’m sorry, Percy. I didn’t know.” Percy was quietly grateful that Harry didn’t reach out to him, trying to touch him. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“Just leave me alone, Potter,” Percy whispered, looking up at Harry with reddened eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Just leave me here.”

Dear Mister Weasley

I am writing to request your assistance in a matter of great importance and controversy within the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Despite his rather sudden and tumultuous tenure as Headmaster it has finally been agreed by the Board and Staff of Hogwarts that a portrait is to be made a hung of one Severus Snape. The unfortunate part of this undertaking is that, regrettably, very few have been substantially close to the late Headmaster Snape to give an adequate rendering of his character and personality to the artist. I wonder if you might be willing to speak to the artist on the subject of Headmaster Snape in order for his character to be given the justice it deserves.

I await your response,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Dear Minerva

I will sit for the artist and speak on Severus’ character. I only ask that I be given a moment alone with the portrait after it has been hung.

Kind regards,
Percival Weasley

“Mister Weasley?” The artist was a tall, broad-shouldered woman with skin the color of ebony, her silver hair shaved close to her head and her lips painted a bright, vibrant red. “I’m Antipode Farah, the artist commissioned by Professor McGonagall?”

Percy opened the door to Spinner’s End more fully, stepping aside silently as the woman swept in, charming her cloak to stand on its own beside the door. “Welcome to Cokeworth, Miss Farah.” Percy gestured to the one chair in the sitting room, Severus’ chair, and folded his arms over his chest, nervous and self-conscious. “Tea?”

“Whiskey if you’d like, you look like you need it.” She set up her canvas, her paints and brushes, everything floating around her idly, waiting to be of service.

Percy poured them each a finger of Severus’ firewhiskey, adjusting the small glass bottles shaped like rats and bats and cats, emptied of their liquor but still kept out of sentimentality. He looked at the canvas and frowned. There was barely a sketch, blotchy swathes of paint over a faint pencil outline.

“I was under the impression you’d spoken to Severus’ colleagues? To Harry Potter?”

“They didn’t know him very well,” Antipode said as she began to mix paints. “There’s an art to magical portraits, it’s not necessarily my magic that makes them move, but the story of the subject that gives them life. Oh, if I paint a rhinoceros and pour everything that I know about a rhinoceros into that painting then I’ll get a very believable beast, but it’s not the same with people. To understand a person, to pour everything I know about them into a painting, I have to speak to people who knew the subject, inside and out.” She smiled at Percy, a close-lipped expression with a curious gleam in her eye. “I get the feeling that Severus Snape was a private man, even to his colleagues and certainly to Mister Potter.”

Percy looked down at his glass and took a silent sip, leaning against the shelf of books. “He was a private man. He… He was so scared of letting people in.” Percy ran his thumb over the edge of the glass idly. “But we were in a war and we were… We were spies, we couldn’t allow ourselves too many moments of weakness.” He cleared his throat and looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry, that’s probably not helpful.”

Antipode’s smile turned gentle, “Go on, just tell me about him, everything you can think of.”

“This house was his, you know,” Percy gestured around them. “He grew up here, in Cokeworth, he hated it, hated the people, but he bought this house to save his parents from becoming destitute. I don’t know where they are now, he never spoke of them, but he… He stayed here.” Percy looked at the spines of books, pressing his hand to one, a copy of The Jungle Books that was bound in green cloth and had been read endlessly by the man. “He loved Hogwarts, it was the place where he last had any good memories and he stayed there to help Dumbledore’s efforts in the Wars.”

“Go on, Mister Weasley.”

It was dark by the time Antipode finished the portrait. Percy had spoken for hours, at one point continuing as he made cottage pie in the kitchen, even through serving slices for himself and Antipode. He spoke of Severus’ love of cats, of his patronus and Percy’s, how the man had called him a mongoose once and Percy had realized only too late what it meant for the man’s patronus to take that form while Percy’s took the form of a bat. He told Antipode of the mirror he had found in the castle once, and how he had heard Severus’ voice whispering about how he didn’t deserve whatever his heart’s desire had been, how he had never asked the man what he had seen, for fear of the answer.

He told her about arguments they had, about how Severus had always tried to protect Percy by keeping him in the dark, and then had given him the truth, with all the horror it entailed. He told her about Severus’ love of teaching and forming young minds, even if he hated children with a passion, how every textbook he owned was covered in so much red ink it looked as if he had opened an artery over the pages.

Late into the night, when the air was still, Percy spoke about how Severus had kissed him as if he never wanted to kiss another. How he had felt so safe cradled in the man’s arms, even when their every move could bring them devastation. He whispered, barely breathing, about Severus’ love for Albus Dumbledore, how killing the man had killed something in Severus’ own soul.

“It’s almost done,” Antipode finally said, smiling at Percy. “It’ll be ready for Hogwarts next week, if you want to go see it?”

Percy looked at the still portrait, his eyes scanning over his lover’s face. He reached out hesitantly, tracing his fingers just over the surface of the painting, careful not to touch the drying paint. “His eyes are perfect.”

Antipode smiled and cast a stasis charm on the painting, packing it and her supplies up. “I’ll write you when it’s installed at Hogwarts, Minerva said you wanted to see the final results?”

“Thank you.” Percy gave a weak smile, the first of the entire day, and led Antipode out the door.

The painting was perfect, placed beside Albus Dumbledore’s own snoozing portrait. Severus held a book in his hand and Percy felt tears in his eyes as those dark eyes looked up at him. Percy stood, dressed all in black, among the faculty of Hogwarts as Antipode hung the portrait with a permanent sticking charm. The man in the painting glared at all of them, but didn’t say anything as they greeted him, smiling and speaking of how grateful they were for his brave deeds and works.

Percy said nothing while the others were there, tears brimming in his eyes. Minerva must have seen one of them rolling down his cheek, because in a moment she ushered the others out of the office, with the excuse that there were other matters to discuss before dinner and Percy could be left alone for a moment with the portrait.

The door clicked shut, and a shuddering breath he had been holding passed his lips. “Hello, Severus,” He whispered, choking on the greeting.

“Percy,” The man breathed, and Percy felt a stab of agony in his chest as the man stood from his seat in the portrait and came closer to the frame, as if he could reach through and touch Percy. He held up his hand and pale, shaking fingers pressed to the canvas, tracing Severus’ face, his hair, his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

“You look so real,” Percy whimpered, feeling tears running down his face. He was grateful that Minerva had left him alone in the Headmistress’ office, he couldn’t stand her seeing him so weak. “You look perfect.”

“You provided Antipode with this image of me,” Severus smiled, staring at Percy. “Your stories, your love, it gave me life.”

He couldn’t handle it anymore, staring at Severus’ face, at the man’s smile, Percy sank to his knees, sobbing softly. “I can’t do this anymore, Severus.” He shook with the force of his cries, of his pain. “I can’t, I thought that I was strong, but I can’t, not without you, I never wanted to live without you.” Green eyes looked up at Severus. “How could you do this after Lily died? How could you move on?”

Silence, the portrait staring down at him, and the man whispered, softly, barely audible over Percy’s own cries. “I didn’t. Not until I met you.”

Percy’s head met stone and he sobbed into the smooth, worn floor, his nails dug into his scalp, trying to draw himself out of his mourning. “Severus, Severus, please, I can’t - I can’t, I’m not that strong.”

“You should live, Percy, I gladly gave my life so that you could live.”

Percy shook his head, choking on his breath as he looked up at the portrait, his tears streaming down his face as he pushed his fingers beneath his glasses to wipe the dampness away. “I can’t, not without you.”

There was a knock on the door and Percy jumped, scrubbing at his face before he sniffled and straightened, stumbling to his feet just as the door opened. Minerva stood, looking at Percy with a pitying gaze. “Mister Weasley?” She called out gently, taking in his wrecked appearance. “Would you like to stay for the Imbolc Feast? There is a seat for you at the staff table.”

He didn’t think he could eat, but he didn’t want to leave the castle grounds, not yet. “Of course, Minerva.” He whispered weakly. “But I really must go after the Feast.”

Dinner was beautiful, the house elves had really outdone themselves. Winky had popped by, smiling up at Percy and asking him how he was getting on, if he had seen “Master Bartimeus Crouch Junior” while in Azkaban and how he was getting on. Percy didn’t have the heart to tell her that Barty Crouch Junior had been given the Dementor’s Kiss long before Percy had arrived at the prison.

“He was a few cells away from me, Winky, but at last check he was still hurling invective at every Auror that came to the prison.” Percy lied gently, smiling at the house elf as she chattered on about how much she loved her Master and hoped he’d come to find her again one day and take her away from Hogwarts. “I’m sure he will,” Percy gave her a soft smile, reaching out to give one of her great bat-like ears a gentle stroke. “He loves you very much.”

“It seems cruel to tell her such things, Percy,” Minerva chided gently, and Percy sipped on some wine, pushing his barely-eaten food around his plate with a fork. “What is the use of it?”

“I’m sparing her heartbreak,” Percy whispered as he took a bite of roast beef, but it tasted like nothing on his tongue. “She loves him, adores him, even though he did horrible things, even though he was a criminal.” He could tell some of the other staff members were listening, straining to overhear his quiet words, horrible gossips that they were. “He would never be released anyway, why not give her hope that he might come for her, like a knight in shining armor?”

Minerva was quiet in the chatter of students in the Great Hall, and Percy knew that rumors would spread endlessly through the night about him. He had read Rita Skeeter’s garbage about Severus, everyone knew his face now.

“You’re very kind, Percival,” She whispered, an attempt at condolence.

“I am not,” Percy shrugged. “I merely told her what I wished someone had told me when I woke in St. Mungo’s.” He stood, his chair scraping behind him, and cleared his throat. “I apologize, I really must be getting back to Spinner’s End.”

“So soon?” Minerva asked, her brows furrowed.

“Unfortunately,” Percy smiled. “I’ll leave through your office, say one last goodbye to Severus?”

Minerva’s eyes softened and she nodded. “Of course, Percy, as long of a goodbye as you’d like.”

Percy gave her cheek a kiss farewell, told her to give his regards to Molly and Arthur, and strode out of the Great Hall at a brisk pace.

He had made it only past the doors when a young first year came racing up to him, her eyes wide as she clutched at her cloak, fluttering behind her like little bat wings. “Mister Weasley!” She shouted, and Percy frowned, turning to look at her. “Mister Weasley, you don’t know me, I’m Prudence Burbage.”

A stab of pain shot through his chest and Percy gave a weak smile to her. “Prudence, your mother was one of my favourite professors.”

“Dad said she was a great woman, even if he didn’t know half of the witchy stuff,” The girl’s blonde hair was frizzy and coiled tightly about her hair and she had a gap-toothed smile that was all charm. She wore Hufflepuff robes and Percy couldn’t help but think that Charity Burbage would be proud of her. “I just… I wanted to ask you some things, Mister Weasley, if that’s alright?”

“Hmm,” Percy folded his hands before his stomach and nodded, slowing his pace to accommodate the girl’s shorter strides. “What questions do you have, Prudence?”

“I’ve read Rita Skeeter’s book about Headmaster Snape,” The girl said. “And she wrote a lot of nasty things about you.”

“Rita Skeeter writes many nasty things about many people,” Percy agreed. “Regardless of the truth of them.”

“But he was a hero, and so were you, but… Why didn’t you tell anyone what side you were on?” The girl looked up at him and her eyes were so blue, just like her mother’s, and so curious. “Why didn’t you tell Headmaster Dumbledore or Harry Potter that you were helping them?”

Percy smiled as they stood just at the entrance to the great courtyard of the castle, looking down at the girl. “That is a very astute question, Prudence, are you sure you aren’t a Slytherin?”

Prudence smiled toothily. “Almost was, told the hat to pick something else.”

“As you should when you are confronted with the Sorting Hat’s choice,” Percy led the girl into the courtyard, and then to the Sabbat henge that stood overlooking Hagrid’s hut and the side of the mountain. “Why do you think I didn’t tell anyone?”

“I think…” Prudence stepped carefully over some runes carved into the stone ground, observing them slowly as she chewed over the question. “I think that you were scared of what might happen to the people you cared about if Vol-Voldemort found out. I think that you did the same thing that Mum did with Dad and I and lied, told people that we weren’t her family, so that we’d be safe.”

“Very good,” Percy smiled softly as he looked at the girl. “If anyone knew my true allegiance they’d tell Voldemort, and Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to protect my family, he could barely protect Harry Potter or himself in the end. I placed my faith in Headmaster Snape, and he never failed me, not once.” After a moment he knelt down before Prudence, staring at her big blue eyes. “Your mother would be so proud of you, Prudence, and regardless of what she told people, you are her daughter, through and through.”

Thin, short arms wrapped around his shoulders and Percy grunted at the impact of the small body. He returned the hug gently, only releasing the girl when she started to pull back. “You look very sad, Mister Weasley.” She whispered.

“I am a very sad person, Prudence,” Percy felt tears in his eyes. “I’m just going to say goodbye to Headmaster Snape, you should go off to bed.”

“Alright,” The girl looked at him, uncertain and worried. “Goodbye, Mister Weasley.”

“Goodbye, Prudence Burbage.”

She left, and Percy stood, tilting his head to the sky as he felt snow starting to drift down, catching on his eyelashes as the January chill bit through his robes. He marched down the snowy mountainside and around Hagrid’s cottage, into the Forbidden Forest.

Thestrals resided near graveyards, not for any malicious reasons, merely because those who could see them would often visit the beloved dead and therefore would offer the Thestrals more company. Percy followed one with her colt until they came upon the Hogwarts graveyard. Many professors and headmasters had asked to be laid to rest on the grounds. Percy knew for a fact that Professor Binns had been buried here, among the numerous monuments, due to one particular detention in his first year where he had to help Filch clean the graves for their weekly seeing to.

Clearly the man had not been there for the week, as Severus’ grave had a dripping red stain of “traitor” written on it. There was also the Dark Mark scrawled clumsily alongside a few less legible words. Percy knelt, taking his sleeve, and scrubbed at the paint, the friction smearing it and then the snow that Percy rubbed across the stone washing it away.

It was a simple gravesite, plain white marble, with Severus’ name, date of birth and death, and the dates of his tenure at Hogwarts. No one had known what to write as an epitaph, it seemed. He lit a cigarette and stood over the grave, smoking down the muggle menthol cigarette slowly, savoring it, before he crushed the filter beneath his shoe into the snow and moved closer to the grave.

Percy sat beside the grave, his cheek resting upon cold marble and let out a shuddering breath before he started to tell the tale of Rikki Tikki Tavi, reciting it by heart. It was dark, and cold, and the snow seemed to glow, even without the moonlight. An inch piled up around Percy, then another, his fingers and toes growing cold, and then feeling strangely warm as his teeth chattered and he continued to tell the story despite his eyes growing heavy and his breaths labored as his heart struggled to keep beating.

“Rikki-tikki put his paws one on each side of the egg… The egg… And his eyes were blood-red. “What price for a snake's egg? For a… young cobra? For a young king-cobra? For the last… the very last of the brood? The ants are eating… all the others down by the melon-bed.”…” Percy let out a shuddering breath that barely formed a mist around his face as he stared down at Severus’ grave. “Nagaina spun clear round… forgetting everything for… for the sake of the one egg… And… and Rikki-tikki…”

“Headmistress McGonagall?” The woman looked up at Flich’s gruff voice, the man holding Mrs. Norris in his arms, stroking her chin in a way that she had long learned was as much a comfort to him as it was to the cat.

“What is it, Argus?”

“There’s been an incident,” Filch cleared his throat. “Some Gryffindor Second years went to the graveyard in the Forbidden Forest, last night and they found something quite disturbing.”

“What was it?” Minerva straightened, placing her quill down as she stood and bustled around the edge of the great desk in her office.

Filch glanced up at the portraits, then at Minerva. “You best come see for yourself, ma’am.”

Minerva’s lips pinched tightly and she grasped the caretaker’s arm, abusing the right of the Headmistress to apparate as she needed in the castle’s grounds. When they stood in the graveyard her eyes scanned the area quickly, before they landed on what had so disturbed the second years and Argus Filch.

The unmistakable face of Percy Weasley rested, frozen and covered in frost, entirely lifeless, against the headstone of Severus Snape. His arm was encircled around the headstone, his eyes wide open as they stared into a middle distance, his lips parted, and his legs sprawled out beside the grave. If Minerva hadn’t known better she’d have thought he was part of the monument to the errant Headmaster he was so pale and still.

“Kemp’s Curse, Argus, how long has he been here?” She asked softly, kneeling beside the poor boy’s body. Even his hair was frozen stiff and when Minerva grasped at his cloak it crunched with frost in her grip.

“That level of frost, he’s been here for days,” Filch cleared his throat. “I wager he never left the grounds after the Imbolc Feast.”

Minerva hadn’t asked the portrait of Severus about Percy’s goodbye, she had assumed he’d be too private to tell her any details of his conversation with the young man. She wished she had, now that she stared at the body that had clearly frozen to death on the grounds. “Did you find anything on him?”

“Didn’t want to disturb him until you’d given the order,” Filch let Mrs. Norris jump from his arms, the cat solemnly sitting beside him as he knelt on crackling knees and began to go through Percy’s pockets. “No wand.”

“No… No wand?” Minerva stared down at Percy with a pained look. Filch pulled a silver cigarette case with the Malfoy crest engraved into it from the boy’s pockets, and when Minerva opened it there was one missing. “The poor boy.”

“Found a note,” Argus held it up to Minerva. It was sealed with plain wax and when Minerva opened it her heart broke even more for the boy.

Minerva,

Please inform Molly and Arthur that they will not have to worry about me coming around anymore. I know they’ve been dreading it since my release. My estate has been left to Harry Potter, there is proper legal documentation filed with the Cokeworth local attorneys Baxter Baker and Bruce. Apologize to Argus Filch for me, I know he will be the one to find me.

Tell Severus that I wasn’t strong enough and that I’m sorry, but this is really for the best. Neither of us expected to survive the war anyway.

Kind regards,
Percival Weasley