A/N: This story is set in the Love and Levity universe, and runs parallel to The Prodigal, for the most part. It could be read on its own, but If you haven't read The Prodigal, be forewarned. The Weasley family has taken some devastating losses, and beloved characters have died.

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The first time that Percy Weasley held me was just moments after Fred died.

I was in shock. It didn't seem possible that someone so vivid, so dynamic, so spirited as Fred could be that lifeless body on the ground. I couldn't look at him for long, couldn't touch him or cling to him like everyone else seemed to be doing, so maybe people thought I didn't care that much, or that I wasn't taking it very hard. The entire family seemed to form a circle around George, because his pain was more easily discernable. He looked like a volcano about to erupt in grief and rage.

George, they all thought, would be the most devastated. George was the one who felt he had been ripped in half. Who was I but the on again/off again girlfriend? I'd never felt so alone in my life.

But Percy…he, like me, was off to the side, away from focus of the throng. He felt alone too. Not only did he feel partially responsible for what happened to Fred, but his relationship with his family was strained, to say the least, and it seemed to many that Fred had been his least favorite brother. Nobody would have considered that Percy was in agony over all the things he'd never been able to say to Fred.

Perhaps he was trying not to think about that, or maybe he was more sensitive than the others were. It could have been that he saw in me a reflection of what he was feeling. Or, he could have just felt guilty. All I know is that I found myself enveloped in surprisingly strong arms and it was really more than I could bear.

I wept then, finally, silently; soaking the collar of his robes, breathing in a mixture of smoke, sweat, and blood, and underneath it all the clean scent of his soap, sharp and woodsy. It helped to focus on those things instead of the fact that none of these people realized that I'd lost my best friend; the man who filled my life with laughter and love, who would infuriate me one moment, then take my breath away with lust the next.

Somehow Percy saw it, though, and he was the one who made sure that I got home—not home to the empty house that Fred and I had shared, but into the arms of my parents, who rose to the occasion for probably the first time in my life.

He came by the next day, too—just to check to on me, letting me know what was happening with Rookwood's arrest, giving me what few details he'd gleaned about Voldemort's demise, and finally asking me if I had any input to offer about Fred's funeral arrangements.

The next morning, he came by again, asking if I'd heard anything from George, who'd apparently gone missing. I was too depressed to care much at that point.

Over the next few days, others came, too. First Ginny, who was finally confident enough that Harry would survive that she could look around and remember those that weren't lucky enough to keep their boyfriends.

I'd really hoped to see George, too. I thought he'd be one of the only ones who'd know what I lost, but he seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. All owls sent to him returned with their letters still attached.

The following few weeks, it seemed I attended a funeral every day. Fred's was one of the last, having been delayed as long as possible in the hopes that George would make an appearance. They asked me to speak at it, and to this day, I have no idea what I said or how I managed to get through it. I must have done all right, though, because I remember people coming up to me and saying that my words had been beautiful. The Weasleys really came through for me then. I think it required George's absence for them to realize that I was there and hurting. They'd always been more than welcoming to me—far more so than my own parents had been to Fred, so I can't fault them for their initial obliviousness. They had lost so much in such a short time.

Plus, Fred had not been the sort of bloke to announce his feelings for me to a crowd. Well, apart from that first time when he'd called out across the common room to invite me to the Yule Ball. I'd always thought of it as a case of Fred staking his claim on me in as public a place as possible, and it must have worked because from then on everybody I assumed that I was 'Fred Weasley's girl.' It used to irritate me, because I most certainly was not, and I set about to prove it, as much to myself as to anyone else.

Fred was surprisingly patient, though; biding his time and limiting his advances to harmless flirtation and loyal friendship until one day I looked up and realized that I had fallen head-over-heels in love with the git.

Nobody could have imagined how sweet, how loving he could be with me, though he certainly wasn't always the easiest person to live with. Most people don't realize that clowns tend to have a dark side, too, and Fred was no exception. It was at his worst when Molly died, and Fred, still raw from the loss of Charlie, became angry and sullen, apt to fly off into fits of rage and then immediately sinking into melancholy.

Still, it was impossible not to love him, even at his worst. And at his best—damn, when he stopped joking, and those bright, laughing eyes got all dark and intense; when he focused completely on me and how we made each other feel, just—damn.

In the weeks following the funeral, his family came around the house more and more, reaching out to keep that connection to their lost boy. They helped me when I finally decided to move back into the house that Fred and I had shared, and their support (unlike my parents') had no disapproval mixed in. I don't think they could have been any kinder if they'd known that we'd run off and gotten married; they just took into consideration the fact that Fred loved me.

I didn't see any point in telling them, and I really preferred to be known as his girlfriend rather than a 'war widow,' a term that brought up all kinds of images that I felt had nothing to do with me.

I also decided to keep secret the suspicion that was beginning to grow into a certainty, the news that (for a time) was just between Fred's memory and me. Maybe I was selfish, but I knew that the moment I told them, the focus would be off Fred and I and what we were to each other and onto that tiny bit of him that was growing inside me.

Percy was the one who came by the most. I think that his dealings with his family still came with a lot of mixed emotion and he was looking for a viable reason to leave the house of mourning. Of course, it could have been that he was looking out for me in order to assuage his guilt. I tried to make it clear that he was absurd to feel responsible for what happened to Fred. Whatever his reasons, I did appreciate having someone to talk to.

After about a month, I realized that I was going to have to let the Weasleys know about the baby. I'd meant to tell Ginny first, as she was the one I knew the best (outside of George), and I knew that she would be fierce in her support of me. Somehow, though, Percy was the first I told. It just sort of slipped out as we were discussing my job hunt and he was having trouble understanding why I had decided to give up Quidditch.

I don't know what I expected him to say, but the long, uncomfortable silence and the tears in his eyes were a bit of a shock. To his credit, the first words out of his mouth were of a congratulatory nature. However, I also saw concern in his eyes and I think he had a vision of me in a lifetime of struggle as a single mother, scraping by on a pittance. It must have completely slipped his mind that I was living in a house that I owned outright, not to mention the fact that he had seen my parent's upper-middle-class snobbery with his own eyes.

I could see the wheels turning in his mind while he considered my future and I knew deep down that the words that kept running through his brain were 'unwed' or possibly 'bastard.' I wondered for the thousandth time how this uptight, rigid man could be so closely related to Fred. I could have quieted his concerns with a few words, but to me it was the principle of the thing. I was thrilled about the baby. Thrilled and scared and filled with gratitude for what I saw as a blessing from fate, maybe even a consolation prize. I would have felt those exact emotions whether or not Fred and I had had that quiet little ceremony with only George, Lee and Verity as witnesses.

Even though his face was transparent, Percy made all the correct remarks and I had to give him credit for that. I thought it might curtail his visits to me but, if anything, they increased. One day, about two weeks later, he brought his father with him, telling Arthur that I had something to tell him.

My father-in-law had a much more satisfying reaction than Percy did. He sucked in a breath, stepped toward me and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug, coming away with tears in his eyes.

"The best news," he said in a shaky voice. "Oh, thank you, Angelina!"

Of course, that got me bawling as well, and Percy, who stood apart from us, swallowed visibly, the muscles under his hollow cheek clenching spasmodically.

From then on, there was steady stream of Weasleys coming to my house on a regular basis, all of whom seemed determined to feed me, clothe me, and generally not let me lift a finger on my own. Their offers to take me in were frequent and genuine. Tempted as I was, I knew that I needed to be able to stand on my own feet.

Needless to say, they were far more supportive than my own parents, who'd always felt that I could do much better than Fred and now lamented my loss of a Quidditch career.

It was Percy's first proposal of marriage that made me sit down and take a serious look at my work prospects. It came as a bit of a shock—four words coming out of nowhere, preceded by some nervous pacing and a few coughs. I am afraid to say that my first reaction was laughter, which did not go over at all well. I should have known that Percy was incapable of that good of a joke. But, no, he'd actually said it in earnest, and as he spoke of taking care of me and giving the baby its proper last name, I'm afraid he got my back up a bit. I threw out the facts about my marital status, my ability to take care of myself, and my financial situation, which was probably far better than his would ever be.

I felt somewhat guilty about it afterwards, but the pompous look on his face just sent me into a rage. Of course, the fact that my hormones were also raging didn't help the situation. I felt certain that this would finally be the thing to get him out of my life, and found myself surprisingly ambivalent when I thought about it for the next few days.

Right about that time was when he quit the Ministry in a way that would have made Fred and George stand back and applaud, though I didn't find that out until later when Ginny brought me the Quibbler.

All I know is that out of the blue, Percy came by with Lee, Verity, Ron, Hermione, Luna, Bill, and Neville to have a meeting about the joke shop. At first, I hated the idea of reopening it, but Percy's arguments (and Lee's, too) began to make sense after a while, and the vote to start it up again was unanimous.

Amazing, how it got me to get up off my arse and do something productive. I had begun a half-hearted job search, nearly taking an offer from Quality Quidditch Supplies, but the joke shop would be something more than a job to me. It certainly got me to stop brooding.

I used to laugh when I pictured Fred's face if he could have seen Percy behind the counter, selling the very items that they used to torture him with. For me, personally, it was a revelation. I had never known someone so focused, so driven to succeed as Percy, at least outside of professional Quidditch. Oliver had been that way—probably still was. Some of my former team members in the Harpies had been that way, too.

It occurred to me that this sense of responsibility that he had toward me and toward everything connected with Fred was his way of working out his grief. He was the kind of person who felt the need to do something proactive—he couldn't just allow himself to lament what could have been. In that way he resembled Fred (oddly enough.)

I think, perhaps, that it was also a way of working out his lingering guilt about his treatment of his family at the beginning of the war (his mother in particular.) In my opinion, he'd more than made up for all of that by the risks he'd taken—spying in the Ministry under Dolores' very nose, providing valuable information to the order and risking an accusation of treason.

The twins were the last to welcome him back into the family, and yet here he was, protecting and nourishing their dream and trying to take on Fred's family obligations on top of it all. I had to admire him for his good intentions, anyway. I made an effort to banish whatever lingering awkwardness remained from his ill-advised proposal.

Percy started coming by every Sunday afternoon to bring me to dinner at the Burrow, whether I wanted to go or not. He explained that the family wanted to share in my life and the joy of my pregnancy.

Some joy.

I was sick, tired, lumpy, and clumsy.

Percy saw it more than anyone else could. We spent six days a week together at the shop (at least in the beginning) and Sundays at the Burrow. At first, it was overwhelming to have him in my life to such an extent, but after a while, I found it comforting. It was good to have someone fussing over me, making certain that I had plenty to eat and drink and that I took a break now and then. He listened to my complaints with a sympathetic ear, and was there the moment that I felt the baby move for the first time, placing his hand on my abdomen to see if he could feel it, too.

The months went on in this manner with very little variation, and before I knew it, I had less than two months to go before my due date. I was anxious to get the whole thing over with, but growing a little apprehensive about being a mum.

"Are you scared, Angelina?" Percy asked, one evening as we were closing up the shop.

"About what?"

"Childbirth," he replied, going a little red in the ears.

"Oh, yeah, that," I said. "Trying not to worry about it. I reckon people have been doing it since the beginning of time, over and over again, too. So it can't be all that bad."

Percy looked skeptical. "Have you talked to anyone about it?"

"Well, the Healer, of course. I don't have any friends who've done it, except Fleur, and I don't expect to get a realistic picture from her."

Percy laughed and said, in a surprisingly accurate French accent, "Ze most 'orrible, ze most ex-woo-ciating, ze most beautiful…"

I laughed too, thinking that his sense of humor may not have been as obvious as Fred's had been, but it was funny and biting nevertheless. His next words, however, were a more serious.

"I helped Mum, you know, when she had Ginny."

I remember thinking, he can't mean what I think he means. I looked at him quizzically.

He explained, "Ginny came three weeks early. Dad had taken the twins and Bill and Charlie to the Cannons match. I stayed home to help Mum with the baby. About an hour after they left, she started having pains, so she sent me to fetch Errol to get a message to Dad. You see—they had used all the Floo powder to get to the game, and Dad was supposed to pick some up on the way home. Ginny was born before they returned."

"Oh my lord, that must have been traumatizing."

"Not really. I remembered what had happened when Ron was born, and really, there was only so much I could help her with. I fetched things for her, helped clean up the baby, severed the cord and whatnot. She knew what she was doing, and it actually happened fairly quickly."

"So your mum delivered her own baby – with just a six year old to help?"

"Actually, I was closer to seven. And I thought it was all very exciting, and I got almost as much attention for it as the baby got, that first week. For a while, there, I thought I might want to be a Healer."

"Well, you're way ahead of me, then—I've never even held a baby."

"How is that possible?" he asked. "Not even Fabian?"

"Well, Fleur didn't really like people holding him, and the line ahead of me was fairly long."

Percy shook his head in wonder. "I was probably three years old the first time I held a baby. Ron ended up getting passed to me a great deal because the twins were such handfuls. Ron and I were actually really close until Ginny started walking and talking. Then they sort of paired up, and of course the twins were inseparable, and Bill and Charlie were mates, so…I read a lot, actually."

"Oh, Percy…"

"I didn't mean that it was a bad thing, I mean, I never felt left out or anything—I just didn't have a close bond with one in particular. But I also got a lot of praise from Mum, so that made up for any lack of company."

I remember thinking that it was no wonder his mum took his defection so hard and never wanted to give up on him.

He went on, "I suppose the reason I brought all this up is to let you know that if you need someone to help you, or just to be there when the baby comes, and after—well, I'm more qualified to help than most blokes."

"Oh, I don't know," I started.

He didn't let me finish. "The point is—I know Fred would have been there, not to mention my mum—if they could, and I know your parents aren't really supporting this pregnancy. So, I could, well, sort of…take their place. No, not that, actually, I never could take their places, but, sort of stand in…in their absence."

"Oh, Percy, thank you, really, but that's a lot to ask...I mean I really can handle it myself-''

Percy became visibly frustrated. "You see? This is why I wanted to marry you! If I had, then you would never worry about asking for help—you'd just take it. And in spite of what you think, Angelina, it isn't something you can handle by yourself—it's too big a responsibility!"

"There are lots of single mothers out there, Percy, especially now."

"But if you don't have to be—" He stopped, trying to calm down. "I mean, at least let me be there when you have the baby. You really don't want to be alone then."

"I could get Verity to come with me, or Katie, even. I know she would come if I asked."

"But what do they know about babies? I could really help you."

"Percy…I don't want you seeing that. I'd never be able to look you in the face again."

He shook his head in resignation. "Just…please think about it, Angelina. And," he paused again, struggling visibly. "My offer—you know, about marrying you—it still stands."

I really felt like smacking him up the backside of his head at this point. "Stop it, Percy! It's ridiculous! You are not responsible for me. You really need to get rid of this undeserved guilt."

"It's not about guilt," he protested, but at my pointed look, he added, "Not anymore, that is. I like you. I think we get on pretty well, and I could really help you."

"Enough, Percy. Let's not talk about it any more. I like you too, and I know that some day you'll thank me for not taking you up on it—when you find someone you really care about. You deserve that. Both of us do. That's the only reason you should get married."

"But—"

"Shut it—before I get really hacked off, Weasley."

I couldn't believe he actually brought it up again. I mean once was one thing; it was a noble gesture, but really, what kind of idiot wants to throw his life away for some sense of obligation toward his dead brother's wife? Stupid sod thought I needed taking care of. I could've snapped him like a twig, if I'd wanted to.

I expected him to be uncomfortable the next day, but he was the same as ever, just a little quiet. I wondered about his motivations. Maybe it would have been a matter of convenience for him, too. It occurred to me that he might be gay, and looking for a ready-made family as something of a hiding place? I went with that idea for a few weeks, but it fell by the wayside the fifth time I caught him staring at my tits. I couldn't really blame him, I mean—they did seem to nearly double in size one day, and they hadn't been that small to begin with. However, the look he was giving them was not the embarrassed 'can't-look-away-they're-just-so-out-there look that other women and disinterested men gave them. There was definitely something covetous in his gaze.

Some time after that, I caught him staring at my bum, too. You could have knocked me over with a feather (although, strictly speaking, I was so top-heavy and uncoordinated at this point that anything could have knocked me over.)

Maybe he'd been doing it all along and in my grief, I didn't notice. Maybe he was some strange breed of man who got turned on by gestating females. Or maybe he was a virgin, like Fred had always suggested he was, and didn't know how to behave in close proximity to a girl.

Whatever it was, it was startling, somewhat amusing, and just a little bit flattering. It got me thinking past the day when the baby arrived—to a day in the distant future where I looked like my old self and maybe I'd find a bloke to get my pulse racing again.

The trouble was, once I started thinking down that road, I couldn't get my thoughts back to the road I was currently travelling. I did some reading on the subject and was horrified to discover that the hormones that regulate pregnancy have a tendency to make the mother-to-be a lot more interested in the activity that got her into the predicament in the first place. You'd think that nature—having accomplished the propagation of the species—would allow her to leave well enough alone, but no—I was randier than I'd ever been in my life.

It would not have been an issue if the other party to the impending parenthood was nearby to help me out, but since that option was taken away from me, and the idea of going on a date was a little ridiculous in my condition, I was in a bit of a pickle.

So, yeah, if I started looking at 'Percy the Prat' with a little more than platonic interest, it wasn't entirely my fault. I blamed him, too, because his two stupid marriage proposals got me wondering precisely how 'married' he had proposed we be.

It was stupid, really. There was no way I was going to take him up on his offer. But I found myself wondering if he might be up for an offer of a different nature?

I came to my senses soon enough. It seemed wrong to even consider letting someone else inside my body while poor Fred's kid was still in there. Sacrilegious, even. And to do it with Percy, who might be gay, or a virgin—which meant that I would have done it all for something that would last all of three and a half minutes…

I shuddered at the reminiscence of the loss of my own virginity to one of the visiting boys from Beauxbatons, who had bragged of his skill as a lover but had more than earned his subsequent nickname of 'twenty second Thierry'.

Oliver had been much better, though, when we ran into each other at the Quidditch semi-finals the year that I played for (or rather, sat for) the Harpies. He was sweet, sincere, and managed to teach me quite a lot in those weeks we had together, similar to the way he had taught me as my team captain. It was really flattering to have gotten his focus off the game, at least for several hours each night. Plus, we were both frustrated at our teams for keeping us on the bench, so it was a great way to relieve that.

It couldn't have lasted, not with both of us wanting to play professionally. I think I also knew at that point that I was beginning to fall for Fred. In all honesty, I think that Oliver was something like retaliation for what I'd heard about Fred and the girl at the Potions supply shop next door. That didn't mean that I went straight to Fred's arms after that—there was an Auror who I'd met at a party one night—who'd had that dark and dangerous look about him and did marvelous things with his hands.

So, suffice to say, I did quite a lot of thinking about those sorts of things around that time, and started looking at Percy far more speculatively than I should have. I did my best to burn up sexual energy in working at the shop and preparing the house for the baby.

I did give some consideration to Percy's offer to be with me at the birth of the baby, but instead got Verity's promise that she would sit by me, holding my hand, mopping up my brow and generally cheering me on. After that, you would never see her without one book or another about childbirth, and Lee began to look a little nervous.

Percy actually seemed disappointed when I told him, and I tried to soften the blow by saying that I hoped he would be there in the waiting room as my 'Weasley family representative,' just not in the actual delivery room.

Around this time we heard from Ginny that George had finally made a reappearance, but was keeping himself holed up at the Burrow, not wanting to see anybody. I had mixed feelings. Of course, I had really missed him—he had always been like a brother to me. But with him came the twin issue. Looking at him, talking to him, would be painful, not only because I knew what kind of pain he was going through, but for the obvious reason that I would be looking at Fred's face, hearing Fred's voice. I didn't even know if he'd heard about the baby. How was he going to react?

I'm afraid I lost patience with him a bit. He seemed content to hide away in the Burrow, leaving the rest of us to deal with reality. Maybe it was a little harsh to drag him off to the shop, making him face it and Percy when he so desperately wanted to avoid them both. I'm told he came through in the end; giving Percy his fair share of the business that he had earned by all his hard work.

Before long, life had settled into a routine again, and the Weasleys seemed to pull even closer together, what with Ginny's wedding, followed closely by George's to Luna. I could have sworn I felt Fred at both of them, standing beside me, covering my belly with his hands. I danced with George on both occasions, and never could get past the lump I felt in my throat as he held me, so similar to Fred, but so different. Percy always watched me closely as I danced with George and I wondered what he was thinking. Percy was so different than Fred. Fred had always been so open—at least to me—though it could have been that I knew him so well that I always knew what he was thinking.

All of the Weasley men danced with me. I was never alone—if I was too tired to dance, someone sat by me, fetching me drinks.

My dances with Percy were a revelation. He was more controlled than Fred had been, more apt to stick to the traditional steps, but he also guided me with a great deal of confidence, into some semblance of grace (which was really remarkable in my condition.) There was surprising warmth in the hand placed at the small of my back, and when I felt his breath against my ear, warm and smelling of peppermint, I found myself flushed and breathless, which I naturally chose to dismiss as a symptom of pregnancy.

The night after George's wedding, when Percy dropped me off at the door, he noticed the tears in my eyes and seemed to understand how the night had affected me. He held me again, something he hadn't done since the day that Fred died and as he left, he kissed me on the forehead, giving me a strange look as he Apparated away.

The days of my gestation began to draw to a close, and I stopped working more than a few hours a week, and even those were mostly from home; corresponding with advertisers and suppliers and packaging products.

I went through a creative phase where I redesigned every package we had, not to mention the WWW logo. Around the same time I found myself obsessively cleaning my little house and baking muffins—more than I could eat in a year. Hermione and Ginny came by and tried not to laugh at me. Ginny took several baskets full back to the Burrow, where she assured me they would not go to waste.

Percy seemed to come up with an excuse to see me every day, always bringing me dinner and stretching his visit out to an entire evening. He inquired anxiously about my health and repeatedly extracted a promise from me that I would call him immediately if I started labor, even going so far as to bring me a box of Floo powder. I suspected that if he had come across a Boggart at that time it would have appeared as me, delivering the baby by myself.

A couple of those nights, when I was feeling particularly uncomfortable, he insisted on staying and sleeping on my sofa. I would never have said it out loud, but I was glad to have him there. I was beginning to get panicky about labor, even though I was sick to death of pregnancy.

Oddly enough, my labor started at the shop (and rather dramatically, which was to be expected, given Fred's flair for drama). My water broke right in front of the cash register. Molly would have been proud of her son that day. The first thing he did was to sit me down on a chair, making quick work of the mess on my clothes and the floor with his wand. Then he went upstairs to use the Floo in the unoccupied flat. I found out later that he meant to ask Verity to meet me at St. Mungo's. Unfortunately, he only got Lee, who informed him that Verity had a very bad case of elf flu and he'd been cleaning up her vomit for a good twelve hours.

Thinking quickly, Percy called Luna and George, asking Luna to come and close up the shop and George to inform the family. Within moments, he was back downstairs, where he sat next to me and Apparated us both to the lobby at St. Mungos.

While he filled out my paperwork, he explained that Verity was unable to come and offered to call my parents (hell, no!) or Katie, Hermione, Ginny, or Luna to sit with me.

In the end I chose Percy. Whatever else he might have been feeling, he was calm and comforting, and more than willing to stand up for me (kicking Fleur out of the labor room gently but firmly, and then telling off a particularly obnoxious Healer-in-Training, insisting that someone else take her place).

He rubbed my back, held my hand, mopped my brow, and when the squalling, red-faced blob of slime popped out of me, he severed the cord with his wand, pronouncing it the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

I'd thought of any number of cool and clever names for the baby, but when it came down to it, nothing but 'Fred' would do. Frederick Charles, to be precise. Not that he looked all that much like Fred; he had my dark hair and not a single freckle on his body. His eyes were that misty blue-gray that was bound to change into something darker, but still quite a bit lighter than mine. The shape of his eyes, though, and some of the faces he made—that was pure Fred.

As the Weasleys surrounded me and waited patiently for their chance to coo over the baby, I felt a depth of gratitude to them—to all of them—and to Fred, for seeing to it that they would always consider me part of their family. My own parents were on vacation in Majorca and couldn't be bothered to rush back and see their only grandchild for a good seven days.

If anybody thought it strange that Percy remained at my side throughout the whole experience in the place that Fred ought to have occupied, no one said anything, and I felt nothing but gratitude. (Well, maybe a bit more, but it was all good.)

And anyway, he sure as hell knew more than I did about taking care of babies. All of them did, actually. If they were around, I never had to change a diaper, or clean up sick, or burp him—Arthur, Bill, Percy, and Ron all did it expertly. The only thing I was compelled to do in those first few weeks was to feed the little guy, and only because I was the one with the equipment. Not that they just left me to it, for that matter—I had hoped that my whipping out a breast would have immediately cleared the room, but they just kept talking around me, acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

The stream of visitors poured in and out of my house and if it ever got to be too much, I just went into the bedroom to be alone. The house was clean, the food was prepared, the baby was cared for, and I wondered how anybody could ever have called parenthood difficult.

I got a rude awakening after about two weeks. Everybody started going back to work and to their normal lives, Luna announced her pregnancy, and I stopped being the center of the world. I found myself alone for the greater part of each day. Right about that time, Freddie developed colic, and I was lucky if I got a daily shower, let alone ate anything decent for breakfast and lunch.

But every night, I could count on Percy to bring me dinner and to give me at least a few hours respite to sleep, or shower, or whatever else I needed. I realize now how extraordinarily kind and thoughtful this was—how he was sacrificing all his personal time to take care of me—but at the time, I was so exhausted that I took advantage of it without a second thought. I wonder if I even remembered to thank Percy. I hope I did.

Freddie grew attached to him, of course. I would wake up from my nap to find him sleeping soundly on Percy's chest while Percy hummed softly and read a book, patting Freddie's tiny, rounded backside.

Percy would usually wait to eat dinner with me, and I would talk to him excitedly about all the new things that Freddie was doing, while Percy talked to me about the shop's progress. Sometimes he would leave things for me to look over.

One of those nights, we got to talking about Quidditch. I'd never really realized how big a fan Percy was, in spite of the fact that he didn't play much. He seemed determined to get me playing again, though—even going so far as to rave over how much he'd enjoyed watching me play at school.

This was the first time he brought up a future professional career since I'd told him about the baby. To me, the concept was laughable, in my exhausted, sleep-deprived, out-of-shape, nursemaid state. In fact I laughed out loud, calling him mad.

He brought it up again a few days later, bringing a couple of recent articles on Becky McCloskie and her highly anticipated return to the Tornadoes from maternity leave.

As far as I was concerned, he just didn't get it. She'd never stopped her training like I had, playing in Canada during the war. I, on the other hand, was so out of shape that it was pathetic. And I hadn't even been a starting player on the Harpies to begin with, had I? Not to mention the fact that Becky had a husband who worked as a writer and was able to stay home and take care of the baby (oh, and great piles of money for nannies and housekeepers.)

I pacified him by telling him that I would think about it. The following Sunday at the Burrow, he organized a Quidditch game with the family. I know he must have worked really hard to rope Fleur in, as she rarely wanted to play anymore, and I knew he'd had to work really hard to convince George, who hated to play without Fred. But with ten people we were able to manage a Keeper, two Chasers, a Beater, and a Seeker for each team. And it was brilliant, of course, to be on a broomstick with the wind whipping through my hair, to feel the sunlight on my face and to get some fresh air in my lungs.

I see now that Percy was really being a sneaky little bastard, knowing that once I got on a broomstick, it would open up a Pandora's Box of desires and emotions that I thought I had banished. The Quidditch game got to be a regular occurrence and sometimes, family friends would come by on Sundays to join in, so we would get to have a true game going.

So, I'll admit—once the colicky period was over, Freddie would spend some afternoons in his cradle, charmed to keep rocking while his Mummy ran laps, or lifted weights, or practiced broomstick maneuvers on a makeshift slalom. I had to find some way to take the weight off, didn't I (especially if I wanted to start dating again)? And I knew that my exercise regimen was working when I fit into my favorite pair of jeans, bought at a street fair in Muggle London. I also could tell that my appearance was getting back to normal when I began to catch Percy checking out my arse again.

The weeks went by, and I began to look forward to the Sunday games with emotion bordering on obsession. I knew I needed to get out of the house more, so I began to do more work in the shop, bringing Freddie with me. Of course, I was one of the few people that got anything done when I did that, because George and Percy would find themselves competing for Freddie's attention, each trying to be the uncle that got the most laughs out of him. You'd think that George would have been the natural winner, but Percy did pretty well, surprisingly.

One night George asked me if he could take Freddie back home with him for the evening, as Luna was anxious to get a little practice in. I was pretty adept at the charm that transferred my milk from the breast to a bottle, so I excused myself and came back with three bottles, thrusting them, Freddie's nappies, and anything else I could think of into George's arms.

I know it sounds like I wasn't enjoying motherhood, and that would be completely wrong. But sometimes, spending the whole day with only a baby to talk to made me think I was going crazy. The idea of an entire evening away, with somebody not on me, was thrilling. Percy asked what I planned to do, and the possibilities seemed endless. I could go dancing, or drinking, I could see one of those Muggle movies that Fred liked to take me to, though there would be more of actually watching the film and less snogging than there had been with Fred, I imagined. I shook my head, grinning from ear to ear. "I don't know…"

"Well," said Percy. "There's this new curry place at the other end of the alley that I've heard is pretty good. I could take you there…"

George and I both looked at him at the same time, and Percy's ears turned red.

"I mean…so you don't have to sit at a restaurant alone…"

I thought about it. I really didn't want to eat alone—it would get me thinking about Fred, and I would waste the whole evening feeling depressed. On the other hand, how was I supposed to meet a bloke with Percy sitting across the table from me? It occurred to me, however, that there was no way to turn him down without hurting his feelings. "Sure, Percy." I said. "Curry sounds great. Perfect, actually."

I kissed the baby and Apparated home to change. Percy met me in front of the restaurant. The food was great, but the service was awful, and Percy seemed to be taking the waitress' absent-mindedness personally, growing more and more irritated. Needless to say, we did not stay for pudding, but he seemed reluctant to let me go home.

"This can't have been a great night," he said. "You can't end it like this. Lets go to a pub, or dancing, or something."

Dancing sounded like a lot of fun, actually, but for some reason, I vetoed the idea, maybe because I couldn't imagine dancing with Percy all night. It might have got awkward, and dancing with another bloke in front of him would have been worse. So we went to a pub, not the Leaky, in fact, a Muggle one, where we avoided any awkward lapses in conversation by filling the time with billiards. He was pretty good, actually, we each won two games. And yes, I did catch him staring at my arse twice while I bent over the table, but as I'd sneaked a glance or two at his, I couldn't really be offended.

An awkward hug and a kiss on the cheek at the bottom of George and Luna's hill ended the evening. I suspect now that he might have done more if he hadn't been afraid that George was watching us through the window.

December came around, and with it the holidays. The Weasleys wanted me there for every one of their celebrations. I had to spend Christmas Eve with my parents, though, and watch my mother hold her grandson with her nose up in the air. My dad, however, was caught by Freddie's unique brand of magic, and the beginning of a bond was formed between them.

On Christmas Day, the Burrow looked like an explosion of tinsel, paper ribbons, and strings of popcorn (not to mention mistletoe.) I found myself forced to exchange affectionate kisses with every single member of the Weasley family, including Harry. Everyone except Percy, that is, who seemed to be frantically avoiding mistletoe. However, as the evening drew to a close, George charmed a bundle to begin following him around, which meant that all of the women insisted on kissing Percy, making him a little redder each time. When I went to hug him goodbye, the entire clan gathered around us, egging Percy on. I expected him to kiss my cheek but he turned at the last minute, brushing his lips across mine, knocking his glasses aside in the process.

I attributed the odd butterfly or two in my stomach to embarrassment, or possibly gas from Hermione's sweet potato casserole. It occurs to me now that the lot of them might have been trying to get us together, but at the time I thought it was because we were the only two single people in the room (apart from Arthur and Hermione's mum, that is, and nobody seemed inclined to set those two up, though I thought it wasn't a bad idea).

On New Year's Eve, Arthur declared that he wanted to spend the evening with his grandkids, so I went to Lee and Verity's party along with (it seemed) everybody else in the wizarding world under the age of thirty-five. It was so wonderful to catch up with people in spite of the fact that not everybody knew what to say to me. In any case, not many people had escaped some form of loss, so most knew to just talk about other things on such a happy night.

Oliver Wood was there, and there was no awkwardness between us, just a big hug and a, "How are you holding up, love? I hear you've become a mum since the last time I saw you."

I grinned, missing the baby terribly, though I was happy to be away, too. "He's going to be a Beater, Wood. I can't believe how strong and active he is."

"And you?" he asked. "When are you going to start Chasing again?"

"I have already," I replied. "Just for kicks, though. Motherhood and professional Quidditch don't work very well together."

"That's bollocks," he said. "Don't you know the league was decimated by the war? You could get on to any team you wanted. And you know that the World Cup is less than two years away. You'll need to hurry if you want a shot."

I tried not to show any outward sign of the thrill that his words sent through me.

Well…" I started.

"I'll speak to my coach," Oliver said. "We'll set up a tryout whenever you're ready."

"Can I let you know?" I asked.

"Of course," Oliver said. "Just hurry the hell up, will you? I'm dying to play with somebody I actually get on with for a change."

Right about that time, Roger Davies came up and highjacked Oliver's attention. He gave me a quick hug goodbye and allowed himself to be pulled over to a couple of his former Ravenclaw rivals. I turned around only to find Percy giving me a hard look. He was then approached tentatively by his old Hogwarts girlfriend, Penelope. I got caught in a hug from Katie, who wanted to see baby pictures, and Percy's strange reaction slipped my mind. Mostly.

At midnight, George was there to kiss me immediately after he kissed Luna. I suspect that Fred had something to do with that, too. After that I found myself grabbed and kissed soundly by a dark-haired man I'd never seen before, then Lee planted a big wet one on me, adding that he'd wanted to kiss me for years but had stayed away under fear of pain painful death by Fred. I didn't need his wink to tell me he was mostly joking because if he hadn't been, Verity (who was standing right there) would have emasculated him.

The crowd separated Percy and I until it got so late that it would have been silly to exchange New Year's kisses. I wondered idly if he had kissed Penelope. I began to think about going home, though Arthur had insisted that I was not to think of picking up Freddie until the next afternoon.

I grabbed my cloak, hugged Lee and Verity goodbye and headed toward the door. Just on the edge of the wards, I was summoning my 'three Ds' when I heard the front door open and my name being called. It was too late—I was on my front step. I heard a 'crack' and my instincts kicked in. I spun around with my wand ready.

"Percy, you scared the piss out of me!"

"Sorry, Angelina" he said, and his voice was less precise than normal, in fact, it was just a bit slurred. He stepped toward me. "You left in an awful hurry."

"I was tired, and it was too hot in there."

"I didn't get to dance with you," he said, and there was a note of accusation in his voice.

"You didn't ask me, did you?"

"I meant to, but Wood stepped in front of me." He took another step toward me. "I didn't get a chance to give you a New Year's kiss, either."

The butterflies were back, and I took a step away from him. I remember thinking I must have had more to drink than I'd realized, and Percy…damn, he was looking at me oddly.

He took another step toward me and I found my back at the door. I laughed nervously. "Percy…"

He didn't let me finish. His lips were on mine, soft and warm, gently and effectively encouraging my mouth to open. He took a final step toward me, pressing my body against the door.

I was too shocked to think at first, and by the time my brain started functioning again, the first thing that came to my mind was, 'Not a virgin then. And definitely not gay.' His kisses were skillful, intense, and thorough, all of the very qualities I had come to admire in him. What they were not was prim and proper, stuffy or boring, all of the adjectives that Fred had used to describe his brother.

And that was what ended it—the thought of Fred and what he would do if he'd found his least favorite brother with his tongue in my mouth.

I pulled away from Percy and looked at him with wide eyes. I suddenly imagined the countless awkward days that would follow this turn of events and began to panic at the potential loss of the man I was just beginning to realize was my best friend. I struggled to think coherently. "Er…happy New Year's then, Percy. I'll see you later."

That night, I really regretted not having drunk more. I was tipsy, but not enough to pass out. Which meant that I lay in bed, missing the baby (who usually slept at my side), missing Fred, thinking about the fact that I hadn't had sex in nearly a year, and praying that that was the reason why I couldn't stop thinking about having sex with Percy. It was stupid—he was probably still thinking about that silly marriage idea and trying to use another tactic. A remarkably effective tactic, admittedly, but a cheap shot.

I looked toward our next interaction with dread, realizing that I would see him at the Burrow the next day because Arthur had invited the entire family to listen to the New Year's Quidditch game on the wireless (and possibly have a match of our own, weather permitting.) And now I would be uncomfortable as arse with Percy, waiting around until he inevitably would pull me aside and start in on 'The Big Talk,' the one that will completely ruin the easy friendship I'd come to depend on.

Then I thought again—'easy' wasn't the right word. We butted heads quite a bit, so I couldn't call our friendship easy. But necessary—that it certainly was. I couldn't imagine life without Percy as my friend.

But…maybe it could be salvaged, I thought. If I just blew it off, pretending that it was no different from any of the twenty other New Years kisses I'd received over the course of the evening—just a little more intense because he'd been drinking.

Yes, I thought—that's exactly what I'll do.

And I did—treating Percy exactly as I'd always treated him, even though I had trouble meeting his eyes. I never let him get close enough to corner me into a discussion and when I left, I made it clear that he wasn't to follow me by giving him a quick hug goodbye, and saying, loud enough for the room at large to hear, "See you tomorrow, Percy."

"Angel…"

"Oh, look Percy—Freddie's trying to grab your glasses. I'd better go before he breaks them." And I left him there, wiping the smudge marks from Freddie's chubby fingers off his glasses with the soft cotton of his undershirt.

At home, I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew that none of this would have happened if I hadn't taken advantage of Percy's kindness the way I had, if I'd actually stepped up and made an attempt to take responsibility for my own life. The poor sod was bound and determined to give up any chance of his own happiness. I knew that part of the problem was that my life lacked a direction of its own. Sure, you could count being Freddie's mum as a calling in itself, but deep down I knew that it wasn't enough. And my work at the shop was good in a different way, and certainly satisfying, but it was all about Fred's dreams, wasn't it?

I needed to work on my dreams a little, and I thought long and hard about it, finally coming to the conclusion that I was going to have to risk opening myself up to hopes of professional Quidditch again. Which was a risk, because my dreams hadn't exactly come true the last time I'd tried it, and now there were even more obstacles in the way. But, I needed a direction, and this was the only one that could feed my soul. War widows were a knut a dozen these days, and full-time mums didn't get quite the respect that they ought to. Besides, Freddie deserved a mum that didn't let fate force her to give up on her dreams.

The next morning, I sent off an owl to Oliver:

Wood,

How'd you like to play with your favorite Chaser?

Set me up a tryout and I'll be eternally in your debt.

Love, Angelina

I sent it off before I could change my mind, then went about getting Freddie and myself ready to go to the shop. I didn't say anything about the owl to Percy, who was a little quieter than normal, but still friendly. I don't know what kept me from telling him—I knew he'd be thrilled, but I wasn't ready for that sort of intimacy yet. Percy, I knew (just like Molly would have), would have taken charge of the whole thing, sending me home to train in preparation. Which is (once I thought about it) exactly what I should have done. I was aware that I would need help from someone if I was going to have a successful tryout.

I chickened out. I chose George, telling him when Percy left for lunch.

George was thrilled—he promised to round up the family to practice with me, and insisted that we would leave work early that night to get an hour in at the Burrow. I forgot to tell him not to tell Percy, and so when Percy returned, George was full of plans and naturally told Percy all about them. Percy looked at me as though I had betrayed him, and indeed, as I looked at his face, I felt as if I had.

He plastered on a smile. "That's just…that's excellent news, Angelina. Really fantastic. Have you heard from Oliver yet? Do you know when your tryout will be?"

"No, nothing yet," I said.

"Well, at any rate," Percy said, "since it seems to be a slow enough day, I think you both ought to head over to the Burrow to practice. I can manage here by myself."

George protested. "No, Percy, why don't you two go? I have a letter to write—I

might have found a new connection for doxy eggs, and I want to get on it as soon as possible. "

Percy looked at him strangely. "I won't do her any good at practice, George. What I am good for is writing letters. I insist, really."

I had an impulse to hug Percy, one that I did my best to ignore. So I left, waving goodbye and unable to come up with anything better to say than "Thanks, Percy."

I wished I knew why I suddenly felt like crying.

As we Apparated at the Burrow's front gate, George remarked, "Maybe Percy wasn't being so generous after all. I'm gonna freeze my bollocks off."

I laughed. "I always said you were a pansy, Weasley. Anyway, I'm sure that Luna will come up with interesting and unusual ways to warm them up tonight."

He flashed me a wicked grin. "Last one on a broom is a Hufflepuff!"

I started to sprint.

Oliver's note came the next day, telling me that I had four weeks. The family really came through for me. Every single day, I had two or three Weasleys (and one or two Potters) braving the bitter January cold to guard the hoops against me, or pass the Quaffle, or try to take it from me, and occasionally send a Bludger my direction. Those who didn't play came anyway, either to mind the baby or cheer me on.

Percy went so far as to contact Katie, who took a week off work at the hospital to come and stay with me. I'd forgotten how great it was to have a girlfriend around. Turns out, she had just gone though a bad break-up and was in need of a friend herself. I started racking my brain trying to think of someone to set her up on a date with, but I was at a loss. Then she went and commented on the fact that Percy was a lot more appealing than he used to be at school, and I suddenly found myself a bit snappish. I attributed it to hormones because my period had suddenly decided to show up again with a vengeance.

One night, we left Freddie at my place with Luna and George, and Katie and I went out dancing. She ended up running into Cormac McClaggan (who was in her year at school) and before the night was over they were snogging on the dance floor. Somehow, I convinced myself that this was a good thing—which should have really worried me—but it didn't. I also should have been concerned about the fact that I didn't find a single bloke at the club remotely attractive.

I saw less of Percy than I had in a long time. He was working hard at the shop, making plans for the newest addition to the company (Zonko's old premises in Hogsmeade.)

When he did come by to see me he spent all of his time with the baby, who was adorably thrilled to see him. While Katie and I sped around the small orchard in my back yard, I could see Percy and the baby looking out the window at us, Percy pointing me out on the broom and Freddie flashing me a toothless grin.

Finally, Katie left for home, promising that no matter what, we would have a 'girls night out' at least once a month from that point on, and I thought it seemed like another positive step toward rejoining the world.

Two days before my tryout, a second owl came to my window after the normal post.

The parcel it carried was large and unwieldy, and the poor frozen owl took a good ten minutes to recover in my kitchen. I recognized the package shape immediately, but I was almost afraid to open it. I waited until I could send the owl on its way, and then Freddie woke up and wanted to eat, which delayed my gratification even longer. Finally I settled him in the sitting room on a blanket with his favorite toy, a plush dragon. I went back to the kitchen with shaking hands.

A Firebolt II.

I sat down weakly in the nearest chair with tears in my eyes and reached for the card. Every Weasley and both Potters had signed it. And somehow I knew that the only person who could have organized the whole thing was Percy. I sat there, tears streaming down my face; more tears than I had allowed myself in months.

Luna showed up in my Floo about thirty minutes later, asking if she could take Freddie to the Natural History Museum. She occasionally made requests like this, and I never understood what she thought a four-month-old would do at a museum, but he always came back happy and healthy, and she seemed to enjoy it, and I enjoyed the break. This time, however, I think it was a not-so-subtle push for me to try out my new broomstick, which I did within thirty minutes.

And not to practice, either, just for the sheer joy of riding a fast broom, bundled up so much so that only my eyes and nose peeked out of my scarf, a dark blur in the cloudy sky. I flew all the way to the Burrow, practicing a bit on my own until (naturally) one by one several Weasleys came home and joined up with me. I thanked each of them individually, but they didn't really want to discuss it—just wanted me to play. Once the impromptu game was over, we all went into the kitchen, where Hermione had made mulled wine and beef stew to warm us up. Percy came by as soon as the shop closed, and I thanked him with a hug that he just barely returned—though his smile was genuine.

My last day to practice came, and George, Harry and Ron all took the day off work, helping me in spite of the bitter chill and the sleet in the air. I wondered if I was going to wipe out an entire generation of Weasleys with pneumonia. I had plans to take a hotel room for the night after my tryout, because Oliver told me that if they were going to call me back, they would likely do it the next day. Freddie was going to stay behind with his grandfather, so I spent a good part of the evening building up his cache of bottles.

I'd rather hoped that Percy would see me home, but he merely saw me off with a pat on the back and a "Good luck tomorrow."

I went home and took a mild sleeping draught, knowing that I'd never get to sleep otherwise. I dreamed about Percy, and woke up a little groggy. I took a scalding hot shower and did some stretching exercises that one of my fellow Harpies had sworn by. I forced myself to eat even though the food tasted like cardboard.

I polished the broom, made certain that the twigs were all neat, and packed up my gear. Fairly soon after this, Freddie woke up, and after nursing him, I played with him on the floor a bit, throwing him up into the air above me while he screamed and giggled, dripping slobber onto my face. Finally it was time to head over to the Burrow to drop him off.

My father-in-law hugged me, and I kissed the baby goodbye. He was too busy trying to grab his grandfather's reading glasses to notice that I was leaving. I suddenly felt very much alone.

The next few hours were a blur. The moment that I got up in the air, everything seemed to fall into place, and I knew even before I touched down on the ground that it was the best I'd ever played. Oliver hung back (keeping a professional attitude) but as soon as we were alone, he pulled me into a crushing hug, spinning me around in the air. After I'd cleaned up and changed in the locker room, we headed out to get a bite to eat, lingering over dinner with reminiscences about the games we'd played in our school days.

As we got back to the hotel, I was searching my bag for my room key when I spotted Percy sitting on an ornate chair in the lobby, watching us intently. It was the very last thing I'd expected him to do.

I tried to turn Oliver's attention back to the lift, wanting to say goodnight to him, but as our rooms were on the same floor it might have seemed odd. He followed my involuntary glance to the chair, and said, "Isn't that Percy Weasley over there? Hello there, Weasley!"

Percy stood up and walked toward us, never taking his eyes off me. "Hello, Wood, Angelina." He finally met Oliver's eyes, taking his proffered hand stiffly.

Oliver didn't seem to think that Percy's appearance was as strange as I did; he immediately launched into an enthusiastic play-by-play of my tryout. Percy listened intently, his eyes darting from Oliver to me.

Finally, Oliver must have sensed the discomfort between Percy and myself, for he patted us both on the back, saying, "Good to see you again, Weasley. I'll see you tomorrow, love." He winked at me as he turned to the lift.

Once he was out of earshot, I turned to Percy. "What on earth are you doing here, Percy?"
His face reddened for a moment and he gave me a long, hard look. "I honestly don't know. I thought…"

He took his glasses off, cleaning them on the hem of his jumper. After replacing them on his nose, he continued.

"I thought you could use a friend. For moral support, I suppose. I'd thought of taking you to dinner, but obviously…" He looked toward the lift, sighing.

Suddenly it hit me. He's jealous. My mind reeled. I didn't know how to handle it because he hadn't actually said anything to that effect.

"Percy," I said. "You've got to stop…"

No, I thought. Whatever his feelings were, his idea of his coming out here to support me was not something I could criticize. I was so confused; my feelings were pulling me in twenty different directions. I had trouble looking at him, as I had for the last few weeks, ever since that stupid kiss had gotten me all flustered, and I still didn't know how to get back to what we once were. I realized that he was waiting for me to finish.

"Thank you for coming, Percy. As you've heard, the tryout went well. I think they'll call me back tomorrow."

"Yes," he said. "That's…brilliant I'll…I'll inform the rest of the family." He straightened his shoulders and began to turn away. Something in me wanted to reach out to him and tell him…tell him what? I didn't know, but I didn't want him to go.

"Percy…"

He turned around, suddenly and inexplicably angry. "Don't, Angelina. Don't say anything. I've been a sodding idiot. I thought that maybe…finally we were getting somewhere, but you've made it perfectly clear that you're not interested. I've finally got the point. I'm finished. I may need a bit of time to…I still would very much like to spend time with Freddie, if you don't mind, but I won't bother you any more."

"Percy, what the hell are you talking about? What do you think happened here?"

"I don't know, actually. I don't want to know. All I know is that I kissed you, and I felt—I felt more…" He broke off. "Damn it!"

I felt desperate at that point; I knew that if I didn't do something, I would always regret it. But I had no idea what the hell to do.

I reached out to touch his shoulder. "Please don't go, Percy. I don't know what's going on here. I'm not entirely certain what it is I've done to make you angry. I thought—I thought that you wanted me to play again, but ever since I told you that I was going for this tryout, you've been cool and distant."

He gave me a hard look. "You didn't tell, me, Angelina. George did."

"What difference…"

"Did it ever occur to you that I could have gotten you a tryout with any team you wanted? I was the bloody Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic for years, wasn't I? But it never occurred to you to ask me—instead, you went to straight to Wood. It was a slap in the face."

I wasn't quite ready to deal with the squirming guilt I felt about it, so I went on the offensive. "How was I supposed to know that? You never said you knew people."

"Every time I brought up playing again, you dismissed it. But then as soon as you run into Wood and he offers you the chance to play with him again, off you go."

"I thought you would be happy for me, Percy. What is your problem with Oliver, anyway?"

"Nothing! He's fine, I just…I thought I was done competing against him. I never stood a bloody chance at school!"

"How on earth are you competing with Oliver, Percy?"

"For you, Angelina! Everything I've done…oh, fuck it all." He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What do you think I've been doing for the last year?"

The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Assuaging your guilt."

He looked stricken. "Is that what you think?"

In for a knut, I thought. "It'd fit the pattern, wouldn't it? You felt guilty for dropping your family, so you went and risked your career spying for the Order. Now you feel responsible for what happened to Fred. Why else would you seem to think it's your duty to take care of me, whether I want you to or not?"

He just stared at me, so I continued, the words pouring out. "And it's stupid, Percy! I've told you time and again; you didn't kill Fred. Rookwood did. You've done more for me than I could possibly repay, and I've come to depend on you. But it isn't fair to you. I need to stand on my own feet and let you have a life again."

"You and Freddie are my life," he whispered.

I didn't know how to take that. I felt my chest swell with something terrifyingly huge, and I needed to get my balance back. "You can't—you can't just take over Fred's family, Percy. You can't manufacture love when it isn't there. We're two healthy adults who've spent far too much time together. Of course we started to feel an attraction to each other. But it couldn't work—you know it couldn't work. It's too complicated. I absolutely refuse to fall in love with my brother-in-law. It's just—wrong, on so many levels."

His face fell. "Well, then...if that's the way you feel about it."

He started to turn away, but looked back to add, "I know I'm not as exciting as my brother, or Oliver, but I do feel I have a lot to offer. I know I've made enormous mistakes, and yes, to a certain degree, I reached out to you to try to make up for them. But the main part of it is that I care about you. I would have liked the chance to…"

He sighed, shaking his head. "To take care of you. I could have made you happy, I think."

Once again, I felt an overwhelming urge to call him back, but like a coward, I didn't say anything, allowing him to walk away. I got into the lift and went up to my room, feeling profoundly depressed.

I attributed it to the emotional Gringotts ride of a day that I'd had. I hoped that a bath and a glass of wine would help me to think clearly. It really was for the best, I knew. He needed stop thinking of me as his responsibility. I'd known that once he kissed me, things would never be the same between us, and though I was sad about the loss of a friend, I knew it was for the best.

As I sat in the tub, sipping wine, tears poured down my cheeks.

I would never again walk into my sitting room and see Freddie asleep curled up on Percy's chest. I would never get to sit across from him at a table, laughing at him for his reluctance to eat take-away curry straight out of the boxes. We would never again sit companionably at adjoining desks in that tiny office, full of plans for the shop.

He would never again come toward me with that purposeful expression, making my heart pound and my stomach do an imitation of a Snitch…

And suddenly I had a sinking feeling that I'd made the biggest mistake of my life.

The water was cold at this point and I toweled off, throwing on flannel pajamas, wondering how I was going to stand my own company for the rest of the night.

I was just pouring my fourth glass of wine when I heard a knock on the door. Grabbing my wand, I peered through the peephole.

Percy.

Oh, shit.

I prayed that he wouldn't notice the puffiness of my eyes and opened the door warily.

"Percy?" I found I couldn't meet his eyes so I stared directly at his adam's apple.

"May I please come in?" he asked, more formally than usual, and considering that he usually was rather formal, this was unnerving.

"Oh, ok." I was so much more nervous than I'd been at my tryout that morning. I gestured to hotel room's sitting area. Somehow the bed seemed to have tripled in size, never leaving my line of vision or train of thoughts.

He sat down, and I sat across from him. He coughed, but remained silent. I didn't know if he was working himself up to say something, but I couldn't stand the suspense.

"I thought you were going home." Brilliant, Johnson, way to make the man feel welcome.

"I was—I meant to, but I thought I'd get drunk first."

My eyes flew to his, and sure enough, they were brighter than normal, and his cheeks were flushed.

"I feel I should explain myself, Angelina. I never mean to be a jealous prat when I arrived here. I actually had planned to have something of a celebratory dinner, hopefully a chance to get us back to the way things were before New Year's Eve."

He shook his head. "Actually I had a notion...or a hope that I might be able to wine and dine you and get you back to immediately after New Year's. When I saw you with Oliver, though, I—well, I jumped to conclusions. I knew you'd been involved with him in the past, and you seemed to have had such a good time…"

"I never told you I'd been together with Oliver, Percy. I never even told Fred."

"I was in the same hotel as you two during that event. The same floor, actually. I saw you two snogging in the hallway and…I thought my brother was an idiot for ever letting you go."

The idea that he'd thought something like that of me all those years ago was so unexpected that I wasn't quite ready to process it.

"At any rate, I saw you two tonight, and it suddenly seemed as though I had missed my chance altogether, and I was feeling a bit sorry for myself."

"Percy…"

He continued, ignoring my interruption. "I ran into Oliver at the bar. Apparently, his wife kicked him out of the room for staying out so late with you. So just as I was beginning to wonder whether I should hex or hit him for lying to you about his marital status—because I knew you wouldn't go out with a married man—he asked how long we'd been together."

"We?"

"You and I."

"But…"

"According to Oliver, my name came up a lot over dinner."

"I might have told him how much Freddie loves you…"

"Among other things." The look he was giving me was so intense I thought my brain would blow out the back of my head. He stood up, approaching my chair.

"Angelina, I suspect that the reason you've pushed me away is because you think I'm doing this to be noble and self-sacrificing. But in case you've forgotten—I'm not noble—I'm the selfish Weasley, aren't I?"

I had trouble breathing, particularly when he leaned down to brace himself against the arms of my chair, completely invading my personal space.

"You're not selfish, Percy," I whispered.

"Oh, yes I am. I'm the selfish bastard who chose ambition over his family. And now, I'm the selfish bastard who wants his brother's wife. I've struggled with it for nearly a year now."

Widow, I thought, but the word wouldn't come to my lips.

"However, right around Christmas, something remarkable happened, and it told me in no uncertain terms that I didn't have feel guilty about my feelings anymore."

"W-what?"

"Guess who charmed the mistletoe to follow me around?"

"Mistletoe? Wasn't that George?"

"Precisely. Which meant George wanted me to kiss you. I mean, he certainly didn't want me to kiss his wife, or anybody else's, and I doubt he was trying to encourage me to kiss Dr. Granger."

"I don't…"

"If George is willing to give us his support, anybody would, including Fred…"

"I don't think…"

He closed the scant distance between us so quickly I didn't have time to object. Suddenly his lips were on mine again, and it felt just as good as it had on New Year's Eve, if not better. When he finally broke free of my mouth, I found myself sprawled out on the chair with one hand on his spine (under his shirt) and the other hand in his hair.

He straightened up and in the process he pulled me up and into his arms.

"Are you drunk, Percy?" At that point, I was desperate to blame his confession on alcohol, because I didn't quite know what to do with the enormous swell of emotion that threatened to burst out of my chest. He was scaring the shit out of me—it was almost as if he knew I'd fallen in love with him.

He cupped my face in his hands. "No. I couldn't even finish one drink. My head was spinning from what Oliver told me. He said you wouldn't shut up about me. He as much as gave us his blessing, too—said he'd always liked me, though I got hardly ten words from him the entire time we roomed together."

"His blessing? For what?"

"Oh, I told him I wasn't going to rest until I got you to marry me."

"Percy…"

"I love you, Angel. I have for a while now, but it didn't really hit me until I helped you push that baby out into the world."

"You love the baby, Percy, not me."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do love that baby. But—I loved you first.' He kissed my forehead gently.

"I love your strength. I love that you're not afraid of anything and that you always say what you think. I love watching you with Freddie—how your face softens when you look at him. I love watching you fly. I always did, actually, even at school. You took my breath away."

He kissed me again, and I think I might have whimpered; I know I was close to tears. He continued, "I love the way you smell and taste. I love your smile. I love your lips. I love the way you feel pressed against me like this."

I kissed him then, and the tears poured freely from my eyes. I let him brush them away with his lips and fingers and found myself laughing. "Next you're gonna be telling me that you love my tits and arse, because I know for a fact you've been checking them out when you think I'm not looking."

He grinned sheepishly and his ears went bright red. "Yes, well, you can't really blame me, can you? They are rather spectacular."

"You have no idea," I said, pulling away from him and walking to the door.

"Where are you going, Angelina?" he asked, a note of disappointment in his voice..

I shut the light off and locked the door. I could just barely make out his face in the darkness. The light of the moon through the window glinted off his glasses.

I made my way to the bed, unbuttoning my pajama top. He stood frozen in the same spot and I could swear that I saw a glint of fire in his eyes as he watched me. "Weasley," I said. "Get your skinny white arse over here and make love to me."

And lord, did he ever.

It became readily apparent that he had spent a great deal of time thinking about my body and what he'd like to do with it. I hadn't expected him to take charge like he did, but it seemed as though he had a mental list of things he'd wanted to do to me, and he was determined to get all of them done in a single evening.

I tried very hard not to make comparisons to his brother, but hey, we all compare former lovers, don't we? Fred had been wonderful—playful and intense in his own way, and there was always a lot of laughter.

Percy's intensity was overwhelming. At first, I suspected it was because he thought he needed to convince me that he was worth keeping around. But I quickly realized that it was just another reflection of the Percy I'd come to admire. He was goal-driven and his goal, apparently, was to render me a whimpering puddle of goo. You can't imagine the talent he possessed in those long, elegant fingers.

Of course, I discovered a weakness of his—it seemed he was more than willing to give up control if it meant that he got to watch me move above him. I loved the look on his face when he finally let go, the love shining in his eyes and the wonder on his face as he looked up at me.

So, yeah, the first time Percy Weasley held me was something I'm not likely to forget. However, the last time he held me was only about thirty minutes ago. Now he's sleeping soundly, and I'm listening to the soft sounds of his snores as I look out my hotel window. The stupid prat managed to make me fall completely in love with him. And suddenly, I feel as though I could take on the world.

Epilogue

As I think back over the high and low points of my life so far, it amazes me that what started out so tragically could have turned out so well. Widowed in my early twenties, a single mother, indifferent parents...it sounds like the start a sappy romance novel.

But I seriously doubt that a romance novel would have presented the reader with a red-haired, skinny, uptight hero in horn-rimmed glasses. And certainly not one who'd betrayed his family to ally himself with a toad, got excited about the thickness of cauldron bottoms, and stared freely at pregnant women's breasts.

Fortunately, I'm a bit more open-minded than your average romance heroine.

And though the last thing I would have imagined is marrying two Weasleys, I think it's rather lucky that I did. Nobody but a Weasley would have held my hand to lend me support while his nephew was being born. That was probably when I fell in love with the prat, though I ever would have allowed myself to think of that at the time. Now, it is catalogued away as one of the best days of my life.

That goal I made at the World Cup is right there, too, and it is immortalized on many a magazine cover, even though we lost to the Australians.

Another World Cup game would have been nice, preferably one where we actually took home the cup, but then my stupid husband and his mutant Weasley sperm managed to breach the world's most reliable birth control charm and impregnated me with twins. There was no way I was getting back into playing shape after that one. So I coached. Which was rewarding in itself, especially when we took home two Cups in a row.

Yes, those were good days.

The day that WWW went global was a good one too, and of course, Percy's face on the cover of the Businesswizard Monthly was a very proud moment. Hey, it wasn't Minister for Magic, as he'd dreamt about throughout his childhood, but since his dad had already done that, it had lost some of its appeal.

The day Freddie's Hogwarts letter came—that was a proud day. And the twins, a few years later—that was a good one too.

There was also the day that the Weasley Foundation (created in Fred, Molly, and Charlie's memory) was launched with a good chunk of the earnings from the joke shops. In the years since that day, I've taken a great deal of pride in the medical advancements we had a part in, the advancements in Dragon studies, and the adoption programs that the foundation started up.

I also take pride in all my nieces and nephews, never imagining that I would be a part of such a warm, loving family, given the childhood I had. I lay here in my bed, wrapped in my husband's arms, thinking about my eldest son, about to take such a giant step, and I know it's another day for the memory book. And I honestly couldn't have made it here without the man lying next to me. He was the best father that Freddie—or Fred Jr., rather—could have asked for. My son became a wonderful man. And somehow, I know that Fred would approve.

Fin

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This is dedicated to Grace, without whom this story would have remained a sad, lonely little plot bunny, one who was excluded by all the other plot bunnies for its braided bunny fur and horn-rimmed glasses. Now it holds its head up high and scampers with all the cool plot bunnies.

Thank you to Miss Elisha for the Beta work