Archive of Our Own

Percy slunk into the dark, smoky room just before midnight on a cold Wednesday in February. He'd normally never slink anywhere, especially when acting as a prefect. But the Hog's Head Inn was exactly the type of establishment his mother taught him to avoid at all costs. The usual clientele surely consisted of cutthroats, smugglers, and dark wizards—and, now, Mr. Filch.

Everyone, or at least everyone that mattered, i.e., the professors, had granted Mr. Filch considerable leeway since Halloween and Mrs. Norris's petrification. The man had lost the only thing he loved, and even though Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout promised it would be temporary, he was drowning in grief. Percy tried to be sympathetic. After all, the prefect knew how it felt to have your pet be your only friend. And for the first month or two, the caretaker's dereliction of responsibility in favor of alternating feral rages and inconsolable weeping was understandable. And messy. And a bit pathetic. But Mr. Filch had lost his only confidant, his partner, his sole source of kindness.

Still, by the time term started again in January, Professor McGonagall, as deputy headmistress, had forbidden Mr. Filch from drinking anywhere on the castle's grounds. And rightly so, as it was becoming a matter of public safety. The edict seemed to help for about a week. The grieving man returned to his duties, much to the chagrin of rule-breaking students. He even completed a handful of neglected repairs. Then he disappeared for two days.

Professor Dumbledore asked the ghosts and prefects to discreetly keep an eye out for the errant caretaker, while assuring them that this had nothing to do with previous incidents (read: currently non-fatal petrifications purportedly carried out by a bigoted pure-blood that would surely target a squib as quickly as a muggle-born) and Mr. Filch would surely turn up when he felt up to it. Meanwhile, rumors swept the castle about Fred and George finally running the old man off with the perfect prank or an unnamed seventh year Slytherin leaving him incapacitated in a closet for interrupting an after-curfew date. Percy now knew what actually happened: Mr. Filch had drunk too much in Hogsmeade and the barkeep let him sleep it off in one of the upstairs rooms.

The second time Mr. Filch attempted to drown his sorrows, the proprietor of the Hog's Head sent a note up to the castle requesting someone come fetch their caretaker. One of the Hogwarts' house elves popped over and apparated the drunken man into his bed. Unfortunately, he woke up for the uncomfortable, squeezing sensation of twisting unnaturally through physical space. The resulting screams woke half the castle and reportedly traumatized the elf. (Percy respected the efficient problem solving that had obviously occurred, but even he felt uncomfortable with using unnecessary magic without consent on an unconscious squib.)

So the next time a note came from the Hog's Head Inn, Professor McGonagall asked for volunteers from the off-duty prefects. Percy, always eager to find ways to help secure the spot of Head Boy, quickly stepped forward. When no one else was willing to put up with the cold and Mr. Filch's vitriol, Percy assured the professor that he could run this errand on his own. After all, she could trust him not to stray from his task or abuse the permission for an unscheduled Hogsmeade visit.

Percy let the pride of successfully winning Professor McGonagall's trust carry him along the dark road to the edge of the village. He was the only one who could do this job. Percy needed this, needed ways to stand out to achieve his goals. And though he fleetingly wished Penny had been off duty and able to accompany him, his future was better served this way.

After entering the pub, Percy quietly shut the door behind him and looked around the nearly empty room. (It was strategy, not cowardice, that had him hoping to avoid notice.) When he failed to spot Mr. Filch, Percy gathered his resolve—found his Gryffindor courage—and stepped confidently up to the bar. He deflated slightly when it remained unattended even after he waited a few minutes.

When the hooded man sitting in the corner began fiddling with his wand while turned in Percy's direction, the prefect decided it was time to speak up.

"Um," he began before coughing to clear his throat. "Excuse me?"

Percy tapped his fingers nervously against the wood. Did he project his voice enough to be heard in the back? Maybe he should have looked around more for Mr. Filch, but this didn't seem like the place where new faces survived poking around in the shadows. He could call out again. That would be the assertive choice—what a real leader would do. Or would it be better to show independent problem solving ability by finding the caretaker on his own? He'd probably be fine. No one wants to commit murder inside the pub where they engage in conspiracy. That's common sense, right? They'd wait until he got outside, but by then he wouldn't be alone. Though a drunk squib probably wouldn't be much of a deterrent.

Percy's analysis of his potential next steps (definitely not spiraling) was mercifully interrupted by a hard voice emerging from the back room.

"Go back to school, boy. I don't sell to students sneaking out of the castle."

An old man stepped out of the shadows, still drying his hands on a stained apron. His glower reminded Percy of his mother when the twins exploding something forced her to leave a delicate cooking spell unattended. Although, considering his surroundings, the implied threat was more likely a curse than extra chores.

"I didn't sneak out," Percy bristled at the accusation. He would never sneak out. Sneaking was practically antithetical to his entire being. He hadn't done anything wrong, but he still felt his cheeks heat and his stomach twist painfully at the scolding. Percy needed to prove that he wasn't causing trouble. He knew his prefect's badge was clearly visible, but he rolled his shoulders back to make sure it caught the light. "Professor McGonagall chose me to assist Mr. Filch back to the castle."

"Hmph," the barkeep relaxed slightly, but was clearly unimpressed by Percy's defense. "Getting creative with punishments again, are they? Well, I think he's currently sleeping it off over there." A vague hand wave indicated a table in yet another dark corner, but Percy couldn't bring himself to look too closely yet.

The man casually accused Percy, again, of being a delinquent and still seemed to think the conversation had ended. Percy wouldn't stand for that sort of injustice.

"I beg your pardon. This isn't a punishment." Percy had to pause and take a deep breath as he felt himself begin to raise his voice. In a more controlled tone, he continued "Sir, Mr. Filch is in a delicate state following the loss, well, temporary loss, of a loved one. He deserves to be treated with dignity and compassion. I have been entrusted with his care and safety and in a very vulnerable moment."

"Where'd you get that one? Not even McGonagall could get that out with a straight face." It was actually Madam Pomfrey when she told Percy what to look for when determining if Mr. Filch would need the hospital wing. "You always go around just repeating what you've been told? You should try thinking for yourself sometime, kid. Now get your man and go before I throw you both out."

Percy grit his teeth against another retort. It didn't matter what this uneducated publican thought. He would remain civil, but that didn't mean he couldn't get the last word. "Thank you for your assistance," Percy spat out as he turned on his heel and strode over to where he hoped Mr. Filch was sitting.

Thankfully, once roused Mr. Filch only needed a little steadying to make it back to his rooms. Finding the motivation to get there posed a more complicated problem that Percy accidentally solved when he tried to explain the reasoning for his presence instead of one of the house elves. Mr. Filch apparently nursed a decades-long grudge against Hogwarts's other custodians and their mere mention was enough to drive him forward. On the walk back Percy was subjected to a surprisingly coherent rant about how the house elves' magic undermined attempts to preserve a thousand year old castle.

As winter passed, Percy made several more trips to retrieve Mr. Filch from the Hog's Head Inn. It became an almost pleasant duty. The solitary walk in the fresh air was a nice change from rushing between classes and prefect duties in the castle, especially once he got the nuances of various warming charms down. Heading back to the castle took more care, whether physically supporting Mr. Filch or just steering the drunken rambles away from unsavory topics. But when done well, Percy found that he learned quite a bit. (Mr. Filch may not have had magic of his own to use, but it turns out he knew more about repairing and maintaining magical objects than just about anyone in Britain.) While actually in the pub Percy found it best to minimize interactions with everyone else, especially that judgmental old barkeep.

Percy found that his walks to Hogsmeade left him more relaxed than a bubble bath in the prefects' oversized and over-spelled tub. Oftentimes he didn't realize that he was smiling until he felt it slide off his face when he made accidental eye contact with one of the Inn's 'patrons.

At first, the scruffy, scar-covered lone drinkers put Percy most on edge. He would swear one of them literally growled at him when glanced at their cloak-obscured figure while searching for Mr. Filch. But as he grew more accustomed to the clientele, Percy realized that the true threat came from the clean-cut, friendly wixen that came to the Hog's Head. On more than one occasion the barman had to threaten individuals offering fantastic goods (anything from genuine beauty potions guaranteed to add muscle mass to cursed, no hexed—all totally legal—objects for incapacitating rivals) for a great deal (more than he could afford) that Percy couldn't say no too (at least they weren't taking no for an answer).

So Percy found himself reluctantly grateful to the old man. He still hated how the man treated him like a rambunctious child, but at times his protectiveness seemed almost fond. Once or twice Percy caught a look on the old face that reminded him of the way Professor Dumbledore looked while talking about Harry, though that was likely down similarities in age and eye color. A more appropriate comparison was the faint smirk that always escaped Aunt Muriel's tight control right before she engaged in an exchange of biting backhanded compliments.

On one of the first warm days of spring, the summons to Hogsmeade came earlier than usual. Normally, this wouldn't present an issue, but the owl carrying the note flew straight into the library to land on the book that Percy and Penny were referencing for one of their ongoing debates. For the first time in his Hogwarts career, Percy found himself the subject of Madam Pince's wrath. He scrambled to leave the library while carrying the owl to prevent further damage to his favorite place. The owl, much like her owner, seemed to take pleasure in creating difficulties for hard-working students.

By the time Percy had untied the note and shown the owl to a window (with only half a treat for causing a scene), Penny had caught up with both of their belongs tucked neatly away in the bags slung over her shoulder.

"Filch again?" she asked while passing over Percy's bag.

Penny looked sympathetic, but she had still been left to clean up Percy's mess and their plans were interrupted.

"Yes. I apologize for, well, all of this," Percy waved his hands in a gesture meant to encompass the departing owl, the library, and everything else. "I really hope Madam Pince doesn't decide to hold this against you too."

"Nonsense." Penny smiled easily and took Percy's hand when she added, "It's a lovely day. Let's go for a walk to retrieve our wayward caretaker."

They walked to the village still holding hands and quizzing each other on astronomy using the stars as they began to appear in the growing dusk. Percy thought maybe this was happiness—a smart, beautiful girl was smiling at him; Ginny was finally settling in; he had completed his coursework and extracurricular studies for the week. For the first time in ages, Percy felt he could let go of his worries. (But what if whatever it is that's been petrifying students attacks again? It had been a few quiet months, but no one knew who or what caused the attacks. So that worry continued to simmer in the background without answers or relief.)

Penny slowed as they approached the Hog's Head Inn. At first, Percy thought it was reluctance to end their conversation, but the way she squeezed his hand clued him in to her nerves. He remembered his own reticence during that initial trip and tried to offer her some comfort.

"We'll be right in and out. Mr. Filch always sits at the same table, so we'll head straight there and let him know it's time to go. It takes five minutes, tops."

"Right, of course. No, it's fine." Penny shook her head, sending her curls flying. Her free arm wrapped around her middle as she said, "But it is a rather seedy bar."

"Would you feel more comfortable waiting outside?" A look of horror came over Penny's face. "Sorry, stupid question. You could wait at the Three Broomsticks? Whatever you need."

Going to the Hog's Head for Mr. Filch was Percy's job and Penny had no obligation to go any further. She would still help with navigating back to the castle, so it wasn't like she was breaking any rules by walking to Hogsmeade outside of the scheduled weekends. And he'd probably need the extra help. Mr. Filch must be extremely poorly if he needed to leave so much earlier than usual. Now Percy was worried for Penny and Filch.

"No, I'll be fine. I've got a big, strong, Gryffindor to protect me," she joked weakly, while moving her hand up Percy's arm to grasp his elbow, forcing them to walk closer together.

He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but felt grateful that she likely couldn't see much of it in the dark. Ron had once said it made him look like a constipated turtle.

Instead, Percy would just have to be steady and brave for Penny. He really hoped no one tried to sell them anything tonight.

Percy set a steady pace to the entrance with Penny nearly plastered to his side. At the door, he paused for just a second, one final chance for Penny to back out, before pushing inside. He'd been so focused on any signs of hesitation from his companion, that it took a few steps to realize that tonight was not going to follow the usual script.

The Hog's Head Inn, where most conversation was conducted in whispers or behind silencing charms, echoed with singing. It was all quite melancholy and off-key, but nearly everyone seemed to be participating in some way.

In his shock, Percy stopped short and nearly pulled Penny off her feet. She relaxed considerably once they were inside and no one had spared them a glance.

She leaned in to whisper, "This place has quite a reputation, but it's just like the pub by my Gran's house in the country." She nodded towards the bar at the front of the room, where Percy now noticed Mr. Filch was putting his all into a ballad. "So do you have a trick for pulling him away from leading or do you just wait it out?" Penny asked with a wink.

Oh. She'd assumed that this was normal and that's why she stopped being afraid. At times like this, Percy felt the crushing weight of cliche—some women truly were a mystery. Perhaps if he focused on that puzzle, he wouldn't fully register the horrifying tableau of the Hog's Head clientele joining together in appreciation of a sad ballad. Admittedly, Mr. Filch did have a decent voice, especially compared to some present.

"Well, he's not usually this upright," Percy prevaricated.

He allowed his eyes to dart around the room in a way that would usually result in threats or pushy sales tactics. This time his nerves went entirely ignored. He didn't know what to do and worse, he didn't understand what had happened. Behavior this out of the norm had to be at least influenced by magic. Percy weighed the various spells he knew for detecting enchantments and cursed objects—he even briefly considered a simple finite incantatem. But the pub's regulars often came in with heavy disguises and questionable belongings. The spells' results would either be overwhelmed by the pub's typical ephemera or lead to potentially deadly consequences. All of his experience unraveling the twins' tricks was useless even though this seemed just like something they'd cook up.

Penny began to hum along.

Terror finally smothered the remnants of Percy's rational thinking. He dragged Penny towards where Mr. Filch was serenading the crowd at the bar, ready to pull them both out of the pub, but at the last minute he redirected to the island of sanity surrounding the barkeeper. The old man stood at the far end of the bar, wearing a resigned expression as he went through the motions of polishing a glass. As he chose to use a dirty rag, he mostly accomplished moving the dust around, but at least this counted as normal insanity for the Hog's Head.

Percy had a direction. Here was an adult who could tell him what to do. Maybe Percy could even forgive the man for being a condescending idiot if he told Percy how to protect Penny from whatever had cursed the room—and how to get Mr. Filch back to Hogwarts.

Penny, who Percy finally registered had been giggling at being tugged around the room, extended her hand and said, "Hi! I'm Penny. I came with Percy to help get Mr. Filch back home."

Percy was torn between wanting to threaten the barkeep into treating Penny respectfully and begging him to make everything make sense again. The man impassively took in whatever was going on with Percy's face before turning to Penny with what could almost be classed as a smile.

"Aberforth," the man grunted as he shook her hand. It was positively chummy, likely more from Penny's natural likability than any threatening looks from her escort.

He looked between the two students before continuing, "Guess I got you down here a bit early. When Argus started up I thought it would turn bloody quickly. Most of these folks don't take kindly to, ah, attention."

Percy nodded along and felt relieved to see that Penny hadn't tensed back up at the oblique validation of her earlier fears.

"But, as you can see, people will surprise you," Aberforth continued, jerking his chin to indicate the rest of the room. "Best leave them to it. Sit down—I'll get you something to drink."

"Thanks!" Penny continued with a perkiness that even now felt totally out of place. As she climbed a bar stool, she turned to Percy and confided, "It's actually really cozy in here. You'd never know from the outside."

"Uh, yes. It definitely has an atmosphere," Percy responded through his distraction. The publican, Aberforth, seemed very calm for all that his pub had become a sing-a-long. This couldn't be normal—he'd admitted as much by incorrectly predicting his patrons' behavior, something he was usually uncannily good at.

Penny listened contentedly as the song somehow became more mournful. Percy took that as permission to once again study the room. He even took a quick glance at the occupants' auras even though Professor Trelawny barely touched on the basics last week (the technique can only be used to reveal the present, not the future, so had very little value in her mind). Percy usually wouldn't bother with such an imprecise technique, but it had the benefit of being noninvasive. Still, nothing seemed amiss except for the singing. He obviously needed more practice before he'd be able to pick apart the traces of active magic working in a crowd like this.

Aberforth dropped off two dusty butterbeers and moved on without meeting Percy's pleading eyes. After a quick scourgify, Percy opened a bottle and handed it to Penny. She took it with a bright smile and leaned in close to continue their conversation. Percy tried to contribute, but kept losing focus as every out-of-character action (i.e., every action) from the crowd registered as a threat. He kept turning to peer into the dark room while Penny valiantly attempted to carry on the one-sided conversation.

Some time later, and Percy really had no idea if it had been minutes or an hour of anxiously sipping and watching, Penny distractedly slapped at Percy's arm while turning towards the loudest pocket of singers. "This is one of my favorites!" she exclaimed, voice squeaky as she tried to modulate her volume through her excitement. Penny's melodious voice joined the chorus for yet another sad song as Percy watched in horror.

Maybe it would just be the one song and Penny would snap out of it. It can't be harmful, or the barman would have intervened. It wouldn't be good business to let the entire patronage of your business be hurt. But something weird was happening. Oh Merlin, what if this is how the petrifications happened. Maybe there hadn't been any in Hogwarts in the past month because this curse had escaped into the countryside. No, don't be ridiculous. There would have been witnesses if people had started compulsively singing. And can cats even sing?

Penny joined in with the next song, too.

Percy nearly toppled off his bar stool as he scrambled to speak with Aberforth. This irresponsible approach to the safety of the Hog's Head clientele would not extend to innocent students.

He stormed over to the old man and joined the queue. The crowd requesting refills was larger than Percy had ever noticed in his brief trips to the pub. Apparently, this curse or hex or other malignant magic was good for business. No wonder the publican allowed it to continue.

As he waited, Percy tried to slow his breathing. He consciously unclenched his fists and lowered his shoulders. He repeated this every time he thought about shoving his way to the front of the queue—at least a couple of times a minute. You can't take control of the situation if you don't have control of yourself.

"What is going on and why aren't you doing anything to stop it?" Percy yelled it was his turn to step up to the bar. Another deep breath. Modulated volume. "Now Penny's caught up in it and it's my fault for letting her come here. She just wanted to help. If she's hurt," Percy swallowed the feelings, contained the tears, before continuing, "I'll write to the licensing board and the DMLE. I'll do everything I can to make sure your doors never open again."

Aberforth let the threat hang in the air between them as he casually wiped a rag over the bar top. He waited patiently, his face doing something strange—almost fondly amused or wistful. But it was far too kind for the situation, so probably condescension.

Percy wanted to hold onto the anger. He wanted to yell and stomp his feet and make everything go back to how it should be. But the rage slipped through his fingers and Percy just felt small.

"There's not a thing wrong, or more wrong than usual, with anyone in here." Aberforth's tone landed in the vicinity of comforting, but was clearly out of practice. Before Percy could more than open his mouth to argue, the old man continued, "Places like this have been around a long time, soaking in magic. It's not as grand, but the Hog's Head's got magic at its heart like Hogwarts or any of the old pure-blood manors. But more so, because pubs are special and singing together, even in a group as sorry as this lot, is special too. It's why you'll see this singing and carrying on happen for muggles' too.

"It's been called a genius loci, but there isn't any creature involved. Nah, the magic just vents sometimes. But it'll move clean though the people, only leaving a memory. Maybe they'll leave with a few emotions aired out, but it will do these repressed fools good and your girl probably won't even notice it."

And Percy felt better with the explanation. He nearly resented how easily his fears slipped away as the oddities slipped into place and turned mundane. At least Hogwarts had the good sense to just rearrange the staircases instead of interfering with anyone's behavior. Percy pointedly did not think about the times he had joined in a chant while watching quidditch. Still, his mother and Professor McGonagall raised him with standards, so he had to push through his annoyance and slight embarrassment to end the encounter politely.

"Thank you for the explanation. I apologize for abruptness in how I approached you. I acted out of concern, but I did so without all of the facts." Percy's apology, which used the formality that he usually felt worked best at showing his sincerity, fell stiff and flat between them. He tried again, this time something more fitting for how small he still felt, "Sorry for threatening you."

"Lad, I deal with goats a lot more ornery and stubborn than you everyday. Go enjoy the rest of your evening—maybe find a song to join in on. Argus will be at it for an hour or two more and there's no sense in you making that walk twice in a night." This time Percy felt sure that Aberforth looked fond as he shooed the prefect away.

It happened just days later.

Penny didn't get a chance to go back to the Hog's Head Inn, though she had talked about it more than once. She'd called it the perfect way to decompress before really locking in to study for finals.

Now finals weren't going to be an issue for Penny. Or Hermione. Or young Colin Creevy or the Hufflepuff, Finch-Fletchley.

Of course, the mandrakes would ripen soon and everyone would be fine. Even with Professor Dumbledore removed from his post, everyone insisted that everything was going to be okay. The professors were all very firm on that. (But what about the time they'd lost? Colin had missed nearly all of his first year.)

Percy studied at Penny's bedside when he could. He found a few minutes each day in between prefect duties, leading revising sessions, and completing his research in the library. Madam Pomfrey said he didn't need to—that the petrified would wake up without feeling the time pass. She tried to convince him to leave. Maybe it served a form of penance, or merely provided the comfort of a friendly face, but Percy keeping vigil felt right when little else did.

Focus was eluding Percy more and more these days. In classes, the library, even the dining hall, his mind wandered away whenever a task didn't need his full attention.

At least in the hospital wing his attention was drawn to the cards and gifts left at each occupied bed instead of the horrors of what would happen next. Penny's roommates had each sent a tasteful card. A group of prefects worked together to charm some (non-magical) flowers from one of the greenhouses.

Colin had a stack of letters at his bedside, with more filling up a box under the bed. A couple of colorful, but crudely drawn cards were propped up by a plush creature of indeterminate species. Upon further reflection, Percy decided it was likely of Lovegood origin.

Justin Finch-Fletchley's area overflowed with plants, candy, and bright cards. Professor Sprout must have talked Madam Pomfrey down from declaring it a hazard and clearing it all out.

Lavender and Parvati had sent cards for Hermione, but nothing else had turned up yet. Not that Percy judged Ron and Harry for not having any physical items to show their support. Percy couldn't find the energy to do more than be present for Penny, and Madam Pomfrey only allowed that because he was unobtrusive.

A week after Penny's petrification, Percy spoke to Madame Pomfrey for the first time since begging for permission to visit.

"Do you think it would help if I wrote to her parents?" he asked quietly. "I just think my mum would feel better knowing that someone else cared, someone that could be closer."

The nurse's face relaxed into something almost sad, but ultimately more appropriate for looking at kittens than at a sixth year prefect. A favorable answer seemed unlikely, so before she could respond, Percy tried again, "I want to help if I can."

"Oh, lad," Madame Pomfrey sighed. She placed a hand on his shoulder before continuing, "there's not much need for helping right now. Albus has taken charge of communicating with each of their parents. He feels a great sense of duty to them, even when he isn't here. And with them being muggles, we have to be careful in how things are explained."

Percy nodded, but felt her response like a weight in his chest. He slumped in his seat and had to work harder than normal to pull in his next breath as he watched her move on to her next task.

"Perhaps, if you wrote to Albus he would pass on your well-wishes to the family."

Percy tried to smile. His back straightened and his mouth did something, but he could tell it didn't really work. Hopefully, it at least communicated his gratitude for her suggestion and attempted comfort.

That night, and several nights after, Percy sat down to compose a letter and never got past the first word. He tried writing to Professor Dumbledore, but felt embarrassed at expressing any sort of emotion to the headmaster. So he shifted to addressing a letter directly to the Clearwaters that he could enclose in a letter to Dumbledore. Unidentifiable feels swelled, but no inspiration followed. He even considered starting with letters to the Grangers or Creevys, hoping that some distance from the subjects would unstop the blockage. Still, the words wouldn't come and the parchment was left covered with meaningless ink splatter.

Whether it was the exposure, the potential censorship, or his own emotional unavailability, Percy couldn't find words that fit. He felt more useless than at the start.

Professor Dumbledore probably provided perfect comfort anyway, even if he didn't explain anything. Percy would just get in the way.

The attack set back Mr. Filch's recovery. The caretaker stayed sober, if still lethargic and withdrawn, in the time following the night of communal singing. Upon hearing news of the new petrifications, rumor had it that Mr. Filch spent the next 24 hours wandering the castle with a huge wrench hunting for the threat. (When the rumor reached Percy several days later, he was shocked by how very Gryffindor the action was—admirable, but ultimately pointless. If Professor Dumbledore couldn't find and stop this, then what good would any of the rest of them do, especially the old caretaker? Apparently even aurors,professionals who dealt with dark magic regularly, couldn't help or surely that would have taken care of it long ago.)

When Mr. Filch set down his improvised weapon, he picked up a fire-whiskey. The man made his way to the Hog's Head Inn every afternoon and was blackout drunk by the time classes ended.

Percy finally felt that he truly understood Mr. Filch's choices. Oblivion through any means available held an appeal everything else had lost. But Penny would be so mad if Percy wasted his time and potential on something so unenlightened.

It wasn't until after Percy had spoken to Madam Pomfrey and subsequently given up on letter writing that he found out about Mr. Filch's decline. Percy clearly failed to hold it together enough for Professor McGonagoll to trust him with going to collect the drunk caretaker anymore. Instead, she had worked her way through the other prefects before approaching Percy again.

"I'm sorry to be putting this on you again, Mr. Weasley," she started. Percy distantly felt the barb hit—he'd been doing a good job for months with no complaints. He was the best choice, Professor McGonagoll should have come to him first.

"I know you've been spending a lot of time in the hospital wing—"

"With permission. Madam Pomfrey said I wasn't in the way," Percy couldn't stop himself from interrupting, but he cringed at the show of disrespect. McGonagoll might be right to limit his responsibilities with his slipping self control.

"Yes, of course," she brushed his rudeness aside. "I wouldn't pull you away if I had a choice. Unfortunately, the other options have been tried and resulted in disasters that no one has time to fix. If you aren't up for it, though, we'll figure out a way to put him up at the Hog's Head Inn for the duration or something."

They both knew having that level of access to alcohol without the distractions of maintaining the castle would end badly for the caretaker. Mentioning it as an option must have been a way to emphasize the cost of Percy's failure. It wasn't only his future he put at risk.

The deputy's headmistress's exhaustion showed through for a moment as she muttered, "Though you'd also probably have the best chance of convincing Aberforth of that too. We might even have a chance of getting Argus back alive with the sibling rivalry out of the way."

The last comment made no sense to the prefect, so he elected to ignore it.

"Of course I can take care of Mr. Filch, Professor," Percy said indignantly. He wasn't going to waste his time or potential. He was still going to make head boy next year. And he would prove to Professor McGonagoll that she made the right choice by not letting it cut into his time in the hospital wing. He'd complete his personal studying during meal times. He could do it all. He wasn't feeling very hungry these days anyway.

Percy had only walked to the Hog's Head Inn with Penny once, so there really was no reason for him to keep dwelling on it this time. That singular, though pleasant, walk should not outweigh the dozens of other times he made the trip. And, reasonably, he shouldn't feel sad about how that was likely the only time they would ever walk from Hogwarts to this particular pub. Once Penny recovered, Mrs. Norris would as well, removing Mr. Filch's reason for binge drinking and the resulting need for an escort. It's not like the Hog's Head was a popular destination for Hogsmeade weekends, if they even had time next year to go into town.

Percy honestly wasn't feeling much at all by the time he entered the pub and Aberforth immediately beckoned him over. (Percy only knew the old man's name because of Penny.)

"Hanging in there, kid?"

He should say he's fine and go over to Mr. Filch. He should be strong, reliable. Instead he shrugs and nods—a noncommittal and possibly incomprehensible gesture.

"Heard about your girl. It's a real shame. All of it is, really. She seemed like a good one."

"She is," Percy affirmed. Good. Smart. Kind. Bold. Strong. "It shouldn't have happened to her." The understatement felt hollow, not enough to contain the emotions hovered just out of reach.

"Sit. Have a drink. I reckon you've earned it as much as Argus and he'll hold for a bit longer."

"Oh. Thank you, but I'm not in the mood for a butter beer and I should be getting back anyway."

"This is a bar—I serve more than butter beer." Aberforth paused, waiting for his offer to land. When Percy flushed and shook his head nervously, the bartender continued, "How about some tea?"

"Uh, okay. Thanks." Percy didn't want to be rude. Well, most of him didn't want to be rude. And Percy certainly didn't have the energy to resist a determined offer. So he sat and watched as the old man made tea. His thoughts drifted off almost immediately with no particular destination.

Aberforth set a heavy mug of tea down on the bar in front of Percy, followed by sugar, cream, and a small glass of a strong smelling amber liquid. He waited until Percy made eye-contact before explaining, "So you can doctor it how you like."

Instead of moving on, Aberforth settled in behind the bar. He even started his cleaning-glassware-with-a-dirty-rag routine.

"I'm not of age until August, you know," Percy stated after some internal debate. The Hog's Head clearly had a loose relationship with the law, but Percy didn't.

"Hmm, that so?" The old man continued to focus on adding new smudges to the glass in his hand. "You know, I don't encourage underage drinking or even over-drinking, no matter what some people may think. But I do find that feelings have got to get out somehow. And sometimes a little lubrication helps."

"Well, I find that feelings usually get in the way and make a mess of things."

Percy added a splash of cream to his mug before taking a sip. Surprisingly good.

Aberforth slipped from the alcohol as though he had always intended it for himself. But he stayed, positioned directly across from Percy.

As the silence between them grew, Percy felt the urge to fill it. And maybe he could talk freely, expose all of his weaknesses, here in this one moment. Aberforth's bad opinion wouldn't derail his ambitions. In fact, Percy suspected the old man might like him more for the imperfections.

"I'm having a hard time feeling much of anything right now, at least anything beyond exhaustion." Percy aimed for a flippant tone, hoping he came across as casual and not as though he were about to spill his guts with almost no provocation. "Anytime I'm not, like, actively doing something my brain kind of turns off. I'll think about Penny in the hospital wing, sometimes I can't stop thinking about it, but I'm not feeling anything. I should probably be sad, or grieving, or even afraid. And sometimes I get flashes of those, but it feels so far away. I think I feel guilty. And angry. I think once I'm not so tired I'm going to be so angry that everyone allowed this to happen."

"Fair enough," Aberforth responded. And those two words managed to be so sincere. The condescension Percy always noted in his previous encounters had entirely disappeared.

Still, the sympathy seemed poorly placed.

"Hmph," Percy snorted, "But it's always 'control your temper, Percy;' 'calm down, Percy;' 'you're over reacting, Percy.' No one else will think my anger is fair."

After a moment, Aberforth quietly spoke, "When my sister died, I blamed my brother. I was so angry it took decades before I could even look at him. Looking back now, all that anger, and nothing came of it. I sometimes wonder if things would be better now if I'd done something with it instead of letting it eat away at me. Maybe the difference between what gets seen as fair and what gets scolded is somewhere in there, in how it gets expressed. Or maybe I'm just an old bartender prattling on."

He clasped Percy on the shoulder, indicating the end of the trial of mutual vulnerability. Still, Aberforth lingered in the area as Percy finished his tea. Percy could have spoken more. He could have talked about how frustratingly illogical all of these feelings were. How he should have done more to keep everyone safe. How he just wanted to sleep, but found himself laying awake at night.

The silence was enough for now.

The days dragged on and Percy survived much as he had been, up until he found himself sitting down again to write a letter.

This letter was vitally important. It couldn't be left to Dumbledore, who wasn't here, or Professor McGonagall, who had enough on her plate. Percy wasn't sure he could trust anyone to write the full truth anyway. He wasn't even sure he could do it. At the moment, he had a hard time even remembering how he got here.

Still, failure was not an option this time. Quill to parchment, he forced the words out: "Dear Mum and Dad, …"