Giving Notice

PERFECT PERCY.

Two weeks.

It's been just two weeks since the entire wizarding community in Britain was thrown into chaos; two weeks since Hogwarts was thrown into utter shock; two weeks since Hogwarts lost its youngest - and best - Quidditch Seeker in a century; two weeks since my brothers and sister aged twenty years.

It feels a lot longer.

Two weeks since Harry died. No. Not died. "Died" implies an illness, an accident. Maybe even 'murdered'. This time two years ago, the words "Harry died" would have meant precisely that.

It still means that, if you count suicide. Because that's what he's done.

Suicide: verb; To kill oneself intentionally. Derived from the Latin words "sui" ("of oneself") and "cidium" (which is derived from the even older word "caedere", meaning "to kill"). Loose translation, "to commit self-murder".

And he may as well have murdered Ron, too.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I guess in a family as big as ours, there can't help but be favourites. Bill and Charlie were the first, the bravest, the cleverest, the best - they set the standard. Fred and George were twins, unique - they were special just because of what they were, what they are. And Ginny - well, for Mum to finally have a girl after six boys, it was a real celebration for her. A daughter to share "girl-things" with, pass down the wisdom of females and how to deal with those of us born into the mere male gender, the ones unfortunate enough to be the owners of a Y chromosome.

So that left Ron... and me.

When we were younger - Bill and Charlie already off to Hogwarts, me just waiting for the owl to bring my acceptance letter - I was the lucky one to babysit. Ginny just sat and played with dolls or crayons, as most little girls do, I suppose. Fred and George were too wrapped up in each other to leave any room for Ron. Hell, they hadn't even mastered the art of deliberate annoyance yet.

Note the 'yet', please.

So that left Ron, sitting on the sofa and trying to pretend he didn't care that he didn't fit in. That left me at my wit's end on how to amuse him... how to just make him smile. Finally, I taught him how to play chess.

He picked it up fairly quickly. And in a year, he was beating the pants off me. Every time. Ron had real talent... but it wasn't going to grow at the Burrow. I could only hope Hogwarts would give him what he needed.

But surprisingly enough, once I was vanquished at chess, once he could view me as an equal... he started talking to me. Confiding in me, asking advice, sharing stories of his day.

And to my shock, I found myself doing the same, as we snuggled together on the lounge, Ron falling asleep in my lap more often than not.

When I went to Hogwarts, I was surprised by the regular barrage of owls that came to me from the Burrow - not from Mum or Dad, but from Ron, talking about his days, still asking advice, still... being my little Ron. Good thing Errol was young in those days. Our correspondence was quite busy in the first few years... then it dropped off a little.

And of course, when Ron came to Hogwarts himself, he began to spread out, find his own friends, his own identity away from "the Weasley family". I knew he would - after all, isn't that the first thing I'd done myself?

So... why did it make me feel so sad?

And the next thing I knew, there was another addition to the Weasley clan - as if we needed another brother! But Harry... Harry is - was - the kind of kid that simply slipped into your heart precisely because he didn't try to worm his way in. He just was. Good, kind, generous, thoughtful... everything I would have wanted in Ron's best friend. Then again, Ron always had good taste. He is my brother, after all.

Oh, there were times when I thought that being with Harry was more dangerous for Ron than it was worth - mainly every time You-Know-Who came into the picture - and they didn't have a perfect friendship. Normally, if they had different opinions, they agreed to disagree, but when they fought, they really fought. A few days after the Goblet of Fire selected Harry's name, I received an owl from Ron. First time in a long time we'd owled each other.

And it was the first time I'd ever known him to be so... vitriolic. So angry and betrayed he could see no reason. I did try to tell him - "Listen to Hermione," I wrote back. "Maybe Harry's telling the truth - why would he need more danger?" In a perverse way that makes me wholly disgusted with myself, I was almost glad that Ron didn't listen to me for a few weeks, glad that Harry and Ron were fighting, if it meant I had my position as elder brother and confidante back in Ron's heart.

But no matter how hard they fought, I knew it wouldn't last too long. The love between them wouldn't let it last. Their love... not neccessarily as a lover, although it might have been that too, although silent and undeclared. But sometimes love is love, and it doesn't need a qualifier like 'brother' or 'lover' - the love just exists.

Ron loved Harry, plain and simple. And Harry loved Ron just as much - the second task in the Tri-Wizard Tournament was more than proof of that. What Harry would miss most of all was taken.

And I found out that it was Ron.

The twins tormented me for a long time after for losing control, running to hug Ron in relief after he came up. He'd been down there so long... well over the specified time. Their accusations of being like a mother hen were all the more irritating because I couldn't really deny it. But then again, as I reminded them, how would they have liked it if say, Fred had been in Ron's place, and George in mine? They shut up pretty fast.

But that didn't really matter. Ron was safe, Harry was safe, only one more task to go, and whether they wanted each other as boyfriends or as brothers, they were happy. And despite the worsening situation at work, I was comforted knowing that much.

But now...

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hogwarts broke up for summer holidays last week. Fred, George and Ginny... they all came home looking so old. Ginny was crying, the twins were thin and grim. "Why?" Ginny wailed. "Voldemort was gone, wasn't he? He couldn't come back, not for ages anyway! Why'd he..."

George just hugged her, while Fred looked grimly at me. "Perce... about Ron..." he started awkwardly.

And then Ron came in, lugging his boxes and Pigwidgeon's cage. I know for a fact that my jaw dropped.

Ron looked totally calm, not bothered at all. Indeed, he seemed quite cheerful as he went about letting Pigwidgeon out of his cage. "There you go, you stupid little git, just don't go flying into Mum's omelettes, you know how she gets." Shooing the uncharacteristically still owl off his arm, he ignored Pigwidgeon's sad hoots and attempts at affection, and asked me, "Hi there, Perce! Still battling the evils of the substandard cauldron?" he grinned. "Whatever you do, just don't bore Harry to tears with it when he gets here, okay? He's had a hard enough year. Poor guy deserves a holiday from all cauldrons, Snape's and yours."

Ginny cried harder as I stared silently at Ron. Fred sighed. "Here, Ron, give us a hand with this stuff and get it upstairs, would you?" As the two of them left the room, balancing a huge pile of heavy boxes and trunks between them, I was startled from watching them by George's voice.

"He's in denial. Total, complete and utter denial." George's face was pale, lips pressed together. "He just won't believe that Harry's dead, he's positive he's just gone somewhere as part of a mission to clean up after Voldemort. He even told Dumbledore off when he tried to take Harry's things away. Insisted that they come here." This is so unfair, so not right. I wanted the twins to grow up, but not this way... never this way...

"Harry left his Gringotts key with a note tied round it that says it's for Mum and Dad, for being 'his family' -" George chokes slightly on the word, "and apologises for not being able to give more. More, Perce!"

I'd thought it would be hard... I never knew how hard it would be.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Things didn't really get a lot better. Ron would stick his head out the window waiting for Hedwig to deliver a letter from Harry, totally ignoring the fact that Harry had left Hedwig to Hermione, since she had no owl of her own. He complained if Mum happened to serve up a food that Harry didn't like - "What if he'd arrived here tonight, Mum? Honestly, can't we have his favourites here ready for him?" He set up a makeshift bed next to his own, seemingly unruffled by the fact that it went unused night after night. "He'll be here, Perce, don't worry," he said to me once. "You know Harry - he just has to make the dramatic entrance. I mean, he's Harry!"

Yes, Ron. The dramatic entrance. Complete with a tragic exit.

But when he stole some money out of the emergency jar to catch the Knight Bus to Privet Drive, convinced that those Muggles were being cruel to Harry again, I knew things had gone too far.

"They've locked him up before! Starved him, too!" he protested when the twins and I went and got him. "Fred, George, you were there, tell him!"

"He's right, Percy, they did," Fred spoke up dully. "Treated him like a prisoner."

I made up my mind. "Fred, George... go home. Tell Mum and Dad that Ron and I are going to Diagon Alley and we're not coming back till tomorrow." Ignoring their startled glances, I gently urged them home before taking Ron to Diagon Alley with me. I booked a room for us in the Leaky Cauldron and sent a quick message home saying so by Floo, knowing that my parents trusted me completely to take good care of Ron.

I therefore couldn't help but feel a little guilty as I methodically set about making Ron falling-down drunk.

It was the only thing I could think of. Once again, I was at my wit's end on how to deal with him.

He got drunk all right - smashed right off his face might have been how the twins would have put it - but he still wouldn't talk to me about what I wanted him to talk about.

So I did what I had done so many years ago.

I pulled out the chessboard.

Years of playing had sharpened his skills considerably, but his drunken state hampered him, while my own perfect sobriety helped me. "You've been playing a lot of this at Hogwarts, right?"

"Yeah."

"With Harry?"

A pause. "Yeah. With Harry." The wistfully slurred tone in his voice gave me some hope, and I pushed ahead.

"Any good?"

"Sort of good. Makes lotss o' mistakes, though... doez'n think... forgets e's got all his pieces, so then he loses."

"So he tries to checkmate with just one piece, and ends up in checkmate himself?" I asked this question softly.

"...Yeah."

And then he broke down.

He's almost sixteen now, and I've just turned twenty, but he was in my arms and in my lap and I rocked him back and forth while he went through the worst sobbing fit I've ever, ever seen. He cried so hard it just shook his whole body, and several times he started choking, and I had to urge him to breathe. His face was as red as his hair, my robes were sopping wet from his tears and there was a disgusting silver trail all over me from his nose, and I couldn't have been more grateful.

It must have been almost an hour before he can even speak again, in a tiny voice that I almost miss. "Why?"

"I don't know, Ron. I wish I could tell you. But only Harry knew."

"Why din' he talk to me?"

"I don't know. I think he was afraid to make you unhappy with his unhappiness. Harry was funny like that. He'd have done anything to save you from unhappiness."

"Like I'm happy now?" Bitter, angry, hurting. But, thank the stars, finally believing it.

"I don't think he thought about that. Remember, Harry always blamed himself for things he couldn't do anything about. He tried to take on responsibilities that the wizarding community should never have placed on him... but with responsibility comes importance. And I don't think he ever really realised just how very important he was to everyone. How much he was loved."

"I l-oved h-h-him."

"I know you did. He loved you too. More than anything. More than a lover, more than a brother, more than both of those things. He just loved you. Far more than anything else in his life. Including his own self."

"His n-note... said 'beloved'. Who?"

I heard the unasked question. 'Please, not me... don't let it have been my fault that he...'

"I don't think anyone will ever know that but Harry, Ron. But what did the note say?" I hadn't heard of any note, beyond the one on the Gringotts key and the one about Hedwig. Short, one-sentence notes.

"Said b-beloved... all my love to you... my choice... no one's fault."

I closed my eyes and swallowed. "There you go, Ron. Harry said it himself - no one's fault, but his own choice. It might not have been the choice anyone else wanted him to make... but it was his decision." My words rang hollow in my own ears, though. He'd never have hurt you in a million years by choice, Ron... so why did he do this to himself? To you? To everyone? I don't understand either, Ron...

Ron sniffled and curled into my lap. "Tired..."

"Then go to sleep, Ron," I said, trying to get him onto one of the beds, but he clung to me like a limpet, muttering "Don' go... don' you go too, P'rcy."

How could I go then? So I sat there on the couch, the flames slowly dying and my legs going numb under Ron's weight as he fell asleep. I, too, was slowly drifting off when I got the shock of my life.

Hedwig tapped on the window.

Astonished, I gently pried Ron's grip loose and hastened as silently as I could to the window. As soon as I opened it, Hedwig dropped a parcel into my hand and flew off, keening mournfully into the night all the way. The parcel was labelled simply 'To Ron'.

Leaving the parcel on the windowsill, I picked Ron's limp form up, made doubly difficult by his size and the amount of alcohol he had consumed. Placing him gently on one of the twin beds, I smoothed back his hair before fetching the parcel, a bowl and a glass of water - all things I knew Ron would either want or need in the morning.

Curiously, I felt the parcel, trying and failing to guess what it might be, and realising it finally when I took my own glasses off to sleep. Same shape, same feel of stiff, comforting frames.

Harry's glasses. Hermione - or Hedwig - had somehow managed to arrange for Ron to have something unique to Harry. Something special and close to Harry, yet nothing that Ron would feel compelled to return. Something that had rested on Harry's face for years, that had framed his eyes, the windows to his soul; had been brushed with his eyelashes, touched with his tears. His glasses.

Hermione... Hedwig... Harry, wherever you are... whoever of you organised this, thank you. Thank you more than I can express for giving Ron back something like this.

As I extinguished the lamp, I wondered one last time.

What had driven my newest brother, my dark-haired, gentle, affection-starved, scarred little brother, to do such a thing? Why had he chosen that route just when his future seemed brightest, most hopeful?

Why had he felt that he had to choose to hurt my baby brother so?

END.

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