Chapter Text
Percy doesn’t know what to do when Hogwarts begins to clear out. He’s angry and confused and tired. He’s horrified at the thought of returning to his dreary flat. It’s grey furniture and grey walls and grey feelings. It’s everything opposite of the Burrow, opposite because it had needed to be for him to survive.
“We wouldn’t want you to show any...personal connection to that past, Mr. Weasley.”
“Of course not.” Percy hopes he is convincing. “I serve the Ministry, Prime Minister. My old life means nothing.”
“You understand that if it is, you will not be the only person paying the price.” Umbridge, standing off the to the side of the Minister, gives him a sickly-sweet smile. “How is your father doing, by the way?”
“I wouldn’t know, ma’am,” Percy says, shoving any resentment he feels back down. “But I’m sure he’s doing his job.”
“Hmm. Of course.”
My old life means nothing.
My old life means nothing.
My old life has to mean nothing, or I can’t protect them.
Percy remembers the laws he wrote for the Ministry of Magic. He remembers that he made sure they wouldn’t hold when the inevitable fall came, that one word from a new minister and they would fall apart. He remembers purposefully doing it and then smiling at Umbridge as if he created a masterpiece. Percy remembers that she never knew.
They never guessed he wanted to betray them.
So Percy knows, as the battle is over and Kingsley approaches him, that the future of the Ministry is safe because his written laws are faulty. Kingsley sighs in relief when Percy tells him this and the two shake hands.
“Will you come back?” Kingsley asks. “Will you help with the new laws?”
“I don’t think that’s the smart thing to do,” Percy admits. “I should be with my family right now if they’ll have me.”
“Of course.”
When Kingsley walks away, Ginny is suddenly in his place. She’s dirty and red-eyed, but her chin is firmly out, and she looks determined. “We’re leaving now.”
She doesn’t say that he has to come, or that she forgives him, or that she’s still angry. She just takes his hand and they join their family (plus Harry and Hermione, always plus Harry and Hermione) in walking out of the Hogwarts barriers to apparate home. They go to their individual rooms and they fall into their beds.
Percy doesn’t sleep, of course. He cries until Ginny comes into his room.
She crawls into his bed and cries as well.
They’re joined by George soon. Percy’s bed isn’t big enough and elbows hit ribs, but they cry together.
By the time Ron crawls into the bed, they’ve stopped crying.
They lay in silence.
Charlie doesn’t get into the bed. He clambers over them to perch in the window. He doesn’t cry, but he doesn’t talk.
Bill is the last one. He’s always the last one. The same as Charlie, he doesn’t lay in the bed, but he kicks them in the hip bones and knee caps as he climbs across their legs to perch on the window sill next to Charlie.
They don’t talk. They don’t cry.
Ginny’s hair is in Percy’s mouth and tastes like smoke. Ron’s hand in his is sweaty and numbingly tight. George’s scarred ear scratches against the skin of his arm.
He doesn’t complain. He used to complain a lot, but it seems silly to complain now. Why should these little things bother him anymore? He wishes Fred’s snores were there to give him discomfort. He thinks he should be dead, thinks he should not be allowed to now appreciate the things Fred always knew were special.
They don’t speak until the sun rises. Charlie, for whatever reason, blurts out that he’s got a Muggle collection of music discs that feature a boy band.
“Fred would have had a go at that,” he continues.
Bill snorts. “Fleur nicknames all of my notable freckles and moles. Her favorite, she calls Pinky for some reason. Doesn’t quite make sense.”
Suddenly, it’s a game of who Fred would tease the most.
“I sneezed into Harry’s mouth when he tried to kiss me last night. He laughed, kissed me anyways. I kissed my own snot.”
George doesn’t laugh, but a breathless sound almost like a small sob escapes. “Fred would have sneezed every time he saw you after that.”
“He would have made fun that the first time Hermione kissed me was because of house elves. Fucking house elves.” Ron sounds broken.
“He’d be calling you Dobby,” Ginny notes. “He used to visit that elf in the kitchens. Fred loved him.”
“Or he would have thrown SPEW badges at you,” George offers. The now-twin-less Weasley lets his eyes flicker up to Percy. Percy looks at the ceiling because the gaze brings too much pain. “What would make Fred laugh right now, Perce?”
Percy stays looking up. “Probably the fact that Oliver Wood fucked me the night before we left sixth year. And a million times during seventh year.”
Ginny’s heel finds Percy’s shin as she sits up.
Ron chokes on his own spit and turns on all fours to have a coughing fit.
George remains unmoved, staring directly at Percy.
Charlie and Bill act as if this isn’t surprising from their seats.
“You fucked our quidditch captain?” George says slowly. His tone draws Percy’s eyes. A flicker something like mirth crosses George’s face.
Percy looks back to the ceiling.
“Fred always did like to joke that I was a poof,” he continues in a bland voice. “If only he’d known. There aren’t enough jokes in the world about riding Oliver’s broom to cover the enormity of him gloating about being right.”
George sits up then. “What the bloody fuck did you just say?”
“Fred liked being right?”
“No,” George says quickly. “Something about riding Oliver’s broom?”
Percy maintains eye contact now. “Yes. His skills were proficient. I used to...I used to call him a keeper.”
George dissolves into a fit of laughter so hysterical that Harry and Hermione rush in with panic in their features. They find six Weasley’s, laughing with tears over something that isn’t terribly funny but feels like it should be. Confused, but glad to see laughter, they leave the room.
“That’s something else, Perce,” George wheezes eventually. “Fuckin’ ‘ell.”
It seems like Percy should feel better, but he doesn’t. Fred would have gotten real laughs.
He and Fred should have switched places.
)-(
Moving back into the Burrow changes things.
Percy helps with cooking and chores willingly. He uses all of his money that he’s saved from the ministry to do repairs on the Burrow that his mother has always talked about. She comes home from a visit with Andromeda and finds her kitchen updated and Percy taking down her living room wallpaper.
“Percy,” she says with a forced lightness. “You don’t have to—
“Mum, please,” Percy cuts her off. “Let me do this. Ginny has the money, she’s taking you shopping tomorrow. All new furniture, whatever you’d like.”
She looks at him in confusion.
“I’m not trying to change home because its not good enough or anything of the sort, I’m only trying to do all those things you’ve always talked about. It helps me, anyhow.”
She doesn’t say anything, which he recognizes is a big feat for Molly. Only smiles and goes back into the kitchen. It seems like minutes before Harry and Ginny were striding into the room with extra paint brushes. Again, Ginny lets her actions speak for her as she looks pointedly at Percy and motions to the paint Harry holds.
“I figured you couldn’t find the right shade of yellow mum wants,” Ginny offers. “So when you’re done with that, we’ll start on the paint. Tomorrow, you and Harry will take down wallpaper in the dining room.”
Percy nods. He’s mostly quiet the rest of the afternoon, watching Ginny and Harry interact with an oddly perfected routine. He asks gently when things started between them.
“Always for me,” Ginny answers. “Harry’s sixth year for him.”
Sixth year.
What a year.
“You’re avoiding me, Percy."
“No, I’m not.” Percy manages not to look at Oliver’s bare torso. How does he look so strong? So unfairly muscular? “I should check on Ginny and Ron and you’ve still got to pack.”
Oliver blocks Percy from leaving by standing in front of the door. He crosses his arms so that his muscles swell and Percy aches and aches. “I won’t be able to have a good summer if I think you’re angry with me.”
“We both know that’s a lie.”
“We’re mates,” Oliver reminds him. “Best mates. We know everything about each other. I’ve slept in your bed after panic attacks, we spend all of our free time together! We know everything about each other and I know when something is wrong. What have I done?”
“Ollie...”
“Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll leave.”
“I can’t do this anymore,” Percy groans. He finally lets himself look at the dips of muscle. The patch of hair that starts at the belly button. The pink lips and dark eyes that threaten to drown him. “I’m gay, Oliver. I’m gay. And I’ve hidden it pretty well, but you’ve decided to walk around with a shirt off every day this week! You slept on top of me last night, in nothing but pants, for no other reason than saying I’m comfortable. I have wanted you for ages, Ollie, and I am tired of trying to hide how I feel about you. I still want you and—Merlin’s beard—you won’t wear any fucking clothes!”
Oliver is grinning now. Percy thinks he’s a little mad. “You want me?”
“Do not mock me, Ollie.”
“I’m not,” he says lightly. The look in his eyes in gleeful. “Perce, you’re everything to me.”
And then they’re kissing.
“I’m happy for you,” Percy pulls himself into the present and smiles at Harry. “I’m happy for you both.”
)-(
Harry moves into Bill’s old room and Hermione stays in Ginny’s. The family (plus Harry and Hermione, always plus Harry and Hermione) spends months getting their feet back under them.
Percy doesn’t go back to the ministry. He doesn’t feel as if he should, doesn’t think he can disappoint Fred’s memory that way. Instead, when the wizarding world looks to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes to cheer them up, Percy helps George. The younger brother isn’t able to get out of bed to run the shop and the business is hurting because of it. Percy goes to the office one day and opens the books. He spends three days looking over the accounts.
And then, Ron by his side, he works.
Percy is mostly behind the scenes, while Ron interacts with customers and uses his natural affection and charm to help people. Percy is envious of his brother’s ability to relate to other people. He can think of only one person who ever understood him, and he doesn’t think Oliver would ever want to see him again. He imagines if he found the quidditch star and begged for love again. Oliver would look at Rita Skeeter’s scathing article and know the full truth of how Percy had abandoned his family.
“Hmm,” he says to himself, standing in the kitchen and forgetting why he was there. “Fred was right all along.”
The one person I thought I was good enough for will probably never love me again. Maybe he never did.
When Harry stumbles into the kitchen half asleep, he’s greeted by the sight of Percy sobbing on the cold tile. His sobs are close to like what his anxiety attacks used to be, when he couldn’t breathe and couldn’t get his brain to control the rest of his body.
“Percy,” Harry says tightly. “Percy, it’s okay.”
“I should be dead,” Percy sobs. He brings his hands to his face and for some reason, it makes Harry cry out. “I should be dead, and Fred should be alive. Fred deserves this, Fred deserves life. He could have our family and have love. Why am I here? Why isn’t he?”
Something odd happens, and Harry has his arms around Percy’s torso. He shushes him gently, rocks him on the floor of the kitchen until his sobs subside and he can see through the wetness in his eyes. A teacup is broken, and Percy’s hands are bleeding.
“I understand.” Harry’s voice is hoarse. “Percy, I understand more than anyone. You wake up every day wishing that you were done because it doesn’t feel like justice that you’re alive and others aren’t. How can the world be worth living in when things like this happen?”
Percy peels away from Harry and looks up in wonder. “You feel like that, Harry?”
“I certainly don’t feel like a hero,” the other man mumbles. He scratches at his hair. “Sometimes, living feels wrong and I wake up in the middle of the night thinking it would be easier if I could just fall asleep and never wake up.”
“What gets you through the day?”
Harry coughs awkwardly. “It might seem unhealthy, but Ginny. I see her and think, ‘How can a world be so terribly when something like her exists?’”
Percy closes his eyes. “And if you don’t have anything like that?”
“Ginny says you do.”
“Ahh.”
“You may not have him now, Percy, but you were together at one point. Did you love him?”
Percy nods.
“Do you still?”
Percy nods, without hesitation. “So much it hurts.”
“Then think about those times, maybe,” Harry offers. “How can the world be so terrible if something like that existed? If you loved someone so much, its lasted years and separation?”
Percy doesn’t say anything else. Harry doesn’t press the subject either, only sits with Percy. He heals the cuts caused by the broken tea cup and repairs it. He banishes the liquid and cleans the blood.
From then on, Percy feels like there’s two people in the world who understand him.
)-(
It’s odd to the Weasleys when the week of the twins’ birthday, George finally emerges from his room. He isn’t showered and he’s too skinny, but he’s there. He wants a quidditch game, in honor of Fred’s memory. A massive one, to raise funds for orphans of the war. Harry will attach his name as one of the seeker’s. George won’t play, but Harry is positive he can find two full teams. Charlie is the other seeker, Ginny is a chaser. Ron will confidently play keeper. Lee will host, Hermione will keep score.
They’re sitting around the dinner table, making plans, when Hermione poses the right question.
“Where will we host it?” she asks from a spot partially in Ron’s lap. They seem to refuse to be apart lately. “I know enough charms to create a safe place here.”
“No,” George demands. “This is going to be real as we can make it. We need a stadium.”
“Doesn’t Oliver play for Puddlemere United?” Harry suggests. When Percy glares at him, he blinks innocently. “Surely, the captain can work on getting us a stadium?”
Percy feels a little betrayed because of course his siblings will jump on that opportunity. Ginny is nodding enthusiastically. “You’re going to speak to him and get us that stadium.”
Percy is going to refuse. He can’t face Oliver. They parted on good terms all those years ago, but Rita Skeeter’s scathing article about the Black Sheep of the Weasley Heroes still circulates some magazines. How is Percy supposed to face the only person he’s ever loved, who probably thinks of him as dirt now?
“He loved Fred,” George insists. “And I think Fred would find it funny that you’re going to be an awkward mess.”
So, Percy obliges. After spending hours in front of the mirror (only to end up in tighter-than-he-is-used-to jeans and a blue jumper that is rather unremarkable), he shows up at Puddlemere United’s stadium during a practice. He watches Oliver’s lithe muscles work for him as he defends hoops and makes quidditch art. He looks good, healthy, handsome. He’s always looked like that.
“This is it, Perce. I’m going to win the quidditch cup this year.”
Percy looks over the top of his glasses. This, Oliver bursting into the dormitory, is the first time they’ve seen each other since parting ways with a long goodbye snog on the train from Hogwarts. “Are you now?”
“Yes! You see, I’ve made a plan.”
“You always have a plan, Ollie.”
“This year it’ll work. It’s not about winning games, I’m pushing the points aspect of the sport even harder this time. I’ll have a frank discussion with Harry on the appropriate time to catch the snitch if the other teams have an advantage. I’ll be really keeping track of points, making sure Fred and George are focused more on the other seeker than the chasers—”
Percy lets Oliver continue to pace their dorm, watching as he speaks animatedly about everything.
“—and I don’t know what games Puddlemere scouts are coming to, but McGonagall’s pulled me aside and mentioned a few times that she’s invited some and they’ve actually come because they know her eye for quidditch players. We’ve got to be brilliant this year.”
Percy gives in to the urge and steps into Oliver’s space. He places his hands on Oliver’s shoulders and watches the other boy stop suddenly, breath evening out. “You’re making me anxious.”
“I’m sorry, Perce.” Oliver looks immediately regretful and lets his hands drop to Percy’s hips. The touch makes the Head Boy want to tremble and fall against him but is fearful of the reaction. Will Oliver be as receptive as he was the year before? “I don’t ever want you to get anxious because of me. You get enough of that from your own head.”
Percy feels himself warm. “You just need to not think so far ahead.”
“You literally have your entire life planned out.”
“But you don’t need to plan yours,” Percy encourages. They hadn’t talked about much before the train ride home, but Oliver is tactile enough to pull Percy closer. “You don’t need to plan because your idea for this year is going to work. You are going to win the quidditch cup, a scout from Puddlemere is going to be at that specific game, and he’s going to be on his knees begging you to come play for them.”
Oliver grins and Percy thinks the other boy might actually be a Labrador puppy.
“Percy...” the Scottish boy says slowly. One of his hands smooths to the small of Percy’s back. “What happened last year...well, I wasn’t just doing it because you said you fancied me. We never talked properly, and I forgot to tell you that I fancy you as well. Have, for a long time. I’ve replayed that morning a million times and I wondered...”
Percy takes a chance and leans up to kiss Oliver. It instantly warms him again. Like sugar in tea, Percy’s nerves dissolve as Oliver kisses him back. He can touch, so he does, his hands working their way over toned muscles and into short hair, scratching at the scalp and letting his hips rise.
“I want you,” Oliver murmurs against Percy’s mouth. He nips at his lover’s bottom lip. “Right now, love, please.”
“Yes,” Percy breathes back. He dives for Oliver’s pulse point, sucking on the skin and enjoying the sharp intake of breath it earns him. “I can’t wait to have you inside me again.”
Oliver groans and takes charge.
Percy falls under command willingly.
“Percy!” Oliver exclaims in surprise. Percy is brought back to the present by the man suddenly standing over him shirtless and dripping with sweat.
A drop runs between his pectorals.
Was Percy ever not in love with him?
“What brings you here?” Oliver asks. He doesn’t sound distrusting or confused. He could be asking about the weather, for all his tone conveyed. “You change your mind about playing quidditch all of a sudden?”
“I-erm.” Percy has to pause. “Do you have a moment to speak with me? It’s rather important.”
“For you? I have plenty of moments.” Oliver is smiling sincerely. Percy can’t help but think he doesn’t deserve it. He takes a seat in the stands with Percy. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s Fred and George’s birthday this weekend,” Percy blurts out. Oliver’s smile falls. “Yes. Well. George wants to throw a charity quidditch game in his honor, to help children affected by the war. He wants to make it a big deal. We were hoping that, as captain, you could help us secure this very venue. We are expecting many people because not only is it thrown by my family, but Harry will be playing.”
Oliver’s first sentence is, “You don’t throw a match, love."
“You know what I mean, Ollie.”
The quidditch captain across from him frowns. He takes in Percy’s appearance, his emotion clear on his face. Oliver has never been good at hiding what he’s thinking, but Percy has never been good at interpreting human signals. Is Oliver frustrated? Bemused? Confused? His brow is furrowed, and his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
“Why did they send you?” Oliver asks then. “Instead of Harry or Ginny?”
A sinking feeling appears in Percy’s stomach. “Right then, I’ll send them to speak with you—
“Percy, sit down,” Oliver demands in slightly exasperation. His hand catches Percy’s sweater and Percy lets himself be pulled back down. He glances to Oliver’s fingers, twisted in the fabric of the blue sweater, and he’s feeling too many things he’s spent too long suppressing. He doesn’t move his gaze as the owner of those fingers speaks again. “I’m just confused, is all. Harry and I played together, it makes more sense to discuss quidditch matters with him. I’m glad you’re here. I haven’t seen you since Fred’s funeral, and before that…since we’d graduated. You just threw me off when I saw you, Perce, you’ve always thrown me off.”
Percy looks up. Oliver is too handsome, so he looks back down.
“I’ll do whatever it takes with management to get the stadium for you lot. I can’t bring in as many people as Harry, but my name carries something in the quidditch world, so I’ll play if you’ll have me."
Percy still doesn’t look up. “It’s on their birthday. Teams will be finalized tomorrow. You can come to the Burrow at noon. Mum is feeding everyone.”
Oliver’s fingers finally loosen. His hand moves from the sweater to Percy’s knee and now Percy knows he has to look up at the other man. The other man, who is now smiling fondly.
“You look tired, Percy,” he says. “Are you resting? Eating properly?”
“I’m living at the Burrow again,” he says plainly. “Mum doesn’t know what to do, so she cooks.”
Oliver nods.
“And you know I don’t sleep. Or you used to. Sorry, I didn’t—I should go.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Oliver says lightly. “I should have reached out, but I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”
Percy finds himself laughing without humor. The irony.
Oliver tilts his head, considering Percy. “I can tell there are things for you to figure out. I’ll see you tomorrow, Perce. Try to get some sleep.”
Percy is suddenly burning. He steps away from Oliver and apparates on the spot.
)-(
The next day, Percy is standing in front of a mirror again. He’s trying to figure out why it matters what he wears and settles on the fact that he doesn’t necessarily want Oliver to think he’s still attractive. Only, he wants Oliver to not think he’s become hideous, as if the terrible features inside of Percy are somehow outwardly reflected.
Uptight. Stubborn. Ambitious. Arrogant.
He thinks he’s just going to start wearing sweaters and jeans and praying that he looks casual and not like a strained rubber band ready to snap at a moment’s notice.
Since, of course, he practically is.
He feels the nerves in his body about to spring and remembers his conversation with Harry. He closes his eyes and focuses.
It’s late, Percy knows, but the library is open especially for those who want to study. Percy needs to study, needs to get an Outstanding in History of Magic because he needs to be recognized for the best. He’s the top of all of his classes and this damned goblin war he can’t remember anything about is going to ruin that.
He’s scribbling down the same sentence, trying to remember which general killed which beloved wife of which opposing side when his chest starts constricting.
No, not here, he thinks in a panic. Not here, not...
But his head is positively swimming with the fact that he’s never going to remember any of this. He’s starting to forget what it is he’s scared he’ll miss at the end of year exams—that doesn’t help a bit. He’s going to fail, he’s already failed, he’s never going to get that job. Fred and George will mock him for trying to be perfect and instead being an utter disaster. Mum will be disappointed, Dad will be embarrassed—
“Percy?”
He looks up, body trembling. Oliver is standing above him between the aisle of books, taking in the mess that is Percy’s homework. Briefly, his eyes scan over a bottle of ink Percy doesn’t recall knocking over.
“Percy, look at me, love.” Hazel eyes are so clear in front of him. Long, callused, fingers work their way into Percy’s hair and scratch affectionately. “You’re alright, you’re going to be alright. You are not a failure. You’re the most brilliant wizard in this school. You’re going to remember everything about...Gol-Goldinia the Eighth and how she died and why it was important.”
Percy can’t help it. He mumbles out, “Her death sparked a resurgence in the war that was coming to a close.”
“Exactly! Oh, love. You need to come to bed.”
Percy frowns and closes his eyes as Oliver continues to massage his scalp. The simple action has always managed to connect Percy to the very ground beneath his feet. “I don’t know if I can, Ollie.”
“Alright. So, what do you need?”
Percy reaches for the front of Oliver’s t-shirt. “You.”
Oliver surges forward then. Books are pushed to the side and fall carelessly over parchment. They both ignore the spilled ink as Oliver kisses Percy, sliding over him to settle between his legs. Percy short breath is no longer caused by expectation, but by Oliver’s lips working down his neck and to his collarbone.
“Darling—we’re in a library and I’m Head Boy,” Percy pants. He finds the sensitive line of Oliver’s spine and takes his nails up once.
Oliver’s hips jerk. “Too bad, love. I’m going to fuck you against these bookshelves until you can’t walk or tell me to stop.”
Percy pulls Oliver’s lips back to his own. “Don’t stop until you’re coming with my name on your lips.”
“Only yours, Percy, nobody else.” The quidditch captain moves to tug Percy’s tie away. With the tie gone, Percy eagerly reaches for his lover’s shirt and pulls at the fabric until they work it off. Hard muscles greet him and he’s aching again with the way he’s holding back from licking, tasting, watching Oliver’s eyes twinkle in the lamplight—
“The lantern,” Percy gasps. He reaches for his wand. “We need to snuff it out and cast a silencing charm.”
Oliver takes no time in plucking his wand from his back pocket and waving it once to snuff the light, twice with a small murmur to cast a silencing charm. Percy feels his hands shake because he loves when Oliver is confident in spell work.
He’s distracted from his thoughts by Oliver making a choked noise. They’re cast in moonlight filtering between the bookshelves and Oliver looks positively dazed. “Ollie?”
“You’re the most extraordinary thing in the world,” Oliver breathes. His torso falls down and he’s reverently dancing fingertips across Percy’s cheeks. “Percy, you’re so beautiful.”
Percy blinks away tears. Has anyone ever looked at him like that?
No, he thinks. And nobody but Oliver ever will.
Percy opens his eyes, breathes, and feels better.
He tries to go about his day without incident, but his siblings are watching him with poorly hidden smiles and teasing winks. He can hardly do his chores without Charlie messing up his hair or Ron poking his cheek for reason. It feels to familial, too much like everything he doesn’t deserve. By the time Percy finally snaps at Bill for offering to help with his outfit selection again, a family meeting is called.
“You all need to stop harassing Percy,” Arthur says carefully. He rarely speaks so sternly, but he does not look pleased. “We know that his presence was an assumed, unspoken topic that nobody dares to address, but if we must, we will. Does anyone have a problem with Percy returning?”
“It’s not that, Daddy,” Ginny assures their father. “We are glad Percy is home. We’ve all forgiven him.”
“We’re teasing, like old times,” Ron offers.
Bill snorts. “Well, that didn’t seem to do us any favors before.”
“Bill!” Molly scolds.
“Dad, I’m not upset that I’m being teased,” Percy finally says. He stands, hands shaking. “I’m upset that you all seem to think I deserve to be treated well. I don’t. I can’t—I can’t atone for anything I’ve done, and I wish you would all stop treating me like I belong here. I don’t. I want to, but I don’t deserve to. I wish I’d—
He cuts himself off and turns away. He looks out the window and there, walking up the lane with Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson, is Oliver Wood. He’s bundled up against the cold, but Percy can see how wide his smile is and remembers when that blazing look was on him. It’s a look he’s never deserved and didn’t appreciate enough when he had it.
“Fred loved this family. Fred fought for this family. Fred should be here. Not—well, he should be here.”
He hears Molly’s attempt to stifle sobs and knows that they understand what he’s saying.
None of them know what to say.