Miriam Strout stared at the form in her hands, wishing she didn’t have to make this decision.
“Healer Strout, your signature, please. I can’t stay here much longer.”
Miriam turned and looked at the man standing behind her, “Are you sure there are no other options, Minister?”
“She watched her family die, she is clearly insane. You saw her.”
When word arrived at St. Mungo’s earlier that ‘You-Know-Who’ was dead, Miriam rejoiced with the rest of the staff. That was before the causalities began to pour in. The war was over, but it had come at high price. The Order of the Phoenix all arrived at the hospital either dead or injured. ‘The Boy Who Lived' was among the living no more. Then there was Molly Weasley.
Driven mad by grief, that was what the Aurors said. Even though her madness wasn’t caused by any spell, they brought her to the Janus Thickey Ward. They thought with Miriam’s experience of dealing with the Longbottoms, she might be able to do something. Nothing is ever going help that poor women, Miriam thought, except…what the Minister asked her to do, but was it right?
“Healer, I’m asking for you to give this woman a second chance at life,” pressed the Minister.
“Didn’t she have another son, Percy? Doesn’t he work for you; shouldn’t he be making this decision?”
“Percy has enough grief to deal with at the moment, should he have to see his mother like this, too?” he argued.
Miriam’s hand wavered over the parchment and she signed.
Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic, took the parchment and quickly left the room.
It was a beautiful morning as Molly Weasley walked down the London streets to the small restaurant where she worked. Her life was a simple, but content one. She lived in an apartment around the corner. Every Tuesday night she hosted about six other ladies as part of a sewing club. Her pies were famous around this section of London, where people flocked to the restaurant just for a taste. Everyone spoke kindly of her, but wondered privately how such a sweet woman, like her, never found a husband.
As Molly walked she noticed a tall, red-headed, bespectacled man coming toward her. He had one had hand in his pocket and was glancing around, searching for something.
“Excuse me, young man, can I help you. You seem to be lost?” Molly inquired.
“No, I’m…” his eyes widened in shock as he looked at Molly. “It…it can’t be,” he whispered. “Mum…”
“I’m sorry young man, but I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” Molly glanced at him for a second and stated, “You poor dear, to have lost a mother at your age, I can’t imagine. Come with me, I think a cup of tea would do you a world of good. I’m Molly Weasley, by the way.”
The young man started backing up and stammered, “No…it…it can’t be …your…dead… your dead.” Unable to take any more he bolted, and unless Molly was mistaken, simply disappeared into thin air.
Molly shook her head, “Strange young man.” As she continued her walk to work, Molly couldn’t shake this feeling that she had seen that young man before.
Percy Weasley slammed his office door behind him, breathing hard. His mind, he was losing his mind. His mother was dead. She died over three years ago, he remembered that night perfectly. The Ministry was in an uproar as a large amount of magic was reported being used in a small area. Aurors were sent to investigate, and the news shocked the Ministry, ‘You-Know-Who’ was dead. Ordered to remain at the Ministry, Percy could only wait for news to trickle in. When Scrimgeour returned he took Percy aside and told him. His family was dead. Dad, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny were all killed by Death Eaters. His mother, driven mad by grief, was taken to St. Mungo’s, but the Healers couldn’t get her to calm down, and she had killed herself.
“I’m just making things up that’s all,” Percy told himself, but he couldn’t get the incident out of his mind. Slowly, he walked over to his desk and moved large stacks of parchment out of the way, until he found it.
It was the photograph of the Weasley family, in Egypt, all nine of them happy and smiling. Back then all Percy thought about was how happy he was to have been named Head Boy. Little did he know that in two years time he would leave them all, and in two more he would be the only one left.
“It was my fault.”
He should have been there fighting, he should have died along side the rest of them. Or maybe if instead of abandoning them, he would have told them how much he loved them and his mother would have found a reason to live. But it was too late, he couldn’t change the past, he couldn’t change that they had all died, died hating him.
So who was that woman? Scrimgeour had personally told him his mother had killed herself, so why would she be living as a Muggle? None of this made any sense; expect it had been a closed casket funeral. But why would have Scrimgeour lied? Percy stood up; he couldn’t work, not now. He needed answers, but if Scrimgeour had lied, he would just get himself fired. No, he will go to St. Mungo’s. There has to be someone who can tell him what really happened.
It had been a long hard day and Miriam was reaching the end of shift when another Healer said a young man wanted to talk to her. Probably Mr. Longbottom again, that poor boy, she wished could do something for him.
However, when she saw the man she wished it had been Neville. She knew immediately upon seeing his red hair that this was the man she never wanted to see. When she closed her eyes, Miriam could still remember that night. She could still remember Molly’s screams, and the Minister’s request. The decision she made still haunted her.
“Healer, I’m asking for you to give this woman a second chance at life,” pressed the Minister.
“Didn’t she another son, Percy? Doesn’t he work for you; shouldn’t he be making this decision?”
“Hello sir, I’m Healer Strout. You requested to see me?”
“Yes, I’m Percy Weasley. I was wondering if you could tell me what happened when my mother was brought here.”
Looking at his eyes, Miriam saw that he knew. The moment she had dreaded for so many years had finally come. “Please understand, she was completely mad, no one knew what to do with her, no one knew how to control her.”
Percy just stared and Miriam told him. “It was the Minister’s idea. It was his request. He said it would give her a second chance at life, and I…I agreed.”
Miriam wished he would yell, scream, anything other then stare at her. But when he spoke, it was only one whispered word, “Why?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “I still don’t know why I agreed, but I did.” With that she watched him leave the room.
Back on the same London street as that morning, Percy had asked a Muggle where his mother lived. Now he stood in front of door, trying to work up the courage to knock. She won’t recognize him, but what if she did. That scared him more. What if she remembers how he left them? What if she hated him? Tears rolling down his checks, Percy realized how wrong he had been. Family was more important then anything and he had abandoned his. But he knew if he didn’t take this chance to tell his mother that he loved her, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He had to do this, no matter how much it hurt.
Percy knocked on the door.
Molly opened it and greeted her guest with a smile. “Hello again, are you here to take me up on my offer for tea?”
“Yes, please.” Percy entered the apartment, and as Molly entered the kitchen to make tea, he looked around. It was strange, it wasn’t the Burrow, but it had the same feel. Pleasant smells from the kitchen, a homely look, a rocking chair with a half made sweater, and knitting needles on top. Before he knew it, Percy was kneeling on the floor with the sweater in his hands, weeping.
Hearing the noise Molly entered the room and warped her arms around the young man. “Please tell me what’s wrong,” she asked.
“I never liked wearing your sweaters, you know. I never thanked you for making me one, not once.” Percy cried on her shoulder, “I even sent one back…I sent one back.”
Molly continued to hold this young man trying to figure him out, “I don’t think I understand.”
Percy grabbed his mother’s hands and looked into her eyes, “I’m your son, Percy.”
What happened in that moment, Percy was never able to understand completely, but he saw the change in his Mother’s eyes. “Percy, oh Percy,” she cried. Mother and son hugged and wept in each others arms.
“Mum, please forgive me. I love you, and I never should have left you. I thought I would never see you again. Scrimgeour told me you were dead.”
Molly’s eyes darkened at the sound of that name. In a harsh voice she stated, “He killed that boy.”
“What! He killed who, Mum?”
“I don’t remember…Something…something was finished, but so many people were dead. Then he killed him…he killed a black haired boy. Then he came up to me…I don’t remember…”
“Harry Potter, Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic killed Harry Potter?”
“Yes…that was the boy’s name.”
Percy stood up. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Scrimgeour had been his mentor, someone always there for him. He was one of the greatest ministers in the Ministry of Magic’s history. But…he had become famous for his leadership following the Second War. If Potter had been alive, he might have taken the glory away from the Minister. But Mum saw it happen, so he had to do something.
Angry, furious at his mentor’s betrayal, Percy walked toward the door.
“Percy, are you leaving me, again?”
Again.
That hurt more then the knowledge of Scrimgeour’s betrayal did.
Slowly, Percy walked back toward his mother with fresh tears in his eyes. He wrapped his arms around his mother and answered, “No, Mum. I will never leave you. I love you. I will be here for you no matter what.”