[This was supposed to go up last night]
He couldn't feel the end of his nose anymore, nor the tips of his ears. It was good then, that he was staring at the front door to his new rowhouse. It wasn't like she was waiting to berate him from inside his house.

All he had to do was make sure Jack was tucked safely in bed with a book, say good evening to Lavender, and escape to his library where the scotch decanter was located.

The shut door pushed out the noise of the storm that was picking up again. He picked up the mail left for him on the sideboard, hanging up his outerwear meticulously before heading up the stairs.

Jack was sound asleep, glasses askew on his small, freckled face, book fallen to the side. Percy moved these items to the side table, turning off the light, and tucking his son in. His hand paused on the tuft of red hair sticking up, and Percy sighed, before dropping a kiss there and whispering good night.

"'Night, Dad," Jackson mumbled, rolling over into a blanket covered ball.

Lavender's door was closed as he made his way to the end of the hall, so he didn't stop to say good evening. If she wanted to venture out, she knew where to find him. No doubt she heard him coming in, as it was early yet.

The mail was placed on a low table, and the two fingers of scotch shot back before Percy poured himself another drink and settled himself in his chair.

"You, Weasley," he said to himself, looking at the light catching through the amber liquid as he twirled it in his hand. "Are an ass. A large, gorilla-esque reprobate. A perfectly lovely girl, and you've gone and broken her heart for no good reason. You knew what you weren't doing, and you continued on anyways."

He sipped at his glass, slumping until the back of his head was resting on the chair.

Why had he continued to act in such a manner, when he knew he couldn't afford to get himself into any kind of serious romantic entanglement? Especially with someone so... innocent as Regan.

He was selfish, and thoughtless, and he was certain he'd lost a friend in the process, and someone to whom Jackson was quite attached. He wasn't looking forward to having to explain this to his son.

Another sip, and then another, and the warmth was finally tingling back into his fingers.

His fault, of course, his consequences with which to deal.

At least no one was dead, he thought, closing his eyes as his mind brought up the image of his son's mother, dead and cold with her digit missing.

It had to be this way.

The second glass of brandy was down, in much too short a time, but Percy didn't want to move from his position on the chair.

How could he have forgotten?

Ass. Unmitigated ass.

{SUMMARY: Percy drowns his idiocy in brandy.}