The first face Percy had seen upon arriving at the Burrow had been his mother's, and he'd almost given in to the urge to turn tail and run. The look on her face, the feel of the Burrow... it reminded him too much of what they'd gone through after Fred's death, down to him feeling like an interloper who didn't belong.
Back then, it had been survivor's guilt at having lived while his brother had died, and feeling as if he'd been responsible for it, having distracted Fred with a joke at the wrong time. To be honest, Percy still felt that way.
This time, it was the fact that, of all the family, Percy had been the least close to Harry. Even worse, there had been far too many times when Percy had resented his presence in the Burrow, feeling as if he had usurped Percy's place in the family long before Percy left that fateful day. Over the last few years of rebuilding, those feelings had lessened, however the fact that they had been there in the first place made him feel like he shouldn't be there.
But he was, and it was because whatever his feelings had been for Harry, he loved his family more, and they needed- well, perhaps not needed, or wanted, but he would give them his love and support whether they liked it or not.
Once he finally disentangled himself from his mother's arms, he spotted Hermione alone by the window. He had always liked the girl, even when they had disagreed on issues such as Mr. Crouch's keeping of a House Elf. She was perhaps the only one - aside from himself, of course - with enough sense to quell her Gryffindor streak.
He stepped over calmly, but not quietly, not wanting to startle her.
"How are you holding up?" he asked softly. "Is there anything I can fetch you?"