Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Ministry of Magic was bright, warm, and welcoming. Smooth marble walls met reflecting ceramic floors, all shining under the dome roof made of glass, which let the sun bear down like a blanket of light and warmth. The witches and wizards, some Ministry workers, some delivery workers, or some just civilians, taking care of business, were what made it all complete. Because the neat, simple architecture of the building made it seem regal and cold, the people made it warm. Everywhere you went, there were conversations, movement, and just life. It was always busy, always loud, but there was comfort in such a place. It was a reminder that the Wizarding community could still come together. Could still move forward with the changing world and still change with it, always for the better.

Of course, the Ministry had not always changed for the better. Those changes had been invisible at first, because no one believed Harry Potter about the return of the most feared dark wizard in history, least of all Cornelius Fudge. Everyone was denying the evidence and easily finding better explanations for the mysterious disappearances and strange happenings, as anyone would do when they didn’t know any better.

But then, of course, from ignorance went to realization, when the Minister himself saw Lord Voldemort, alive and inside what was meant to be a highly secure facility. And from realization came the removal of Fudge, and from that came the damage control. Rufus Scrimgeour, while dealing with his predecessor’s mistakes, had to now deal with the rise of a dark wizard that was meant to be dead. And he did it by trying to put all his cards in one basket. Harry Potter. A boy, who Scrimgeour wanted as a tool for the Ministry. A poster-boy would make everyone feel safer and put trust back into the Ministry. It didn’t work. Potter was not to be used.

Scrimgeour’s death came sudden, but no one had time to mourn. Least of all, the people who worked at the Ministry. Because the corruption came quick, like a heavy hammer that slammed them all into place.

Then came the whispers, the unspoken rules, the quiet rebellion. Workers who were against Voldemort would quietly glance at each other with each memo or decision made about blood purity.

And then from quiet rebellion, came the action. There was no dueling, of course, because that would be pointless. It was in the choices. The list of Muggleborn names that would be edited. A lineage that would prove ‘blood purity’. The memos of proposed laws and bills that could be anonymously mentioned to members of the Order of the Phoenix. The names of Muggles and Muggleborns alike having scheduled visits from the Ministry that would be sent in letters to that same Order.

These workers were quiet, efficient, and every bit a spy that the Ministry assumed that they had snuffed out. It was only a select few that would dare to try and undermine the most powerful dictatorship they had been under, but it was enough. These people had decided to work for the Ministry because they wanted to change the world for the better. And when they realized that it was becoming something it wasn’t, they took advantage of their positions.

For many, it was frightening. For others, it was justifying. For Percy Weasley, it was simply exhausting.

He knew, of course, of the many lives he was saving. He knew, of course, that his own life was in danger. But his thoughts hadn’t been on that, nor on how he was saving lives. He didn’t need to, either. Paperwork was something he had always known, something he welcomed. It was what he was good at, and fudging some information didn’t change that. He had gotten rather good at discovering bloodlines from the 1940s, where family lines were not tracked through the chaos of the world going through two wars simultaneously. He had also gotten rather good at memorizing things. Important things. That was what he had to do so that he could copy it all down in his dark, lonely flat. He had also gotten better at Apparation, which was his sole way of traveling to deliver info to the Order. Owls were dangerous, because there was every chance it could be intercepted. No, Percy had been playing the double-agent for long enough that a system had been set up. Only a month after Scrimgeour’s death had been enough to make him step away from his stubbornness and pride. He had only been sending letters to the Order at first, but it was only a week before he insisted on in-person meetings in dark alleyways in near abandoned towns. He would not show up as himself to pass along letters, oh, no. Percy took to Appearance-Changing Charms, which let him change his most noticeable features. He had been tempted to use Polyjuice Potion, but he feared that the simple act of purchasing the ingredients would make the Ministry watch him a bit closer.

The witches and wizards he met up with changed each time, which was good for him, because he did not want connections to be made. It was also a good thing that his family had never been sent to receive information from him. He wasn’t sure how he would handle it upon seeing them again, and he did not want to blow his cover.

There had been a time, many years ago now, when Percy thought he was doing the right thing in joining the Ministry. He thought he was actually going to start making a difference. He thought his ideas and quick-processing mind would finally begin to matter to people. It was stupid, really. Each of his siblings had just as much attention to share, and somehow Percy was the one to break away from them, seeking to make a name for himself beside the name that is called with six others.

Percy had been blind. There was no other word for it. He had ignored his father’s warnings, had ignored his mother’s insistence, and above all, ignored his siblings’ protests. What did it matter to him if his family continued to not take him seriously? How many times had he been brushed aside or told to be quiet when all he wanted to do was share what he was passionate about? It was no wonder the frustration had built up as much as it did, as Percy was sure happened with all of his siblings. But of course, he had been the one to try and separate himself.

The thing about Weasleys, was that they liked being together. They may insult, argue, and fight each other, but they are always there for each other.

Until they aren’t.

Percy had known that the Ministry wasn’t all that great. He had known that it needed fixing. He had hoped he could be the one to make that difference. He was fine slowly building his way up, writing reports on cauldron thickness and Apparition points. Because he was still changing something. He was fine following Mr. Crouch around and making a fool of himself. An in was an in, and it didn’t help that he idolized Mr. Crouch, which his brothers teased him for.

Barty Crouch was a man who knew what order was, knew what right and wrong was, and knew how to change things to match it. He wanted approval from the man, because this was all Percy was striving to be. If Mr. Crouch approved of him, then he would’ve known that he was starting somewhere good. And he thought it had, when he became Crouch’s personal assistant, even taking on some of his duties.

It was honestly ironic that Mr. Crouch died before Percy could decide whether or not he had gotten on his good side. The one time where he sought approval from someone that actually mattered, he had died. And this was followed by everyone blaming the affair on Percy. Apparently, he should’ve known that something was wrong with Crouch. Apparently, he should’ve informed a superior. Apparently, he was the only one who could’ve done something. Percy was not one to disagree with the Ministry, but this certainly left a bad taste on his tongue. He had been tricked as well.

If only that had been the worst of his problems. The problem about propaganda and lies was that when you were in the center of it, it was hard to see beyond it. Percy believed Fudge’s insistence that Dumbledore was lying. He thought he was right. And he wanted his family to see that too. The only problem was that his father thought he was wrong. Mr. Weasley thought that he had only been promoted to work below Fudge was so that he could spy on his family and Harry and Dumbledore.

This, beyond anything else, was what made Percy the most upset. How could it not? But his anger had let something loose that he could not take back. His words had bubbled over like rot, and he was left to stand by them. Because he could not be wrong. Not then, when he was still trying to make change.

Oh, and how absolutely wrong he had been. He had seen Lord Voldemort with his very eyes disappear from the Ministry of Magic like he owned the place. The first thing he felt was fear. The second, far more powerful thing he had felt was guilt. Guilt and shame. He had finally acknowledged his wrongdoings, was now staying up each night regretting his words and actions, but he could not face his family again. Could not face the anger, nor the cold stares that he had run from in the first place. He had wanted to be appreciated, and now he was just trying to survive.

Rufus Scrimgeour had been a brief year of nothingness for Percy. He woke up early, went to work, and went to bed late. The only moments that seemed to slow was when he thought about his family. Except for that Christmas, when the time had gone so slowly that Percy had wanted to scream for a chance to leave. It had started to speed up, though, when he was out the door, mashed parsnip in his hair and smearing his glasses.

And then, that year of fast-moving memories became a year of fear, whispering, and looking over shoulders. Scrimgeour had been killed, and a Voldemort supporter had obviously been placed in his stead. But Percy still could not leave. Not out of stubbornness. That year of nothingness had done that much for him. It was fear that kept him at the Ministry. Because he was a Weasley. A blood-traitor. And he knew he was being watched. So, he stayed, and he worked.

His guilt had snowballed into something absolutely gut-wrenching each time he thought of what he had done, what he was doing, and what he would be forced to continue to do. So when he got a whisper of what others had begun doing to defy the corruption, he started coming up with ideas. And rules.

The first rule, for him, at least, was to never remember the people he recognized patterns of disloyalty in. He stopped recalling names just to be polite next time they met. He let the faces blur in his memory. Because if only one person stood out to him and his memory happened to be searched, he would be condemning an innocent person.

The second rule was to never speak about it. It was an easy rule for Percy, because he did not have time for friends. He woke up early, worked harder than ever to hide his deception to the Ministry, and got home late.

The third rule, which was really just a mantra for him, was to save as many people as possible. He figured he’d spend a lifetime saving people before he redeemed himself for walking away from his family.

Weasleys were meant to stick together, and he had not done that. Weasleys were meant to love each other unconditionally, or at least, that was what his mother had always preached. It was obvious that Percy’s mother loved him even when he betrayed his family, but the same could not be said for his father, or his siblings. Love each other unconditionally, until you can’t. It didn’t matter to Percy anymore. He did not deserve his mother’s unconditional love, and he didn’t deserve any forgiveness from his father and siblings that he dreamed up.

He was too busy to think about that anyway, while Pius Thicknesse was Minister. He was too busy making sure all the information he was passing along to the Order could not be passed along to him. It wasn’t fear of being caught, per se, that made him so careful. He was more so concerned with the fact that if he was caught, he would not be able to pass along information, and he would not earn the redemption he so desperately craved.

There had been moments when Percy had almost been caught. Moments where he was face-to-face with Death Eaters, who insisted that he had been passing information. It was only because he was smarter than those repulsive Snatchers that he was never further punished. He only ever received the Cruciatus Cruse at most, and that was nothing compared to the fear of death that Percy was sure he reeked of. He could handle that pain. He had handled pain for two years, and it had been all the worse because he had caused it himself. He had separated himself from his family and burned the bridge all the way to the ground. So, yeah, while the Cruciatus Curse /,em>hurt, it only proved a quick distraction before he was left with the shame of all he had done.

Percy had only received such a punishment twice. Once when he had nearly been caught copying down information. He had used the excuse that Thicknesse had requested notes. It was only thanks to Thicknesse’s fuddled mind from the Imperius Curse that he had gotten out of that scrape. Even then, though, he had been given the Cruciatus Curse as punishment for not making his excuse obvious when the Snatchers had asked him. The second time was far more frightening. It was Corban Yaxley who had caught him fudging family lineage for the poor Muggleborns that were being interrogated. It took profuse apologies and insistence that he had not done anything on purpose, claiming a simple mistake that Yaxley let him go. He was surprised that he had not been caught, because anyone could’ve seen that the lineage came from nowhere. But then again, he had slowly begun to learn that Death Eaters, especially the ones who were hiding behind power, were not very clever themselves. Unfortunately for Percy, he could not properly forge a magical lineage for that Muggleborn he had been trying to help, and he lay awake thinking of the poor woman for several nights after that. The list of things to feel guilty for were slowly building by the day. Percy, for months after that run-in with Yaxley, had to be far more careful with how he did things, and that meant that sometimes he couldn’t even sign false family documents or pass along information. Each attack from the Death Eaters during those months had felt like something he could’ve changed.

It was with careful consideration and planning that Percy decided he needed to do more. He had done extensive research, and had decided to contact the owner of the Hogsmeade bar, Hog’s Head. Percy could see throughout the Ministry that there were plans to reach Hogwarts eventually, and he wanted an in so that he could do all that he could. The Hog’s Head was less popular and far less reputable, so he hoped that any letter that reached by owl would not be intercepted. Even with this theory, Percy had made sure to charm the letter so that only the recipient could open it. A rather tricky thing, since he hadn’t even known who the owner was until he received a response letter. It involved several invisible runes that left no room for interpretation when it was addressed to ‘Hog’s Head Bar Owner’. And he was properly surprised to see that the owner was none other than Aberforth Dumbledore.

It was Aberforth that sent him an owl that told him a battle was happening at Hogwarts. When Percy had received that message through the Floo Flames of his flat, he had been just about to fall asleep at four in the morning. Obviously, hearing such news had sent him out of his exhaustion, and he did what he thought was right. He got up, got dressed, and Apparated away. He hadn’t even bothered to try and find a safe method of travel. But it didn’t matter. Because when he Apparated right outside of Hog’s Head, sending the alarms off like screeching animals, no one came to grab him. So he burst through the bar doors and searched for the portrait that Aberforth had mentioned in his message.

And then he had come face-to-face with his family. He saw the cold stares that had plagued his dreams, and he welcomed it as if they had hugged him. Because it was enough that he was seeing his family again. But to his absolute surprise, and even further crushing guilt, he had been forgiven. Guilt because he knew that he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve the redemption that Fred and George had joked about. He didn’t deserve the hug from his father, nor the smile from Ginny. He knew that they didn’t think he deserved it either. He figured, though, that the Weasleys had acknowledged the danger of this battle, and did not want anger and resentment to hang in the air when they were all about to put their lives at risk. They had to push aside their righteous anger and betrayal while facing the prospect of battle and death, which made the guilt settle deeply into Percy like the rot it was. This, like his family’s anger, would be stuffed away so that he could fight this war. Maybe, Percy had thought, if he were to die in this battle, he would finally earn the redemption that he didn’t deserve yet.

But, of course, fate could not give him that release from his guilt. Instead, his shame and guilt were doubled when he made a joke. A bloody joke. And it had been enough to distract Fred, to stray his eyes for just a second, but a second was enough for a spell to fly past their defenses and send an explosion through their forces. Percy had just barely registered the gash spewing blood from his cheek when he caught Fred’s body. He thought all he needed to do was put him back on his feet, but that was when he saw the smile that was frozen on his brother’s face. His little brother. It was in that vacant smile that he suddenly saw that smile flash a hundred different times in his mind. Memories of when they had actually been friends. When jokes and laughter were normal. When hatred was just a word. Time seemed to be moving so slowly that he was lost staring at that vacant smile for several minutes. He had been pulled off eventually, but it was far too soon.

The battle after that went by quickly. The grief and loss that had filled him up was soon replaced with a sudden burst of anger. He chased after Thicknesse when he was given the chance, and after his father joined his side, they took him down. The battle ended soon after. Too soon. It was close to no time at all that Percy was forced to let go of the short-lived anger and focus yet again on the pain that had been plaguing him for two years.

He had to watch his family learn that a Weasley had passed away. He had to sit there, off to the side as his mother and George sobbed over Fred’s lifeless body. He did not want to intrude. Because Percy knew that it was his fault. So he would mourn away from the rest, because he did not deserve their comfort or acknowledgement of his loss. He knew that his family could not blame him now with the loss still fresh, but it would come up eventually.

And he… he would wait for it. Because he deserved nothing more. It was probably then and the weeks that followed that Percy knew it would’ve been better if he had been the one to die. Fred was a part of the family, and Percy hadn’t been for years. And his entire family knew that. If Percy had died, then there would be no weight on his family’s shoulders to forgive him. He could die in peace, and they could live with no burdens. But the world that had watched his suffering could not even grant him that, despite his wishes.

His mother was the first one to pretend like nothing had happened, but Percy always noticed the way her eyes watered and unfocused when she thought of all that had been lost. His father was no longer angry at him. He talked to him about work and… well, that was about it. Percy figured his father could not stand to hear him talk about things that weren’t surface level. Which was fine. Percy had gotten used to that as part of the Weasley family. His elder brothers, Charlie and Bill, were hardly ever seen. For the first few weeks after the war, they had stayed at the Burrow, preparing for the funeral. They had busied themselves with the preparations to distract themselves from the loss. Percy was also sure that they avoided his eye whenever he was in the room. That was also fine. As was Ron’s lack of presence in the home. He stuck with Harry and Hermione for the most part, which was understandable. On the rare occasion that he was home, he also didn’t look at Percy. When he did on accident, he had the expression of someone who was fighting down a lot of rage. That was okay. Percy didn’t deserve any better. Ginny, on the other hand, simply refused to talk to him. This, while he knew he shouldn’t expect more, hurt the most. Ginny was his younger sister. He had helped her through her first and second years of Hogwarts, and had thought that she tolerated him more out of any of his other siblings. Now, though, it was the exact opposite. But again, Percy had gotten used to the pain of his family hating him.

George was an entirely different story. While Percy did not avoid any of his other siblings on purpose, he did do his utmost to avoid George. He had never seen them as being one in the same, but after staring into Fred’s vacant grin, Percy could not look at George. Because suddenly, he saw that face everywhere. He saw it every time he saw his mother’s eyes fill with tears, each time his father nodded noncommittally to Percy’s work stories, each time his siblings avoided his eye, and each time he looked at George. So, he avoided looking at George directly. And when Percy walked into a room? George would fiddle with the silver spoon hanging from his necklace, the one that bore Fred’s name. The one that had once ticked on the family clock, always in time with George.

They all knew it was his fault. They all blamed him. But the carefully restored peace after the monumental loss had stopped anyone from saying anything. Instead, Percy felt stuck in limbo. The Burrow no longer felt like a home to him. Not because of his own flat or the time away, but because he was no longer a part of the family. This was also unspoken, but it still hung in the air in the weeks following the Battle of Hogwarts.

So, when Bill and Charlie left to return to their lives, Percy left as well. His mother had cried, and looked nearly ready to beg him to stay, but she didn’t.

She was the only one that had said goodbye to him.

And then weeks turned into months, and Percy was back at the Ministry. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been the one to discover that Percy was a spy for the Order, and had offered to award him with an Order of Merlin; First Class, but he had denied it. No one would’ve cared, and he did not want to seem like he was seeking attention. So he simply shook his head at Shacklebolt’s insistence and told him he wanted as few people to know as possible. And that was that. Percy was working again, and he was ignoring his pain again.

It was quite a vicious cycle. But through it all, Percy knew the truth. That it would’ve been better if he had died instead of Fred. It hung in the air each time he looked at his family, each time he remembered his failures at the Ministry, and each time he saw himself in the mirror.

It should’ve been him, and not a day had gone by where he didn’t wish it was.

***

Percy frowned as he always did when he entered the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic through the Floo Flames. There, he could see the smooth marble walls and reflecting ceramic floors, all shining under the bright sunlight. He could already hear and feel the life within the building, could already see the crowd of people as everyone made their way to work. The building itself was already buzzing with the voices of every person within its walls. It was warm and comforting.

But not for Percy.

Each time he travelled here, he was only reminded of when he first started. Where his ambition outweighed anything else, and he thought it was all someone needed. Now, what outweighed everything else was his shame. It had never really left, but even after everything else faded away, shame remained. Percy wasn’t sure when that would ever go away.

Percy pivoted to the right, jumping into the next available lift, adjusting his cuffs as he did so. It took him up seven stories to the Department of Magical Transportation. It was a low-ranking position, but Percy didn’t bother trying to climb higher. He didn’t deserve it.

Upon reaching his desk, Percy sat down, reaching for the pile in his in-tray. Just as he thought, Madam Edgecombe had written a memo about plans for the coming weeks, most of which meant Percy would be left to take notes and write summaries. All while he would be expected to continue his research on border wards on Apparition outside the country. He had already been collecting information and testimonies, trying to outline a connection between distance and Splinches. It was something he had to really dig for, so progress had been so slow. That was okay, though. It meant less time he had to properly think. This kind of stuff always came easy to him. Like second nature.

Shuffling through the pile of parchment in his in-tray, Percy paused at two envelopes, one with sloppy cursive, and one with more elegant handwriting. Frowning, he opened the latter. His eyes jumped to the bottom of the page, and his heart clenched. It was his mother.

Dear Percy,

I just wanted to write to see how you’ve been. It’s been a while since you’ve been to the Burrow. Your father said you’ve been busy working, as he’s heard a lot about preparations for something in your department.

We’ve all missed you something fierce. I was trying to get all the Weasleys together for some tea on Sunday morning. It was a heck of a time trying to pick a date that works for everyone, but we’ve finally settled on something. Please let me know if this doesn’t work for you.

Love from the Burrow,

Mom

Percy swallowed as he read one sentence over and over again. We’ve all missed you something fierce. He was sure his mum was just saying it as a courtesy, because he knew that no one cared. It was probably easier for them when they didn’t have to look into the eyes of someone who had gotten their family killed. Percy’s heart squeezed again, far more painfully. With the second letter completely forgotten, he shoved both inside his satchel. He would deal with it when he wasn’t busy with work. It would already take too much effort to put his head back into the job he had, instead of replaying his mother’s letter in his mind, turning each phrase and word over in his head like there was something between the lines he had not yet realized.

It shouldn’t matter though, because Percy had learned a long time ago that there were always things between the lines with his family. Whether it was jokes from Fred and George that flew over his head, or references that he could not understand because his siblings did not deem him worthy of knowing. Percy had always been the black sheep of the family.

Which shouldn’t matter either. Percy deserved his place in the family and shouldn’t ask for anything more than quiet stares and unspoken dislike.

“You seem uncharacteristically distracted.” With a blink, Percy turned his attention to the person in the desk beside him. Penelope Clearwater. She had also joined the Department of Magical Transportation after the defeat of Voldemort, which should’ve been relieving for Percy. Penelope was a friend. A person from his past that could remind him that he could still hold those old relationships tightly between his fingers, like he wanted to do with his family.

Of course, his shame would not let him do so. For him, Penelope was only a ghost from his past, driving the wedge between who he had been and who he was now.

“Hello, Penny.” Percy greeted, dodging her observation like the can of worms it was. “What are you working on?”

“A memo on broom flying regulations over Muggle towns.” Penelope answered easily, her cadences bringing Percy back to when they would sit in abandoned classrooms, talking about what plans they had for their careers. They would gush about changing the world. And the thought now only made a heavy weight settle in Percy’s stomach. “Or at least, I was, until I realized that the usual blur of movement I see in the early mornings is not there to assault my periphery today.” She tilted her head forward, letting a stream of curly brown hair fall over her shoulder. Percy could remember being enthralled by her hair when they had dated at Hogwarts, always watching her braid it away from her face or simply play with it. It was still just as beautiful, but Percy would not spend his time watching it.

“I’m a bit tired today. I didn’t sleep well last night. Old mattress and all.” Percy had hoped he could turn and actually focus on his work for the day, but Penelope continued to engage him in conversation.

“Did you get Shacklebolt’s letter?” She questioned. Percy frowned and briefly recalled the letter that he had shoved into his bag along with the one from his mother, with sloppy cursive and crisp edges.

“Yes, but I haven’t opened it yet.” He responded, trailing his eyes to the bag. Right now, it held the epitome of his shame with his mother. She wanted to see him, because she loved him and Percy was still too rotted to believe her, and could not face the affections that felt false. “Have you?” He added, because he knew he needed to present far more social than he wanted to be. If there was concern aimed his way from any direction, he may just puke.

“It’s an invite,” Penelope said with twinkling eyes. She was clearly glad to be able to share the information. “To a gala. Shacklebolt’s throwing it in honor of the Ministry fully restoring itself from the corruption of You-Know-Who.” At this, Percy’s mouth twitched downward. A lot of people had lost the fear that Lord Voldemort left on the world and had stopped referring to him in such an abstract way. Some called him Voldemort, some even called him Tom Riddle, but some still used his misnomer. Percy had thought that Penelope was braver than that, but she wasn’t in Gryffindor, after all, so she had an excuse. Unlike Percy. “You ought to go. He requested that everyone who had been working during the corruption should be there. To honor us.” Penelope sat up a bit straighter, pride leaking from her as her face glowed. She had also been one of few to defy the Ministry under its dictatorship and come out the other end. There were others, like Martha from the Muggle Liaison Office that had not returned to the Ministry after she had been tortured for refusing orders, or Daniel from the Beast Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, who had been killed after attempting to negotiate with the Acromantulas of the forest in upper Wales, for which he had been ordered to do. The few people that had received the harsh punishments like Percy and Penelope did not return to the Ministry. They had been offered a paid year off, and most took it.

Percy had been offered the same thing. He had refused because if he didn’t have work, then he didn’t have anything.

Penelope refused it too, because she wanted to fix the Ministry properly, and breaks would slow the process. She was prideful of all that she had resisted while working at the Ministry when it was at its worst. Percy was not prideful, nor did he feel worthy of any recognition that Shacklebolt wanted to offer. There was no honor for him, nothing good to recognize. Just his shame, and what he had tried to do to silence the feeling.

“Are you going, then?” Percy blinked and realized he had missed part of the conversation because he was far too distracted, remembering all of the people he had connected with in the shadows and secrecy of defiance, now gone from him. Penelope was looking at him with a raised eyebrow, though she seemed slightly desperate. She did not have many others at the Ministry either, now that they were all gone. Penelope was a ghost of his past, and being near her only made him more nauseous, but she was still a friend, one who had survived the worst of the corrupt power in the Ministry with him.

“I reckon I will.” Finally closing the conversation for good, Percy turned back to his work, hoping he would remember to read that letter properly when he was in his flat, away from the eyes of others. He needed to focus now.

By the time he finished his work for the day, most had already packed up and left for the day. Percy checked his watch. 6 pm. He supposed he should leave as well so that no eyes would be drawn to his overworking. He did not need concern, because it was simply how his mind worked, to solve things thoroughly and in detail.

He stood up from his chair, gathered his bag and jacket, and went on his way. When he entered the lift, there was no one else with him, and he relaxed against the wall of it, letting the gravity of its movements tug him around a bit. He was tired, despite not even having gotten up from his chair all day. He hadn’t even eaten lunch, he suddenly realized.

The lift shuddered to a stop and Percy frowned at the sign that told him they had risen back up to the seventh floor. The doors opened and no one entered. This was the Department of Magical Games and Sports, most of whose employees were leaving by 4 pm at the latest. No one was known to stay past 5 pm. He was just about to step forward to check for breakage in the spells that kept it moving, but then the doors started to close, so he figured it was a fluke.

“Wait! Hold the door!” A voice echoed from the hallway and Percy heard rushing footsteps to the right of the lift. He quickly reached his hand to the doors, catching and holding them so that this mystery person could make it into the lift. The person, in question, was a man with cropped brown hair, clutching a folder of papers to his chest as he huffed for breath. “Thanks, mate. I forgot my papers when I called the lift, and I had to run back for them.”

“It’s no problem.” Percy said as the man stepped into the lift, dropping his arm when he was fully in. Because it was polite to engage in conversation, he cleared his throat. “Though, I am surprised to see someone in this department so late into the evening.” He observed, adjusting his cuffs as he leaned back against the lift walls. The lift doors closed again and they began moving to the ground floor.

“Aye, I don’t actually work for the department, I was-” The man cut off as Percy turned to look at him, recognition flashing in his eyes. At the eye contact, Percy realized why. “Blimey, Percy Weasley?”

“Oliver Wood.” Percy stated with raised eyebrows. He stepped forward and offered his hand. “I never thought I’d see the day where you were inside the Ministry.”

Oliver chuckled as he took the hand. “Ah, I had to give an opinion on some safety protocols for Quidditch. Wrote me dozens of letters just so I could agree.”

“That’s right, you became the captain of Puddlemere United not too long ago.” Percy had not seen Oliver for a long time. Not since the funeral, where dozens of people had poured in to offer their support. Oliver’s hair had been longer then, and his face was pulled tight with grief. The funeral was held fairly quickly after the Battle of Hogwarts, so it was not just Fred that everyone was mourning. The sting of loss hung in the air from every direction, weighing Percy down with each step. The memory of shaking Oliver’s hand at the event was far too lost in the folds of his grief and shame, only a foggy sensation of firm hands and soft words. “How has that been?”

“I’m still pretty young to be a captain, so it was a little hard gaining the team’s respect, but I reckon they’ve started warming up to me.” Percy wondered how Oliver’s usual manic behavior in regard to Quidditch would be handled with professional players. He could remember even in the dorms there was an air to him that told everyone around not to mess with him while he was focused. Perhaps it was that air that warmed the other players up to him. “The league is trying to work on better safety regulations for broom storage, since they can be messed with rather easily. My broom was messed with so they wanted my testament and opinion. But enough about me, what about you? You’ve got an actual Ministry position here!” Oliver made it sound like a great feat, and Percy was tempted to correct him of several other employees that were around his age, but he didn’t.

“I work in the Department of Magical Transportation.” He answered smoothly instead, pulling at his sleeves.

“Really? Huh, I would’ve figured you’d be ringleader of the circus by now. Weren’t you Fudge’s assistant for some time during the war?” Instantly, Percy froze, but it was unnoticed by Oliver, thankfully. Within seconds, the shame and guilt and words from that time had come crumbling down on him again.

“I found this position to be much more interesting.” He said stiffly, pulling at a loose thread on his sleeves so that he did not have to look at Oliver. He wasn’t sure if he could keep a neutral expression during the lie if he had to actually look someone in the eye while doing so.

“Aye, I suppose it suits you.” Oliver grinned from his periphery, adjusting his folder as he tapped his fingers against it restlessly. Percy watched the movement for a few moments before returning to pick at his loose thread. “You always seemed to find interest in the nuances of a topic. Reading between the lines and all that.” He commented idly.

Percy raised a mildly amused eyebrow. “You remember that, do you?” He leaned back against the lift walls, forgetting about his loose thread for a second as he turned back to Oliver. He had a grin on his face that seemed almost cheeky. “Well, I reckon a Quidditch captain suits you just as well. You could never sit still long enough to even write a single sentence on a piece of paper.” Percy had never really thought much about Oliver when they were at Hogwarts, though he was now surprised by this matter. They were the only Gryffindor boys that year and had been left to share an entire dormitory by themselves. It could’ve been assumed they had been close friends, but Percy could not remember so much as a single conversation that lasted longer than a minute. And now here they were, past their childhood and pushing through the sorrows of the war, finally having a proper conversation.

“Which is why this entire inquiry about safety regulations is going to kill me.” Oliver huffed out, glancing back down at the folder he had been tapping his fingers against. “I don’t know why they thought I was the person to do all of this. Can barely string two sentences together.”

The elevator lift opened, and Percy realized that they were at the ground floor. Oliver turned to him happily, extending his hand.

“I’ll be seeing you, Percy. Hopefully, I can actually write a sentence or two about this inquiry.” Percy took his hand and shook it.

“And perhaps I’ll have read between the lines so much I’ve gone cross-eyed.” He added dryly, stepping out into the marble floors of the ground floor. Oliver let out a loud laugh at the joke, clapped Percy on the shoulder, and was on his way.

Percy remained standing outside the lift for a while, smiling to himself. But then he remembered where he was, who he was, and the heavy weight of the guilt and shame pressed down on him like it were a hippogriff stepping on his chest.

His smile dropped swiftly. He grabbed the loose thread still assaulting his senses by brushing against his hand, ripped it off completely, and was on his way.

Chapter Text

Percy could feel the walls closing in on him before the doors of the elevator had even opened. He had his wand ready to be presented, clutched tightly in his fingers that were slightly shaking. His identity had already been checked when he arrived by the Floo system, a large, angry looking man stood guard, checking everyone that came that way. But they would check again on the seventh floor, where Percy worked. To ensure that no one was getting through the cracks.

When the elevators finally did open, Percy approached the man who was guarding the entryway into the department, holding up his wand on instinct. The security measures had been going on for a few weeks now, and when an entire building is blanketed in fear, new habits are easier to learn.

“Percy Weasley, pureblood.” He stated, clearing his throat once he had said it. It made him feel sick. But he knew that he had it easy. Because there were others who had to say Muggleborn and wait to see whether or not the guard decided to do anything about that or not. For now, they hadn’t. Only calling them ‘Mudbloods’. No, the persecution would come later.

“Weasley…” The man said contemplatively, bending down to examine the wand. His eyes raised to Percy’s hair, and then his face. A frown twitched at his lips, putting Percy on edge. The guard straightened out, with a hardened expression. “Come with me.” He turned around, walking into the department with Percy’s wand still in hand.

Percy knew what this meant. It meant he had gotten into trouble. And with his wand tucked into the hand of another, he had no choice but to follow, and see what punishment came of him.

They passed the entire department, where everyone was sitting at their desks, trying to look like they were working. Most who saw the guard passing ducked their heads lower, scared. There were a few who looked at Percy in fear.

Penelope stared with wide, fearful eyes as the guard and Percy passed her desk. She knew what it meant. Percy only hoped that she would take it as a sign to finally leave the Ministry, as it was becoming more and more unsafe to be Muggleborn.

When they reached their destination, Percy nearly sighed aloud. He should’ve known. Corban Yaxley’s office.

The guard knocked on the door, a rather peculiar sight for someone who looked like he could break it down. The door opened on its own, and Yaxley was there, standing behind his desk, facing away.

Percy was shoved into the room. The guard placed the wand on the desk. “Thanks, Johnson.” Yaxley stated, his back still turned as the guard made his way out. The door shut behind him, making Percy flinch. The only time this office door was closed was during private Death Eater meetings and when he had to ‘reprimand’ the other employees. Percy did not dare turn his gaze from Yaxley, for he did not want to be caught off guard. He wanted to be prepared for whatever punishment he was given, so that he could dive instantly into finding solutions.

And yet, for as long as he took to think through the possible scenarios, Yaxley took just as much time simply turned away. His arms were bent, which suggested that he had something in his hands. What Percy wouldn’t have given to know what it was. Instead, he was left to wonder and left to do so in fear. Which was probably what Yaxley wanted. For Percy to panic so much that by the time Yaxley actually confronted him, he would be too flustered to know what to say.

Yaxley suddenly turned around, throwing a stack of papers onto his desk. They sprawled out along the wood, finally revealing to Percy what he had done wrong. It was the lineage papers that he had signed off on just the previous day. The ones that he had completely made up to save a Muggleborn family.

“According to this piece of paper, the Lorme family comes from the German Bauer family.” Yaxley lowered his hand to the paper, tapping lightly, all while staring at Percy. “The Bauer family, which are recorded to have all died out from dragon pox before World War 2.”

Percy nearly winced. He had known that he was rushing the paperwork, but he had gotten arrogant, apparently. For if he had not gained the confidence that he could keep taking family names from the 1940s without digging too deep, then he wouldn’t have dug a hole for himself. He supposed that no matter how hard he tried, he would not escape the arrogance that plagued him, which made the sense of dread for the upcoming punishment lessen.

“Can you explain this to me, Weasley?” Yaxley stepped around his desk, slowly approaching Percy, letting his finger graze the wand that was sitting on the desk. Percy swallowed, forcing down the frustration with himself.

“No, sir.” He forced out, keeping his shoulders tensed as Yaxley stepped up to him. They were nearly the same height, but Percy still felt like he was smaller than Yaxley, like a cowering house-elf in the face of their master’s anger.

Yaxley’s brows furrowed almost imperceptibly. “You were Scrimgeour’s right hand man before he was sadly assassinated, no?” There was no hitch in his voice to suggest he was actually upset about the death of the previous Minister. Percy only nodded, unwilling to think of all he had ignored back then. Yaxley nodded along with him. “But not anymore… is it possible then, that you wanted to mess this up, and get someone else in trouble?” Percy, at first, wasn’t sure what to say. For one, he was surprised that even then, in the moment of fear and frustration, he could be shocked by the lack of thoughtful consideration from one of the top people at the Ministry. Because Yaxley was piecing together a narrative that was completely false. Finding an answer in the ambition, rather than the hidden rebellion. For another, Percy knew that if he said no, if he denied this allegation, then there would be more coming. Were you becoming lazy? Did you want to save this Mudblood family? Are you with the Order of the Phoenix?

Percy slowly relaxed his shoulders, forcing himself to appear exposed. “Forgive my ambition, sir.” He bowed his head, which made his pounding heart jump to his throat. Please let this work. Please, please, please, please-

There was a sudden hand clapping Percy’s shoulder. He looked up in shock, only to see Yaxley smirking. “See, here’s the thing, Weasley. I don’t care if you want to get others in trouble. I can appreciate your ambition; I can see your urge to get back at the top ranks. You’re the one pureblood in a family of black sheep, and that’s valuable.” His fingers squeezed tighter onto Percy’s shoulder, his smirk lessening. “But when it comes to Mudbloods? They aren’t worth lying about. They’re the dirt under our nails. Something that we need to clean out.”

“Of course, sir.” Percy agreed, feeling bile rise in his mouth. How long had it been since he was around the people that hated this rhetoric? Actually with them, rather than shared glances while scribbling through paperwork. How long could he last without it before this rhetoric began to corrupt him?

“I’m glad we can agree.” Yaxley said with that earlier smirk, his fingers only continuing to dig into Percy’s shoulder. Before there could even be more words said, Yaxley tilted his head, his smirk shifting into a grin, squinting his eyes. “You know I’ll still have to punish you, though.” He finally released Percy’s shoulder, leaving the aching pain that told him there would be a bruise later. Percy did not argue, he did not feel panic, nor did he feel any sense of dread. He only nodded.

“Do what you must, sir.” Yaxley turned around, picking up Percy’s wand that sat on the desk. He weighed it in his hand before facing Percy again. His grin was gone, but in its place was the smirk that told Percy that he was enjoying this.

“This is a warning, Weasley. You seem like a good lad. But if you are lying to me, then this is your warning that trying to leave or side with the other side will only result in further pain. For you and your family. I know how to make you hurt, and so does the Dark Lord. He can make you hurt, and he can make your family hurt.” Percy bowed his head, hiding the wince at the mention of his family. He hoped that they still had faith in him. No, he prayed that they didn’t think for a second that he was on the wrong side, that they knew he was being punished the same way they were. “Crucio.” He had hoped that his past experience with the curse would ease the blow, but he had forgotten that the potency changes depending on who casts it. The other one was painful, but he had only fallen to his knees and didn’t let out a single noise.

But Yaxley was more powerful. And he really wanted to see Percy in pain. His nerves lit on fire, and he instantly crumpled, his arms and legs curling into himself. He could not help the twitching that came, as if his body was trying to shake off the pain but only making it worse. There were no other sensations besides the fire in his veins, but Percy was sure that there were tears streaming in his eyes. An automatic reaction, like when someone hits your nose. It was as if his body knew that he was in danger simply because the curse had been placed, and not because of the agony that he was placed under.

And Percy understood, suddenly, how such a thing can turn you mad. Because if he were to be thrown into this torture without a single way to help yourself or compartmentalize the pain, then you were only left to sit through it. Each agonizing second was stretched into hours; each shaky breath came with the hope that it would cease soon. Yes, Percy could finally see where the insanity comes from. Why else, if not for the mind’s attempt at separating itself from torture? He was feeling it now, creeping up into his chest. Hands with sharp nails that wanted to grip him tightly and drag him away from the pain that seeped into his very soul, surely leaving a scar. The hands were desperate, but they were hurting him too. Would continue to if he was dragged away.

He could suffer through it, though. Because he was not truly suffering. Suffering meant so much more than this. And if his arrogance could not be snuffed out by the realization that he had been wrong, then perhaps it would be with this pain that tore his atoms apart.

Percy hadn’t even known he was screaming until the curse was broken, and his voice cut off with an aching groan. Yaxley threw his wand onto the ground.

“Take the rest of the day off, Weasley.” Yaxley stated before leaving the room. The door shut, and Percy did not flinch this time, mostly because while the pain was no longer lighting his nervous system on fire, he could still feel its remnants aching his entire body. He would probably be sore for a few days with the extent of Yaxley’s curse. But he would be fine.

This was not suffering. How could it, when Percy had decided to side with the Ministry?

There would be no reminiscence of better days. No wish that something would change soon. Just a hope. That somewhere, somehow, his family knew that he was repenting for all he had done.

***

Percy awoke with a groan, which cut off sharply when that fiery aching faded with the dream. A rather persistent dream, one that always broke through his attempt to ignore all that had happened before the war ended. It had always felt better that way, because then he didn’t have to acknowledge all that he had done, and then all that he couldn’t do.

But he knew that the feeling of his scorched nerves would not fade away. It would stay hidden, just beneath the surface, only rising when his defenses were down. Percy had always read novels and stories about these kinds of dreams. Where a memory haunts you while you sleep. He had assumed it was only fiction, because that wasn’t how dreams worked. They were the leftovers of your day, random pieces being shown to you in your sleep to consolidate memories and process emotions, creating something usually unable to be analyzed in the incoherence of the brain. That was all dreams were. Incoherent, often bizarre pieces of a story that are attached to memories and feelings.

Or at least, that was what Percy thought dreams were, until the Wizarding War ended. He did not dream very much while he was working under the corrupt Ministry, perhaps a byproduct of his exhaustion and stress. Back then, he would lay his head down on his pillow and blink up at the dark ceiling until he could no longer open his eyes again. It had been a rather twisted method of peace for Percy, because he did not have such privileges when he was awake. Instead, that ceiling above him was an escape. Something away from his everyday life, but not away from himself like when he was sleeping. With that ceiling, he was able to pretend like the weight of his mistakes was not torturing him.

The first dream he had since the Wizarding War was the day after Fred’s funeral, where he did not have it in him to stare at the ceiling of his old room at the Burrow. It wasn’t the same. It hadn’t taken him as long to fall asleep then, as if his subconscious needed him to fall asleep so that he could be punished when his family could not.

It had been a fine dream at first. He had been in a forest, chasing something unknown. He had not known what he was pursuing at first, but it didn’t matter in the dream. It felt good to be able to run so freely. The trees and branches never got in his way, as he was dodging things so easily that it was as if he was floating across the ground. The lack of realism that usually existed in a dream. But he could feel the grass between his toes with each step, a sensation that he had not experienced in several years. When everything had been alright.

It was with that realization that it was finally revealed to him what he was chasing. From just outside of his view, obscured by a tree farther into the forest, came a voice.

“You won’t catch me, Perce!” It was Fred. Or George. Percy had been unable to tell their voices apart when they were younger, before their voices had lowered. To him, they had both been equally obnoxious with their pranks. And they were now, ducking out of view each time Percy thought he had reached them.

The response Percy gave was ready on his tongue, and with it came the entire context of the dream. One of the twins had sneaked into his room, grabbed a book about legislation, and ran out of the house with it, entering the forest behind the Burrow that didn’t actually exist. But Percy would not notice this inaccuracy.

“Give me back my book, Fred!” He shouted into the trees, his frustration peaking. He would not get tired from all the running, but his patience would begin to grow thin as he chased something that kept eluding him.

“But you don’t need it!” Little Fred shouted back, and suddenly, Percy ducked underneath a tree branch and Fred was standing there. The book was tucked into his arms, staring at him with wide, young eyes. His freckles hadn’t been as prominent back then, so Percy could see his rosy cheeks more clearly.

“Give it back.” Percy huffed, taking a step forward. Fred took back the distance with another step. An uncharacteristically large one for someone much shorter than Percy.

“You don’t need it.” Fred insisted, his knuckles turning white with how tightly he was clutching the book. Percy furrowed his brow and began shaking his head in disbelief, but he was caught off guard by the sudden shift in Fred’s appearance. That innocent look on him melted away, and in its place was something completely foreign. An expression of neutrality, one that ruined the illusion of this nostalgic dream. “What you needed was your family. But which did you choose, I wonder?” The child’s eyes moved to something behind Percy. A cold sense of foreboding rushed through Percy’s body, telling him not to turn around. But he did anyway, the dream moving without him.

The forest was gone, in its place was a grassy plain. And in the center of it all, was a body. Its feet were touching the ground, but its knees crumpled strangely, as if it was not actually standing. Its arms were also propped slightly away from its sides, and its neck had lolled to the side. A frozen smile was stuck on its face.

It was Fred. Not baby Fred, little Fred, or even teenage Fred. Just Percy’s dead brother, hanging like a puppet from when he had to leave him in the Hogwarts hallway, hidden away in a metal knight suit.

Percy had jolted awake, tears already streaming down his cheek. He was facing his ceiling again, but he could not lose himself like he so desperately wanted to. Instead, he rolled onto his side like he had last night, and let his tears soak the pillow, his sobs muffled with his blanket. And there he stayed until his mother came in to check on him.

His dream had been peaceful at first, but he had been fooled. Percy should’ve known better, though, because how could peace possibly find him with all that was haunting him?

It had been by far the worst dream, with the raw emotion from all that only just happened. But it had not been the last. He hadn’t gone a night without them ever since. There were so many memories that he avoided in his waking life that came back to haunt him in his dreams. Sometimes, he had different variations of the same dream. Instead of chasing Fred through the forest, it would be George. And that dream would end when little George came across his twin’s body, suspended in the air grotesquely, asking Percy what he had done. That was the worst one. It always woke him up in the middle of the night, and he was unable to fall asleep after, so he was left to stare at the ceiling until he felt like getting up. He would take Yaxley’s dream a thousand times over if he could avoid the hollow feeling in his chest each time he woke up after seeing little George and his fearful eyes.

So, while Percy had thought that memories returning in dreams was only a piece of fiction, he did not mind it. If he could have that dream every night, and never another, he would be fine with it. He dare not say happy, because Percy could not even remember a time he felt such a way. It was lost with time, tucked deep into the folds of the emotions that plagued him now.

And here he was now, sitting up in his bed, wiping the sweat from his brow. He checked his watch. It was nearly four in the morning. He didn’t need to leave until half past six, so he didn’t need to get up right away. But he did anyway.

Percy stood up from his bed and grabbed the sweater he had hanging from the bed post beside him, pulling it on. His flat was always cold, which was why he had a plethora of blankets on his bed. He turned to them now, straightening out the sheets, blankets, and pillows before turning to the rest of his place.

It was an open flat, so his bed was tucked into the corner of the room, right beside the only window, and straight across from the entrance. The door to the bathroom and laundry unit was to the left of the entrance, the only annexed part of the flat. On the same wall opposite the front door was a couch, one with its left side against the wall, facing a coffee table and armchair that he rarely used. On top of the coffee table was a collection of books that had not fit onto the bookshelf in the corner. Beside the bookshelf was a fireplace, one that Percy had magically installed so he could Floo to work when he did not want to Apparate.

Adjacent to the front door was the kitchen area. A fridge, a stove, some countertops with a sink and cupboards, and an island, where two stools sat. Those were also rarely used, as Percy preferred to stand while he drank his tea and ate his food. Ever since he had gotten the flat, it had felt strange to sit down without people surrounding him at the table.

It was a Muggle flat, one that he was glad he wasn’t required to have on file at the Ministry, or else he would’ve surely been questioned when Pius Thicknesse was the Minister of Magic. It was the one he had gotten when he left the Burrow for the very first time, following the one and only fight he had ever had with his father. Another memory that haunted his dreams.

“Percy, they only gave you that so you could watch us and Dumbledore. Harry, too, I reckon.”

These were gentle words of caution. Words that only came out because a father was worried about his son. And what had Percy said in response?

“Are you serious?” He couldn’t even heed his father’s warning at the time. “You should be happy that I’ve managed to get such a job with the reputation I have had to struggle to surpass!”

Percy could not even listen to the words that ended up being true. He had only turned the warning into an argument, into a fight, into an ultimatum. He had packed his bags. He had left the Burrow. The flat was waiting for him, a lease already signed. Something he had kept from his parents so he wouldn’t make his mother worry unnecessarily. Percy easily moved into the flat, a lackadaisical memory for such a thing. When he was younger, he had imagined his family helping him. His parents, mostly his mother, worrying about his independence. His older brothers giving him advice. His younger siblings walking around the flat and imagining their own lives moving forward. That imagination held love and happiness in it. But it didn’t exist in real life. He should’ve known that, since everything he had imagined did not usually come to pass. There were a lot of times he wished for the attention that his parents did not give him purely because their attention was already divided between seven children. There were a lot of times he wanted recognition for his skills, but it seems excelling at something was not what his parents were worried about. They were worried about Bill’s long hair and earring. They were worried about Fred and George with their pranks and experiments.

He had always thought that recognition had not been such a large thing to ask. But then he had tried to fall asleep alone in his flat that first night, and he had cried. Recognition meant little to him in that moment, with that hollow sense of loneliness growing bigger, chipping away at edges that disappeared into a void. Percy wanted his family. He did not want to be without them.

And yet when his mother came knocking on his door, he still slammed the door on her face. Another memory that he remembered very poorly. Perhaps it was easier to block out that hurt look on his mother’s face, to pretend like he was hurting more than she was.

It had only been that one visit, so it became easier after that. He had only just assumed that his family didn’t care for him. How could he not, when they only rolled their eyes when his mum asked him a question or complimented him on his achievements? For the longest time, Percy had been offended and hurt by these actions. After realizing, though, that he had been devastatingly wrong, he had also finally understood. It was not his family that was the problem. It was him. He was the black sheep of the family, a singular rotten grape hanging from its batch on the vine What else was there to do, then, except cut it from the rest?

So here Percy was. In his flat. Making tea alone in his dim kitchen. Since it was a Muggle place, he had electricity. Something he was glad he learned about in his Muggle Studies class at Hogwarts. It was where he had also learned how to properly exchange his wizarding currency for Muggle money. A tedious task each month, when he had to fill out a form and bring it to the basement levels of the Ministry, where money exchange kiosks sat usually untouched. Something he had been glad for, especially considering his father held interest in Muggle things, even their money, if the Quidditch World Cup was anything to go by.

Percy shook himself. He had been zoned out, staring at his tea kettle for far too long. Something he did often, though he hated himself for it. His eyes were stinging with how long he had gone without blinking. Shaking his wrist to let his sleeve fall, he checked his watch. It was only half past four. Two more hours before he had to leave for work. He usually had a lot of time in the mornings, since he was forced awake far earlier than he would like because of his nightmares.

Though what he did in that amount of time, he still couldn’t answer that question, despite how long it had been. They were vague memories, unable to take hold in his mind because the exhaustion in those hours filled his head with clouds and suspended him somewhere off the Earth. Another ceiling.

****

Percy rubbed his eyes for a moment before turning back to his work. It was still rather early, so he couldn’t afford to let the exhaustion settle in. He wanted to make himself another cup of tea, but he feared running into his father while doing so. He usually avoided the common break areas for that reason, unless Penelope dragged him along while she grabbed lunch. Despite that, he had not seen his father. He reckoned a lot of people were busier than usual, even though it had been a year since their government had been put back on its tracks.

Sighing, Percy tried to turn back to the research document he was reading, but the lines began to blur for what felt like the hundredth time. He was distracted today. By a certain letter that he had stuffed into his satchel the moment he had read through it.

Another letter from his mother. He had forgotten to write a response to her invitation to tea, and it had been several days. The owl delivered the letter on Monday, and it was now Thursday. His mother had stated that everyone had already confirmed, so she was only waiting on Percy. But he had completely forgotten about the two letters he had stuffed into his bag.

Did Percy respond, disappoint his mother with his refusal to go, or would he only leave these letters unanswered, so that her hope would slowly fade as he deviated further from the rest of the family?

A question, Percy was sure, he would never answer, even with the necessary choices hanging on him like dragging vines.

Again, his eyes went to the paper in front of him, trying to actually gather the information. Instead, he was distracted by something soft tickling his cheek. He looked up, seeing Penelope standing at his desk, using his quill to get his attention.

“Finally!” She groaned, setting down the quill. “You are so annoying when you’re reading. Can hardly get your attention.” Percy looked up at her as she leaned against his desk.

“You want to head down to the café, then?” He asked, already pushing himself away from his desk.

“You know me so well,” Penelope teased as she set off down the hallway. Percy followed to walk beside her as they headed for the elevator. “So, have you thought about the gala much?”

Percy furrowed his brows. “What do you mean? Haven’t you already asked for me to come with you?” Penelope let out a snort.

“Make me sound more desperate, why don’t you?” She joked lightly as they stepped into the elevator. Percy’s eyes surveyed the lift, making sure there was no one else in there. Another place he worried about running into his father. “That’s not what I meant, anyway.”

“Er, what did you mean, then?” He would never tell Penelope this, nor would he ever regret his relationship with her back then, but he wondered how they had ever ended up together. She was direct while he was awkward. She was outgoing while he was shy. They were complete opposites, save for their similar eagerness to learn and provide for their communities. Or at least, that was why they started dating. Percy wasn’t sure those things existed in him now. But Penelope only grew where Percy had shrunken in.

A lightness existed within her that didn’t in him. She was built of something stronger than Percy. A courage that straightened her back against everything she had been through. She, too, after all, had managed to survive under the corruption of the Ministry. Percy had helped her ‘discover’ that her great-grandmother had a witch for a mother, proving her blood status. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for her not to be kicked from the Ministry entirely. Of course, she had suffered through punishments just like Percy. But he never heard a scream echo past the doors of Yaxley’s office. She left the office with her head held high, only the shadows under her eyes left as proof of the Cruciatus Curse she had been placed under. Her resolve never left her, even though she was ‘punished’ far more than Percy ever was. You couldn’t really call it punishment, though, because Penelope had never done something wrong. It was only a reminder that she was on thin ice.

“What I meant is what are you wearing? Do you have something already, or are you going shopping? Are you doing your hair? I reckon you should get a haircut.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the elevator once they arrived at the first floor, where the café was nestled in the corner. “Also, who are you bringing?” Percy was nearly sure that anyone else who didn’t know Penelope as well would not be able to remember all of her questions. For him, however, the habit was built in him since his sixth year at Hogwarts.

“I haven’t decided what I’m wearing yet. I’ll probably need to buy something. I don’t know what I’m doing with my hair, and yes, I do need a haircut.” He took a breath, running his hands through his curls. He used to style them but gave up shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts. It felt gross for him to care that much about his appearance then. It had also always been his mother who cut his hair, though, so he wasn’t sure how to go about doing it himself. “And I thought I was going with you?”

“Of course we are, but we’re also able to bring plus-ones.” Penelope paused at the café counter, where a large menu was hanging from the ceiling. She pursed her lips, looking over her options. “You want anything? It’s on me.” She said with a twinkle in her eye. Percy shook his head.

“No thanks.” She always asked, and he always refused. He wondered when she would stop offering.

Once Penelope had ordered, they sat down at a table, where she ate her sandwich and sipped on her tea. Percy checked his watch. They still had twenty minutes in their allotted lunch break.

“We should go shopping together,” Penelope offered, tapping her finger against her chin. “I need help picking a dress, and I know damn well you wouldn’t dress yourself half as well as I could.”

There was no point arguing. “Yes, dear.” He joked with a solemn tone, earning a bread crumb in the eye that she flicked at him.

His eye was still watering when he heard a familiar voice.

“Percy! Penelope!” It was Oliver, who was approaching their table. By the slightly windswept hair and remnants of soot on his cheek, he had just arrived at the Ministry.

“Oliver Wood!” Penelope said instantly, her face brightening in the way she always did when she recognized people she knew. She had done the same thing to Percy when she had joined the Ministry only two years after graduating from Hogwarts. It was one of the last times he had seen such a genuine smile on her face before the balance of power began to shift in the government. “How have you been? I heard you’re playing for Puddlemere United now!”

Oliver grinned back at her, now standing beside the table. “Yeah, it’s been great. I thought I would be stressed being captain for a professional league, but I feel like I’m just doing what I’ve always done.”

“Ah, using the same old methods, then?” And there they went, launching into conversation like it was easy. Percy only listened as they talked, not feeling the need to join in. He was good at listening. He did it a lot. A good thing, then, because he used to be insufferable. Or so he had always been told. Percy, you talk too much. Percy, no one knows what you’re talking about. Percy, no one cares.

He had thought conversation was easy for him back then, but he had been wrong, like he was about so many other things. Now, he knew that no one wanted to hear the explanations he had to offer. The knowledge that he had so easily stored in his head over the years did not need to come out.

Oliver’s laughter dragged Percy from his thoughts. He looked up, because he suddenly realized he had never heard his old roommate laugh until that moment. Percy, of course, had made him laugh on the elevator, but not like this. Whatever Penelope had said had led Oliver to lean his head back, his eyes crinkled happily while a bright smile spread across his face. He practically glowed with the joy of the moment, making Percy feel like he had to squint.

Would he ever be able to laugh like that again?

Percy couldn’t help the grimace that appeared on his face. Of course, it was the exact moment that Oliver decided to look at him. The laugh fell away from his face naturally nonetheless, and he turned back to Penelope.

“Well, I don’t mean to keep you lot. I just wanted to extend an invitation.” His eyes returned to Percy, who made sure to wipe his expression clear. “Me and a few lads from Hogwarts are going out for drinks on Saturday night at Diagon Alley. I was instructed to bring anyone else from our year that I came across.”

“Oh, I-” Percy had every intention to decline politely, but Penelope had the glint in her eye that told him he would not have his way.

“That would be great! Percy and I were going shopping Saturday afternoon, so it works out perfectly!” She responded with a cheery voice. When he had agreed to go shopping, Percy wasn’t sure.

“My mates are going to love me. We’re all meeting right at the brick wall entry.” Oliver instructed with a smile, running his fingers through his hair, only making the windswept look worse.

“Sounds like a plan.” Penelope said sweetly, fluttering her lashes innocently. She was ignoring the pointed look Percy had been giving her.

“Alright, well, see you, Penelope.” Oliver said, his eyes lowering to Percy again, who met his gaze. He grinned again, making Percy want to squint for the second time. “See you, Percy.”

“Bye.” Percy said awkwardly in response.

“Bye!” Penelope farewelled, waving as Oliver made his way out of the café. She turned back to Percy, who had reinstated his previous expression of annoyance from earlier. Penelope was not the least bit deterred, though. Her hand waved dismissively as she picked her sandwich back up again. “Don’t look at me like that, Perce. You can’t convince me you had anything better going on.” And to be fair, she wasn’t wrong.

Either way, Percy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thanks, Penny."