What Would You See?

What Would You See?

By Ada Kensington

Author´s Note: Quite a bit of obvious (and not so obvious) significance in this chapter. See if you can spot the parallels. Also, the latter half of this story should be read along with the beautiful and haunting "Song For Athene" by Tavener.

***

Burning... Oh God, his ears were burning. He could feel the blood rush scarlet to his pale cheeks - like a drop of ink delicately dotted into a glass of clear water - setting his fair skinned, freckled face aflame and clashing violently with his vibrant, fiery red hair. The whole effect would put the detached (and, if applicable, somewhat poetic) observer in mind of the setting sun in its final crawling stages of descent, with the myriad shades, ranging from deep, throbbing crimsons to almost luminous, fiery oranges and to thin, lighting streaks of retina-melting gold. However, to the immediate observer, it was very clear that Percy Weasley was furious.

So infuriated was he, that he could barely speak. Blustering, stuttering and mouthing indignantly - he felt as though his blood was hammering through his veins. His face felt like it was on fire - his skin prickling unpleasantly, and his breathing pace was quickening as he stared, incensed, at the smugly sneering, pale faced, arrogant second year before him.

Usually, he was extremely adept at dealing with cases of insolence, but they were never normally this... personal; - and when something truly touched a nerve - he floundered, and it mostly only served to satisfy his tormentor.

"You want to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!" Percy said - his throat thick and clotted with wrath, making his voice seem small and insignificant. "I don´t like your attitude!"

The object of his wrath merely sneered coldly, with a derisive smile playing about his cold, pale eyes, and - clearly noting the scarlet face, the shaky voice and the twitching fingers - he smirked, and swept off down the corridor, motioning his two hulking thugs to follow him, soon disappearing soundlessly from Percy Weasley´s slowly reddening field of vision.

Arrogant, egotistical, haughty little bastard...

Percy remained there awhile, still shaking with anger and knowing full well that he could certainly not return to the Common Room in this state. He would never live it down. Realising that he had to calm himself down, he took a few deep, soothing breaths. In... Out... In... and Out. Satisfied that he had calmed himself down sufficiently, Percy drew a few final deep, soothing breaths, tossed his back his head, and strode off purposefully in the direction of the Gryffindor Common Room - intending to gain a maximum possible distance from anything that had the potential to rile him. A second year? Succeeding in riling up one of the most unflappable prefects in the history of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? No! It could not be possible! It just couldn´t be!

And yet... it was.

Generally, Percy Weasley treated all lower school pupils equally - adopting an indifferent stance to each. However, when the name Malfoy first arose two years ago during the process of his brother Ron´s sorting - it was a name that he could not bring himself to ignore.

Malfoy. A name his father frequently uttered through gritted teeth and venomous tongue. A name that would always deliver evil tidings and become the precursor to events somewhat more socially universal. A name that would incite worry, anger and strife amongst the older members of the Weasley family - namely his father, his mother and his two elder brothers, Bill

and Charlie.

When he was younger, he remembered vividly, the first time he had ever heard the name mentioned. He recalled having sneaked downstairs, his mop of curly red hair falling floppily over his sleep-strained eyes, padding cautiously over to the larder to quickly sneak a few deliciously forbidden sweets. Then, he heard voices, raised voices, filtering through the closed door into the living room. His father and his mother.

Curious, he crept over to the door and opened it a crack - warm light streaming in to fill his tired eyes as they peeped warily into the living room. His father sat forward in his armchair, his head in his hands, across from his mother, who was sitting on a battered couch, holding a gently stirring bundle of soft, cotton blankets that was his baby brother. Her eyes were wide and her mouth tight-lipped and her face was strangely pale. Percy knew that it was only when she was upset that she looked like that. He was worried, and wanted to go in and see if she was alright - and was just about to - when suddenly, his father rose from his armchair and smashed the wall with a strong, unyielding fist - letting out a great, long, terrible roar of anger and despair.

"MALFOY! HOW MANY MORE LIVES WOULD YOU WASTE? CURSE YOU! CURSE YOU!..."

Percy immediately turned and fled. For he had never seen his father so angry before. Frightened and bewildered, he ran sobbing to his room - slamming the door - and lay there under his blankets, all the while wondering what this Malfoy was that could have caused his father to be so angry.

Now that he was old enough to know, Percy had been properly introduced to the ways of the Malfoy clan during the previous year´s summer holidays when Bill and Charlie were home. His father had pulled him aside, after their little talk, and had laid a hand on his shoulder. He had told him that Lucius Malfoy´s son was starting Hogwarts with Ron and that he was extremely worried about him. As Ron´s eldest brother at Hogwarts, it was his job to look out for him and make sure he was safe. Easy, thought Percy. How much trouble could one eleven year old be? The answer, however, was much, much more than he could imagine.

The youngest spawn of the infamous Malfoy clan seemed to have all of their peculiarities already ingrained at the tender age of eleven. From what he had heard from his father of Lucius Malfoy, the boy seemed destined to follow; - exhibiting the same pompous, arrogant, vanity that characterised the narrow-minded bigots of the increasing ranks of dark wizards and witches. Showing the same degree of inherent malevolence that was the precursor to innocent lives lost. Displaying clearly, the same blind, entrenched, frighteningly self-righteous beliefs that made them unable to free their minds and escape the ever-thickening web of the dark arts - until they were so completely brainwashed that they could not, or did not wish to escape...

In his heart of hearts, Percy pitied young Draco - fearing what he knew he would eventually become. But he realised that he was now too far gone - and that not even Albus Dumbledore could save him now. Now, his main priorities were making sure that he did not become a danger to Ron and Ginny - ensuring that they were treated with the respect they deserved.

His father had spent a long time unconsciously fighting for the respect he felt his family deserved. Yes, they were poor - but they were a valuable asset to the wizarding community as a whole, and also a powerful ally for the side of good. Everyone liked them, yes. But when the Malfoys decided to intervene - it was always fear of them, the fear of their power, their wealth and the influence they could exert, that always took precedence over the Weasley´s time and again.

... and he was sick of it!

He was sick of how the Malfoys seemed to serve as a foil to his family at every turn. Sick of how, if evil had money and power, that it could walk all over what was clearly good. Sick of having to see Draco Malfoy sneering and laughing at him every day, when he did not even know him - only knowing him as a poor, insignificant, Weasley...

Suddenly, Percy´s train of thought shuddered to an abrupt halt. He stopped in mid stride and glanced around only to have unfamiliar portraits and surroundings rise up most unwelcomingly to meet him.

Stairs must´ve changed... don´t panic. You passed the Staff Room a while ago. You can just double back... Yes. Just double back...

Percy turned round to retrace his steps to the Staff Room - and ran smack into a furiously swirling wall of black, which sent him flying to the hard, unyielding, mahogany floor heavily - winding him - and forcing the cloud of black spinning around ungainly in the opposite direction.

As Percy frantically tried to get his breath back, the swirling black was first to recover, and made its unsteady way over to the prostrate Percy.

"Are you alright there, Weasley? Weasley! Are you alright?"

It was Professor Snape, with his sallow face unusually flushed and his greasy black hair strewn wildly over his fathomless, black eyes.

"Weasley!"

Percy mumbled in the affirmative, and felt a cold hand grasp his with a thin, iron grip - pulling him upright - and he gasped as a sharp, stabbing pain drove deep into his wrist, making him wince.

"What is the matter, Weasley?" asked Snape, glancing suspiciously at Percy´s injured wrist.

"I think I´ve sprained my wrist, Professor," Percy answered, grasping his wrist and grimacing.

Snape´s eyes narrowed. "Hospital wing, Weasley."

"But, Professor, I was going back to the Common Room. I have a report that I´d like to get a head start on..."

"Hospital wing, Weasley, or I´ll start deducting points for not watching where you were going. I will brook no refusal," Professor Snape said finally. "Otherwise," he added, with a grim smile, "you may be left vulnerable to the misplaced attentions of others."

Percy nodded, knowing full well what Snape meant. Lockhart hadn´t been at Hogwarts long - only one term - yet he had already gained a widespread reputation amongst the senior school for being notoriously incompetent. They were practically teaching themselves DADA.

"Of course, Professor," Percy said.

Snape nodded, and went to leave - but he turned back to Percy and said: "Careful, Weasley. The stairs have changed. I don´t want to have to help Filch scrape Gryffindor guts from the walls."

Then, without a backward glance, Snape turned on his heel and swept off silently down the corridor - his black robes once more billowing out behind him as he walked.

Wonder what that was all about? Percy thought absently, massaging his throbbing wrist, as he too, went his separate road, winding his own way through the paths he thought he knew so well. Snape had seemed awfully flustered.

Maybe he´s just had a run-in with an arrogant, pushy little brat, second year too...

Percy rounded another corner.

Wouldn´t be at all surprised, with total lack of respect for their betters, these days...

Percy stopped short.

The path forked.

One corridor led to the Hospital Wing. The other led somewhere unknown. He wasn´t sure which was which, or which one he should take. Uncertainty momentarily seized him, and his eyes darted swiftly from one corridor to the other. All Hogwarts corridors looked pretty similar.

You´re a Prefect. You should know what path to take...

But he wasn´t quite sure. He hated feeling unsure - hated feeling even the least bit uncertain about anything. All his life, Percy Weasley had planned and prepared - knowing more or less everything that was going to come up because he had had a hand in designing the outcome - whether it was by studying, or just plain scheduling. Now, he had no time to premeditate the outcome. The choice was before him - and he had to choose wisely, or be lost. For Hogwarts, for all its good, was a vast and sometimes unpredictable place and could be pretty dangerous if not treaded carefully...

But he was a Prefect - and should have known what path to take.

After only a moment´s further hesitation, Percy took the left fork, and made his way down the long, winding corridor - quietly hoping that he had chosen the right one.

***

Eventually, he realised that he had chosen the wrong path. Percy had emerged from another non-descript corridor into another, then another, then another - until finding himself totally lost in the old, deserted corner of the building that he found himself in now.

Cobwebs hung low from the ceiling, and a fine, thick coat of dust quilted everything surrounding him - muffling his cautious steps and muting all sound. But the air itself seemed to hold a softly whispering hush - like hundreds of distant voices hissing, sighing and murmuring all at once. Some of them seemed to be singing...

Percy began to be a little afraid. He drew his wand, although he knew not why. For what could a wand do against something that, quite possibly, was not really there? Some of the voices he could handle. The singing voices, as he walked further down the darkening corridor sounded a low, lulling melody, that seemed to put his mind at ease.

Then, almost as suddenly as it began, the voices ceased and a thick, oppressive silence resumed their place - weighing heavily on the air.

The quiet was somehow worse.

To his right, was a door, and it was opened a crack. Percy stood stock still - his heart hammering in his chest - the silence suffocating - his eyes fixed immovably on the dark gap that separated himself from the darkness of the room beyond. A chill breeze suddenly drifted through the air, opening the crack in the door a little wider.

For Merlin´s sake, Percy, it´s only an old classroom...

The chill breeze caused the hinges on the door to creak softly, as the door was gently forced open a little more...

Only an old classroom...

The wind gathered speed, disturbing the dust, making it swirl around his feet. The door opened further, and he could very nearly see inside.

Was there light in there?

Percy edged cautiously towards the door, and gently nudged it open with a trembling hand - stepping over the threshold and peering, wide-eyed, around the door.

There was nothing there.

It was, in fact, only an old classroom. Piles of old chairs stacked high - riddled and rotting with woodworm, more strange, silvery cobwebs stretching from one lofty rafter to another, and the dust - more suffocating and smothering than ever. A strange, eerie light filtered in through the filthy windows - lending the room an ethereal hue. It seemed to Percy as though he had just crossed over into another world...

Absently, he bent down and traced a delicate spiral with a thin finger - its outline bold and clear in the dark floorboards against its backdrop of grey-white powder. It was rather pretty, really - and when he had finished, he stood up.

It was only then that he saw it.

A great, glittering, gold colossus - untarnished and untouched by anything that seemed to have affected all else in the room - stood, lurking. Half in shadows, and half in light, glints of spectral luminescence wisped and curled mistily around the entity - reflecting from the brilliantly shimmering mirror in all directions. It was breathtaking.

Percy glided slowly across the floor - transfixed by the eerie, unsettling beauty of the object in front of him - and stretched out a pale hand to touch the softly shimmering glass. The glass felt pleasantly cool and smooth under his fingertips - like ice - and he ran his hands over the surface several times before his reflection rose mistily up from the endless depths of the mirror to greet him.

For a moment, Percy gazed upon a slightly blurred image of himself carefully withdrawing a hand from the pane of glass, then, in a swirling mist of smoky grey, his reflection rearranged itself into something completely different.

Now, Percy Weasley beheld himself, clearly a few years older. He was wearing an official looking uniform and working calmly behind a great, oak desk - sending out orders and seeing that those orders were carried out. People scurried in and out, nodding and smiling and doing their jobs, while he carried on working. He was an official. Firm, but fair, and the best at his job - a dedicated and efficient executive. No longer the poor but brilliant Weasley son - but the revered and respected professional. He had lifted himself into acquiring the respect and esteem that the Weasley family - his family - clearly deserved.

Percy stared at the image for quite a while before the growing pain in his wrist reminded him once again of his physical self. He looked away for only a moment to tend to his wrist - and the image disappeared - leaving nothing to behold but the cold pane of glass. He stood there, staring now at the floorboards, holding his wrist in the shadow of the great mirror.

He realised now that before him, was no ordinary mirror - but he could not discern its purpose. The only inkling he had, was that it must show something that you, and you alone would know - for he had made up his mind for a long time now, that he would be the one to lift his family up higher than the Malfoys and to gain wizarding society´s unconditional respect - no matter how hard he had to work to achieve it - no matter what he had to do to achieve it.

The pain in his wrist was now flooding his mind - pushing the previous events to the background.

Snape was right... I had better get along to the hospital wing...

***

Percy Weasley made his way out of the room and out along the corridor once again - trying to retrace his steps in order to get to the hospital wing - treading back along the path that had lead him to the unknown. However, it was harder than it looked - for all Hogwarts corridors looked similar. Eventually, Percy found the place where he had started and finally reached the hospital wing. It took him quite a while, what with the detour - but he got there in the end.