Victim of War

I never liked the man, but I never would have suspected he was anything more than a fool — well a fool with power. That is until Fred and I popped in to try to talk to Percy at work and discovered just how vile a man Corneilous Fudge really is.

At first I’d simply though we’d really put our foot in it this time — you generally don’t want your brothers Appariting in to see your boss fucking you over your desk, even if you haven’t tried to show the world a face of perfection. I started to stammer an apology.

It was my twin who noticed Percy was sobbing. “What are you doing to my brother?” Fred spat.

“Get the hell out of here, bastards,” Fudge swore, as he pulled out roughly and turned to face us, his robe dropping closed.

“I don’t think so.” I surprised myself by saying.

“If Percy wants us out, we’ll go, but…” Fred continued.

“Stay.”

The hoarsely whispered, barely audible word from the form on the desk seemed to infuriate Fudge, who began to pummel Percy. “If you aren’t out of here in one minute, you’re going to regret it thoroughly.” He then turned his attention to Percy; “You misbegotten rack of bones, have you forgotten what I’m capable of doing, and to whom.”

Percy’s sobbing grew harsher.

«Dual Stupefy?» Fred asked privately.

I gave him the mental equivalent of a nod, letting my left hand slide into my sleeve. Seeing his right hand at the back of his robe, I started the count, «On three … One … Two … Thr-»

“Stupefy!” we cried in unison. A glow surrounded Fudge for a moment, then whatever ward he’d used was overwhelmed by our combined power.

I asked Fred, «Aren’t you glad Mum and Dad were too busy fighting a war to have our twin-link broken when we were little?»

«Always.» Fred sent a burst of affection over the link, as Percy seemed to realize what had happened and glomped onto me, sobbing. Fred turned to the body, «I’ll get Fudge’s wand,» he sent. He reached out, and started checking the sleeves, but then suddenly he froze.

«What?»

«He’s got the Mark.»

Before I had time to react, “Aurors — Open up!” a voice shouted from outside.

Percy grabbed me tighter, and hid his face. Fred sighed and went to open the door; both of us wondering how a world already rocked by He-Who— Voldemort’s return would deal with this.

---

I thought George was nuts this morning when he suggested we go try to talk to Percy — No one in the entire family had really talked to him since the summer before. Mum and Dad seemed to want to forget that they have another son; not even approaching him after Fudge was proven wrong.

I wasn’t expecting to Apperate in on my brother’s rape, much less to find out the Minister of Magic is in You-Know-Who’s control. That was possibly the most surreal moment of my life — turning up that sleeve to see if he keeps his wand where George does, and finding the Dark Mark.

I’d already given the Aurors a rundown of events — they’d taken Fudge, worthless bastard, to someplace a little more secure than my brother’s office, and sent for a Mediwitch for Percy. A small group of Aurors stood at the door — not only were George and I technically under arrest for the assault on Fudge until the Mark was proven genuine, but beyond that the minute, the press got a hold of the story, they’d be all over anything they could get a hold of - and there was no way Percy was strong enough to deal with that. Hell, I wasn’t sure I was.

I looked up suddenly at an auburn-haired witch in front of me, trying to place her, and wishing my mind didn’t suddenly feel so foggy.

“Sit down, George or is it Fred?”

“Fred,” I replied dazedly.

She put a hand to my shoulder and guided me to a low filing cabinet a couple steps behind me. “Shock,” she said clinically, pulling a bottle of swirling chocolate-milk-colored fluid from her bag. “Drink it down and rest, while I check on your brothers.”

I nodded slowly and opened the flask. I recognized the standard restorative draught as soon as it touched my tongue, and drank it down, grimacing at the slightly bitter cacao flavor and the chalky texture, wondering once again why they didn’t sweeten the commercial brews; it was only a minimal reduction in strength, as long as you used beet sugar.

Head clearer and overall much less shaky, I turned to watch her careful examination of Percy. George had gotten Percy over to the faux-window seat that bent around one corner of the room. She spoke slowly, and directly to Percy, though she never got mover than a tiny shack or nod in reply. She checked him over carefully casting spells that allowed her to see internal damage, and going over much of what she looked at with a small device, which looked a bit odd; it bore a resemblance to a pair of omnoculars, but only used one eye, and had a prominently displayed Ministry logo on it. I assumed that it was some kind of evidence recorder. The witch, Miranda Salzen, a Huddlepuff from Percy’s year, I recalled now, gently treated Percy’s injuries; there were more of them than I’d realized: an angry-looking open cut on his shoulder, a number of bruises, a set of cracked ribs, and the results of the rape. She healed what would heal with spells, and then gave him a potion that finally caused him to relax and then doze off.

She gave George a quick check over, and nodded. “You’re fine.” She sighed. “Arthur is at the department heads’ meeting — you two should be free to go when they’re done. Percy needs a couple of days of bed rest, followed by light activity if he desires. I’ll call your mother later with some advice about meals.”

George nodded at her, as I replied, “We’ll tell her.”

She stepped towards me, looking me over. “Feeling better?”

“Much, thank you, Miranda,” I replied truthfully.

She smiled and headed out, and I joined my brothers in the warm sunshine of the faux-window seat, waiting nervously for our father.