Break

Break--Chapter 3

by cyanide blue

Penelope was the Queen of Ithaca--someplace in Greece, though who knew if it really existed--and wife of the king, Odysseus. The Trojan War broke out, and Odysseus took his men to fight. He didn't return from that journey for twenty years' worth of adventures, a span of time in which assuming suitors for his wife's hand ravaged his household and his son grew to be a man without ever knowing his father.

She waited; she had faith. To appease the suitors that overran her house, she claimed she would weave a funeral shroud for her dead husband, and once it was done, she would choose the next man to marry her. Shrewd as she was, she undid the work she did every night so that choice never came.

Shrewd, faithful, distant and loving... Penelope.

As he awakens with bleary eyes, Percy remembers her telling him the story when they met--she was greatly enthused by myths and fables and consumed several books' worth every few weeks as any good Ravenclaw would. She was shy as anything then, unparalleled in her studies but awkward and easily embarrassed when talking to someone outside of her House.

Clearwater was an apt name as well, with her light-blue eyes like the water one always sees in art but never in life, warm and inviting. He thinks now that he was likely in love with her the moment he looked at her, a demure, curly-haired fifteen year old girl with a polished Prefect badge and a Ravenclaw tie.

He wonders if she's changed since the summer of 1994, if she still wears that silver Celtic ring he gave her on her left ring finger, if she even thinks about him any more. And though he doesn't want to consider it, he wonders if she was one of the many Muggleborns who have been tortured, maimed, and killed since war broke out.

"Fuck," he says under his breath. He never swears, though this occasion merits it.

"An apt description of things to come, no doubt. Oh--sorry, no pun intended." Percy raises his head. It's Zabini again.

"I suppose it would be too much to ask you to go away," Percy says.

"I'll do as I please. If our dear Marcus gets that right, I get it as well. So, yes. Your request will not be granted. So sorry." Zabini grins.

"Burn in Hell."

"I suppose that's where I'm headed already, if it even exists. Then again, the things you've done... you're headed there with me, Weasley. Funny ole world, isn't it? No matter what side you choose, you end up at the same place."

Percy would argue the point, but treason is treason, despite circumstances like whom it is against and reasons why. He recalls reading in a Muggle book that the ninth circle of Hell is reserved for turncoats and backstabbers. Funny ole world, indeed, that he can think of Muggle literature when caged within a Death Eater cell in which he will likely die.

"I suppose so," Percy concedes.

Zabini steps closer. "You know, Weasley, you've been quite a roadblock in my political path. It's always Percy Weasley this and Percy Weasley that. Ten OWLs, Head Boy, ten NEWTs... there was no way I was going to get the Head Boy position, unknown as I was--had to be Malfoy or Potter, naturally it was Potter... with Malfoy's father in Azkaban? No way. Nine OWLs, ten NEWTs. Living in your bloody shadow. I was considering poisoning you or the like, did you know that?" He shrugs. "Then this happened. I suppose the Ministry is obsolete. Too bad, I enjoyed the challenge."

"The Ministry survived one war. They can survive another." Blind faith. Percy has no other option.

"The Dark Lord has learned his lessons well. He's not irrationally stumbling into Dumbledore's traps this time around. He's being careful." Zabini smirks. "You chose the wrong side, Weasley. He would like your ambition. You could have gone far. Instead, you're here."

"There is no way that a Weasley could sign up for the Dark side without getting killed, Zabini."

"You could have been a spy. It's a cushy job, spying. You get paid by both sides and if you're really good, you can double-cross both of them at the same time." Zabini suddenly winces, hand quickly slamming over his left arm. "Shite!"

Percy stares in fascination. The Dark Mark is burning on Zabini... a Protean Charm. He of course knows how it is done, but in action, it proves the Dark Lord's dominion. With a simple touch, he can turn hundreds into quivering masses of pain.

A woman's scream suddenly echoes, and Percy starts. He stares out the open door, suddenly realizing his opportunity. He attempts to stand and run, but he has barely the energy to walk. Zabini yells, "Don't fucking move!" and Percy ignores him, staggering on his weak legs towards the open door.

"Crucio!"

He hits the ground, every nerve in his body enveloped with pain. He screams, trying to beg for his death, but it comes out first as nonsense then one long, anguished cry until his throat feels like it's going to bleed. His mind goes numb, and he feels suddenly divorced from his body, from the pain. Moments later the wand is raised and when he manages to pry his eyelids open, he sees Rodolphus Lestrange standing above him.

"Ah-ah-ah." Rodolphus shakes his finger at Percy. "Not getting out of here that easily." Percy is somewhat puzzled that the man seems to be standing, perfectly fine, though Zabini is curled up on the floor in agony, until Rodolphus looks over to Zabini and laughs. "Two years and you're still turning into jelly over it? Oh, honestly."

"Not all of us have been with the Dark Lord since the dawn of time, Lestrange," Zabini manages to say. Percy wishes he could walk over and kick Zabini in the face.

Rodolphus cringes slightly, and Percy notes that his hand is also clamped over the Mark. "You say that as though it's a bad thing. Now get up, boy, or I'll give you to my wife." Percy thinks momentarily that this is directed at him, and struggles up. Rodolphus promptly knees Percy in the stomach, and he hits the ground hard yet again. "I meant Zabini. You're staying here."

Zabini hobbles into Percy's pain-blurred vision. "You think you're funny, don't you, Rodolphus," he grumbles.

"I think I outrank you, and thus I am correct. My sense of humor is not the point of dispute here."

"Lucius outranks you, what do you have to say about that?"

"I say that you had better bloody go before I lock you up in those chains for Flint to find."

Zabini shrugs, though looks a bit more wary than earlier. "As you will," he says, and Apparates away. Rodolphus grins at Percy, who simply returns a wide-eyed stare, and locks the door.

"Didn't think I was going to give you another chance to run, did you?" the man laughs, and Apparates away with a pop as well.

Percy considers the stone walls with less of despair and more of a scientific logic. If the Death Eaters are all called to the meeting, it means that none of them are patrolling the dungeon. After a few bungled attempts, he manages to get to a shaky standing and walk over to the door of his cell. "Who's out there?" he calls, his voice catching and throat burning at the rememberance of the Cruciatus Curse.

"Percy? Percy Weasley?" a male voice calls back from far away. "Where are you? Merlin, how long have you been here?"

Percy blinks, trying to process the familiar voice. "Lee--Lee Jordan!"

"One and the same--amazed that you remember me, big shot."

"Not much of a big shot now, am I. Doesn't matter much here. Lee... you're an Auror, correct?" He clears his throat, as it becomes quite difficult to speak loud enough for Lee to hear him.

"We have a sodding Auror here and we're still stuck here? So much for the Ministry elite!" another male voice says.

"What Ministry?" Lee asks scornfully. "The Ministry is gone. Couldn't withhold the siege... the building couldn't take it any more. We scattered, I got caught by a trained niffler. Clearly you can't do much better, whoever the hell you are!"

"Is Ron alive?" Percy attempts to yell, but his aching throat fails him. "Is Ron alive?"

"I don't know, he and Hermione went with Lupin and I've heard Lupin ended up here... he might be, he might be here. I don't know, Percy. Wish I did."

"And Harry?" There is dead silence at the question, even from Lee. "Harry Potter?"

"He's gone," someone else says, a female voice from a cell across the way; Percy strains to look through the bars of the window, but sees only stone. "He Apparated away from the Ministry siege and that's the last I've seen of him."

Something clicks with her voice. "Who is that?"

"Padma Patil, Experimental Charms by trade and Muggleborn protection by hobby. I burn any hunted Muggleborn's fingerprints off, give them a potion that'll throw any trained animals off, and forge new papers for them. Those bastards burned my house down, along with all my equipment... I fled to the Ministry a few hours before the siege. They got me there--though Malfoy had his bit of fun with me before he brought me here."

Percy flinches at what she might mean, but doesn't ask any further. "We have to do something," he says. "We can't just sit here."

The same mocking voice as before speaks again. "Isn't that an idea... well, we'll just get our wands out and you know, hex the cells open. Easy as that, right?"

"Shut your face, Smith," Padma snaps. "No one wants to hear your shite. He's right--if a tad too hopeful."

"All right, then, any ideas, Weasley? Or how about using your elite Auror skills, Jordan? Really, unless you've got wandless magic, you've got no chance. Suppose we just wait for Potter to break us out, then."

Percy stares out of his cell at the stone wall ahead of him. He wants to be sick. He knows his ticket out.

"I suppose we must." He drops to the floor, and waits for Flint. There is not much else he can do but wait.