The Perils of Being Percy

Chaos reigned at the Ministry of Magic. Under the auspices of Cornelius Fudge, and his chief financial political contributor, Lucius Malfoy, little was being done to capture the ten psychopathic Death Eaters, or to prevent any more from joining the Dark Lord's ranks. Percy expected to Apparate into work any day now and report to Lord Voldemort himself.

Scribbling bitterly with his razor sharp quill Percy kept poking holes into his parchment. No matter how many letters he sent assuring people they were safe, the pile of panic mail in his in-box refused to diminish. "Penny?" he muttered as continued to write. "Penny who? Not Penny Weasley, that's for sure, and at this rate she never will be. I wonder if my key to the flat still works." He hadn't been home at all in two days. Three in a row days previous he'd arrived too late. Penny had already gone into work.

"What a nightmare this all is." Percy allowed himself a moment. Utterly wallowing in self-pity, he flung his quill aside and slammed his face down onto the ink blotter. Grown men weren't supposed to cry. So he didn't. But he wanted to. At that minute he would have given every sickle in his bank account to have Fred and George walk in and torment him mercilessly for the rest of the day. Profound and painful longing for his siblings and his parents virtually engulfed him at odd moments lately. It was almost as if they were dead, the very condition he was trying to prevent them from being in. This separation wasn't just difficult. It had become insanity. And that didn't cover his lack of Penny.

Penny, loving, warm, and breathing was a hard tangible link to Percy Weasley the person. Losing himself inside of her was the only time he felt anything at all like the boy he used to be. The rest of the time he was more the Minister's man than not. Despite his best efforts to help Dumbledore there was no way to function in Cornelius Fudge's constant presence without losing vestiges of self.

Staring off into space, through Fudge's open doorway, out the Minister's window---enchanted to look like the London skyline--- Percy experienced a moment of complete unreality. The leaps and bounds he had taken to this position seemed more like fragmented tricks of fate now than conscious decision making on his part. He felt trapped, and angry, and most of all, frightened. As he observed the scudding of clouds across the gray London sky, a familiar brown flapping obscured his vision. Hermes purveyed him expectantly through the window, bearing a message in his bright yellow beak.

Bounding away from his cluttered desk, Percy took long legged strides to get to his owl. He seldom used Hermes for Ministry business. This letter was likely personal and important. Could it be a response, finally, from Ron? Some clue that he wasn't total persona non-grate in his own family? The brown owl fluttered into Fudge's office, dramatically swooping and preening, clearly feeling puffed up and important to be delivering mail directly to the office of the Minister of Magic.

"Oh, get over yourself already," Percy grumbled. "And give me my damn letter."

Hermes, offended, landed on Fudge's desk and spat Percy's letter onto the floor. Requiring Percy to pick up his own mail was the best come back a voiceless animal could muster on short notice.

The envelope read:

Mr. P. Weasley, Assistant to the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge

Percy snickered, "I wonder how much Fudge pays extra to constantly get his name in print? As if he'll get elected on name recognition alone. Ridiculous." Opening the letter he lost his snicker,

Dear Mr. Weasley,

This is an urgent summons. You are urged to return to your residence immediately. One of our employees, a Miss Penelope Clearwater, has listed you as her emergency point of contact. Miss Clearwater has become seriously ill while in the performance of her H.I.T. duties and requires your immediate assistance and attention.

Sincerely,

The Department of Worker Related Maladies and Injuries at St. Mungos Hospital.

More grateful than ever that he excelled at Apparation, Percy disappeared in a second. Leaving no note, no explanations, and no excuses. Penny needed him. Arriving instantly back into the middle of his own kitchen he noticed Penny nowhere in sight. But the flat shook something fierce. Plates rattled off the cupboard shelves onto the floor. Percy steadied himself on the counter. Some one extremely large and heavy was trying to break down the door.

With a flick of his wand Percy unlocked the door to find Trey Davis, Penny's friend from work, standing in the corridor. In his brawny, perpetually suntanned arms he held a desperately ill looking Penny.

"Davy Crocket's mustache, Weasley!" Trey drawled. "You're a tough dude to hang a lasso on! Your own owl finally showed up and pecked me relentlessly until I realized he was my best hope of contacting you." The big Texan turned Penny over to Percy. She was barely conscious, lolling her head onto his shoulder, her face flushed with fever and her body radiated extreme heat.

"Bloody Merlin's codpiece!" Percy gasped. "What has happened to her?"

"Ipswich flu," Trey informed him. "Sweeping the hospital like raging brush fire on the back forty in an Indian Summer."

Stunned, Percy lifted Penny up, carried her into the bedroom and laid her down on their big four- poster, wondering, Who the hell is Davy Crockett? Why don't Americans speak proper English?

Trey followed behind him and the two of them stared down at incapacitated Penny. Her breathing shallow, eyes twitching beneath closed lids. "Ain't never seen nothin' like it, Weasley," Trey continued. "Sure, we got disease in Texas, but this," he shook his head in amazement. "Folks are dropping over at St. Mungo's like they got cattle bloat."

"Err...cattle bloat?" Percy stammered, looking very pale. Sitting down on the bed and taking Penny's pulse with a shaking hand. "Is that fatal?" The blood thrummed strongly through the veins in her wrist beneath his fingertips and he felt momentarily relieved until Trey answered, "It surely is, especially if ya'll's a cow. Luckily, Penny's no heifer, and Ipswhich hasn't killed nobody, yet."

"Yet?" asked Percy. "But it could be fatal?"

"Nope," Trey assured him clapping an enormous hand on his slim shoulder. "It's not fatal. Oh, there have a been a few cases of brain damage and paralysis, but all in all most folks recover nicely. Don't y'all worry, now. Penny's a tough little gal. She'll perk up right enough in a few days. Came into work lookin' a might peaked today. I told her she oughter' go home and set a spell."

"I didn't even realize that---that she was ill," Percy stammered, positively sick at heart. His love looked little better than death warmed over now. When had she fallen ill? Why hadn't she said anything about it to him?

"Well, you're a busy man and all," Trey said, pulling a bag of herbs from his leather coat pocket. "Penny's told us all about you, Weasley. I never seen a girl so much in love as she is with you. No girl ever gets all mooney like that over me. What's your secret, son?"

Suffering from shock and concern, Trey's comments barely registered in Percy's mind. He blindly took the bag of herbs with the instructions to steep them in hot water, brewing a strong potion to be given to Penny every hour on the hour.

Despite his dislike of Trey, Percy missed his heft and handy bulk when he was gone. Trey was a skilled Healer in Training. Percy was a scribe in possession of a sharp quill. What if Penny got worse? Although it didn't look to Percy as though she actually could get much worse. He vaguely recalled Ginny and Ron coming down with something in their early childhood that caused fever accompanied by convulsions. Mostly he remembered his mother's absolute hysteria when Ginny's eyes rolled into her head and her tiny body started jerking in his father's arms. That's how Penny looked now. The twitching beneath her lids frightened him.

Making himself busy, Percy yanked off his work robes and went into the kitchen to brew the tea. It was some combination of magical ingredients that would help bring down the fever. That was the important thing, Trey told him. Keep her cool, high body temperatures were dangerous and Penny's was very high. With a watchful eye on the still form lying on his side of the bed, Percy steeped the herbs. He poured the mixture into a mug and took it in to Penny. She didn't respond to his voice, or his touch, and he realized she was unconscious.

"Penny." Urgently shaking her shoulder, he was thoroughly alarmed by the amount of heat radiating from her body. "I've got to cool you down." Thinking fast he hoisted her up one armed. She was limp like a rag doll. It was no mean feat to undress an unconscious person, but Percy managed it. He had wrestled his resisting younger siblings into and out of their clothes often enough in his youth trying to help his harried parents and Penny wasn't capable of resisting anything right now. Taking off Penny's clothes was cinched compared to getting Fred and George into their pajamas at bedtime.

Their flat was cold, and a bitter winter wind blew around outside, rattling the windows and frosting the panes. Percy, always warm, felt the chill through his sweater and jeans. Pulling off his sweater he lifted Penny up and carried her into the bathroom. Running the shower, he waited an eternity for it to turn from ice crystals into lukewarm water. Lifting Penny beneath her arms, Percy thrust her and himself both under the barely lukewarm showerhead.

Penny shuddered under the stream. Cool water gushed over her flaming skin dimpling it with goose flesh. For the first time since she'd arrived at the flat with Trey, Percy thought he sensed some consciousness in her. Drenched completely, Percy's jeans pulled and sucked on his wet skin. Penny felt like a brand slumped against his naked chest. Teeth chattering, he held her there in the cold water an excruciatingly long time until she actively started to resist him. Not able to hold her up much longer with numb fingertips Percy closed the shower door with a dexterous elbow.

While he toweled her off on the bed, Penny started to come to. Her eyelids fluttered open and she pushed his hand away mumbling, "Not now Percy, I don't feel well." Dripping water from his hair, his eyelashes, and the tip of his nose onto her bare belly Percy smiled with relief.

"You mean you aren't in the mood? Are you sure, sweetie? Because I was just starting to get into it." Dropping to his knees next to the bed he rested his wet head on her stomach. Placing a kiss on her naval he told her, "I was scared witless for you a few minutes ago."

Shivering, still feverish and chilled to the marrow, Penny pushed him away again. "Stop dripping on me," she complained. "You feel like my old Irish Setter wet from the pond." Satisfied that she was annoyed and would probably live, Percy covered her up with a sheet, dried himself off and changed his clothes. She was watching him with swollen bleary eyes when he looked up.

"I feel truly awful," she said.

"Yes, I guess you do," Percy acknowledged pulling a dry sweater over his damp hair. "You look truly awful as well. Your friend Trey left me a potion that should help you to feel better. Just a minute and I'll get it for you."

Bringing in the steeped potion, he helped Penny sit up, holding the mug to her lips. "Yuck!" She made a terrible face and whined, "That tastes like slug ooze, and it's cold. I'm going to be sick."

Grabbing her wand off the bedside table Percy stuck it into the concoction and made it steam. Offering it to her again he said, "Drink it all, and don't hassle me. If you throw up I can make more."

With a bitter expression of distaste she obeyed him. Swallowing the potion back in gulps, gagging roundly with the last drop. Percy jumped back in case she was going to make good on her threat, but she didn't. Laying her head back on the pillow she gave him a tired smile, instead.

"Do you remember our conversation the other day, Pen?" he asked sternly, sitting next to her, glaring down his nose and pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of it. "When I said to you that if you need me send an owl and I'll come right away? I wasn't just talking to hear myself speak. Do you realize it now?"

"That's my Percy," she said laying a hand alongside the red-gold stubble on his chin. "No time like the present for giving a good lecture. I do love you so." Her eyelids slid closed. Capturing her hand he brought the palm of it to his mouth for a kiss watching her fall asleep. The alarming flush was fading from her cheeks. Her breathing grew deep and full. Her eyes no longer twitched beneath the blue veined lids.

For the second time that day Percy felt the harsh sting of tears burning the backs of his eyes. Reassuring himself that she would be well, he lay down beside her to watch the even rhythm of her chest rising and falling in dreamless slumber. Just as he was about to nod off too, the sound of a familiar buzzing came from the pocket of his work robes thrown over the foot of the bed.

"Oh, no, not now," he said scrambling to catch the buzz before it woke Penny. Peering into the magic mirror he saw the dark, worried, face of Kingsley Shacklebolt, another of Dumbledore's spies doing double duty for the Ministry.

"What is it, Kingsley?" asked Percy, irritated beyond belief.

"You've got to come now, Perce," Kingsley rumbled in his deep voice. "There's gonna be big trouble at Hogwarts in a few minutes. The Minister and Dumbledore both are asking where the hell you are tonight."

"I am at home," Percy snarled. "In bed with my sick girlfriend. Who cannot, I repeat, cannot be left alone here, tonight. Whatever it is, I can't help you now."

"Ahh---" Shacklebolt sighed thoughtfully. "Does she have Ipswich? Half the hospital is shut down tonight because the emergency room is busting out at the seams."

"Yes, she has Ipswich. She looks like death warmed over, and she's just now fallen asleep. I need to give her potion every hour on the hour until she's well again."

"Let me talk to Dumbledore," suggested Kingsley. "I'll see what we can work out, but I think you've got to be here tonight no matter what." The mirror faded to pewter and Percy saw his own freckled face reflecting back. With red hair askew in three different directions, and skin so pale his freckles looked painted on, he appeared positively freakish.

Bald headed Kingsley flashed back in the mirror. "Dumbledore's going to send someone over to sit with your girl. But he says you need to be here. Get ready to Apparate into Hogsmeade. Take Floo powder from the Three Broomsticks into Dumbledore's office. We'll be waiting for you."

"I just don't believe it!" Percy flung his mirror across the bedroom. It bounced off the wall and slid back to the floor at his feet. There was no hope for it. Dumbledore needed him, Penny needed him, and the Minister needed him. He needed a break. Shoving his work robes back over his head he ran a wet comb through his hair hoping it looked presentable. Snatching up his quill and parchment he stalked into the kitchen to find Mundungus Fletcher sitting at his table drinking out of a flask.

"You!" Percy cried, outraged, ready to turn him out on his ear. Fletcher was a petty criminal with only two redeeming qualities; he was loyal to Dumbledore and he was no Death Eater. "Dumbledore is cracked if he thinks I'm leaving my sick girlfriend alone in this flat with you, Fletcher."

"Now, now, young Weasley." Fletcher smiled crookedly. "Your young lady will be safe enough with me here awhile. We all have to sacrifice a bit for the cause you know." He started scratching savagely at the back of his neck, at what Percy thought looked suspiciously like a louse. Hygiene wasn't one of Fletcher's strong points. Having him here in the flat made Percy shudder. The idea of him coming anywhere near to Penny just about gave him fits.

In no mood to be cajoled, Percy snatched Fletcher out of the chair by his shirtfront. Dangling him off the ground by a meter and holding him just away from his own long nose Percy growled, "I'm well aware of what your notion of sacrifice is, Fletcher. Lucky for Harry Potter one of us was still on duty the night he was visited by Dementors last summer. Make no mistake about this, if one hair on my girl's head is harmed while I'm gone I will hunt you down like the vermin you are and make your miserable existence a veritable living hell." Emphasizing his threat with a brutal shake he dropped Fletcher back down onto the floor where he stumbled. Barely catching his balance on the chair back.

Making a presentation of dignity, Fletcher straightened his clothing, and muttered, "Got yourself quite a temper there don't you, Weasley? Too bad you aren't more genial like your younger brothers. Now, they are some lads I can get along with."

"You have not seen the half of my temper, Fletcher," Percy warned, eyes flashing dangerously. "But if Penny is endangered on your watch, you had best believe that you will."

Mundungus Fletcher had faced down far worse than this puppy's fury. He had confronted Dumbledore in a towering range. Granted, he'd endured the worst of it while hiding under the desk. And there weren't enough galleons on the planet to pay him to take on Molly Weasley. Percy was her son. He found himself choking out a nervous, "Yes, sir," to this commanding, much younger man. Believing in the moment that the full wrath of young Weasley would make angry Dumbledore look like a cantankerous kitten.

Scarcely satisfied, Percy left a parting instruction, "Do not go into that bedroom." He pointed at the only other room in the flat. "I will return in no less than one hour to give Penny her next dose of potion. If I haven't returned by then, go get my mother and bring her back here. Under no circumstances do I want you in the same room with my girl."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Climbing out of Dumbledore's office fireplace, shortly thereafter, Percy was intrigued. Those players currently assembled around Dumbledore's desk portended a potentially fascinating scene about to unfold. Under different circumstances he wouldn't have wanted to miss a minute of what was about to happen next.

Dumbledore, calm, almost remote, sat quietly behind his desk smiling jovially at the Minister of Magic and his attendant Aurors. One of which was Kingsley Shacklebolt, large, impressive and powerful looking. Percy was almighty glad Shacklebolt was really on their side.

Sidling by the desk, quill and parchment in hand to stand beside the Minister, Percy passed his old head of house and Transfiguration teacher, Minerva McGonagall. Twisting his lips so as not to be observed, Percy hissed at her, "This scene alone is almost worth the price of admission." He continued past her, preparing take notes. When he looked up again at Professor McGonagall he saw two crinkles had appeared at either eye. Despite her stern visage, Percy had managed to amuse her.

If Percy really had been a gambling man he would have bet one hundred galleons that the next four people to walk in the door would be Madame Umbridge, Harry Potter, his brother Ron, and their friend Hermione. This situation had all the marks of a turning Potter plot point. Percy knew exactly why Dumbledore insisted he come this night. Fudge, rocking back and forth merrily on his stubbly heels, was about to make a play for power. It was essential that every single word and detail of this scenario be recorded exactly right for posterity. Percy was the perfect man for the job. Percy was the only man for the job.

Eagerly watching the door handle, Percy was about to rock back and forth himself. If this turned out to be spectacular failure on Fudge's part, and Percy sincerely hoped that it would, he might very well be off the hook and back to living a normal life by tomorrow morning. If that didn't make Penny feel better, he didn't know what would.

Sure enough the first two people to walk through the door was Madame Umbridge, Harry in tow. No Ron and Hermione in sight. Percy imagined them fretting frantically in the Gryffindor Common Room just now. And he was glad he hadn't bet any galleons on the outcome of this altercation.

Young Harry had taken matters into his own hands recently. That came as no surprise to Percy. Feeling cheated on a quality Defense Against the Dark Arts education, Harry had taken it upon himself to tutor his fellow students in the use of defensive technique.

Smart boy. Percy admired. Harry might be a wild card but he didn't have a stupid bone in his whole body. Subversion was the only available to students who wanted to defy Madam Umbridge and her stultifying educational decrees that limited, or outright forbid, the exercise of every personal freedom known to Wizard kind. More than anything Percy wanted to stride across the room and shake Harry's hand. Anyone who managed to annoy Umbridge was a hero in his eyes.

However, frantically recording details, being sure to miss no nuance, Percy had scant time to consider his own wishes. Words flew fast across the room. Fudge and Umbridge, looking desperately for another way to slam Harry were quite confident they had found one. Lucius Malfoy's insidious offspring, Draco, had managed to catch Harry out in the corridor fleeing the scene of the "crime." But, surprising twist, Harry denied his guilt. Percy stopped scribbling for half a second to peer over his spectacles at Harry. Harry wasn't a liar by nature. He was most likely to spit at Fudge's feet in honest defiance. Something made him catch his tongue just in time.

Madame Umbridge was prepared, though. She had a surprise witness and Percy full expected to see Malfoy's spawn walk in next. He was intrigued further when a curly haired girl with a most unfortunate curse upon her face was brought in. Now this was worth studying for a moment. What sort of hideous hex would cause a person's face to break out into purple spots that spelled the word "SNEAK" across the whole of it? That was some powerful magic at work. Percy felt a twinge of pity for the curly headed girl. She reminded him vaguely of Penny, and clearly she had run across an unsuspected, and vengeful, foe when she decided to tattle.

Thinking of Penny, Percy glanced at his watch. As much fun as this little diorama was he had a sick lover to get back to, one that would need her potion in about twenty minutes. Fudge was saying, "Oho! Yes, do let's hear the latest cock-and-bull story designed to pull Potter out of trouble. Go on then, Dumbledore, go on - Willy Widershins was lying, was he? Or was it Potter's identical twin in the Hog's Head that day? Or is there the usual simple explanation involving a reversal of time, a dead man coming back to life, and couple of invisible Dementors?

Percy thought about that old lecher, Fletcher, alone in his flat with an ill, vulnerable, and completely naked Penny lying in their bed. Most tempted to stab Fudge through the carotid artery with his quill point, Percy forced out a hearty laugh instead, catering to Fudge's insipid sense of humor with "Oh, very good, Minister, very good."

Dumbledore, very likely the most brilliant wizard alive this day, wasn't about to be thrown by that idiot Fudge. He was thoroughly prepared to counter attack, claiming that Harry hadn't broken any restrictions. On Harry's behalf, he denied the defense meetings had been taking place all along. Percy hadn't been prepared for that. He had a notion where Dumbledore was going with this play now and he didn't think he liked it very much. Scribbling fast, Percy heard Dumbledore say,

"Dumbledore's Army, Cornelius. Not Potter's Army. Dumbledore's Army."

Fudge obviated. "But ----But ---"

Glancing up from his parchment Percy wasn't sure which opponent was crazier, Fudge or Dumbledore. Dumbledore was intentionally playing into Fudge's paranoid fantasy. That wouldn't bode well for him, or for any of the rest of them, certainly. Fudge was functionally ineloquent. How in hell had Fudge gotten elected in the first place?

"Instead you get to arrest me. Its like losing a Knut and finding a Galleon, isn't it?" Dumbledore said.

Percy lurched, over dipping his quill and splattering ink onto his nose. Merlin's bait and tackle, what did Dumbledore think he was up to? He was fairly certain at this point that Fudge and Dumbledore had both lost their Knuts. Looking at the boy wonder, Harry, Percy offered up a silent prayer to the heavens. And therein lies our only hope.

"Weasley! Weasley, have you written it all down, everything he's said, his confession, have you got it?" Fudge positively quivered with joy. Percy considered that Fudge really ought to get laid now and again. Maybe then he wouldn't be such an impotent, odious, freak of nature.

"Yes, sir, I think so sir!" Percy replied obediently. Oh yeah, I've got every bit of your idiocy recorded here for the world to see. Wait until your constituents get a load of this transcript.

"The bit about how he's been trying to build up an army against the Ministry, how he's been working to destabilize me?" Fudge continued babbling joyfully, his moment of triumph in hand.

Your paranoia has been officially recorded, sir! Percy offered a mental salute to Fudge. The men in the shiny white coats will be arriving at any minute now. "Yes, sir, I've got it, yes!" Percy cried, hoping now he could get the hell out of there. If Fletcher had come anywhere near Penny, Percy was going to dismember him slowly. If Fletcher had to summon his mother, Percy was going to be verbally castigated to such an extent that he would pray for dismemberment instead.

"Very well then. Duplicate your notes, Weasley, and send a copy to the Dailey Prophet at once. If we send a fast owl we should make the morning edition!"

That was Percy's cue. He took his opportunity to get out of the nut house at a run. A few quick minutes to doctor the Dailey Prophets version of Fudge's latest insane tirade, a quick copy of the real transcript hidden for Dumbledore, and Percy would make it home in time to prevent his mother from becoming overly involved in his personal life.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Mundungus Fletcher got to live. Apparating home, Percy found Penny sleeping soundly in bed, quite undisturbed by his absence. Equally undisturbed, Fletcher was asleep at the kitchen table. Percy kicked out the chair from underneath him. Whacking his chin on the table's edge, Fletcher landed on the floor rubbing blood-shot disreputable looking eyes.

"You're a nasty piece of work, Weasley," Fletcher grumbled, tottering tipsily to his feet.

"At least I do work, Fletcher," Percy retorted, angrily. "Get out."

Fletcher was only too happy to oblige. He disappeared with a loud, disgruntled, unappreciated, cracking. Percy made another cup of potion and took it into Penny. She was curled up on her side, face flushing again. Percy glanced at his watch. Her potion was ten minutes late. "Penny, sweetheart," he said setting the potion down on the side table and piling the pillows behind her head. "Wake up, you have to take your potion."

Penny disliked waking up. Especially when she was sick. Squinting with aching and tired eyes she saw Percy hovering over her dressed in his work robes. Taking the mug from him, she swallowed it back with another mighty gag of revulsion, and resisted regurgitating it back onto Percy's work clothes.

"Percy, why are you dressed to go to work? It's got to be the middle of the night now," she queried sleepy, but suspicious.

"Well, I---the thing of it is----you see there was a bit of a----so I had to---- Aw! Damn it all! Why didn't I think to change out of these stupid robes before I woke you up?" Percy stuttered out.

"You went out and left me alone here?" Penny ascertained quickly.

"No!" Percy answered back just as quickly. "No, of course I didn't leave you alone. I wasn't gone for very long, really."

Quite expecting her to snap his head off Percy was relieved when she tugged on his sleeve indicating that she wanted him to lie down with her. She was feeling more in need of comfort than retaliation. Heedless of the possibility of contagion, Percy did lay down next to her. He very seldom became ill, having the hale and hearty constitution of a Weasley, and was more concerned for her health than his own, anyway. Feeling her cheek beneath the back of his hand he thought her fever had diminished, although she still felt warmer than usual.

"I am glad to have you here now," Penny murmured into his robed chest. "I had the most terrible nightmare. You were being chased down the Alley by Dementors and I couldn't get to you in time."

Every hair on the back of Percy's neck stood straight on end, prickling eerily. But this was no time for comparing tales of heartfelt terror, so he soothed her with, "It's only the fever, sweetie. It always turns dreams into nightmares."

Falling back asleep, she mumbled, "That's good, because I don't know what I would ever do without you."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Later the next morning Penny brought in the latest edition of the "Daily Prophet." Before even reading the news, Percy had decided to build a blanket cave and refused to leave it. Outside of his comfortable bed the weather, and the magical world, was miserable and cold. He sprawled onto his stomach, head hidden beneath the pillow, tired and depressed.

Penny, her bounce revived, and totally fever free, was ready and eager to return to work. Percy was ready and eager to do something else that required her being at home. She assured him that the hospital was far short on staff due to the raging Ipswich epidemic and she would be sorely needed there today. He sorely needed her today, as well. Though being a man accustomed to making sacrifices he could hardly begrudge her making one of him.

"Percy will you come and have lunch with me today?" Penny asked, getting dressed. It said volumes about his mood that he neglected to engage in one of his favorite past times, watching her strip and dress.

"Nope," Percy grumbled, voice muffled beneath his pillow. "I just can't face my life today, Penny. The Minister of Magic is a maniacal moron. Dumbledore is an aged fanatic in exile. Madame Umbridge has the run of my siblings at Hogwarts. The magical world is going to hell in a cauldron, and..."

"Harry Potter has made the front page of the Quibbler," Penny finished, rustling the paper above the pillow over his ear.

"What?" Percy flung aside his pillow and sat up in bed.

"I've been saving this issue for awhile. I wanted to show it to you as soon as it came, but you haven't been home long enough." Penny handed him the out of date edition of the magic world gossip rag, 'The Quibbler'.

"Since when do Ravenclaws subscribe to The Quibbler?" Percy teased, taking the paper, putting on his glasses, and marveling at Harry's picture, full color, on the front page. "And how come I didn't see this before? We Gryffindors are notorious information gatherers."

"There's a nice euphemism for gossip," Penny retorted. "With one thing and another I expect you've been rather too busy for reading The Quibbler." She pulled on a white shirt that stretched snugly over her full bosom. She expected Percy to tell her to take it off and find another but he was clearly engrossed in the page one story.

"I suppose you know that you forgot all about Valentine's Day as well," she said, finally capturing his attention for a moment. Percy raised eyes to the ceiling of the bedroom, thought for a minute, then admitted, "So I did. How come you aren't angry with me?"

"You weren't at home," Penny replied dryly. "And by the time you did get home, I'd gotten over being angry already."

"That's my sweet girl." Percy gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "You aren't any good at holding a grudge."

"You're adept enough at it for the both of us," Penny quipped lightly.

Percy protested, "That seems a little unfair, Pen. You didn't give me anything for Valentines Day, either. I'm not angry with you."

Penny stretched out next to him on the bed, stroking the lean muscles of his ribcage. His skin twitched beneath her fingertips. "I had a special gift in mind for you," she tantalized him intimately, "but it wasn't something I could deliver to the Ministry of Magic."

Aroused, Percy laid the Quibbler across his lap and peered at her over his glasses. "Hmmm---have you finally decided to let me---?"

"Absolutely not," Penny interrupted him firmly. "I feel quite strongly that some doors should read "exit only".

"Oh," Percy responded coolly with beautifully acted indifference, picking up his Quibbler again.

"I meant to tell you that just the sight of you walking into the room makes me wet." Penny teased prying a long-fingered hand away from the paper for a good digit suck.

"I already knew that," said Percy with a smirk, belying the success of her revelation and the impact on his body from the warm wet tongue licking his finger.

Releasing his fingers and flopping back onto her pillow, she turned her head to look at him. "You're insufferably arrogant. But let me give it another go." Crossing her hands on her belly she stared upwards thinking. The quirk of a smile curled the corner of her lips. Percy sucked in his breath with anticipation. Verbal sex with Penny was almost better than the physical kind. Almost.

Obviously pleased with herself for having imagined something suitably enticing, Penny leaned over to whisper it into his ear. In a flash of red and white Percy straddled her, pinning her to the bed. "Do you really?" he inquired huskily, pupils dilated, slim chest heaving with anticipation. "Can I watch while you do that?"

"Absolutely," Penny promised. "But right now I have to go to work."

"Fiend," Percy growled rolling off of her again.

"If I thought you'd meet me for lunch today, though," Penny continued to tease, "I'd give you a quick jump."

"Jump all you like," Percy said faking more indifference, "You know I'll never let you finish on top."

"There's a first time for everything," Penny maneuvered, full with the knowledge that it was a losing tactic. Their every encounter ended flat on her back, or her belly, with Percy in charge of the stern.

Percy ignored her with the astuteness of a double agent who excelled at concealing his true feelings.

"Well, alright then." Penny feigned giving up. She grabbed her coat, her Healer's bag, and sauntered towards the bedroom door, calling over her shoulder, "I'm meeting Trey at the deli down the street from St. Mungo's, 12:00 sharp."

Not looking up from his Quibbler article, Percy responded, "I'll be there at 11:55."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Harry's interview in The Quibbler lifted Percy's dismal mood by the word. Despite that the article had been quilled by his least favorite writer, Rita Skeeter, Percy thrilled to the evidence of truth in print.

Harry was a magic man, young and incredibly powerful. He had already accomplished things that full-grown Wizards would never manage. Though despite his prowess with wand, and sword, Harry had proven with this interview that the quill was indeed still the mightiest weapon available to Wizard kind. And Percy wielded one well. Perhaps there was more of the Knight in him than he had imagined.

Telling the Wizarding world the truth, and nothing but, Harry recounted the events that led up to Voldemort's resurrection. Harry called Death Eater's by name. "How could Fudge be so stupid?" Percy moaned disbelievingly while reading. "Harry couldn't have made up this story in a month of Sundays. Ugg! Wormtail cut off his own hand to bring back the Dark Lord? That is absolutely revolting."

Percy tried to imagine his old pet rat, Scabbers, with only three paws. Not a pretty picture. How would he manage to operate his exercise wheel? With renewed vigor, and determination, Percy jumped out of bed and got dressed. With good luck and timing he could get to the office and scam Fudge into fouling-up at least twice before he met Penny for lunch.