The Magic Umbrella

"Sir?" Hemmingway's voice echoed ever so slightly in the spacious bedchamber. Percy stirred, hoping she was watching so she would at least think he was making an effort to open his eyes The fire cracked and popped soothingly in the fireplace and had an odd sort of calming effect on him.

"Sir..." There was a small pause. He could hear her sigh ever so softly, and wished his eyes weren't so heavy. There was a short rustling of papers. Hemmingway spoke again, and this time he could hear a bit of anxiety in her voice. "Wake up, sir, you've a message, just came by owl."

"Hmm?" He frowned and tried to open his eyes again, to no avail.

"Yes, an owl. It came just now, you'd better get up and read it." He finally managed to open his eyes, and, blinking slightly in the contrasting light of the room, was surprised to find Hemmingway fully dressed at such a late hour, perched atop a wooden stool and shuffling through several stacks of papers. She peered at him curiously and held out a green envelope.

"Who's it from?" Percy was vexed with how hoarse he sounded. He could only hope now that he wasn't getting pneumonia from falling through that blasted ice--

"The Ministry, sir. I'd suggest you read it as quickly as possible," she said as he sat upright and grabbed it from her, ripping it open, "Otherwise you're likely to be in a spot of trouble."

"I'm liable to already be in more trouble than I need. At what ungodly hour does the Ministry of Magic decide to grace us with an owl bearing a three page letter?" Hemmingway paused to glance at his wristwatch, still on the nightstand.

"Twelve thirty, sir." He sighed.

"Well, at least it's not a Howler. Want me to read it out loud? Probably pertains to you as well."

"I should not like to trouble you, but yes, go right ahead." He cleared his throat and set his glasses atop his nose.

"To Percival Weasley, personal assistant to Bartemius Crouch:

It has come to the attention of the Department of Magical Cooperation that you and your administrative assistant, Miss Vivian Hemmingway, have been absent from your duties at the Ministry of Magic for a total of three days running.

It is perfectly clear to us that your superior, Bartemius Crouch, sent you to act as his substitute as judge for the Annual Hogwarts Yule Ball and that you are staying in Hogsmeade. Mr. Crouch's present condition maintains that such precautions be taken. We acknowledge the fact that you have completed his requests satisfactorily to a certain degree.

It has also been taken into consideration that the Hogwarts Express has been closed because of the holidays and because of the substantial amount of precipitation in the area you are currently residing in.

However, we must insist that you return to your posts immediately, and that you be called before a council to review this trip and the odd manner in which you have chosen to act, including your neglect to inform us of any travel complications and/or problems pertaining to your stay in Hogsmeade.

We trust that you will return to London as soon as possible in the best of your own interests.

Sincerely,
Pelham Totleigh
Department of Ministry Affairs."

Percy set the letter face up on the bedspread and turned from its leering words and flourished signature to stare at Hemmingway resignedly and sigh. He felt cold suddenly; the warmth and friendliness of the fire replaced by an unsettling nervousness.

"I should have owled them. I should have, and now I have to go before the board. I should have left yesterday, I should have watched where I was going, I should have..."

"Too many 'should have's, not enough 'let's go face the music's, sir. Shall I pack our bags, then?" She slid off the stool and gave him a sympathetic look. Percy frowned and avoided her eyes, gazing out the window at the languid moon.

"All right, then. We'll leave as soon as possible." Hemmingway moved beyond his sight to get to the closet. "Wait," he called on a sudden thought, "Does the train leave in the morning? Is there any way we can leave without traveling for so long?"

The girl emerged from the back room with their suitcases in hand and papers in her mouth, nodding and attempting to set everything down to speak. A flicker of amusement sparked somewhere beyond his trepidated exterior at the dark circles beneath her eyes and the lopsided hairdo she now wore.

"If you're well enough to get up and walk to the edge of town where the Antiapparition Walls are," she answered, "We could Disapparate now and go home. The only reason I didn't mention it before was because of the weather; the edge of Hogsmeade is quite a distance from here. Do you think you can stand?"

Percy pulled the covers back and shivered, wishing he had worn his dressing robe over his pajamas. He stood slowly and grasped the bedpost, wincing; his legs shuddered beneath him.

"I think so," he said bitterly. She watched him make his way across the room, wide-eyed, with her arms stretched out instinctively for some sort of substantial support.

After various attempts, Percy finally managed to stand without hanging on to something; they both decided that leaving as soon as possible would be the best idea, but with Percy's ankle being in the condition it was, it would take some time.

"All right, I think that's the last of everything. Do they know downstairs that the Ministry is paying--" Percy cut her off quickly.

"Yes, absolutely, Hemmingway. Let's go," Percy insisted, beginning to sound like his old self once more. It felt much better to be able to stand and not have Hemmingway looking after him; it made him feel jumpy and nervous to have someone constantly asking him if he was all right.

It was with great care and caution that they left the Three Broomsticks; luck was on their side, for it had stopped snowing for a little while. They had made hasty good-byes to the proprietor and the stilletoed girl, whose over-mascaraed eyes drooped sleepily as she sent them on their way with an amicable wave farewell.

The ice on the paths had melted ever so slightly, but the temperature was dropping steadily as they shuffled over the sidewalks under a half moon. The trees hanging precariously over their heads cast sharp, abstract shadows across their path, throwing them into an almost strobe light effect and making Percy feel dizzy.

"Exactly how far away is this point from which we can Apparate?" he said, stopping near a signpost to catch his breath. Hemmingway set the suitcases down and sank to sit atop one of them.

"Want to sit?" she said, yawning, "It's not much farther, I'm sure." Percy shook his head and leaned against the sign.

"Nah, I'll probably just fall asleep, or someth--" he paused to give a jaw-cracking yawn--"Something." He was beginning to feel cold and depressed again; the thought of having to face a board of Ministry officers loomed maliciously ahead. It was one of the many things he had hoped to avoid while in his first year at the Ministry; his perfect record was stained because of one broken ankle. Percy gave a sigh and watched the thin gray cloud of his breath float slowly away into the foggy night.

He leaned against the sign once more, and was very annoyed when all the snow slid off the wooden board and straight into the sleeve of his robes.

"Oh, this weather--" he attempted to shake it out, but wound up getting his shirtsleeves soaking wet. Percy reached into his robes for his wand, trying to remember the spell for drying something to the point of evaporation, but halted when he saw the look on Hemmingway's face. "What is it?"

She gestured to the sign that had caused him such disturbance. He turned, and jumped to see what was written there in faded black paint.

"Any witch or wizard of license may Apparate from this point outward by order of the Council of Magic Affairs in Hogsmeade," read Percy aloud, grinning like crazy.

"Oh, we can go home!" cried Hemmingway happily; jumping up and lifting the suitcase she had been sitting on, she asked, "Do you think you can make it from here, sir?" She looked at him curiously and waited for his answer. Percy sat for a moment, still looking at the sign. "Sir?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. I'll be fine from here out," he said, straightening and grabbing his own suitcase. Finally, finally, finally. He could go home and have his mother fix his ankle a bit better.

"Well," said Hemmingway, "I'd best be off to London, then."

"I'll see you in the morning?"

"Of course, sir." She smiled, hung the black umbrella over the crook of her elbow, and disappeared with a hollow pop. Percy stood staring at the space she had occupied several seconds earlier, then, shaking his head, took a deep breath and Disapparated as well.

*****

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee and talking quietly when he arrived, yawning and bleary eyed. Percy stood a few moments and was silent as they murmured in hushed tones to one another, the words Ministry and letter audible at points.

He cleared his throat and prepared himself for the onslaught of worriment and overmothering he knew was coming. Both turned and gaped at him for a half second, and suddenly the kitchen was filled with noise and hurriment.

"Oh, Percy!" cried his mother, standing quickly and throwing her arms around him, practically choking him. "Oh, you're home! We were so worried about you! Should have owled, don't know what you were thinking...are you all right? Did you get the owl the Ministry sent? What happened?" Percy stared rather blankly at the top of her shock of red hair, wondering why he had never noticed before that she was so short.

"Er..." he began, but was interrupted by his father.

"Molly, it's one o'clock in the morning. Let him sleep a little, then you can ask him some questions. I'm sure he's fine, dear. Are you all right, Percy?"

"I broke my ankle," said Percy, slumping into one of the chairs and taking his glasses off. He could see the grainy outlines of his parents glance at each other quickly before answering.

"How did you--"

"What were you doing?"

"Percy, what happened? Did you call a doctor? Have you got it fixed yet, dear? Shall I make you some tea? Do you want me to fix the bone?"

"Percy? Percy, do answer us!" He lifted his head and stared back at them. Sighing for what had to be the hundredth time that night, he said:

"I went ice skating and fell through the ice." There was another pause. Mrs. Weasley sputtered a bit, but Arthur set his hand on his wife's shoulder and said quietly, "How is it?" Percy yawned before answering.

"Hairline fracture in three places, Hemmingway had a doctor come by and give me some kind of medicine, apparently it made me delirious, can I go to bed yet? I'm really tired..."

"Of course!" cried Mr. Weasley, interrupting his wife one more and moving back to let Percy aside. Mrs. Weasley hesitated a bit before nodding her approval. Percy, deciding himself too tired to actually climb the stairs, rubbed his eyes and Disapparated.

He pretended not to hear his mother's protests to his father's quiet voice as his eyelids drooped closed once more, he flopped rather than sank into bed, and he slipped into unconsciousness again.

******

"This matter cannot be discussed anymore, Weasley. We have decided that this must be turned over to your superior." Percy blinked and tried to let the balding man's words register properly in his mind. It was useless. No matter how many cups of coffee one drank, he decided, one could never properly make up for several hours of lost sleep.

The sun filtered through the eastern windows in the conference room innocently, reflecting off the long cherry table and throwing flashes of light onto the ceiling. It was too nice to concentrate on anything else, the room was pleasantly warm and the Board Directors' voices so quiet and droning.

"Weasley? You are discharged to leave." Discharged?

"I beg your pardon?" he said quickly, stifling both a yawn and an icy feeling in the pit of his stomach. A woman wearing green robes and resembling Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts, frowned at him.

"You may leave to speak to your superior. We are finished with you here," she replied sharply. Percy stood, nodded his good-byes, and was glad to leave the dreaded conference once and for all.

Closing the door behind him, he caught sight of a long and familiar wavy shadow on the maroon carpeting before him. Looking up, he hoped for a horrifying split second that it was Hemmingway, waiting for him in an anxious yet comforting way that she was so good at.

To his great disappointment, however, he found himself not looking at his own secretary, but a towheaded girl with misty blue eyes and a wispy pale complexion. He strode quickly past her and shook his head, trying to clear it.

It was not long before Percy found himself before a double set of oak doors, repeating the words judgement day over and over in his mind. It couldn't be that bad, could it? He had been very faithful and loyal up to this point, hadn't he?

"Here goes nothing," thought Percy, and opened the door.

Bartemius Crouch's office was nothing short of a palace, most intimidating to those who had never entered it before. However, it was not what the typical witch or wizard might have thought it would look like had they only known Mr. Crouch by his personality and work style rather than his taste in furniture and botanical interests.

Of course, it wasn't totally accurate to credit Mr. Crouch with all the beautiful and rare magical flowers. Percy had been the one paying all the visits to the most expensive greenhouses in England and toting the blasted plants around. He was only glad he wasn't the one who had to figure out Mr. Crouch's excruciatingly painstaking plans for all the purchases made. That task had been left up to someone else.

To be quite frank, thought Percy as he strode past a medium topiary statue row of Minister Fudge and a few other important wizards in the ministry, the office was comparable to that of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Who would have thought that someone so stiff and cold would be such an avid horticulturist?

"Ah, my beauties!" said a voice to the back of the room, "Drink lots of water! Barty will be very lonely if you don't come back in the spring! Oh, yes he will! Yes he will!" Then again, he thought once more, Mr. Crouch was a very strange man.

Percy cleared his throat as he approached the desk. The large brown leather chair turned suddenly, and Mr. Crouch himself, looking rather sickly and guilty, peered at them, a gray watering can between his hands. Correction, said a voice in his head. The man is barking mad.

The man blinked several times, as if he didn't quite recognize Percy from the last time he had seen him. Suddenly his features snapped back into a serious look as the Head of Department set the watering can down with a clang. Indeed, he looked as if he didn't recognize his own personal assistant.

"Weatherby? Weatherby, is that you?" Maybe not.

"Yes, sir. I've come by appointment of the Board of this Department, sir."

"Ah, yes," said Mr. Crouch, frowning and looking like the Head of Department he knew, "The Yule Ball trip. You stayed there three days, Weatherby? Too long, I should say." There was a pause. "But you did well, Weatherby, and for that I compliment you."

"Er, thank you, sir." There was a creak as the mentioned leaned back into his chair. Percy heard the small sounds of water rushing somewhere in the back of the room. Crouch had a waterfall amidst all this?

"Weatherby."

"Yes, sir?"

"I believe we will overlook this unfortunate matter for the time being. You have done well this past year, and I don't blame you for wanting to stay in Hogsmeade during the holiday season."

Percy's eyebrows went up so high that they disappeared into his hair.

Mister Crouch? Ignore something so blatant and scandalous? This was most uncharacteristic of him, something the stereotypical Percy would have gasped at and scorned immediately. But there was something about the way Crouch had said it.

"There is, of course, a catch," said the strangely kind Mister Crouch, leaning forward in his chair and staring at him acutely. "I will overlook this matter on one condition." Percy hesitated. Was he suggesting blackmail?

"What?" A strangely calm smile overtook Crouch's features.

"That you obtain and give to me three prime box tickets to Il Trovatore in the London Opera House by next Thursday.

"The show begins at seven. Get them and the matter is closed for good. I am giving you the rest of this week off to scour this city in any manner you can think of for those tickets. I do not care if they are sold out. Get them for me." And with that, Bartemius Crouch turned his chair and began watering his plants once more.

*****

"Get tickets to what?!" Percy sat on his desk and looked anxiously to the astounded looking secretary standing before him. "He's NUTS, sir! Absolutely bonkers and barking mad! That show sold out weeks ago, you'll be lucky if you can get even double balcony seats to something like that! What is he going at, sir?"

He stared at her a moment before answering.

"Believe me, I have no idea. All he said was that I should get the tickets at all costs, no matter what it takes." Hemmingway stood and threw her arms up, sputtering in absolute astonishment.

"But--"

"Look, we just go and get the blooming tickets. If they're sold out, we'll search the papers for them. It can't be that hard to get opera tickets, can it?" Hemmingway turned from where she now stood to gape at him before bursting into hysterical laughter. Percy frowned and crossed his arms as she collapsed into one of the visitor's chairs. "What's so funny?"

"You are!" she cried, giggling like a madwoman and trying to collect herself, "You've never been to the opera, have you? Well, this is certainly going to be the most interesting experience of your years here at the Ministry, I doubt any of the other personal assistants can boast that they scalped opera tickets off the black market!" The last few words of her sentence were almost lost on him as she began laughing once more.

"All right, so maybe I don't know anything about getting opera tickets, but really! How hard can it be? All we have to do is look around town if the box offices aren't selling them anymore!" Percy continued, interrupting her as he went. "And surely someone in this office building has to be an opera fan, right? Seriously, Hemmingway, it can't be that hard."