Cyanide

He had spent some time at Hogwarts the previous year, his first after graduation, because of a disastrous event known as the Triwizard Tournament. At the time, he had thought it a fantastic idea and had even regretted that he was no longer enrolled at Hogwarts and eligible to be a champion. It had been practically required (socially if not officially), from what he had gathered, for the students who were old enough to place their names in the Goblet of Fire and attempt to compete. Every prefect, he was sure, who was of age would have attempted to represent Hogwarts.

Instead, though, he had attended some events as a Ministry representative. The worst had been a task which had involved Ron being held as bait beneath the danger-filled lake so that his friend Harry could rescue him. Dumbledore would never have let Ron drown, and Harry was nothing if not determined, but, really, Harry had been too young to be taking part in the Tournament and he didn't even know how to swim properly! It wasn't his fault, of course, that no one had ever taught him, but Percy's worry for Ron had increased to the point that when the friends finally did surface, with another "hostage" in tow, he had run out into the lake to see for himself that Ron had survived the ordeal. Ron had been mortally embarrassed, naturally, but Ron was often mortally embarrassed by Percy and Percy had grown used to it.

In retrospect, perhaps he had made himself look a bit childish and immature by dashing out after Ron when there were safety precautions all around. The twins and Ginny, their younger sister, had been present as well and none of them had made public displays of themselves.

He quickened his pace along the road. That won't be Hogwarts' last image of me for long! He had a reputation and he was bound and determined to protect it. He had taken great steps toward that goal a month earlier, when Death Eaters had lured almost half the student body of Hogwarts into danger in the village that housed the Ministry offices and little more. Percy had been able to come to the aid of his brother's class and he had peeked at the report of the incident. It claimed that he had been calm, cool, collected, and of considerable help.

The road became a path and then a drive. He had no trouble entering the castle, and he turned promptly toward the staircase that led to Dumbledore's office. He had no desire to wander about and find someone else to talk with; no, he wanted to see no one but the man he had come to see. His single-mindedness sprang from a variety of reasons, not least of wish was the fact that he had absolutely no idea why Dumbledore wanted to talk to him in person, and here.

For a second, and no more, he put his head down, and when he glanced up Dumbledore was standing at the foot of the stairs. As anyone who had ever read Hogwarts, A History, knew, one could not Apparate or Disapparate within the castle, so Percy had no idea how Dumbledore had managed to appear. He had long ago learned, though, that there was no point to inquiring about such things. Dumbledore was a genius, and one of the most powerful wizards in history. Certainly he was a hero-figure in Percy's life; but he was also a bit mad, and Percy knew it. A question about his sudden appearance would be answered with an entirely unconnected and most likely inconsequential bit of information.

"Percy! Thank you for coming so promptly. Did you know that the Muggles in London are having a festival of some sort this week?"

"No, Sir," answered Percy, sensing that even without asking questions he was going to be treated to a display of the Headmaster's quirks. Entering the office, he sat in a chair and listened half-heartedly, although with the appearance of politeness. Ordinarily, his politeness would not be feigned, but his former school was for some reason making him nervous and he was growing more curious by the moment to learn the reason for his visit.

" . . . .Interesting, the Muggles," Dumbledore finally completed, and Percy brought himself to full attention. "But we have more serious matters to discuss. I would like to commend you once more on your behavior during our recent field trip crisis." Dumbledore looked truly disgusted. From what Percy understood, Dumbledore had attempted to stop that crisis before it had started, but Ministry regulations had prevented him from reaching his goal.

"Thank you."

"You must have been frightened knowing that Ron was likely to be right next to the primary target."

"Ron always seems to be in the middle of things. But he handled himself as well as anyone could have hoped."

"It was truly heroic behavior. That seems to run in his family." Percy nodded at the compliment. "It was a major blow to the cause of light magic, though, that such a thing could happen at all. The Death Eaters have become quite confident. I shudder to think how many people they may have in the Ministry."

Percy paled slightly beneath his freckles. He knew that he was not being accused personally-- Dumbledore knew him too well for that-- but he still felt that he should defend the Ministry. "Sir, we did attempt--"

Dumbledore waved him off. "Yes, yes, I know what happened. I spent weeks there as a result, as you'll recall."

"Of course."

"The situation is not as grim as it may sound, and it is certainly not unexpected. In any conflict, there will be spies. There are even spies in operation during the Inter-House Quidditch Championship. I believe your brothers Fred and George have been known to dabble in that pursuit. And the Ministry, and I, have always had spies within the Death Eaters' circle."

"Yes, I remember Father discussing the spies after the first fall of You-Know-Who, when the Ministry was just sorting through who was acting of their own free will and who had done what."

"You would have been a very young child at the time."

"I was five, almost six, when the war ended. I had gotten into the habit of paying attention to every conversation I heard about Death Eaters, and You-Know-Who, and attacks, because I liked to know before my parents told me if I was going to be sent to a safe house or a hideout."

"Wars are difficult for children." Dumbledore sighed, and Percy was tempted to explain that, really, it hadn't been so bad growing up in semi-hiding, and that his memories of suddenly being allowed to play in the sun whenever he liked and living constantly in one place that was his family's own far outshone the memories of attic rooms and lectures that ended with be quiet, or else the Death Eaters will come for you and your brothers! He did not resent that he had lived the life of a Ministry Brat during the war. It had been a necessity, and he knew well that his situation could have been much, much worse.

Many children of his age and younger had been murdered because they had not been directly threatened or carefully protected, as Ministry Brats were. He had not always been in hiding, or hunted down especially, because his father had not been a top-ranking Ministry official.

But he did not need to speak, because Dumbledore was forging ahead. "As I was saying, we have a number of useful spies. Our most useful of all, though, we fear is suspected. That makes the others all the more vital. Once a spy passes a certain quantity of information he simply admits that he is a spy, and needs our protection. He is no longer useful. In some cases, it is most useful if a spy announces publicly that he is a spy, so that the population at large can trust in the facts they have been given."

"That makes sense," Percy replied, but he did not think that it made sense at all. It did not make sense for Dumbledore to be speaking to him this way, and about this subject. Dumbledore had made his needs obvious, but surely Percy could not fulfill them. He came from a family that worked incessantly against the Dark Lord. Lucius Malfoy had a personal, long-term vendetta against Father.

"Well, then. Would you be willing to help?"

"I'll do anything you ask me to do," he answered sincerely. "Tell me what."

"I would think that it would be obvious by now. I would like you to become a Death Eater."

Bells began to clang in Percy's head. He had known for what the Headmaster was asking, but it sounded different now that the request had been voiced aloud. A Death Eater? A spy? Espionage was the absolute last choice of Percy's list of potential careers. He would sooner work with Fred and George in their joke shop, which was looking like a reality now that the twins had come into a large amount of gold by means that Percy could only hope were legal.

In addition to helping him develop a lifelong fear of breaking rules except in the most dire of circumstances, Percy's time spent tucked away from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his comrades had convinced him that he wanted to be a part of the Ministry. He wanted to be one of those smart, protective people who kept the Dark Lord away. He wanted to make sure everyone was safe. He wanted to be like his father. As he grew, he had learned that accomplishing these goals meant being good, the best. He had, then, consciously set himself to being good, the best, at a frighteningly young age. When he had seen Mother's reactions to his high marks and impeccable behavior, he had pushed himself even harder. Being good became not just a means to a goal but an end in itself.

Mother was special to him. When Bill and Charlie had already been off at Hogwarts and the twins and Ron had been mere babies, when the first war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had severely limited the options for the amusement of a young child, Mother had always given him as much time as he needed. She had taught him to read at a very young age and had procured children's books for him. She had taught him games, too, chess and gobstones (without the liquid-- squealing upon getting a wet face when one was in hiding was taboo), and had told him stories and sung him songs. She had been the center of his first years, and he would never forget that. Of course, should this mission have the worst possible outcome, Father and his siblings would be upset as well, and the younger ones might become targets for harassment at school. Percy knew very well that teasing could make time at Hogwarts pass unbearably slowly.

Of course, the people who had teased him had been his aforementioned younger siblings.

Brats.

Brats that he loved with all his heart. In his earliest memories, the memories of the hidden rooms and cottages, the constant hisses of "be quiet!" had affected him most not when he was threatened but when Fred and George, and later Ron, had been threatened. He had tried to protect them even then.

He had a responsibility to look out for them now; and what better way to do so them than to fight the force of evil that might before long shove them into a safe room-- or a grave?

Each of his siblings, from Bill, who was already running who-knew-what errands for Dumbledore, to Ginny, who had actually been born just after the first fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and was not yet halfway through her education, was willing to fight to the death for the cause of light magic. It was Mother's cause, and Father's, and Bill's and Charlie's and Fred's and George's and Ron's and Ginny's. And his. Percy's.

"When you were a student here, you knew what went on, did you not? The answer, if you'd like a hint, is 'yes.' You did. Everyone does. You knew who was practicing dark magic in his dorm room and whose father was a Death Eater. I refuse to believe that you cannot find someone to approach."

Percy thought, quickly. "I can."

"Then do. I would give you a name, but I'd rather you did this on your own. You must live this role, Percy. You need to convince yourself that you want to become a Death Eater. This is what you want from your life."

"I want to be a Death Eater."

"Then, you're in the wrong place. We try rather hard to keep your kind out of here."

Percy rose. "I'll be in touch."

"Do. I imagine you'll want to come see Gryffindor's first Quidditch match, now that you have a third brother on the team."

"Yes. I have to see him try out his new broom."

"I suppose I'll see you then."

Thus dismissed, Percy left the room, the castle, the Hogwarts Grounds. He Apparated back to his office as soon as he could. He suspected that he would miss its regularity and paperwork very, very soon.