Cyanide

Percy had spent his first year in the Ministry working long hours, running as fast as he could, doing the bidding of anyone who would descend to give him orders, and singing the praises of anyone he could get near. Any written work he had prepared had been prepared with the utmost diligence.

Now, as he completed the first quarter of his second year, Percy dashed off reports as soon as they crossed his desk, completed but did not solicit extra work, and found the concept of going out of his way to talk to high-ranking Ministry employees unthinkable. He had stopped his private study of foreign languages and cultures. His work, which had previously been impeccable, now contained small errors-- hardly noticeable errors, but errors all the same.

Percy was not sure whether he should be relieved or infuriated that no one seemed to notice or care that his work had slipped several notches. In the end, he decided that he felt neither relieved nor infuriated, because Percy “Weatherby” Weasley the Perfect Prefect and Bighead Boy would soon cease to exist. In his place would be Percy the Death Eater, who was secretly Percy the Spy.

One afternoon, a knock sounded on the door of his small office. He was surprised. The work that needed to be done had been done, so there was no reason for anyone to seek him out. He simply was not that important, so far as the Ministry was concerned.

“Come in.”

“Percy? Are you busy?” Arthur Weasley poked his head around the edge of the door.

“Father? No, not at all.”

Arthur stepped all the way into the office and shut the door behind him. “That's good to hear. For a time, your mother and I never thought we'd see you not busy again.”

“Things have slowed down.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “I see.”

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I think that this would be a good starting point.” Arthur held up a report that Percy had written perhaps a week earlier. It described the attempts of the Russian Ministry to prevent Muggles from noticing the construction of a new magical embassy building.

“What about it?”

“You spelled the name of the Russian Deputy Minister of Magic in two different ways.”

Percy took the report from his father. “They're both accepted spellings.”

“The general rule is still consistency.”

“I'm sorry. It won't happen again.”

“I wasn't looking for an apology. I see more serious mistakes than this every day.”

“Then why are you pointing it out, Father? Aren't you pressed for time? Weren't there five raids last night?”

“Six, but that can wait. Percy, most people make mistakes like this every day, but you do not. When you were a little boy learning arithmetic, you would sit down and do it as soon as you came home from school. You would check it over and over, and you would refuse to go to bed, or to come to dinner, until your mother or I took it away from you.”

“I remember. Once you forgot to give it back.” He flushed at the memory.

“Yes, well, your teacher was very understanding when I explained it to her the next day. Your teachers, and your professors, and your employers have always been more understanding than you've given them credit for, Percy. You've always worked exactly as hard as your mother and I would allow you to work. You've been a perfectionist, and we've worried about you.” Arthur shifted uncomfortably, and Percy became aware that his mother had put his father up to this. “When you first started working here, I had to come to your office at the end of the day and drag you home with me.”

“And now I've changed, and that bothers you, too?”

“You could never not please your mother and me. You know that. But your sudden change in personality for no reason that we can see concerns us.”

“An editing mistake in a report is a sudden change in personality?”

“You've always made academic work the center of your life. It obviously isn't there any longer, and I haven't got the faintest idea what is. You come home late, or you don't come home at all, and while you're an adult and you don't need to tell us where you are, it doesn't seem to be in keeping with your history for you not to tell us anything. You used to send us owls every week from Hogwarts.”

“Just so you wouldn't worry about the twins, or Ron and Ginny.”

“You did it your first two years when they weren't there with you, and you know that, Percy. We were glad that you did. We like you, and that's why we're sorry that we never see you anymore. It seems as if you're setting up the hours you keep to avoid seeing us.”

“I'm not avoiding anything.”

“Then would you mind coming home for dinner this evening?”

As usual, Percy had plans to meet the junior circle of Death Eaters. The fewer evenings he was absent, the better. More members of the group would be likely to unmask themselves to him if he was present even at optional meetings. Of course, he already had a good idea as to the identities of several of his fellow junior members, seeing as he had gone to school with them.

“I don't think I can,” said Percy with genuine regret.

“It's one night,” wheedled Arthur.

“I know, but be fair. How long has it been since Bill or Charlie has come home for dinner?”

“Bill and Charlie are in Africa and Romania.”

“And they're never within Apparating distance?”

“They have careers.”

“And so do I. Honestly, this has nothing to do with how I feel about you or Mother.” Arthur looked as if he might interrupt, but Percy forged on. “I'm just busy in a different way than I used to be. I know I haven't been fair. Maybe it's better that I get my own flat so you don't have to deal with my schedule.” If Percy's words were argumentative, his tone was not. “It's about time. At first I was saving money, and I was too focused on work to look anyway. I have the money now, and I have to start living my own life more. All right?” He ended his speech as gently as he could, hoping that his father was unable to tell that he was petrified, and that he really wanted nothing more than to curl up in his childhood bedroom and hide.

To Percy's immense relief, Arthur nodded. “Is this really what you want?”

“Yes.” A question with an easy answer. Those were few and far between anymore.

“Fine, then. We'll look at the Prophet tomorrow--”

“No,” Percy interrupted. “I want to do this myself.” The benefits of this plan were multiple: he could plant the idea in his parents' head that he simply felt like being more independent (this was not entirely untrue); he could avoid involving his mother, who was much more difficult to dissuade than was his father; he could avoid public association with his family, which would further encourage his newly-designed reputation as the Weasley Black Sheep; and he could have something to do while waiting for night to fall. He was deeply grateful that the days were shortening rapidly.

“You're sure?”

“Positive. I'm an adult.”

“I know you are. Your being an adult does not mean that I am no longer your father.”

“I didn't say that it did.”

“See that you never do.” Arthur's voice was light on the surface, but beneath it was an edge that let Percy know that he had not been fooled. Whatever observation Percy's parents had placed him under had just been stepped up.

To Percy's surprise, though, his father did not further attempt to engage him in serious conversation during the weeks that followed. Thanks to the advice of his fellow junior Death Eaters, Percy had virtually no trouble in finding a suitable flat. He moved in quickly and with a minimum amount of hand-wringing by his mother. His days took on a new sort of a pattern. Work. Training. Sleep. And little else.

Training was, naturally, his least favorite third of his day. He could conjure the Dark Mark now; it was more of a trick than he had expected. An eclectic combination of charms was used to make it hang in the air just so, bleeding into the sky menacingly. Somehow, knowing just how it worked made it less frightening, but he still could not help but detest himself for knowing just how it worked.

He still wondered why he had been able to coolly inform the senior Death Eaters that he truly agreed with their ideals and that he hated his family. Various explanations occurred to him, some absurd, some possible. The explanations he considered most often were that he actually did detest his family and was not consciously aware of this fact; and that somehow, Dumbledore had managed to have the Veritaserum switched with something else.

More and more junior Death Eaters descended to show him their faces as time passed. He had been correct in his suspicion that many of them were his former classmates-- members of Slytherin House one and all. Percy was not particularly affected by their presence, because Dumbledore had obviously known for what he was training most children of certain families when he had admitted them.

It was more disturbing, though, when a masked member of the Inner Circle came to supervise a meeting one night. Despite the mask, Percy knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was a man named Macnair, a Ministry employee. The Ministry was indeed full of spies.

A break in Percy's routine came in mid-November, when Gryffindor played Ravenclaw in its first Quidditch match of the Hogwarts term. This date had long ago been marked as an opportunity for Percy to meet with Dumbledore. Additionally, he had told his parents that he intended to go to Hogwarts to see Ron (and Fred and George, of course) play, and they had seemed pleased. The Death Eaters had been informed as well so they could not become convinced that Percy was somehow involved with Dumbledore. They thought he was simply placating his family, and watching Quidditch as a bonus. Death Eater adoration of Quidditch, Percy found, was not limited to Marcus Flint.

He separated himself from the screaming throng as much as he could, and waited for the show to begin. He took no small amount of comfort in the familiarity of the voice of the commentator, Fred's and George's good friend Lee.

“The players are walking onto the field. It's the first match of the year for both teams, and Captains Spinnet of Gryffindor and Davies of Ravenclaw shake hands. Alicia Spinnet obviously has the edge in looks--”

“Jordan!”

Lee rarely was able to speak a line of commentary without a reprimand from Professor McGonagall.

“Sorry, Professor. As I was saying, Spinnet was a reserve as a second year and has held the starting position since her third year. Six five-year or more starters on an always-impressive Gryffindor team, as Spinnet is joined by Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Harry Potter, and newcomer Ron Weasley, the fourth of his brothers to make the team for Gryffindor. Give him a cheer, he looks nervous.”

Percy smiled as the crowd responded to Lee's request. He was not close enough to the pitch to know if Ron actually did look nervous, but he was certain that Ron would do very well. It was something close to impossible to grow up in a wizarding family with six other children and not be a better-than-average Quidditch player. A good portion of Quidditch ability was also genetic, and Ron certainly had the same genes that Charlie, Fred, and George did. Ron had also worked hard for years to morph himself into a keeper extrordinaire. Knowing that Gryffindor's team was very young when he joined the school, Ron had set his eyes on the position of the player who was to graduate first, and that had been keeper Oliver Wood.

Keeper was not a bad position for Ron in any case, because the keeper often directed his teammates from behind, and Ron's chess prowess served him well in such a situation. The keeper was also more likely to collect individual glory than team glory, and Ron had long had a craving to be praised not as one of the Weasleys or as Harry Potter's friend but as himself.

Lee completed introductions as the balls were released. “Ravenclaw in possession. No, Bell intercepts . . . .” The match droned on casually for half an hour or so, with both teams scoring-- Gryffindor much more frequently-- and no sign of the Golden Snitch. Harry and Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, criss-crossed the field, occasionally avoiding a Bludger or a Beater but never darting off quickly as if they had seen their tiny target. At last, Cho swerved downward sharply, but Harry did not follow. “Obvious feint on Chang's part,” Lee said. “Potter wasn't fooled, and now he's telling Chang about it.” He was indeed; Harry had taken both hands off of his broom in a sarcastic gesture, and Chang grinned back at him. “Keep your head in the game, Harry!” Alicia and Ron both echoed Lee's sentiments, and Harry resumed searching.

It was nice, Percy mused, that Harry was enjoying himself up there after the way his last year had ended. If rumors were to be believed, Cho Chang had been romantically involved with the murdered student and deserved a break just as Harry did. Still, getting caught up in a conversation with the other Seeker during a match was not wise.

Even better than Harry's obvious glee at being back on the Quidditch Pitch was the fact that Ron had finally joined his friend on the team. Percy could only see two of the hoops that Ron was guarding, but he could tell from his youngest brother's body language that he was in seventh heaven.

“This is one of the friendliest Quidditch games I've ever seen,” said a voice beside Percy. Dumbledore had arrived. “I've never seen two players from opposite teams smile at each other during a game before. Not even Cho Chang and Cedric Diggory. But I suspect that it's rather a tribute to Cedric that they get along.”

“He doesn't seem to want to hand the Snitch to her like a gentleman anymore.”

Dumbledore laughed. “No, and she doesn't seem to be making as much of an effort to blind him with her beauty. I suspect she'll be more competitive when she sees the Snitch. Harry as well. They're just having some fun while they can. But on a more personal note, your brother is doing quite well up there. He's only let two goals by.”

“He's been preparing for this for a long time.”

“What about you? Have you prepared anything interesting lately?”

Percy's stomach lurched. “All you can do is show up every day.”

“Have you learned anything exciting at the Ministry?”

“There are so many exciting people at the Ministry. There's Macnair, you know.”

“I do know. I know a great deal about him. I hope you learn whatever he tries to teach you.”

“He doesn't work in my department.”

“True, true. You don't have much seniority yet, either.”

“None. But maybe my co-workers are starting to trust me.”

“That's good news. I must be off. Say hello to your parents for me.”

“I will.”

Percy had now lost interest in the game, so he divided his time between staring at Ron and the twins (who were, as usual, violently effective Beaters) and scanning the crowd for Ginny's bright red head. He saw her at last, down near the front of the stands. Those seats were generally left to reserves or students whom the House captains otherwise expected to one day play for their team. Was Ginny planning to give being the fifth Weasley on the Gryffindor team a go, then? The team would be gutted next year, and Ginny would be good enough to help if she convinced Ron that she would be safe.

“That's what I told Ginny,” said Percy fiercely, “but she still seemed to think you're going to be expelled, and I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of her, all the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this business--”

“You don't care about Ginny,” said Ron, whose ears were now reddening. “You're just worried I'll mess up your chances of being Head Boy--”

The familiar haunting thought was back. Had he made the right choice? Self-doubt was not something with which Percy had a great deal of experience. He found that he did not like it at all.

He left Hogwarts as soon as the match was over and did not return until Christmas. He still had nothing spectacular to report, although he could now list the names of the members of the junior circle and even tell Dumbledore who was adept at what. Still, he would rather have spent his Christmas alone in his flat than traveling to Hogwarts, where he was supposedly visiting the twins and “the babies,” as his family still sometimes called its two youngest members. (It had been “the big kids,” the twins, “the babies,” and Percy. He had always liked that he was given a name and not a group designation.)

In truth, he had no intention of speaking to any of them. What would he say? “Look at this beautiful decoration I've had put on my arm?” Or perhaps “Do the lot of you honestly think I wouldn't do anything in my power to protect you?” He only counted himself lucky that Bill's and Charlie's paths had crossed in Romania and his parents had gone to see them, since the twins didn't mind spending their holidays at Hogwarts and the babies flatly refused to leave.

Regardless of his plans, when Percy had finished his meeting with Dumbledore, he crept stealthily toward the Great Hall, where the students who had remained for Christmas were attending something between a dance and a party. The gathering was nowhere near as elaborate or formal as the Yule Ball of the previous year, but the older students were wearing dress robes nonetheless. Percy glanced inside, wanting to see his siblings either to remind himself why he was risking his life by playing a game he did not understand or to convince himself that he did not actually love them and truly wanted to become a Death Eater.

Fred and George were dancing with their Quidditch teammates, Angelina and Alicia. They were attracting attention as usual, and a small circle of students had formed to watch their nontraditional and enthusiastic dancing style.

Ron and Ginny were nearer the edge of the room, perilously close to Percy. Hermione stood between them, her prefect's badge accentuating the pale blue robes she wore. Ron and Ginny looked nice as well. Percy knew that the twins had somehow bought them new robes, and they seemed to be enjoying the opportunity to show them off. Where, though, was the expected fourth member of their group?

Percy heard Harry's voice before he saw his face. “It happens all the time,” he was saying. “No one's going to remember for more than a day, especially since we're still ahead.”

“But everyone is going to come back and find out I lost ten points over vacation! Then they'll say I should have gone home so it wouldn't have happened, and they'll all stop liking me if they do now . . .” The first year (Percy assumed from the child's height and attitude) was near tears.

“Are these the first points you lost?”

Percy slipped out of his hiding place to see the first year nod miserably.

“No one gets through Hogwarts without losing points. Ten isn't very many.”

“But there are so many things you only lose one point for, or five.”

“You know how many points I lost one night when I was a first year?”

“How many?”

“One hundred and fifty.”

“That's not funny.”

“No, it wasn't.”

“You didn't really--”

“Yes, I did.”

“For doing what?”

“I was in the astronomy tower at one o'clock in the morning with a couple of friends.”

“Why?”

“That I can't tell you.”

“And no one minded that you lost one hundred and fifty points?”

“Well, they did. People who didn't know me very well. But my friends were my friends, and the rest of the school has forgotten now. And we won the House Cup anyway, we just had to play catch up.”

“Your friends helped you lose your points, though.”

“No. Not Ron.”

“And everyone knew you'd be a prefect, and you must have already been a Quidditch star.”

“I didn't know I'd be a prefect, so I don't know how anyone else could have. And the Quidditch team was madder at me than anyone else. They wouldn't even say my name.” Harry launched into passable impersonations of several of his teammates. “'Tell the Seeker he's flying too high.' 'Make sure the Seeker watches out for our attack formation and stays back.' 'Tell the Seeker to hang onto the Snitch next time, it's almost the end of practice.' 'Hey, Seeker, heads up, that's a Bludger and I don't feel like keeping it away from you today.'”

Harry's impersonations had become so exaggerated that the first year was starting to smile. “So, I thought that they were so upset I should quit the team,” Harry continued conversationally, as if this story was the funniest one he knew. “I went to the team captain. His name was Oliver Wood. He's a reserve Keeper now for Puddlemere United, have you seen him in their advertisements? Get someone to point him out. He's really built like a Keeper, and at this point he was probably a foot taller than me. He's a wonderful person, I'd never say he isn't, but the thing is he would rather die than lose a Quidditch match. He'd rather have any of his teammates die than lose a Quidditch match. Says so all the time. So I asked him if he wanted me to resign from the team. And he yells 'RESIGN?! WHAT GOOD'LL THAT DO?!' so the whole school can hear him. You know, the suits of armor are falling apart and Filch is having a fit. So naturally Oliver lost points for that--”

“He did not,” interrupted the first year.

“Well, no, he didn't. But he didn't make me quit the team, and no one wants you to quit Gryffindor. Look, you didn't know that when I was a first year I lost one hundred and fifty points, and next week no one is going to remember that you lost ten. Everyone loses points all the time. I lose them. You lose them. Ten points isn't a big deal to anyone but you.”

The first year finally seemed to agree. Percy, who had been caught up both in Harry's prefectorial abilities and his Oliver Wood imitation, which was superior to either Fred's or George's, did not notice that he was observed as well as observing until it was too late.

“Percy!” He barely had time to brace himself before Ginny flung her arms around him. Small Ginny may have been, but she made up for it in energy. She had been known to bounce onto Charlie or Bill this way, but she was usually less physical with Percy, understanding, as everyone else did, that he spurned conduct that did not appear mature and professional. When Ginny backed off but did not let go of him, Percy became aware that she was actually holding him in place so that he could not leave without making a scene that involved tossing a slender fourteen-year-old across the room like a gnome.

Ron took two long strides and arrived next to Ginny. “Merry Christmas, Perce. Mum and Dad said you'd be here, but we thought you'd ditched us.”

“Merry Christmas. Did you get your presents?”

They said yes, and chorused 'thank you,' but they were not to be dissuaded from interrogating Percy.

“What've you been doing?” Ron asked. “Mum and Dad have said loads of stuff about Bill and Charlie, but not you. They just said you got your own flat. Is it nice? Can we see it sometime?”

“Maybe. I'm busy, you know, with work, and I have to get back there.” He moved to detach himself from Ginny, but she tightened her grip. Trickier than she looks. Not that Percy hadn't already known that; but the age gap between Percy and Ginny meant that he hadn't often been on the receiving end of her tricks.

“Busy with what? More cauldrons?”

“Ron--”

“I know I made fun of that before, but you did have a point. I mean, Snape would take points from us if our cauldrons leaked even if it wasn't our fault.”

“That's true, but I really do need to leave.”

“Do you like my robes?” Ginny broke in.

“You look pretty.”

“Thank you. Harry said so, too. He asked me to the dance.”

“As your friend,” Ron broke in warningly. “Don't get carried away.”

“And Ron's taking Hermione, but I don't think he asked her as--”

“Gin!”

“All right, all right.” Ginny caught Percy's eye, and Percy nearly smiled. When he had started dating seriously, in his sixth year, he had asked Ginny to be quiet about it, and she done very well, lasting until the end of the term. Ron, by contrast, would probably secretly enjoy it if Ginny announced to the whole school that he and Hermione were an item-- if they were. “Guess what else Ron and Harry and Hermione did? They found out that Hagrid had Sirius' motorcycle in an equipment shed, and he hadn't touched it for fourteen years, so they cleaned it up and gave it back to Sirius for Christmas. Isn't that nice?”

“Isn't Sirius Black one of your professors?”

“He was, but just while Professor Dumbledore was working with the Ministry. He said I could call him Sirius, so it would be wrong for me to keep calling him Professor Black. Anyway, Harry got him a leather jacket like Muggles wear when they ride motorcycles, too, but Sirius said that was overdoing it and Harry was never, ever allowed to spend that much money on him again. But it was so cute.”