Cyanide

Severus stood in the shadows, listening as Dumbledore extracted Weasley's tale of the night's events. Thus far, Weasley had given a very accurate report, and had needed little prompting from the Headmaster. He had not even interrupted himself to ask questions. When Weasley finished speaking, Dumbledore began to analyze the crystal, after having an emergency conversation with the Department of Experimental Charms.

“So it really is dangerous?” Weasley asked at last.

“Yes, it is. The Death Eaters have reason to believe that they actually can breach the castle's defenses tonight. However, they are wrong. Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

“No, Sir,” he answered hesitantly.

“Are you certain?”

“I'd like to know what happens next.”

“We all would. This is why we employ Professor Trelawny.”

Weasley seemed to be nonplused. “I'm not an undercover agent anymore. I've blown my cover.”

“And rather spectacularly.”

“Am I going to testify? Are we going to put Macnair and the others in Azkaban?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Your hearing is very good, I see.”

“Why not?”

“Several reasons too complex to explain. I will tell you that the Death Eaters would be most surprised if, after learning that I took your reports seriously, I did not attempt to discharge Professor Snape from my service. He, as you may have guessed, is my most useful spy and has been for more than fifteen years. I will also tell you that the only crimes you actually witnessed being performed were those performed by Macnair and Marcus Flint. As they sponsored you, they will be punished by their superiors far more severely than our courts would punish them. Discord amongst the Death Eaters is something we can benefit from, something we even cultivate.”

“Can I go back to the Ministry, then?”

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “Not just yet. You will most likely be stranded at Hogwarts for a few days, and that will give us time to invent a seemingly legitimate reason for your leave of absence. I hope, but I doubt, that you will be able to avoid going into hiding. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to personally assure myself that Gryffindor Tower has been emptied of students. I suggest that you go see that your brother is recovering well.” Weasley nodded stiffly as Dumbledore left the office.

“Severus,” he said softly when he saw the Potions Master. “I thought you were here. Do you agree with Percy's version of events?”

“Yes. The attack will take place soon. I'll be planting this near the rear of the castle.” He held up a crystal similar to the one Weasley had given Dumbledore.

“By all means. One more thing.”

Severus gave Dumbledore a questioning look.

“How long were you under the Cruciatus Curse? Have you spoken to Madam Pomfrey?”

“Less than two minutes under a light version and no. I'm still potentially useful to him. He's not ready to do me permanent physical damage.”

Dumbledore's face hardened. “Take care of yourself, Severus. Do you want to teach tomorrow?”

“Yes. Assuming we still have a school tomorrow.”

“I imagine that we will. Have fun sabotaging the building, though.”

Severus did not bother to respond before sweeping into the Headmaster's office where Weasley still sat. He was not entirely certain as to why he was so drawn to his former student. Weasley had not lasted six months in Dumbledore's service, but he would surely be comforted and praised as if he were a hero. Severus, on the other hand, would have to teach lessons the next day as if nothing had happened, and his contributions to Dumbledore's Cause would remain unacknowledged as they had for most of his adult life. Severus was tired, sore, and busy; yet he was about to attract the attention of a nineteen-year-old whom he did not even like.

“Weasley?”

His head shot up. How Weasley had managed to last even a short period of time amongst Death Eaters if his powers of observation and awareness were so lacking was a mystery to Severus. “Yes, Sir?”

Severus felt his lip curl into a smirk. Nothing made up for a bad day like the simple pleasure of the hint of fear a Gryffindor's (or a Gryffindor graduate's) voice always held when it called him “Sir.”

“I believe the Headmaster told you to go see your brother.”

“Yes, Sir.” Weasley rose to his feet. “Thank you, Sir,” he added, although Severus was unsure exactly for what he was thanking him. The only thing he had particularly done for him had been switching the Veritaserum with a harmless potion. He wondered if Weasley had worked that out. There was one way to assuage his curiosity.

“You're welcome.” His tone of voice was intended to leave the listener in considerable doubt as to whether he meant his words. “I nearly regret taking the risk and switching the potions since you lasted such a short time in your position.” An unspoken question appeared in Weasley's eyes, quickly followed by a flood of relief. Severus smirked again. “Are you telling me that after seven years in my class you are still unable to recognize the properties of a potion as dangerous as Veritaserum even when you have supposedly swallowed it?”

“No. No. I knew it wasn't Veritaserum because I didn't have any trouble lying after I took it. And no one did the tests, to see if it turned parchment red, and the flask wasn't sealed either--”

Severus had no doubt that Weasley would launch into a list of the properties and ingredients of Veritaserum (probably without making a mistake and thus providing Severus with a moment of fun), so he cut him off. “I'm not your professor anymore. I wrote you and the rest of your class off as lost. Now get out of here and into the hospital wing.”

Weasley looked slightly flustered but made no move to leave just yet, so Severus sneered at him and waited for the inevitable question.

Weasley was magically powerful and had a talent for remembering academic facts, and Severus had been hard pressed to find realistic reasons to object to his appointment as Head Boy, but he had his fatal flaw, like all the pseudo-heroic types did. Severus could spot fatal flaws within days, sometimes within moments, of meeting someone. This talent made him a worthy adversary and a successful double agent.

James Potter's downfall had been his blind faith in Sirius Black. Potter had been convinced that as long as he trusted Black, he needn't have worried about anyone else. Wrong.

Sirius Black had been, and still was, much too proud of his own pathetic intelligence. He deeply believed that if he did something, then by definition it must be right.

The werewolf overcompensated. That one was simple enough.

Harry Potter was something like his father and godfather. He was too wrapped up in the ideals of decency to see a strike coming, and thought himself invincible and therefore above the rules. That character trait was almost to be expected from someone who had cheated death so many times; but Severus did not have to like it.

Hermione Granger froze when confronted with something that she could not learn from a book.

Ronald Weasley never bothered to control his temper-- which admittedly could mean salvation as easily as death depending on the circumstances-- and was emotionally infantile even for a fifteen-year-old.

And Percy Weasley, aside from maintaining an unhealthy and unpopular obsession with rules, had lately begun to have days in which he did not understand his own priorities. He quite probably had his own brothers to thank for this situation. Severus' sneer became a smirk.

“Sir?”

“Mr. Weasley? Why are you still here?”

“Why did you turn Ron in?”

“Someone needed to. He would not have been able to leave the area without detection, and as I benefited from being the one to detect him I didn't see why I shouldn't do it.”

“But if I hadn't been there--”

“If you hadn't been there, he wouldn't have been there.”

“But I wouldn't necessarily have--”

Severus had never been in the habit of allowing Gryffindors to finish stupid protestations. “What was it that Barty Crouch said to Potter last spring? 'Decent people are so easy to manipulate?' Now I suggest that you leave this office and go down to the hospital wing or, student or not, I will make you wish that you did.” With that, Severus spun on his heel, robes swishing behind him, and stalked off to a hidden entrance at the rear of the castle, which would be a fine hiding place for one of the Death Eaters' crystals.

Percy obediently followed Professor Snape from the room, but he had no intention of going to the hospital wing. The miserable things that he might find there were almost too numerous to list, but he began to list them anyway.

One. Ron could be dead.

Two. Ron could be permanently disfigured or disabled.

Three. Ron could be in serious pain.

Four. Someone could be there waiting to tell Percy that because he had gone after Ron, Hogwarts was about to fall to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Five. Someone could be there waiting to tell Percy that he had accidentally beaten David Avery to death, or at least into a coma. Whatever Avery may have been, Percy did not fancy himself a murderer of children.

Six. A Death Eater could be waiting to kill Percy. This situation would have an upside in that Percy would then not have to deal with the other potential situations.

Seven. A Death Eater could be waiting to torture Percy, having already tortured or killed Ron.

Eight. His parents could have come to Hogwarts, having seen that his and Ron's hands on the family clock had found their ways to “mortal peril.” Percy shuddered involuntarily. Molly Weasley was much, much more frightening than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The prospect of Mother telling the twins and Ron “Don't be like your brother Percy, no matter what you do-- be like Bill,” bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Nine. Ginny could be there, ready to make an insightful comment. Why had Mother and Father insisted on having a seventh child, anyway? Weren't six enough? Did they really need one who was actually perceptive?

Ten. Fred and George could be there, ready with a list of Death Eater jokes. Percy felt as ill-equipped to handle the twins' sharp tongues as he was Ginny's virtually clairvoyant observations tonight.

Eleven. Ron could accuse him, Percy, of wanting him, Ron, to die. Again.

Twelve. Someone could accidentally see the Dark Mark on his arm.

Thirteen. Someone could ask to see the Dark Mark on his arm.

Fourteen. The ghost of Hermes could arrive to tell Percy just what a failure he was.

Fifteen. The ghost of Hermes could arrive and have his revenge on Percy.

Sixteen. Ron could tell the world just what Percy had allowed to become of Hermes.

Seventeen. Percy could be revealed as the Master of the Imperius Curse.

Eighteen. Percy could suddenly go mad and put the Imperius Curse on innocent people for no reason. At least Harry seemed to be able to throw it off with no trouble.

Nineteen. Percy could remember the horror he had felt when he had committed an unforgivable sin against Lola Anaya and start shaking or crying again. The twins would surely never let him live that down.

Twenty. Percy could become physically ill and faint. He felt neither hungry nor tired, but intellectually he knew that spending days without food or rest was not the best of all possible ideas for someone who did not want to give his twin brothers more ammunition.

Twenty-one. Percy could be brought to trial for his crimes without warning and right in Hogwarts. It had happened to Sirius Black.

Twenty-two. Percy's evil presence could spontaneously combust upon entering a place as free of Dark motives as the hospital wing.

Twenty-three. Madam Pomfrey could insist on examining Percy and find that he had no heart, and it was no wonder that he had been able to bide his time and listen to his youngest brother's screams.

Twenty-four. Madam Pomfrey could deem Percy unworthy of entrance.

Twenty-five. Someone could bring word that Scabbers had escaped but had, instead of rejoining He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, opted to write a tell-all book about embarrassing things that Percy did when he thought that he was without human company.

As many good reasons as Percy had for leaving the safe confines of the castle, or at least for staying away from the hospital wing, he found his feet slowly but surely guiding him to Madam Pomfrey's realm. The thought of interacting with his family terrified Percy, but the thought of assuring himself that they were safe may as well have been a siren song. He was pulled toward the hospital wing as if by a portkey.

Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen. Percy supposed she had retreated to her office. He could not see Ron, either, but Ron's usual entourage was standing by the foot of a bed inside a private room with an open door, so odds were good that Ron was indeed present. Hermione was not crying, and Harry's posture was not defeated, so it was obvious to Percy that Ron was just fine. As Percy watched, Hermione's head turned, followed by Harry's, and Hermione caught Harry by the arm and dragged him to the door. Her eyes were uneasy, as they had been outside the castle, when she studied Percy.

“He's all right,” she said with pseudo-calm. “He's asleep, not unconscious. He didn't take the sleeping potion, so it's sitting on the table if he needs it later. You could probably even wake him up if you wanted to. Harry and I have to go check on the Gryffindors. They're sleeping in the Great Hall tonight, and you know how things get when that happens. Come on, Harry.” Harry obediently followed Hermione, not having said a word.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Percy called lamely after them. Then, cautiously glancing around so as to assure himself that he was indeed alone, he crept to Ron's bedside. Ron was sleeping peacefully, and looking perfectly comfortable. How does he manage to be so relaxed? Is he just that used to escaping at the last second from rampaging werewolves and living chess sets and whatever else I never heard about? I don't expect I'll ever sleep like that again.

Percy watched Ron's even breathing for a moment longer before abruptly, impatiently, and uncharacteristically reaching out to shake his shoulder. Ron's eyelids lifted slowly. He did not like to be awakened prematurely in the best of circumstances. Still, Percy could not reprimand himself for his rashness. He could not explain how much he needed to see Ron in a state other than sleep, which too closely resembled death; but he could feel that need, and it was all-encompassing, leaving no room for self-inflicted lectures about giving his brother's battered body time to regenerate.

“Perce?” asked Ron groggily. His voice had obviously been restored by some potion or other. “What's wrong?” Percy did not need to answer, though, for Ron's brown eyes deepened as he became aware of his surroundings. He half-smiled. “I thought it was the middle of the night in the Burrow.”

“I wish,” answered Percy more fervently than he intended.

“The castle's going to be all right?”

“Dumbledore says so.”

“Dumbledore wouldn't say that if it wasn't true.”

“No, but I'll feel better once they actually strike.”

“Glad I didn't sleep through it.”

“I'm sorry I woke you up.”

“Don't be. I hate to be asleep when there are Death Eaters running around.”

“Including me? You always said I put you to sleep.”

“You aren't a Death Eater.”

“How much did you see tonight?”

“Oh, that.” Ron brushed the event off as if it was the least important thing he had ever witnessed.

“Yes, that.”

“So you were a spy.” Ron still did not seem remotely interested. “What happened to Wormtail?”

“I told Dumbledore where we left him and he asked Hagrid to go look, but Hagrid said he was gone. The cords from my wand were still there, and not broken. I guess Wormtail transformed.”

“Damn!” For the first time, color shot into Ron's face, and he sat up part way. “I thought maybe he wouldn't be able to transform with that fake arm You-Know-Who gave him.”

“I think it works the same way clothes do. It's like Professor McGonagall keeping her glasses when she transforms.”

“Still, did you see that arm? It was even worse than Harry said it was!” Ron shuddered slightly.

“Mm-hm.” Percy was quite obviously distracted, causing Ron to rise further up on his stack of pillows.

“Perce?”

“Yes?”

“What aren't you telling me?” The concept of Percy not telling Ron something had been a foreign one until recent months. Previously, he had told Ron all sorts of things, very few of which Ron cared about. Ron had never expected to miss hearing Percy's voice.

“Nothing. All I've done since I left you was tell Dumbledore what happened. I don't even know how Harry and Hermione and Professor McGonagall ended up meeting us.”

“Do you want to know?”

“Why not.”

“Don't get irritated.”

“I can't promise that.”

“Then I can't tell you.”

Ron watched as Percy weighed his options. “All right, then. I won't get irritated.”

“Around Christmas, Ginny and I got to talking about you. We didn't think you were acting like yourself, so we decided to find out what was wrong. We-- Hermione mostly-- we knew how to alert ourselves if you stepped on Hogwarts grounds, so we could track you and see if you were up to anything. Harry and Hermione made me promise not to go without them, but yesterday evening, you stepped on the corner of the grounds when they were at one of those stupid prefects' meetings.” Ron waited for Percy to give him a lecture on the vital importance of prefects and their meetings, but Percy remained quiet. “So when they got back and I was gone, and they found the map I used, they went right to McGonagall and told her that I was gone and why. She went to Dumbledore, and then she went out after us.” Ron smiled again. “She said it was the Eighth Magical Wonder of the World that Harry and Hermione actually went for help instead of chasing us themselves. That's probably why she let them come out. She wanted to encourage them to go to her next time, too. She seems to think that the three of us get in a lot of trouble,” Ron ended with mock-indignance before throwing Percy a bright grin, which Percy did not return. “What? You said you wouldn't get irritated.”

“I'm not,” Percy answered slowly.

“Then what?”

“I'm--” he hesitated-- “sorry. I'm so sorry that I didn't do a better job covering myself and you got hurt. I'm sorry I waited so long before I got you out of there-- it was the only thing I could do--” he broke off, staring at Ron, eyes anxious behind his glasses.

Ron, for his part, was more confused than anxious. He's apologizing to me? Confusion gave way to deja vu, and Ron struggled to match his nameless feelings to another time. At last, he placed them with no small amount of surprise.

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

“I went looking for the troll because I-- I thought I could deal with it on my own-- you know, because I've read all about them.”

Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher?

“If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.”

Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

“Well-- in that case . . .” said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, “Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?”

Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.

“Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this,” said Professor McGonagall. “I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses.”

Hermione left.

Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron.

“Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go.”

They hurried out of the chamber and did not speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

“We should have gotten more than ten points,” Ron grumbled.

“Five, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's.”

“Good of her to get us out of trouble like that,” Ron admitted. “Mind you, we did save her.”

“She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her,” Harry reminded him.

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Pig snout,” they said and entered.

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said “Thanks,” and hurried off to get plates.

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.

So, apparently, was escaping from the Dark Lord's Inner Circle. Ron had never exactly disliked Percy for longer than a day or two. Percy and Ron were brothers. Sometimes they liked each other and sometimes they did not, but there was no serious bad blood between them. Ron could anger quickly, but a lecture about the dangers of sneaking out of Gryffindor tower after hours did not merit the maintenance of a grudge. Besides, when they had been younger, and the controlling aspect of Percy's personality had not been quite so strong, they had been friends. Four years was not such a great gap in age when you were playing chess or Quidditch. Recalling the twins' insistence that Percy had not begun to act strangely after the Death Eater attack on the Hogwarts field trip, Ron wondered when exactly Percy had stopped joining in the family games.

You should say “thank you,” a voice inside Ron's head suggested strongly. He had thanked the last annoying rule-enforcer who had gotten him out of trouble, after all, and things had worked out rather well thereafter.

“Thanks, Percy,” he muttered in a strangled sort of way.

“I really didn't want you to get hurt--” Percy continued nervously, and Ron had to work hard to interrupt him.

“PERCE!”

“What?”

“I didn't mean thank you for being sorry. I meant thank you for saving my life when I was being really, really stupid.”

“You weren't being stupid.”

Ron snorted. “This is right up there with the time Harry and I tried to talk to an Acromantula.”

“You and Harry-- never mind, I don't want to know.” Percy's face, which had relaxed slightly into disbelief, tightened again. “You weren't being stupid. You were doing what you thought was right, because I was doing a terrible job playing double agent.”

“It didn't look to me like you did a terrible job.”

Percy's face began to flush, drawing Ron's attention to how white it had been previously. “Ron, I blew my cover. I let you get tortured. I didn't stop the attack on Hogwarts. I didn't catch Wormtail. I let Hermes die. I performed Unforgivable curses. Dumbledore trusted me, and I failed in every way you can possibly fail!”

Ron's voice began to rise to match Percy's. “What did you want? You wanted to get into the Inner Circle without doing any of the things that Death Eaters do?” Percy was silent, but his eyes spoke volumes. “That's impossible. That's just impossible. Can't be done. I know we always called you the Perfect Prefect, but I never knew you actually believed it.”

“Believed what?”

“That you're perfect. Don't like it down here with us ordinary sorts, then?”

“I didn't say that!” Percy's face reddened further.

“You said that you thought you should have been able to keep the Death Eaters from attacking and kidnap one of the top people in You-Know-Who's organization without casting curses or sacrificing your owl to their stupid tests. No one could do that. Do you think you're that much better than everyone else?”

“I thought I was good. I worked hard to become good. So?”

“So, working hard and being good is one thing. I've spent half my life listening to people tell me to try to be as good as you. But even Mum doesn't claim you can do the impossible.”

“All right,” said Percy quietly, but Ron was ranting and chose to ignore him.

“I get that you wanted to be Head Boy. There are seven of us and it's hard to make people pay attention to one of us separately. The only time anyone thinks of me as special is when I'm playing chess, of all things. But the professors all love you, Mum and Dad are pleased with you, and you got into the Ministry. You were a model Hogwarts student and you're a model everything else. Everyone approves of you. You have this incredible reputation that the twins and Ginny and I are never going to be able to get near. Do you know how hard it is to be your little brother?” Ron stopped to draw breath.

“I said 'all right,'” answered Percy even more quietly.

“Do you know how hard it is to be your little brother?” Ron repeated, not really caring that he had gotten off the subject.

“Is it something like being Bill and Charlie's little brother?”

“Being Bill and Charlie and Percy and Fred and George's little brother is a lot worse than just being Bill and Charlie's little brother.”

“So you've said. Often. And loudly.”

“There's just nothing I can do that none of you have already done.”

“I don't think any of us have talked with an Acromantula.”

“That's something to write home about.”

“If you like Howlers, I suppose it is.”

Ron chuckled at the thought of soliciting Howlers, and when he looked at Percy again he noticed that his face had returned to its ashen color. “Perce? Want to sit down? You can sit on my bed, I'm really all cured, or you could pull the bed over there closer.”

Percy shook his head in the negative. “I have to leave soon.”

“How? The castle is about to be attacked, and if Dumbledore had given you anything to do you'd be doing it already.”

Percy shrugged.

“What?” asked Ron.

“What, what?” A staring contest ensued, with the better-rested Ron emerging victorious.

“Did you honestly think--” Percy blurted out before stopping himself.

“Did I honestly think what?” asked Ron, but Percy was not inclined to pick up where he had left off. Sharing insecurities with one's brothers was a Very Bad Idea. Ron, though, resumed staring, and Percy gave in. It was entirely possible that the world would end within the next few years-- or minutes-- so the danger of explaining his thoughts to Ron seemed less than usual.

“Did you honestly think I would leave you there to die?”

“No.”

“Just 'no?'”

“Just 'no.' What else should I say? You wouldn't do that.”

“But you saw me let Hermes die. You know I stood there and listened to you scream. That-- that's sick. It's absolutely sick. What kind of person listens as his brother gets tortured? And knowing that I was listening and not doing anything, how could you not think I was planning on leaving you there?”

“You wouldn't do that,” Ron repeated. Then, after a short, strained silence, he spoke again. “I didn't mean to yell. I tried not to. But I know you came as soon as you could. You couldn't walk in there with all the real Death Eaters around. You must have thought about all that. Knowing you, you probably even mentally outlined your options, with numbers and subheadings and everything.”

Percy ignored the both amusing and disturbing revelation that Ron was right about his thought processes and pressed on. “You've always said that I don't care about you and Ginny when you're in the way of my plans.”

“You're harping on that? Even Scabbers knows I don't mean it when I say things like that.” Percy felt almost weak-kneed with relief, but his stance remained unchanged. “You got me out of there alive. That's above and beyond what you had to do.”

“It was the most important thing I had to do.”

“You could have let me take care of myself. You don't need to baby-sit me. I'm the same age you were when I came to Hogwarts.”

“Watching out for you is still in the Older Brother's Handbook.”

“Bill and Charlie mentioned that. When I wrote to them about you. I can't wait until Bill finds out he was right.”

“About what?”

“When I asked if he thought you were acting weird, he said he thought you'd taken a position in a top-secret crime fighting agency. I think he thinks he was kidding.”

Percy began to roll his eyes, but suddenly froze, horrified. “They'll have to find out.”

“Bill and Charlie?”

Percy shook his head.

“Oh.” Ron cottoned on, feeling a little slow. “Mum and Dad.”

Percy nodded.

“They'll be proud of you, once they get over being glad you're all right.”

“I have a Dark Mark on my arm and I almost got you killed. I don't think they'll exactly be proud of that.”

“You didn't almost get me killed. I almost got me killed. I do that a lot. They're practically used to it.”

“It's different for me. You say I don't know about being the youngest brother? Well, you don't know about being an older brother. You and Ginny are practically the same age. I can tell you off, and you can hate me for it, but if you ignore me when I tell you something, it's still my fault. Remember when Sirius Black broke into your dormitory?”

“Yes,” said Ron cautiously.

“What did Professor McGonagall say when everyone got up?”

“At first she said it was ridiculous, Sirius couldn't have gotten through the portrait, and then she started interrogating Sir Cadogan and telling off Neville for writing down the passwords.”

“That is how you'd remember it. Know what I remember?”

“What?”

“Her saying 'Percy, I expected better of you!' It was automatically my fault because I was Head Boy and the brother of the person who was yelling the loudest.”

Ron had never exactly thought about things that way, so he said defensively “I had a good excuse for yelling.”

“I know you did. My point is, the automatic conclusion is the oldest one is at fault. The oldest one should know better. And since there's seven whole years between Charlie and me, but only five between Ginny and me with you and the twins in between, I've almost always been the oldest. And if our parents are going to disown one of us, it's going to be me.”

Ron bit back a peel of laughter. “They aren't going to disown anyone. If Fred and George haven't gotten themselves kicked out of the family yet, it must be impossible.”

“I guess I'm exaggerating, but . . . .” Percy trailed off tiredly.

“I understand.” Percy doubted it. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you know why there are seven years between Charlie and you, and then five in six years?”

That had not been the question Percy had been expecting. He had expected more of an argument to his It's Tough To Be In Charge complaint. “You-Know-Who was rising to power steadily then. Mother decided that she didn't want to bring any more children into that kind of world. The sons and daughters of Ministry workers were always getting killed. It was kind of a game for Death Eaters.”

Ron felt his mouth drop open. That had never occurred to him.

“But after a while,” Percy continued, “she decided that she was letting them win by not going on with her life and she and Father started making up for lost time. Five in six years.”

“How do you know that?”

“I asked.”

“Perce?” Ron's voice suddenly went from inquisitive to awkward, and slightly slurred.

“Yes?”

“When are the Death Eaters coming?”

“Twenty minutes unless they changed their plans.”

“I'm tired.”

“Go to sleep. They can't hurt you here.”

“Can't hurt me at all. Got five big brothers.” His voice was fading out.

“Do you want your sleeping potion?” Percy asked, outwardly ignoring the show of faith but storing it in his memory for later retrieval.

“Don't need it. Know what I remember about going to school with you?”

“What?”

“Not McGonagall yelling. My first year, the last feast, when they changed the colors from Slytherin to Gryffindor.”

“That was nice.”

“That wasn't what I liked best. The colors. I liked it when I got my points and I heard you shouting at all the other prefects that I was your brother. 'My youngest brother! Got past the giant chess set!' Like I was worth bragging about.”

“You've always been worth bragging about.”

“So've you. Still are. Did good tonight. Love you. Good night.” Ron was perhaps nine-tenths asleep at this point, eyes closed, and surely would not remember his words in the morning. But Percy would.

“Love you, too,” Percy whispered. Moving for almost the first time since awakening Ron, he leaned down and kissed his brother's forehead. It was something he had not done since roughly the age of seven, but Ron was asleep and there was no one else around to tell. He backed away from the bed, unsure what to do next.

Upon walking into the main room of the hospital wing, though, Percy spotted an unmistakable flash of red. “Ginny?” he asked, hoping to be stern but not finding the energy. “Shouldn't you be in the Great Hall?”

She smiled a patented I've-out-witted-my-brothers smile. “I know the prefects. They said I could stay here until after whatever happens, happens.”

“That doesn't sound like Hermione.”

“No, but Harry argued her into it. Said he'd give me his invisibility cloak, so Hermione finally said I could go if I was careful and Nearly Headless Nick and the Fat Friar took me and went right back to her to say I got here all right. I wouldn't have left in the first place, but Fred and George needed me to get something from the Great Hall and I got stuck there until Harry and Hermione covered for me.”

“How long have you been here?”

“A few minutes. I started to go into Ron's room but I heard you two talking and decided to leave you alone.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“From the Older Brother's Handbook on.”

“Hmm. Will you--”

“I won't repeat any of it. I've already forgotten all of it.”

“Good.” Ginny nodded, and pulled out her wand, eyeing Percy speculatively. “Gin?”

“Can I restore the color of your hair?”

“I changed it for a reason.”

“And I want to change it back for a reason. It's not a bad color, but it's not yours. Besides, it'll look ridiculous when it starts to grow out. I've known the spell since first year. It's very simple. I've used it on my roommates before.”

Percy was about to argue further, but decided against it. “Sure. Change it back.” Ginny's grin widened, and she cast the spell quickly.

“I have one more suggestion.”

“What?”

“Lose the Death Eater look.”

Percy glanced down at his robes. “I'd forgotten I was wearing these.”

“Obviously.”

“Is this why Hermione was staring at me?”

“Probably.” Percy removed the hood and mask from his robes and placed them on the nearest bed, and then transfigured the insignia on his robes from “Death Eater” to “Ministry.” Ministry robes and Death Eaters robes were very similar in appearance, and not by coincidence. When he glanced up, Ginny was carefully folding the hood and mask into a small package. “Want me to put these away for you?” she asked.

“Where?”

“In my trunk, I guess. Until you tell me to get rid of them or you want to do something else with them.” Percy did not bother to wonder how Ginny knew that he did not want to dispose of them right then. Ginny had been able to perceive things like that for years, no matter how immature she may have been with respect to other aspects of her life. “You can't put them away yourself,” Ginny added unnecessarily. “You can't go anywhere the Death Eaters could find you, can you?”

“No,” Percy sighed.

“Do you have to go into hiding?” Her voice had grown more child-like.

“I expect so. Listen, Ginny, there's nothing you have to worry about or know about. All right?”

“All right,” she agreed, cheery again.

“I didn't think you'd agree with me.”

“Oh, I don't, but I have more important things to argue with you about right now.”

“I've done enough arguing for the night. Sorry.”

“Good. That will make my job easier.” Some of the manic quality left her smile. “You remember Ron's first year. Do you remember mine?”

“I was here for it.”

“Remember how you decided I was over-excited and sick and needed Pepper-Up Potion? And everyone said that with my hair it looked like my head was on fire?”

“Gin--”

“Payback time. When was the last time you slept?” Her smile grew even less playful, and more sympathetic. Percy fought the urge to squirm beneath her gaze. “Well? When was the last time you slept?”

“Er . . . a few nights ago,” he answered honestly.

“Sit down.”

“I'd rather not.”

She took his hand in hers and held it against her cheek in an intimate but sisterly gesture. “Just sit down. You aren't going anywhere.”

Why do they have to keep reminding me that I'm not going anywhere? Percy wondered as Ginny took her own advice and crawled onto the bed, sitting cross-legged without letting go of his hand. Resignedly, he sank down beside her and realized for the first time that he was truly exhausted, more exhausted than he had ever been in his life.

“When Madam Pomfrey comes back, you have to let her make sure you're all right, too.”

“Gin--”

“Sorry. It's in the Younger Sister's Handbook.that I have to make you do this.”

“Wait-- when she comes back? Where is she?”

“In the Great Hall. With the Gryffindors.”

Percy nodded, and they sat in silence until the ground beneath them shuddered suddenly. The shudder was followed by a loud crack, and a louder explosion. Finally, the walls shook as if they were about to collapse. Ginny screamed.

“It's all right,” he told her instinctively. “Dumbledore said that they couldn't get in.”

“I know,” she answered, sounding as if she knew no such thing. “Could you take out your wand just in case?” Her own wand was already in her hand, and Percy obliged her by drawing his wand. However, the next person to enter the room was none other than Madam Pomfrey.

“No need to have your wands out in my hospital wing,” were her first words. “Percy, Dumbledore said that if you were here, you were to be checked over.”

Ginny smirked, and jumped off the bed, saying something about waiting in Ron's room. Percy submitted to the examination, which ended with the conclusion that he was in perfect health except for bruised knuckles and a quickly mended cracked rib.

“It's not surprising that you couldn't feel it, considering how well you've managed to drain your magic,” Madam Pomfrey commented as she worked. “Honestly, the things that otherwise intelligent young wizards do to their bodies . . . .” Percy found that he was too tired to listen and began to tune her voice out. “Percy? Did you hear me?”

“What? No, I'm sorry.”

She smiled kindly. “You're to stay here for the rest of the night. You may take a dose of the dreamless potion that's on your brother's bedside table if you'd like.”

“I'm not tired,” he lied badly.

“Dumbledore said you were not to be pushed,” she said with some disapproval. “Now, if this were truly my hospital wing-- Well, goodnight, Percy.” She retreated to her private office, and Percy began to stand up but found the action to be too much effort. He was dimly aware of Ginny's return.

The next thing of which Percy was aware was the toilet seat. He groaned as he saw it. “Fred? George?”

“Yes?” answered two barely distinguishable voices from somewhere within Percy's immediate vicinity. He sat up, realizing that he was lying on the bed in the hospital wing. His shoes and glasses had been removed (but he spotted them before he was able to accuse Fred and George), and a light blanket had been placed over his body.

“Why is there a toilet seat sitting there?”

Fred looked taken aback. “Did you hear that, George?”

“I did, Fred,” said George solemnly.

“Percy, our brother--”

“our own flesh and blood--”

“sees a toilet seat sitting on the counter in the hospital wing--”

“and immediately blames us!”

“Quite clever when you think about it.”

“But they didn't make him the Bigheaded Boy for nothing.”

It's too early for this, Percy thought. Or is it? “What time is it?”

Fred and George made a great show of looking around for a clock. “Almost noon,” George at last descended to answer.

“Yes,” said Fred. “You and Ronniekins stayed asleep all morning, so we didn't really have to go to the trouble of getting those last night. We could have done it before Transfiguration.”

“You 'got' two of them?”

“Of course,” said George. “We had to get one for Ron--”

“but actually, Ginny suggested it so it's partly her fault--”

“and we didn't want to leave you out--”

“in case this is one of those times when you're only pretending--”

“that you don't think we're funny.”

Percy let the matter of the toilet seats themselves slide for the moment. “So last night, when the castle was under attack and you were supposed to be in the Great Hall, you were really stealing toilet seats.”

“Yes.”

“And don't think we aren't sorry--”

“because it's no fun unfastening a toilet seat--”

“when the whole building suddenly shakes.”

Percy bit back a smile. “It serves you right.”

“We thought you'd feel that way,” said Fred cheerfully.

“That's why we told you,” added George.

“Do you have anything else to tell me?” asked Percy as he finally put on his shoes and glasses, thinking that he should have listened to Ginny and gone to bed willingly instead of waiting until he actually passed out.

Fred and George looked at one another, as if using telepathy to decide on an answer, and Percy looked at both of them. He hadn't expected a serious response; he never expected a serious response from the twins.

“We were worried,” said Fred.

“We're glad you're all right,” said George.

Percy hadn't particularly expected that. “Thank you. Is everyone else all right? Did anyone get into the castle?”

“No,” they answered in unison, shaking their heads emphatically.

“Something happened with the fifth year Gryffindor girls' dormitory, but we don't know exactly what,” George elaborated.

“The school is going on like usual today,” Fred completed.

Then, two things happened at once. Ron stirred, and Ginny bounded through the doorway, calling Professor Snape a very un-innocent name under her breath. Ginny, Fred, George, and Percy all trooped into Ron's small room, where Ron was laughing loudly and thanking the twins for his get well present.

“Shouldn't the three of you be in class?” Percy asked when Ron had settled down.

“We have the day off because of you two,” Ginny explained. “But we went to morning class anyway. I shouldn't have. Professor Snape was miserable.”

“He's always miserable,” returned the twins in unison.

“More miserable than usual. And he was miserable to me especially,” said Ginny, as Percy and Ron exchanged a knowing look.

The conversation turned to gratuitous Snape-bashing, and the twins drew the conclusion that his real reason for hating Gryffindors was his own personal lack of Quidditch talent. Ron suddenly looked straight at Percy, who had been mostly silent, but enjoying the sight of his younger siblings, happy and alive. “Perce?”

“What?”

“When did you stop playing Quidditch with us?”

The twins looked slightly guilty. “I don't know. When I got to be busy with other things. There's more to life than Quidditch,” Percy answered. Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny exchanged comical expressions of puzzlement and confusion. Percy rolled his eyes. “I'm sorry. There is nothing in the world more important than catching the Snitch and throwing the Quaffle through the hoop. Or keeping the Quaffle from going through one of your hoops. Or knocking Bludgers into the other team's heads.”

“That makes much more sense,” agreed George, who still looked slightly guilty.

“I promise that if we all live through this war, I'll start playing with you again,” said Percy, partly because he had to say something, and partly because the career for which he had sacrificed his earlier playtime was in all probability destroyed. He tried not to contemplate the fact that his promise might be an empty one, and that the chances of a large family surviving on the front lines of a war were slim to none.

Ron, however, looked mischieviously at Fred and George. “You might have to let him play Beater, though. He beat the hell out of a Death Eater with his bare hands last night!” Fred and George began to laugh hysterically.

“Really?” inquired Fred.

“I got carried away,” admitted Percy, now feeling guilty himself.

“If you're going to get carried away, it's good to do it on a Death Eater,” said George, looking delighted to what Percy considered the point of bad taste.

The mood lightened even more with the arrival of food, and remained bright until a messenger arrived in the form of Harry Potter. Harry smiled at the assembled group; he had always seemed to be amused and intrigued by the interactions of the Weasley siblings. “Percy, Professor Dumbledore wants to see you in his office. He says you can come back here soon. No one's getting in or out of the castle for a few days, anyway.”

“Thanks, Harry.” Percy followed the young prefect from the room, knowing full well that Dumbledore wanted to tell him a very simple thing: go into hiding. The prospect was unattractive. The realization that he was glad to be free from his important work as a spy was unattractive. The memories of his time with the Death Eaters were the most unattractive of all.

So instead, he took a page from his younger brothers' book and thought about Quidditch as he walked the long walk back to Dumbledore's office.

The End