Forgiven

Forgiven

Chapter 1 – Just A Dream

Percy Weasley used to love the night.

Night time was a time when you could relax, wind down from the day’s events, and think about what you needed to do tomorrow. At Hogwarts, it was usually spent in the common room trying to do homework amongst games of chess and Exploding Snap. But now, in his adult life, Percy hated night time. It held too many terrible memories for him to be his favorite time. Now, his favorite time was anytime that he didn’t have to be awake and face the world.

On that note, Percy was lucky if he could sleep and not have to face the world. Tonight was a night like most: difficulty sleeping, things haunting him from inside his head… This one, however, wasn't as bad as some. You might not have guessed it from his actions over the last six years, but he was a scrupulous man who still got nightmares over…things.

Whenever he told himself that, he would snort mirthlessly. "You do what you do, and you try to justify it?" A voice would taunt him. At this point his eyes would flicker to his left forearm, where his Dark Mark was. He would remember how it felt to have that burned into his skin, to be forever branded a servant to Lord Voldemort. When he closed his eyes, he could almost remember the blast of pain that had left his skin smoldering and the tiny hairs around it singed.

At night was the only time that he had guilt about his activities. He very rarely was out and about doing "public" Death Eater activities, torturing muggles and the like. No, that wasn’t Percy. He was more of the "behind the scenes" type. Percy was an informant, an insider at the Ministry of Magic. This was much easier, much cleaner work, harder to trace, very fitting to Percy. Especially since there were more people in the ministry affiliated with You-Know-Who. And MLES and Aurors only had so many fingers that they could point. But Percy knew that that was partly his fault. He had done some recruiting in his time, and somehow in his six years as servant of the Dark Lord, he had ended up with a relatively clean record, killing deliberately only once.

But he only thought about this during the night, when it was still, and dreams could come.

He sighed, and turned over once more to look out the window. The light that he could see from the window was not the moon, but a bright street lamp. Beyond that, he would have been able to see the waning moon and the stars, set against the velvet background of the night sky. If he had bothered to look, that is. But as he had not looked, he closed his eyes, hoping for a restful sleep that night.

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He stood in the seemingly large ring of Death Eaters, across from the Dark Lord, who was positively glowing with triumph. As was the case with every new Death Eater initiated. Percy felt very nervous, but tried not to show it.

"My fellow visionaries!" the Dark Lord said, raising his voice so that all would hear. "We gather here today to initiate another into your order!" Cries of general revelry rose up from the crowd, and Voldemort smiled happily – well, what seemed like happily, Percy doubted that he could manage a truthfully happy smile – and continued the process.

Two Death Eaters that Percy had worked with outside and inside the ministry – Jarvis Montague and Walden McNair – came forth and declared a list of qualities and acts that made him worthy to be inducted into the Inner Circle. All the while, he shuffled his feet and guiltlessly thought about the lie he had told Penny about having to work late. Well, he thought, it's not like she doesn’t keep odd hours at St. Mungo’s.

"Are you ready for your induction to begin?" the Dark Lord addressed Percy. He swallowed. Now, or never.

"I am ready, my Lord."

"Good," he said slowly, a snakelike smile spreading from his lipless mouth to his red eyes. "You are about to be tested on your ability, and your loyalty to me. Do you understand this?"

"I do, my Lord."

"If you are unable to complete this task, no penalties will befall you. I ask that in that you remain loyal to the Outer Circle, and try again."

Percy swallowed. No penalties? Maybe that was his own wishful thinking; hearing what he wanted to hear. This was a lot different than Outer Circle, he remembered that one as well. You had everything to lose there, and here, apparently you had very little. "I am ready." He would complete his task, he would.

"So young, and so eager…How refreshing," Voldemort said, shooting a Look at what Percy guessed was a group of older, more lackadaisical Death Eaters. They shifted uneasily, and he shook his head. He touched his wand to his left forearm, and half a moment later, two big and very strong-looking wizards appeared with a blonde witch between them.

He knew that witch.

Cecelia Longhole was in his year in Gryffindor. He remembered her smiling, laughing, and incredibly brave and a good friend to all; and generally with a good, level head on her shoulders. But now, pale and clothed in what Percy thought was a white bedsheet; covered in hex marks, he thought she looked like Death warmed over. When the wizards let go of her, she fell to the ground.

"Ennervate," Voldemort said. Cecelia awoke, slowly raising her head to look at her surroundings. From the look in her eyes, Percy would have guessed that she had been tortured, but kept her wits about her. That was amazing, few were able to do that. "What we have here," he spoke again in a dangerous, low voice, "is a spy, found within our circle. She swore loyalty to me, and has been found passing information to Dumbledore," he pronounced the name disdainfully, spitting it out like it was a bug. "Do you deny this?" he asked Cecelia directly.

She stood up. She was not bound, there was no need for her to be; she was obviously without a wand. Even if she had been in possession of her wand, it was doubtful that she would have been in any sort of mental condition to use it to her advantage. Dressed in the white bedsheet, the only thing sticking out about her appearance was the Dark Mark on her forearm. It looked to be crossed out, but it was particularly dark; shining through any crossing out that would have been put on it. Her entire situation was meant to be degrading and humiliating, but she stood tall with her chin out defiantly. "I do not deny it."

Whispers rushed around the circle, and were quickly quieted with a single glare from Voldemort. "Silence," he told the group icily. "You do not deny this," he paused, "and are foolish to do so," he told her in a quiet, controlled voice. He turned to Percy, who froze. "This is where you and your loyalty and skill come in," he said. "What should be done?"

His mouth went dry. He feared to speak, because he knew she would recognize his voice. Oh, how could she not? There was no way that she couldn’t. "Well…" he started hoarsely, and then cleared his throat. "K-killing curse?" He felt like a small child who didn’t know how to do anything.

"Not far off," Voldemort said coldly. "She is a traitor. Traitors get the traitor’s death." This statement wasn’t without underlying threat, Percy heard that loud and clear, though his voice was low toned.

"I…I don’t know," he stammered, flustered. Cecelia was looking at him, probably torn between maintaining the brave, dignified front that she was putting on and jumping on him and tearing his eyeballs out the old fashioned way.

There were titters of amusement now running around the circle, once again silenced with a look from their leader. "You were all new once, and had to prove your loyalty…some of you were not so different than Mr. Weasley here." Percy winced when he said his name. It made everything more…real. It gave it a more personal feel to the entire affair. "There are two curses you need to know to finish this turncoat off. Degollote, a Spanish curse, and Sicarius."

"Degollote, Sicarius," he repeated to himself. "What do they do?"

"You’ll see," Voldemort said with his malevolent grin. "I give the floor to you…" he added with a mock bow, and stepped back towards the edge of the circle.

Percy stood, facing his old schoolmate. She still stood tall, not five feet away from him. They took a moment to size each other up. He read her facial statement and eyes. Go ahead. I dare you. He pointed his wand and yelled, "Degollote!"

Her dignified posture was quickly interruped when long gashes appeared on her arms and began bleeding profusely. He said it again, and more cuts appeared. Again. She began screaming in pain, much to the delight of the bystanders. Again. More cuts. More screams. She fell to his feet, and white bedsheet no longer white, but saturated with red. Blood. She looked up at him, only saying one thing with her eyes and face now. I. Blame. You.

For one fleeting moment, he felt pity, and then his right mind took over again. She went against it. She went against the Dark Lord. She deserves this. "Sicarius!" he finally yelled, and a clean slit appeared in her throat, blood pouring onto the ground. She died at his feet, her blood spilling into the soil.

For a moment, there was no noise in the June night, save for the crickets and cicadas in the distance. Then, all of the sudden, there was an uproar of celebration, but only Voldemort moved towards Percy. "Well done," he said. "Who’s are you?"

Percy was still a bit shocked at what he had done. "Y-yours."

"MORSMORDE!" Percy gritted his teeth, but could not help but yell out a bit. He looked at his arm, still smoking, and saw the black or the Dark Mark glaring back at him. And yet…it was very satisfying.

"Welcome to the Inner Circle," Voldemort said, his vicious grin showing again. "Long may you stay."

There was a loud bang, and Percy woke up with a start, sitting straight up. He listened, and realized it was only a car, backfiring. Just a dream, he told himself. Only a dream.

He looked out the window. London, looking dreary in the December morning was out there. The car that had backfired sped off, making another loud noise. He fell back on his pillow, with his hands covering his face. The sun was not quite up, and the grey light streamed past the curtains that came with the flat onto the bed and the meticulous carpeted floor, completely devoid of anything as trivial as a dirty sock. Percy's organization wasn't limited to his work. In fact, except for his belongings, the flat looked like it did the day he moved in (minus all those bloody boxes, of course).

Peering at the ancient wind-up alarm clock on his bed stand, he decided that it was no use to try to go back to sleep until his alarm clock would normally clang him awake. Yawning, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Bugger," he said, still relieved that it was only a dream, and stood up. He walked into the adjacent bathroom, and splashed some cold water on his face.

He looked up into the glass over the sink. His appearance was blurry without his glasses, but that seemed appropriate somehow. Most people saw him this way, blurred and not clearly at all. Hardly anyone got to see his true colors anymore. He put his candle under a basket, so to speak. He slipped on his glasses, blinking to adjust his eyes to the sudden focus that the world was now in. Much better, he decided, and examined his reflection again.

He was only twenty-eight, but he had the feeling that he looked older. Head of the Department for International Cooperation and the stress (and occasional bad press from one, Rita Skeeter) had taken its toll on his appearance. Even when at times like these, early in the morning, when he was relaxed, he had the look of a worried business man twice his age. He was never very good at judging people’s ages by their appearances, he then thought, he never paid much attention to that. Penelope was always better at that kind of thing. Penny, he thought, feeling his heart jump as if she had strings attached to his heart, and could pull on them whenever he thought of her. She does have strings attached to you…you still love her.

He snorted derisively. Love has done you no favors, he thought sternly to himself. And for the millionth time in almost six years since he last saw Penelope, he told himself to forget about her. He couldn’t as easily forget about his family, even if the circumstances were different. Penelope abandoned him, and he had abandoned his family. Not that he was sure they would have him, anyway. He had to forget about them. Percy shook his head, and sighed.

He was awake. And he had to face the world. This wasn't going to be fun.