The Right Thing

Mr. Crouch is dead.

I’m still in shock. I idolized that man. I was thrilled when I was first assigned to him. Barty Crouch was legendary. To work under him was an honor. To be his personal assistant was a dream come true.

And now he’s dead. Killed by his own son, whom he helped to escape from Azkaban. Yes, I know all about it. My family told me the story, rather reluctantly I must say. About how He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named used the Triwizard Tournament, Harry Potter, and even Barty Crouch to return to his body. How Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, refused to believe what Dumbledore told him, and how the two of them had parted ways. I wouldn’t have believed it, if it wasn’t for my younger brothers, Fred and George. As my parents were telling me this story, my brothers sat and watched, looking very serious, very worried. I’ve never seen them look like that before. They’re always so carefree, so mischievous. I remember when they told Mum that they wanted to open a joke shop. A joke shop! So silly, so lighthearted and fun, so very Fred and George.

But they didn’t look silly and lighthearted while my parents were telling me that story. They looked serious, tense, even a little afraid. Everyone there seemed afraid. Afraid of what? Do they really think that I would choose my career over my family, that I would betray them?

Would I?

Even Mum had that look on her face. That really hurt. I’ve always been her favorite, the one that she held up as an example of what my younger siblings should try to achieve. She was so proud the day I got my job in the Ministry. Now she’s afraid. Afraid that I’ve become so bigheaded, so full of myself, that my family doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.

How can she think that?

The best is all that anyone has expected of me. As a child, I grew up hearing stories about how wonderful my older brothers were doing at school. How Bill had been made Head Boy, how Charlie was excelling at Care of Magical Creatures and that he was one of the best Quidditch players the school had ever seen. When the time came for me to go to Hogwarts, I resolved that I was going to be the best, just like my big brothers. I was going to make everyone proud of me.

I was so young then. I can remember walking down the Great Hall to be Sorted, terrified that I wouldn’t get into Gryffindor. Ravenclaw wouldn’t have been too bad. Hufflepuff would have been… forgivable. But when I think of what almost happened, what House the Hat nearly put me in, I shudder…

* * *

Hmmm… another Weasley. I suppose that you’ll want to be in Gryffindor.

“Of course! Where else would I go?”

Hmm. Ravenclaw is out of the question. Hufflepuff would work… I sense loyalty and a hard worker under all this red hair. But there’s also ambition… a lust for power, a thirst to prove yourself… Are you sure you wouldn’t want to be in Slytherin House, young Weasley? You could be great there. It’s all here, in your head. You could achieve your wildest dreams in Slytherin…

“Are you MAD? I can’t be placed in Slytherin! I’m a Gryffindor, from a family of Gryffindors! Put me where I belong!”

Well… if you’re sure… I do see great bravery in you, someone who isn’t afraid to stand up for others, who would do what he knows to be right. But still… it seems like such a waste to put you there, with your potential. I think that you belong in…

“No, no! Put me in Gryffindor! Or Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, anywhere but Slytherin! Not Slytherin! I can’t be in Slytherin…”

Well, if that’s what you want… it had better be GRYFFINDOR!

* * *

I was very shook up after that near-disaster. Even now, I’m still haunted by what could have happened. But I refused to let it bother me at the time. I studied, I was serious, I never broke the rules. They made me a Prefect. They made me Head Boy. My mother was so proud, my teachers were so proud.

No one else was.

I could hear people mocking me behind my back. “Perfect Percy.” “Bighead Boy.” Even my own family took delight in ridiculing me. Even my older brothers, whom I’d wanted to be like for as long as I can remember, never took me seriously.

It hurt.

When I graduated, I decided that I was going to make something of myself, that someday everyone would know my name. They wouldn’t look at me and see just another Weasley. They would look at me and see Percy, someone who had made something of himself, someone to be admired. I threw myself into my work, not caring when people mocked its unimportance, because I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to be admired for my dedication. I wanted people to be proud of me. My mother was very proud, was always talking about me to anyone who would ask, and to many who didn’t ask. Everyone else saw me as a laughingstock.

Even Mr. Crouch didn’t seem to take me seriously. Making me get his tea, calling me “Weatherby…” Honestly! I put up with it because… well… he was my idol. All I wanted to be was him. He was so smart! He knew hundreds of languages, and the dedication he showed during the Troubles, putting away all those dark mages… He even put away his own son…

…only to help him escape. To hide the boy in his house and control him with an illegal dark curse. Only to find himself on the receiving end of said curse when You-Know-Who showed up and freed his son. Only to die at the hands of his son while trying to warn Dumbledore what was happening.

His son forced Harry into the Triwizard Tournament. His son helped to bring You-Know-Who back into power, nearly killing Harry, a boy that my mother thinks of as one of her sons. All because Mr. Crouch decided to free his son. If it wasn’t for him, the Dark Lord wouldn’t have that that loyal Death Eater to place at Hogwarts. If it wasn’t for him, the Dark Lord would still be a powerless spirit hiding in the forests of Albania.

And now Barty Crouch is dead. Both of them, father and son. And You-Know-Who is back. And the Ministry refuses to believe it. And my family is afraid. Afraid of the Dark Lord, afraid of the Ministry, and afraid of me. Afraid that I will betray them to the Ministry that is the cause of this whole mess.

Would I?

I’ve dedicated my life to the Ministry, poured myself into my work. But what the Ministry is doing now is wrong. Denying the Dark Lord’s return because they’re afraid of causing a panic? Ridiculous! We should panic. We should prepare. I remember the days when You-Know-Who was at full power. It was the only time I had ever seen my family afraid. Afraid of whom to trust, afraid that they would come home and find the Dark Mark floating over their home, everyone inside dead. Those days are coming back. And the Ministry refuses to even acknowledge it.

And now my family is afraid again. Afraid of me.

I find myself thinking of my Sorting. Of what the Hat told me. I’m brave. I’m loyal. I’ll do what I know is right. What is right now? The Ministry was supposed to be right. They make the laws, they create and enforce regulations, they decide what is right. But what they’re doing now is very wrong. My faith in them has been shattered. Part of me wants to ignore all this, to return to the Ministry and do what I’ve always done - work hard, do what I’m told, and hope for a promotion. But can I really do that? Can I ignore all that has happened? The Ministry must know of my father’s loyalty to Dumbledore. They would ask me questions, want to know what they are doing. Could I really betray my father, betray Dumbledore like that? Who am I supposed to be loyal to?

What is the right thing to do?

FIN