Irrefutable Evidence

"Imperio," whispered a voice, a slippery, silken voice, one that he could have sworn was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, except he knew better, because the Dark Lord had been killed, years ago, by Harry Potter. Mr. Crouch believed that, and Mr. Crouch was a brilliant man, who should have been Minister of Magic, but for the prejudices of some wizards against justified ruthlessness. But if it wasn't the Dark Lord whispering in his ear, then who was it? A delusional former Death Eater, possibly; Percy knew there were many of those around, those who believed that the Dark Lord had risen again. The rumours of the Dark Lord's return, encouraged by Harry Potter's insane, desperate demands for attention. But Harry wouldn't lie. Not Harry. He was a Gryffindor, he was Ron's best friend, Percy knew him, and he knew that Harry wasn't just an attention seeker - in fact, he seemed to hate all the attention that was lavished on him and felt rather embarrassed. . . but that train of thought was quickly cut off by a floating feeling, and the thought, "The Dark Lord will not rise again." But Mother and Father, they both believed Harry. . . . "They are fools. . . ." But Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of their time, he believed Harry. . . . "Dumbledore is not the greatest wizard of our time, the Dark Lord is the greatest..." But the Dark Lord was evil, and Dumbledore was the only wizard the Dark Lord had ever feared. . . . "Not feared, never feared. Was cautious of, yes, but the Dark Lord fears no one."

What was this insidious voice inside his head that kept telling him things about the Dark Lord? Why did it refer to him in the present tense, as if the Dark Lord was still alive? "The Dark Lord has risen, you fool, and he will rule all!" He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was dead, he had died years ago. He couldn't come back; it was against the laws of nature. Who was talking inside his head? Why wouldn't it leave him alone? Logically, think logically. Was he hearing voices? Was there a spell of some sort on him? There must be a spell. Percy tried to glance around the room, but found he couldn't turn his head, couldn't control his own body.

Suddenly, Percy felt the cold stirrings of fear. He wasn't in control. This wasn't something he could change, with magic, or with logic. What was happening to him? He had heard something, before he got onto this awful train of thought, about the Dark Lord, while he was thinking about his report on the regulation of sales of foreign quills, such a money making scheme by those Lithuanian wizards, trying to cheat England's wizards out of their due...He was getting distracted. He was trying to think of something he had heard, but try as he might, Percy couldn't think of what it was. It had been something awful, something. . . unforgivable.

"Imperius," the voice whispered again. Yes, that was it. Someone had used the Imperius curse on him. Why was he so calm? He should be panicking. But Percy found that he couldn't panic, couldn't run or scream or hide. There was nothing he could do. With a fatal certainty, Percy realized that the Dark Lord had indeed risen, and that he was under the control of a Death Eater. Not a delusional one, but one who realized the truth and wanted to control him...why? The voice laughed inside his head. It. . . it was enjoying this! Enjoying Percy's torment, as he slowly realized that he had been wrong, and that it was too late to do anything about it.

What could the Dark Lord possibly have to gain from controlling Percy Weasley? "Harry Potter," the voice hissed. Of course. Harry was at Hogwarts, with Ron, under the protection of Dumbledore. Dumbledore, he would save them, as he always had. He had to warn Dumbledore. . . but he couldn't. The voice was silent, but Percy could feel it waiting, waiting for him to ask it what it wanted, so that it could gloat. No, he wouldn't give it the satisfaction. . . . What do you want? "I want power. I want revenge. And only the Dark Lord can give them to me. You will help me along the way. You will make sure that no one believes the Dark Lord has risen, so that we can make our preparations in peace, until we are ready to show our hand." Ten minutes ago, if asked, Percy would have said that yes, his influence was that powerful, that he could make Dumbledore believe him, but now, Percy knew that he could not, because Dumbledore was right, and he knew it. "Fudge." Of course, Fudge...the Minister of Magic would believe anyone who agreed with him, and then Percy would be able to gain his trust, and then tell him only what the Dark Lord wished him to know.

His family - what would happen to them? They had known all along that Harry was right, why hadn't Percy believed them? He tried to censor that thought - could the voice hear his thoughts? It could definitely control them. He had to try to convince everyone that the Dark Lord was still dead. No! He had to warn them! But how? The voice couldn't control him indefinitely, could it? Maybe he could slip its guard long enough to write a warning. . . . The voice laughed. Percy felt despair growing within him.

There was no hope. It was in control.

Then, slowly, Percy forgot about the Imperius Curse, forgot about the Dark Lord, and his worries, and returned to his work.