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A little Percy Weasley-centric, DH-era snippet from a future chapter of my Perciver fic. Stand-alone. You don't have to read my fic to understand, but I would love it if you did!

Hey friends, as I said earlier, I wanted to publish a Percy scene that takes place during DH, which is WAY ahead in the future compared to what's currently happening in my story. I hope you enjoy it!

If you haven't read my fic, you don't necessarily have to in order for this to make sense. It's pretty self-explanatory and stand-alone. For those of you who do read my fic, after I write the chapters that lead up to this one, a few bits of this snippet might change. If you'd rather not be spoiled, you can ignore this. But I'd love for you to read it if you're interested! The full snippet continues under the cut.

(Oh and just a quick note, the character of Galin Fence was introduced in my most recent chapter as Fudge's nephew, in case you were wondering who that is.)

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Percy straightened his posture as Dolores Umbridge stepped off the lift, a broad, jubilant grin spread across her toad-like face. She clutched a large roll of parchment so tightly in her hands, perhaps thinking it would blow away if she dropped it. Umbridge approached Percy’s desk in the center of the room, and gave him a triumphant look.

“Mr. Weasley, I have just received the first batch of names,” she said, excitement evident in her sickly sweet voice. With a dreadful tightness in his chest, he knew immediately what she was referring to. “We want to start knocking on doors with registry papers and court dates this afternoon. I will leave it to you to make a dozen, secure copies of this list for Magical Law Enforcement, as they will be taking the lead on rounding everyone up. Make the lists unreadable to anyone outside of Yaxley’s staff, as well as ours. Do not send them as interdepartmental memos. You will hand deliver the lists to Yaxley.”

“Yes, of course, Senior Undersecretary. Right away.” Percy couldn’t decide which was worse— having an interaction with Yaxley, or being forced to walk past his father’s office to do so.

Umbridge set the roll of parchment down on Percy’s desk, and then added: “I expect you will not have any misgivings about this list?”

“Of course not, ma’am. You have my word.”

“Good. I will be supervising the setup in the courtrooms for the rest of the morning, in case the Minister needs me.”

It seemed odd that Umbridge would need to “set up” anything in the courtrooms. Weren’t they merely going to question people? That was par for the course in the courtrooms. But a morning without Umbridge in her office was preferable, especially now that she had Mad-Eye Moody’s eye fastened to her door and was presumably watching Percy and his coworkers through it. It was grotesque and invasive.

As Percy unrolled the list, he wondered gloomily if giving him this job was Umbridge’s way of exerting power over him. Of telling him he’d never rise in the ranks of this Ministry, not with a blood-traitor family like his. Of making Percy see the names of Muggle-borns who were under investigation, knowing there was nothing he could do about it. That he had to obey without question or risk being tracked like his father almost certainly was.

Once completely unrolled, the list was longer than Percy was tall. He would have to be sure to cut the parchment for each copy precisely, which would take a few minutes at most. But the unreadable charms were going to be tedious. Percy was going to have to go line-by line down twelve, seven-foot-long rolls of parchment, focusing hard on the incantations.

Percy sighed and stood up. No doubt he would need special parchment and ink for this job. And just his luck— there was a ban on conjuring charms for anyone but high-level Ministry officials. The supply room was down on Level 8, past the Atrium. So with his usual feigned air of importance, Percy crossed the room and pressed the button on the wall to summon the lift. Thankfully nobody was inside when he got on— perhaps this meant his trip would be quick.

But the door opened immediately on Level 2, and two navy-robed Magical Maintenance workers stepped inside, one very tall with a curly, black beard, and the other much shorter and balding— short enough that the taller man had to lean down a bit to speak to him. Deep in conversation, they didn’t seem to notice Percy.

“Did you hear the rumor about what they’re bringing down to the courtrooms?” the taller man asked.

“Aye, I didn’t just hear about it, I saw them with my own eyes when I was down there fixing that faulty air vent,” said his coworker nervously.

“Did you? You really saw dementors?”

“Hard to mistake ‘em, isn’t it? Yaxley was bringin’ ‘em in— a dozen I reckon.” The man’s voice shook a little as he spoke.

“A dozen?” the taller man said incredulously. “Isn’t one enough to do the job of scaring people?”

“I heard Yaxley bragging that they’re sendin’ ‘em to Azkaban if they can’t prove they have wizarding blood. An’ if they resist, they get the uhh… the kiss,” the shorter man lowered his voice for that final word.

His coworker gasped. “Blimey, you don’t think they’ll start going after Ministry families, do you?”

“Dunno. But if I were a Muggle-born working in this bloody place, I’d pack up my desk yesterday. Hell, if I were a Muggle-born anywhere in this country, I’d be in the wind faster ’n you can say ‘Accio’. No way I’m goin’ anywhere with a dementor.”

The lift stopped at Level 7, and the two men got out. As it dropped one more level and the door opened on Level 8, where Percy needed to get off, he stood frozen in horror at the threshold. Percy’s whole chest and throat turned to pure ice. He could’t breathe. He couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t move. People in the Atrium stared at him curiously as he stood rooted to the spot inside the lift. That revolting new statue directly faced him, as if it were mocking him for being so subordinate. Subordinate like the Muggles that made up the throne were supposed to be, according to the Ministry’s new stance.

The door closed after a few seconds, leaving Percy alone inside the lift with his racing thoughts. What he had just heard could have been Yaxley having a laugh and exaggerating or making things up to sound important. But Percy didn’t think so. He couldn’t afford not to believe it was true. Because if he turned a blind eye to what the Ministry was doing, as he’d done for so long up until now, he’d be ignoring the impending imprisonment or deaths of everyone on that list sitting on his desk upstairs.

Percy unfroze. Without another thought, he slammed his palm against the button for Level 1 and prayed no one would delay the lift. Once back in the Minister and Support Staff office, Percy bolted out of the lift and took long, swift strides toward his desk, his heart pumping anxiety and dread through his veins. Thankfully his coworkers were used to Percy bustling about quickly, and didn’t give him a second glance.

Standing at his desk, Percy finally looked at the Muggle-born registry list. He estimated about two-hundred Muggle-born witches and wizards were listed. And what had Umbridge said? That this was only the first batch of names?

The names were in alphabetical order. With his throat closing tighter and tighter as his eyes scanned down to the letter “C”, he hoped against all hope that he wouldn’t see her name. Please, no. Please PLEASE, don’t be—

Percy’s speeding heart stopped dead in his chest.

—Clearwater, Penelope - age: 20; occupation: unknown; family: Muggle mother, Muggle father. No known wizarding family members; crime: impersonating a witch, wand stolen from a witch or wizard.—

The list crinkled as Percy’s hands shook violently. Penny’s address was also listed under her name. The Ministry had everything they needed to find her, bring her in, and ship her off to Azkaban or worse.

Percy sat down, his wobbly legs unwilling to hold his weight any longer. Something hammered at the back of his brain— an instinctual urge to do something. Anything. The feeling grew and grew as he stared wide-eyed at the list. Penny was on this list. Penny, one of his closest friends and confidants. The person with whom he shared his first kiss. The person who still believed in him no matter how deep he fell. Penny, who was studying Muggle law so she could improve the very court she was about to be convicted in.

He drew a long, shaky breath. Galin shot Percy a worried glance from his cubicle, which he met for a brief moment before looking back down at the list. As much as he appreciated Galin’s continued camaraderie through everything, the man still reminded Percy of Fudge— of when Percy let the Ministry take over his mind and heart. Percy had always been a good little Ministry servant. He’d agonizingly renounced his family, abandoned his friends, and done everything that was asked of him. He’d been personal assistant to three different Ministers, continuing to keep his nose down while hoping, someday, he’d be recognized as useful, and being consistently let down. He’d stomped out all misgivings, ignored his own common sense, and obeyed. He was no better than an Inferius, numb and mindless and cold.

You can’t obey -this-, said the pounding voice in the back of his mind. It was getting progressively louder. They gave you this list because they think you’ll obey. They think you’ve become the exact kind of Ministry pawn who will go along willingly. They think your spirit is broken and they’re holding the pieces over your head. If you don’t cross the line now, you’ll stay here forever. Penny will die and the blood will be on your hands. You used to be strong. You used to have faith in your abilities. You used to believe in your own convictions, even when the Ministry let you down.

They underestimate you. You’re still that person.

Percy clenched his fists and his jaw. He picked up his wand, now completely steady in his hand. His mind was steady too— he was sure of himself. Sure of what he was going to do. The Ministry of Magic would regret underestimating him. They would regret assuming he had no Weasley blood left in his veins and in his heart.

Carefully, Percy touched the tip of his wand to “Clearwater, Penelope”, and pulled the ink up and away from the parchment. He continued to drag his wand across the paper until everything under her name was completely erased. Quickly, he glanced around the room to make sure no one was watching him— they weren’t. To anyone else, he was carefully going over the list to make Umbridge’s unreadable copies. To anyone else, he was a pawn.

As soon as he crossed that line, Percy couldn’t stop. He erased a dozen other names. Elderly witches and wizards who wouldn’t survive Azkaban. People who supported large families like his own, who might not have the means or ability to flee and hide. His heart pounded, this time pumping determined warmth through his body instead of cold anxiety. Once he was done, Percy surveyed the newly blank spaces on the parchment. When he made the copies, including one for Umbridge, he would need to shift up the blank spaces and shave off the few inches at the bottom to make it look like nothing was amiss. But this was all he could do for now. If any more names were taken off— if the parchment was noticeably shorter— he risked being discovered.

The plan wasn’t foolproof. Umbridge could have made another list just for herself, or she could have looked at this one before handing it to him. Penny was still in danger, whether it was today, in a week, or in a month. The Clearwater family needed to hide now. A letter would be too slow, and all mail going in and out of the Ministry was checked, all owls tracked in case someone was trying to contact the Order or Harry Potter.

Percy rolled his wand between his fingers, thinking hard. One of his coworkers— a tall witch with long, silver hair, glided past him on her way to the lift. As he watched her, it came to him. In the month or so after You-Know-Who’s return— before Percy cut ties with his family, before they considered Percy a threat— his father and Bill had a conversation about a secret method the Order used to communicate. Supposedly they could use a Patronus to send urgent messages. A Patronus couldn’t be tracked, couldn’t be intercepted, and couldn’t be captured and interrogated.

But I’ve never produced a corporeal Patronus before, Percy’s rational brain reminded himself, his heart sinking. He’d never found the correct happy memory to conjure more than a half-baked wisp of silver vapor. How could he produce one now, of all times? Had the Ministry blocked low-level workers from the Patronus Charm, just like they’d done supply conjuring charms?

It’s worth a shot to try. You’ve already stepped this far past the line, said the more powerful voice that had been gaining momentum for the last fifteen minutes. The voice, who Percy knew was his own bravery breaking through, was right.

He stood up, slipped the list into his desk drawer, then crossed the room toward the Level 1 men’s bathroom. Percy stopped in front of Galin’s desk along the way. “Galin,” he whispered. The other man blinked up at him through sleepy but curious eyes. “I need you to keep people away from the men’s bathroom.”

Galin tilted his head. “Why?”

“Just do it, please. Tell them anything. Tell them a toilet clogged and there’s muck all over the floor.”

His coworker wrinkled his nose and gave him a sour look. “Are you about to go in there and clog a toilet?”

Percy tapped his foot impatiently. “Please, just give me your word.”

“Yeah, yeah. But you owe me one, Weatherby.”

Percy’s lips twitched at the nickname. This was how he knew Galin Fence was on his side. That he hadn’t been Imperiused. After thanking Galin with a nod, Percy made his way to the bathroom and used a spell to lock the door behind him, as well as a silencing charm for good measure.

As he pulled out his wand, Percy realized his hand was shaking again. Was he losing momentum? Were his nerves returning? Suddenly faced with the seemingly impossible task of producing a Patronus, Percy found it difficult to even whisper the incantation, let alone say it clear enough for the spell to work. Think of something good, something really, really good.

But, as he’d suspected all along, nothing came to mind. It was as though the Ministry had eaten up all the color in his life, leaving nothing but grayscale. Penny was going to be arrested if he didn’t do this now. Penny’s parents were going to be interrogated or killed for being Muggles who knew about the magical world. Umbridge was going to find out what he’d done. He might lose his job and be unable to do any more good. He’d be labeled a blood-traitor like the rest of his family, and he’d be tracked at work, at home, everywhere. And if he went crawling back to the Burrow now, he would be far from welcomed home with open arms. Not after seemingly going along with the Ministry for so long. Not after he willingly missed Bill’s wedding…

Hot tears streaked down Percy’s cheeks, meeting at his chin and dripping onto his hand— still gripping his wand and shaking violently. His throat was closing up again. Using his wand-free hand, Percy felt around in the pocket of his robes for something to wipe his eyes with. His fingers brushed a piece of paper, and his heart leapt into his throat.

It was the letter from Oliver— the last one he’d received before cutting off his mail delivery. Percy swallowed, then pulled it out. Why had he put this letter inside his work robes? He couldn’t remember. It must have been inside his pocket through many cleanings, as the parchment was softer and more wrinkled than when he received it. But the ink was still inexplicably legible.

Hey Perce,

Still haven’t heard from you. Still don’t know if you’re in that apartment anymore. Still don’t know if you’re working at the Ministry. They won’t let me visit you, since I don’t have clearance for Level 1. I thought about waiting in the Atrium to see you, but if you’re not answering my letters, I reckon you don’t want to see me. But I’m not giving up on writing.

If you ever see this… just listen to me. You don’t even have to write back. I’m not asking you to. I just want you to know that you have someone thinking about you. I’m still here.

As per usual, I’ll end on a positive note— I love you, Percy.

Oliver

The signature animated Snitch on the bottom of the letter still moved, miraculously still swirling and fluttering back and forth across the parchment. With a jolt of hope in his heart, he realized that meant the letter-writer was still alive. When had Percy stopped checking?

—I’m still here.—

Oliver was still alive. Of course he would be. He was pureblood. And he was strong, resilient, and resourceful. Warmth returned to Percy’s chest.

—I love you, Percy.—

Oliver loved him. Percy didn’t dare doubt this anymore. Oliver, who sang romantic lyrics to him while pretending his broom was a guitar. Oliver, who complimented his smile and handed him cassette tapes with silly names that reminded him of Percy. Oliver, who promised he would wait for Percy. Oliver, who kissed him on the cheek at King’s Cross.

With a swoop of excitement in his stomach, with the letter in one hand and his wand in the other, Percy called out the incantation with newfound conviction: “Expecto Patronum!” His voice echoed against the tiled walls of the bathroom.

A moment later, his wand began vibrating as silver light came pouring out. Startled, Percy backed up against the wall between two sinks, but he didn’t dare lower his wand. The silver vapor hovered, swirling in the air for a few seconds, then, unbelievably, it took a form.

Percy blinked at the animal. It blinked back. While his heart was fit to burst, while he knew he didn’t have much time with it, Percy studied the Patronus. The silver animal appeared to be a sheep— or rather, a ram— with large, curled horns and round, expectant eyes. Surprise and elation filled Percy’s chest. He’d done it. He’d produced a real, corporeal Patronus.

The ram blinked again and tilted its head. This might have been a reminder that Percy wasn’t finished. That it needed to be given an assignment. He had absolutely no idea how to perform the next bit of magic in order to send a message to Penny. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that. The first method that came to mind would have to be what he tried.

Picturing Penny in his mind’s eye, he pointed his wand at the silver ram and flicked his wrist. The next moment, he heard a small “crack!”, similar to the sound of Apparition, but much quieter. The ram disappeared.

He couldn’t physically see where it had gone— but in his heart he knew the ram had reached its destination. Almost instinctually, Percy pulled the end of his wand up to his mouth, and spoke as steadily as he could manage:

“Penny, if you can hear me, you need to hide. The Ministry is after Muggle-borns and you’re on the list. They’re sending people to Azkaban. Leave the country with your parents as soon as you can. Go somewhere far away from Britain. Don’t send owls to anyone. Just go, Penny. Please.”

With another flick of his wand, the Patronus returned. It nodded once at Percy in a silent confirmation that the message had been successfully received, then vanished into a mist of silver vapor. Brief disappointment tugged at Percy’s chest— he’d wanted more time with the silver ram. Perhaps to touch it, somehow. Or ask it why it took that form. But at least the job was done, and that was all he could hope for.

The mental stress of producing a Patronus and sending the message to Penny caused Percy’s knees to give out. He sank to the floor, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, and exhaled shakily. Oliver’s letter had fallen to the tile floor beside him, so he quickly snatched it up and replaced it in the pocket of his robes. He didn’t dare lose it— Percy couldn’t believe how powerful the words in that letter had been. How quickly they were able to help him conjure happy memories.

Percy swallowed a lump in his throat. What was he supposed to do now? Should he cry? Laugh? Splash his face with water? After a few minutes, he chose to stand up, brush off his robes, unlock the door, and step back into the world of the Ministry. Galin tried to ask him what was going on, but Percy waved him off exhaustedly.

For the rest of the morning, Percy busied himself making unreadable copies of his edited list, making extra sure Umbridge’s copy looked indistinguishable from the original, which he surreptitiously burned under his desk. As he gathered up the copies and made his way to Level 5, a newfound determination lit his spirit. The silver ram stared at him in his mind’s eye, reminding Percy that he’d crossed the line. He was working against the Ministry now, and he was okay with that. More than okay, actually.

The rest of his family were in the trenches, actively fighting You-Know-Who and his followers— actively fighting the Ministry that had been tainted beyond all recognition. Percy used to feel dreadful for not going back to them. For not helping them. For leaving them in the first place. But today… today, Percy felt like fully embracing how different he was. How his path had led him here. How only Percy had the means and ability to gain access to the Muggle-born lists. To try to warn people if he knew them. To work for but against the Ministry in equal measure.

Percy was the black sheep of the Weasley family. But not lost. Not anymore.

#harry potter #percy weasley #perciver #harry potter fanfiction #perciver fanfiction #percy weasley-centric #my fanfics;

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