Author: Lyta Padfoot
Category: General, Angst
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. Characters and situations are used without permission, no infringement is intended.
Summary:Percy Weasley is very good at what he does.
* * *
When Percy Weasley was a little boy, his mother cautioned him not to judge a book by its cover. As he grew older, he came to understand what the expression really meant: to be careful of judging by appearances for they are often deceptive. He observed that most failed to heed that oft repeated advice and learnt how to exploit that weakness.
Some wondered if Percy really was a Weasley. He was the cuckoo in the family nest, the changeling child. When the rest of his family scattered to the four winds after Voldemort's triumph, only Percy remained behind to serve the new Ministry. He was respectful, a pureblood, and efficient. His memory for rules and procedures was flawless. Every government requires bureaucrats to function and Percy was permitted to live in the new order, for the Dark Lord was eager to begin his rule and did not desire to waste time training clerks and secretaries. Thus, Percy spent his days quietly sorting papers for a department head in the New Ministry. He was more responsible for the order and success of the Department of Magical Lineage than its head, the less than stable Rabastan Lestrange.
Meticulous and prompt, Percy was not without eyes, ears and a sharp mind. That his position would allow him to do little obvious damage should it turn out that he was an agent of the fledgling resistance did not escape Percy's notice. As the months passed suspicions wore away, and he became as much a fixture at the ministry as the piles of parchment and desks. Swept from the memories of his co-workers and superiors were all the things that made him more than his position. No one considered the man who once embarrassed his youngest brother after the second task at the Tri-Wizard Tournament. There were none who cared to recall the prefect who fell into a fireside chair each evening and did not stir until morning, trying to understand why the latest victim of the Monster of Slytherin was his girlfriend. No, the Percy Weasley they knew was the spiritless figure in practical grey robes calmly fielding questions about Mr. Lestrange's availability (and the more veiled questions about Mr. Lestrange's mental state at the moment, Azkaban's shadow had never left the Death Eater) and scurrying off to fetch records from the cavernous archives upon request.
The truth was far more complex. Percy preferred that others thought of him as a bland soul who would be lost without his dull and meaningless job to fill his waking hours. It made his real work easier. He was not seen to be a threat so no one guarded their words around him. Most of the time, Percy doubted they had even noticed him. It struck him as odd someone so tall with such vivid hair could so easy melt into the shadows.
Avery slithered over to his desk. He only noticed Percy when he wanted him to fetch something for him. "I need the Prichard files."
"Right away, sir," Percy said as he got up from his desk and started for the archive. It was a very dusty space and Percy half wondered if the dust in his hair were not the real reason for how he was perceived. The fine grey powder would dull anything and seemed omnipresent.
He returned five minutes later bearing the file and Avery took it without a word of thanks before he vanished down the same corridor from which he'd emerged. Percy returned to his work, waving his wand first over stacks of documents, then over a pile of blank parchment. He uttered the copying spell and with a burst of lavender light, the parchments were no longer blank. He set about filing the newly copied items.
At half past six, Percy leaned over to pick up his brolly - which he always carried with him - and set out for his flat. It was a two room Spartan space as unlike the Burrow as was possible. There were no rugs on the floor, very little furniture, and no pictures on any of the walls. Nothing obvious for Percy to stumble upon unprepared that would remind him of happier days or to get him in trouble with the Ministry. He buried all the photographs of his family in the false bottom of a box in the bottom of a chest of drawers. There were no pictures of Penelope hidden anywhere in the flat; but he had other ways of reminding himself of her.
He set the brolly on the table next to a finely bound copy of Homer's The Odyssey, while he performed his customary check for observers and spy spells. Reasonably confident of his privacy he tapped the umbrella with his wand and it became a roll of parchment. Blank travel papers already signed by the proper people and wanting only a name and destination. He took them from Macnair's office over lunch. The ancient executioner did not have a very efficient staff, Percy thought with a smile, if they could not be bothered to keep up with the papers he signed.
As if on cue, an owl knocked at a narrow window. Every week it was a different owl at a different window. Percy quickly opened the window and took the slip of paper from the owl.
Unfolded it contained only two words: Olive tree.
Percy scribbled a response on a blank scrap of parchment - last test - and handed it and the filched travel papers in a neat roll to the bird. He wished he could write more, to remind Penelope to take care even though he knew she always did, but it was too risky. Spies and cell leaders had to remain in their assigned roles until Voldemort was defeated. Their separate efforts nibbled away at their enemy's power and Percy had become apt enough at reading between the lines to see both the Death Eater's complacency and the shifting of resistance assets in preparation to a major action.
Percy summoned a bottle of Firewhiskey from a cabinet. He raised the bottle to The Odyssey in a silent toast to the secret wife he had not seen in eight months. It might have taken twenty years, but the hero of that tale eventually reunited with his Penelope. Someday, he promised himself as the whiskey burned down his throat, he and his beloved would have their own happy ending.