Disclaimer: Thanks to J.K. Rowling for allowing me to take her characters for a lengthy stroll through my imagination.
Sixteen
A Trail of Breadcrumbs
The unusual spices were like a symphony to his nose, waiting to be experienced and savored. Percy could not believe he had holed himself up in his flat like a hermit for so long when just a short Underground ride away, he could be transported into an exotic land with a musical language of its own. Now that he had a good idea of the area, he could even Apparate directly into a secluded spot.
He dismissed the stack of papers waiting for him on his rickety dining table. He was so accustomed to filling in his empty hours with inconsequential drudgery his conscience tugged at him if he failed to cram his briefcase full before leaving work each evening.
Only one thing needed his attention that day and he had already taken care of it over his breakfast tea. A note to Ginny attesting to her exceptional match-making skills was already en route with his trusty owl, Hermes. Sean had babbled on about how they should invite Teddy to the upcoming Quidditch match; the small satisfied smile Penny had given in return when she’d admonished her son to ‘wait and see’ had made Percy’s heart sing with possibilities. Despite all the promotions which had come his way at the Ministry, he felt as if the world was opening up to him for the very first time.
Heady with happiness, he located a sunny spot in one of the small parks ringing the main thoroughfare and settled down for a bit of people-watching. Muggles mostly, but their unfamiliar style of dress make it particularly entertaining. He found enough Londoners dressed in jeans and jumpers just like he was to not feel like he stood out, but there were clearly enough variations in hair color alone that no one would have spared a second look at Tonks -- or even Teddy.
The pigeons scrambling for the last bits of his flatbread sandwich reminded him of the portions of his past he’d left intentionally vague. Granted, he was not proud of his early career with the Ministry, but it was hardly the sort of thing he would have hidden from Penny. Likely her inside knowledge of activities at Durmstrang was just as innocent as she had presented it, but Remus had been prudent to recommend caution. The subtle timing of the man’s entrance into the drawing room had not been lost on Percy. Remus had left the door to the nearby library open as an invitation to his guests so it was no surprise portions of the after dinner conversation with Penny had been overheard. After all, it would have been extremely rude of Percy to set any sort of privacy charm in his own sister’s home.
His father’s attack by Voldemort’s villainous snake outside the Department of Mysteries was not common knowledge, Percy reminded himself. The Order’s covert surveillance of that particular passage could have been brought into question, no doubt about it. And Percy’s first contact with Alastor Moody had come within hours. Had they been recruiting him already at that point or just sizing him up? It was difficult to say. All he could recall clearly was Moody’s glower as he knocked on Percy’s door long after the other Ministry employees had left for the night.
Truth be told, he’d been expecting Jules, the night watchman, to stick his head in as part of his nightly rounds. Instead Percy’s call of, “Enter!” had been met with the renowned Auror stalking ferociously into the small office. Percy barely had time to gasp as Moody drew forth his wand and directed it at the arcane wireless set. As Celestina Warbeck warbled in the background, Moody drew up a chair and pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey accompanied by two small glasses.
Without looking up from pouring, Moody growled, “You might as well stop looking for your wand; if I had been intent on causing you harm, you would already be dead.”
“Really, Alastor,” Percy uttered, unable to hide the nervous quaver in his voice. “You could find a less dramatic way to wish a chap a happy Christmas.”
“Why?” Moody volleyed back as he indicated the other glass. “Brought my own liquid Enervating Charm and all.”
Percy glanced briefly at the paperwork strewn all over his desktop; but in the next instant, the documents stacked themselves into three separate piles.
“You’re done for the night,” Moody announced with a grim set to his lips. “Now drink up.”
Percy hesitated briefly before complying. Recalling the file on Barty Crouch, Junior, he had been annotating earlier that evening, he sputtered, “How do I know you’re really who you say?”
Moody appraised him critically. “I’m an ancillary member of the Auror Department. The guard at the end of the corridor passed me through.”
“How do I know poor Jules isn’t lying in a pool of blood?”
“Because no wizard worth his salt would create such an unnecessary spectacle.”
“You stunned him, didn’t you?” Percy demanded wildly, searching his pockets once again for the wand poking out of his cloak -- which hung on the coat rack on the far side of the room.
Moody chuckled darkly. “Why don’t you grab your wand and check for yourself? I won’t stop you.”
Percy gulped noticeably as he rose to retrieve his wand and then directed a wordless Alohamora in the direction of the door. The heavy wood responded by swinging open sharply, the echo reverberating down the empty corridor as the holiday music jangled in the background. Polished to a mirror finish, the black tiles reflected the green and red garlands on the shores of a long ebony river. From the guard post at the far end, Jules turned around and waved cheerily, issuing Percy his signature gap-toothed smile.
“Satisfied?” Moody suggested with a slight lift to his visible eyebrow.
“He could still be--”
“Yes, yes!” Moody cut across impatiently. “I could have Polyjuiced him, Imperiused him, etc. Time’s wasting, boy. If I had wanted you dead, you would be. I assure you only the real Mad-Eye Moody would know that on your seventh birthday, your twin brothers played the most despicable prank…”
As Moody spun out the details in rather humiliating glory, Percy concluded the man must have been present at the celebration himself. True, the twins were infamous, but only a biographer could have amassed such minutia.
Sagging from relief as much as anything, Percy finally allowed, “Happy Christmas, Alastor. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”
“Not at all,” Moody chortled gruffly. “Now drink up!”
Percy was momentarily perplexed by the empty tumblers before them only to notice in the next moment the shimmering lilac mist of a Privacy Charm. His eyes widened in alarm as Moody leaned in closer and hissed, “Grab you cloak; your presence is needed at St. Mungo’s. There’s been an attack and your father has been seriously wounded….”
The details were lost in the pounding of blood in Percy’s ears as he obeyed robotically. He stumbled down to the lifts, barely noticing Jules’ cap still bore the decorative holly sprigs from the afternoon’s holiday celebration.
Knowing no further details would be forthcoming until they were well-beyond the Ministry’s shadow, Percy staggered toward the end of the lonely sidewalk where Moody clamped onto his upper arm to direct the Side-Along Apparition.
The clock above the sterile Dangerous Bites Ward read 9:32, but Percy could not have told anyone whether it was night or day. Through the small observation window, Arthur looked pale and somehow diminished against the stark and cavernous ward. Only an occasional quiver in his fingers indicated he was alive.
“Can I see him up close?” Percy squeaked through the rising lump in his throat.
“This is as far as we can go, I’m afraid,” Moody confirmed softly. “You can thank Remus Lupin for alerting me to retrieve you “ despite your current situation. Arthur’s wound is having trouble knitting and the Healers felt anything that caused his blood to pump unnecessarily, be it from joy or agitation, would only complicate matters.”
It took Percy a few moments to find the words. “Will he make it?”
“It’s too soon to tell,” Moody admitted somberly. “Let’s hope we got to him in time.”
“What happened?”
It seemed like a simple question, but Moody’s answer took Percy by surprise. “We’re not entirely sure. Arthur’s the only eye-witness and his words have been somewhat disjointed.”
“But how--”
“I don’t have all the answers, son. Suffice it to say this happened on Ministry grounds; inside the building, as a matter of fact.”
Percy felt his knees start to give way as he considered how many evenings he’d spent working alone in his office.
“Where exactly?” he wheezed as Moody’s grizzled arm kept him from sliding to the floor entirely.
“Not on the same floor as your office. Thankfully, the Minister’s wing is the most heavily guarded area of the building. But you should be more cautious in the future, Percy. Bureaucrats aren’t expected to give their lives in the line of duty.”
A thousand unanswered questions swirled through his mind, but Percy was too tired to frame them into words.
Sensing this, Moody offered, “Let’s get you back to your flat. I’ll come for you tomorrow when I’m able. I take it you don’t particularly want to encounter the remainder of your family, am I correct?”
“Not right now,” Percy mumbled as Moody guided him firmly towards the outgoing Floo in the Receiving Area. His meager flat did not have a fireplace, but he could Floo to the lobby area before ascending the five flights on foot.
After fitful dreams of being chased by shapeless phantoms, Percy awoke the next morning bleary-eyed but with the determination that he would find some scrap of information about the attack among the mountain of parchment filtering daily for the Minister’s attention. In his mind, it was an amorphous enemy he faced “ perhaps nothing more than bureaucratic ineptitude “ but his father would not be without an advocate who could work behind the scenes.
By late afternoon, he gave it up as impossible. Not even a report of an accidental tumble on the over-waxed floors: nothing which related even peripherally to the attack. Percy didn’t for one moment suppose Moody was lying; the evidence of his father helpless in hospital was irrefutable. Even if he allowed his incipient paranoia free rein, Percy could only conclude he was too unimportant for anyone to go to so much trouble to deceive him.
Mechanically, he went through the motions of attending the holiday reception for the Minister’s inner staff he had helped organize. What was one more plastic smile in a veritable ocean? With a heavy heart, he allowed everyone to think he was anxious to leave for Yuletide celebrations with his family. The untouched paperwork remained in the same neat stacks as he slipped out precisely at quitting time “ a first for him.
He hardly felt the chill wind moaning through the concrete canyons of greater London that evening, clasping his winter cloak closed as his leaden legs found their way home of their own accord. Thankful for the single amenity the run-down building of wizarding flats offered, he crawled with icy limbs to sit heavily on the cracked leather settee before the hearth. It was only days later that he wondered why he hadn’t simply Apparated or Flooed home directly that night.
Hours later, Moody’s features materializing in the coals awoke him from a stupor. The glacial dread in his bones made him briefly consider whether the lobby had been ringed with dementors while his mind had been elsewhere. Some of that must have conveyed itself to Moody as his face disappeared in mid-sentence and in the following heartbeat, the man himself was at Percy’s side.
“Is he?” was all Percy could manage before a strangled sob shook his body from top to bottom.
Grasping him firmly by the shoulders, Moody stressed, “The worst is over, Percy. Arthur’s wound finally responded to treatment and they expect to release him in a few days. He’s going to make a full recovery but he’s still very weak from all the blood loss. An extensive course of Blood Replenishing Potion will have him sorted out, you’ll see.”
“Will he be returning to the Burrow in time for Christmas?” Percy demanded through fevered lips.
“No, the entire family has made alternate arrangements to stay nearby.” Moody took a deep breath before adding, “Somewhere safe, but you won’t be able to visit them there.”
Before he had a chance to protest, Moody was hoisting him to his feet. “Come,” he growled in encouragement. “The others just left St. Mungo’s and I want you to be able to see Arthur before he falls asleep. It’s been a long, but joyful day for him. After that, you and I are going for a pub meal and some liquid fortification. It’s not like you have to report to work tomorrow.” At Percy’s blank look, Moody rolled his magical eye spectacularly. “It’s the weekend, you dolt!”
“You didn’t ask me to identify myself,” Moody chided him gently.
Percy gave a grim sort of smirk over his fish and chips. “Seemed rather ungrateful to doubt someone who overlooked the bad blood between me and the rest of my family.”
Moody waved him off. “We all have a shorter trigger for those closest to us “ which is why political debates between family members are always a bad idea. But these are uncertain times, lad, and we shouldn’t let politeness stand in the way of safety issues.”
“Did you stop to think I wasn’t exactly in the mood to relive another embarrassing escapade from my youth?”
Moody’s chuckle was like the rumble of a volcano. “There are other ways to establish identity. Although the Ministry is too mired in a long tradition of ineptitude to employ them.”
“Alastor, even as an adjutant Auror, you’re still considered a Ministry employee,” Percy returned with mock seriousness.
“How else would my observations have any weight? Not going to denounce me to the Minister himself, are you?” Moody appraised the rather rumpled young man sitting across from him.
“Not until I hear you out first,” Percy retuned with a glimmer of interest.
Moody took a long swallow from the tankard as his magical eye turned so only the white was visible. Tom, the barkeep, exited through the side door leading into the storeroom before Moody swiftly withdrew his wand. With scarcely a breath, a smoky whale was thrashing among their dinner things.
As it faded into the brick wall, Moody whispered, “You remember the Patronus Charm, don’t you? The results are unique for each wizard.”
Seeing Tom return with a bevy of full bottles levitated before him, Percy muttered under his breath, “Can’t a person’s Patronus change?”
“Let’s just assume you haven’t experienced such a cataclysmic upheaval in your life.”
Noting that Tom had his back to them again, Percy concentrated on the scene of his father sitting up in bed and talking animatedly with the lime-garbed Healer at his bedside. A scintillating creature erupted from his wand tip and waddled comically across the room. It dissipated among the legs of the tall stools just as Tom resumed his perpetual polishing of the bar surface.
“A platypus, very original,” Moody rasped into his lager. “If I were the betting sort, I would say you’re somewhat ambivalent about your life.”
Percy locked eyes with Moody’s. “A conclusion that could apply to anyone. How do you even know it’s me?”
Moody barked a sandpapery laugh. “Because Lupin is a close friend and your N.E.W.T. level training came from him.”
The next time he ran into Moody, the answers Percy demanded only gave rise to more questions.
Seeing Percy’s dejected expression, Moody growled, “Come, it can’t be as bad as that.” Percy made room as the veteran Auror lowered his battered body onto the other side of the bench.
Nothing was said about the worn clipping from the Daily Prophet Percy hastily folded and stuffed into his pocket, but Moody couldn’t have missed the banner headline announcing the escape of a major Death Eater contingent from Azkaban. Truth be told, his magical eye could probably distinguish the faded photo of the Weasleys’ Egyptian holiday as well. The world had seemed so rosy then.
“I’ve made a total dung heap out of my life!” Percy blurted before he realized it.
“And you think I haven’t?” Moody’s gravelly voice was surprising sympathetic. “Four ex-wives notwithstanding, how asinine do you think I felt after being ambushed by a blathering degenerate like Barty Crouch, Junior? After years of preaching constant vigilance, no less!”
“It’s often rumored the mentally deficient have amazing physical prowess,” Percy volunteered helpfully.
“Wish you’d been on hand to defend me before Dumbledore,” Moody grumbled.
“Surely you weren’t brought before the Wizengamot?” Percy decried.
“Facing Dumbledore alone was much worse,” Moody attested. “Those sad eyes that seem to know everything… What was I to do afterwards? Waste away in my cramped flat? Fight the bastards, I always say.”
“Just who are the bastards, Alastor? That’s what I want to know,” Percy confessed, finally giving voice to the vague disquiet that had slowly been stirring in his gut.
“A question that has troubled much greater minds for a number of years, I dare say.”
“If I wanted cryptic games, old man, I’d just owl Dumbledore directly,” Percy retorted.
Moody chortled as he patted Percy companionably on the shoulder. “For that, you owe me a meal. It’s your turn to buy anyway.”
It should have been obvious to Percy then that they were trying to recruit him. For when they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Remus was waiting in a roomy corner booth.
“The better to survey the surroundings,” Moody noted in approval as he led Percy over.
Much to Percy’s surprise, Remus was not alone.
The bright-eyed woman was not too much older than he was, Percy noted, as she held out her hand invitingly. “Wotcher. With that shock of hair, you must be a Weasley.”
“Percy.”
“Forgive my manners, this is Nymphadora Tonks,” Lupin managed as he cleared his throat self-consciously. “From the Auror Department.”
“Can’t say I’ve seen you around, er, Nym--” Percy hesitated on the name long enough for Tonks to cut him off with a radiant smile.
“It’s Tonks. Easier to remember and won’t demand that I fling a curse at you in return.”
“Join us, please,” Remus offered magnanimously.
Tonks screwed up her face at Moody’s impassive features. “I know, I know…Time to get back to my post. Can’t a girl escape your ball and chain anywhere, Mad-Eye?”
Moody chortled in response as he took the spot she had just vacated, motioning for Percy to follow suit.
Looking up from draping his work robes over the bench back, Percy caught an unreadable expression on Remus’ face. In the space of a heartbeat, it was gone as Tonks offered in parting, “I don’t have to tell you what it’s like to be low man on the totem pole. Nice to meet you, Percy.”
“Likewise,” Percy returned as a tall ale he hadn’t ordered arrived before him.
“First round’s on me,” Moody grumbled amicably as he took a quick swig of Firewhiskey then chased it with a long pull of golden ale.
Ignoring the tumbler Tom placed before him, Remus addressed Percy directly, “So how’s life in the front office?”
“Long hours and little recognition,” Percy replied. “Just like Tonks said.”
Remus chuckled at Percy’s irreverence. “She gets recognition enough. Only Auror on staff who’s a Metamorphmagus. You’ve probably crossed paths millions of times and not recognized her.”
“So her hair isn’t naturally pink?” Percy issued with a laugh of his own.
“It won’t be tomorrow,” Moody predicted as the late winter rain drummed a soothing rhythm on the roof.
“You’ll forgive me if I wonder how you and Alastor are acquainted,” Percy remarked in a non-confrontational tone.
The vagueness flitted across Remus’ features once again, but he responded with candor, “We once worked together with your uncles, Gideon and Fabian. I was just out of school.”
Percy remembered the heroic tales his mother had spun about her brothers who had died to rid the world of Voldemort’s influence. They had taken at least five Death Eaters with them while Percy was still in nappies.
“Doesn’t surprise me you never knew,” Moody added. “Remus is much too modest for his own good.”
Ignoring the scarred veteran before him, Remus took a tentative sip of the Firewhiskey before setting it down with a small shudder.
Breaking the heavy silence, Moody ventured, “Percy was looking for answers.”
“In a philosophical sense?” Remus rejoined.
Percy shrugged noncommittally. “I’ve made a right hash of my life “ but I suspect you know that already.”
“I’m not one for recriminations,” Remus answered. “But before we speak plainly, don’t you think you should verify who I am?” Without the slightest concern for the bustling pub around them, Remus pointed his wand towards the base of the tall pilsner glass before him. In the next instant, the unmistakable silhouette of a giraffe galloped within the golden liquid.
“You’re a mighty fine wizard, is what you are!” Percy gaped.
“Just practice.”
“Show him the newspaper clippings that had you shaking your head,” Moody urged. “Both of them.”
Considering he’d been steeling himself to seek Moody’s advice earlier, Percy complied without hesitation.
“Quite an achievement, don’t you think?” Remus commented enigmatically as he gazed upon the photo of Azkaban’s grim façade. “Or does it make you wonder who’s guarding the prisoners? Good thing you’re still handy with a Patronus. Platypus, I believe.”
That last statement alone would have established Remus’ identity in short fashion, Percy considered inwardly. Aloud, he voiced more immediate concerns, “Sirius Black seems to have become the Minister’s favored scapegoat and rallying cry. He’s too many places at once, it you ask me.”
“Perhaps he’s able to replicate himself at will,” Remus joked.
“You tell me. Ron once said you were at school with Black.”
Remus composed his thoughts before proposing, “You have the answer before you.” Gingerly turning the worn photo of the Weasleys on holiday, Remus pointed sharply at the wriggly bundle in Ron’s hands. “There.”
Percy was at a loss for words. “Scabbers?”
“How fitting!” Remus laughed wholeheartedly. “Ron never shared what you’d named him. But wasn’t he your pet first?”
Percy nodded, although he had no idea where Remus was going with this. “Another Weasley hand-me-down, I’m afraid.”
“How exactly did he come to be part of your family?” Remus posed.
Percy gulped as he momentarily considered whether the man before him had totally taken leave of his senses. But no, Remus’ gaze was just as warmly intelligent as ever.
“Before you consign me to the nut house, hear me out,” Remus implored.
Right, make that a Legilimens with reality issues. This was just getting better and better. “Is he on the level, Alastor?” Percy urged.
“Saner than most,” Moody rasped. “Just likes to take the scenic route. But he’ll likely make it worth your while.”
“Dad brought him home from the Ministry one day,” Percy capitulated. “Said he’d felt sorry for the scrawny thing, always sniffing about his office. Mum said Dad was just tired of sharing his meager lunch with a creature even more pathetic than himself.”
“Sounds just like Molly,” Moody commented in encouragement.
“Do you remember when that was?” Remus prompted.
“I was five and Ginny was just a few months old…” Percy hesitated. “Do I need to be more specific?”
“That’s sufficient. It was a few months later that Arthur first invited me to the Burrow. Molly was only too happy to misrepresent large portions of pie as the surest antidote to the grief I felt over the Potters.”
“Right, Harry’s folks. I recall Dad claiming that Scabbers must have had a close call with a Roman candle on the night everyone else celebrated the downfall of You-Know-Who. It was how he justified that Scabbers was terrified of loud noises and was missing a front toe.”
“Frankly, I’m surprised you remember all this from such a young age.”
“Tales retold among my brothers,” Percy maintained. “In retrospect, it was my father’s attempt to legitimize a pet others would have abandoned to the Ministry’s exterminators. But despite his best campaign, neither Bill nor Charlie showed much of an interest, so he became officially mine. I was most likely to remember to feed him anyway. When I was named Prefect in my fifth year, they bought me an owl; so Scabbers was passed along. Ron was only too happy to have a pet of his own when he started his first year.”
“Why were the twins bypassed?” Moody rumbled. “Just curious.”
“Didn’t I mention Scabbers’ pathological fear of loud noises? Even the clanging of pots in the kitchen made him blanch. If Dad hadn’t given me permission to remove his cage to my room early on, I don’t think he would have made it.”
“Yet he held his own against Hermione’s cat,” Remus countered.
“Don’t even remind me!” Percy rolled his eyes dramatically. “I don’t know which was worse during my tenure as Head Boy: the constant search for Scabbers while Crookshanks looked on with those restless eyes or Ron and Hermione arguing about it!”
“My vote goes to Ron and Hermione,” Moody mumbled under his breath.
“It was a tough year for me as well,” Remus commiserated. “And I don’t just mean the resignation of my post at year end. All my assumptions of the previous twelve years came crashing down around me.”
Percy looked bewildered. “I’m not sure I follow, Remus.”
“Perhaps if you’d spent more time at the Burrow, Ron would have told you the rest.”
“You mean how the mangy rat bit him and then ran away? Mum was rather relieved when she told me,” Percy admitted sheepishly. “And Ron got that ditzy little owl, Pigwidgeon, in the bargain.”
“Couldn’t have told it better myself. Managed to hit all the salient points,” Remus concluded with satisfaction. Then catching Tom’s eye, he ordered Firewhiskeys all around.
“Let me get this one,” Percy uttered as he slid a small stack of silver Sickles to the edge of the table. He studiously avoided looking at the threadbare cuffs of Remus’ faded jumper. “Considering I felt like I was wandering in the mist prior to the Firewhiskey, what precisely are the highlights?”
“May I?” Moody jumped in as he took a generous sip.
Nervously, Percy followed suit only to find the liquid fire streaming down his gullet fairly distracted him from the hypnotic effects of Moody’s damnable eye.
Moody counted off on his weathered fingers. “The timing of the acquisition. The missing toe. The irrational fears. The timing of the escape.”
“Don’t forget Arthur’s propensity to offer a kind hand to the disenfranchised,” Remus added. “Or to use the more common term: strays. Me among them. But I only saw what was before me. It took a wrenching moment for me to drop everything and avert disaster that night when I left without waiting for my potion to follow Ron, Hermione and Harry into the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow.”
“Sure, Remus, you wanted to save them from Sirius Black,” Percy dismissed the well-worn tale.
“Quite the contrary. Ron was pursuing a much more dangerous enemy; one who had lain dormant, biding his time like a virus.”
“Sirius Black plotting in Azkaban,” Percy echoed with a hint of impatience.
“Ron was chasing Scabbers that night; Scabbers was trying to hide from Sirius Black. Had been all year. Crookshanks was likely frustrated that he had no one to chase more than anything else.” But Remus’ next words brought Percy up short. “Your father befriended a true rat those many years ago, an escapee from the debacle which claimed Harry’s parents. A rogue Animagus who could assume the shape of a rat.”
“You’d have to be demented to hide as a rat for such a long time,” Percy scoffed.
“Precisely,” Moody agreed. “Mentally unhinged, had been for years. That’s what made him so bloody dangerous.”
“So what happened to the wizard “ or witch, I suppose “ who was not really a rat? And aren’t Animagi supposed to be registered with the Ministry?” Percy contributed, feeling his thoughts careen out of control.
“Found a different hiding place, I suppose.” Remus shrugged with indifference. “And being an unregistered Animagus was the most minor of his infractions, trust me. For that night he revealed his true identity as the betrayer of Harry’s parents. We thought he’d been our friend, too, but he sold us all out to Voldemort.” At Percy’s blank expression, Remus delivered his coup de grace, “Peter Pettigrew.”
Unimpressed, Percy sighed indulgently. “All that build-up and the culprit is a dead man, long buried and honored posthumously by the Minister himself.”
“Hardly buried,” Moody provided. “Pettigrew’s body was never found, only his finger. Cornelius Fudge was head of Magical Law Enforcement at the time and I remember it well. First on the scene and declared the case was closed. No one brought Black to trial, no evidence was presented. Remus was questioned incessantly by a short-sighted bunch of wankers who could only conceive of a werewolf as being the villain, not an innocent bystander.”
“Nothing’s changed in that respect,” Remus uttered with a hollow laugh. “They’re still convinced I know where Sirius Black is hiding his cache of escaped Death Eaters.”
“Do you?” Percy posed with mounting interest.
“In their fetid imaginations!” Remus replied scornfully. “I would suggest Malfoy Manor as a more likely destination were it not for the wretched landlord’s close ties to the current administration!”
“I can’t say that hasn’t bothered me also,” Percy admitted. “Knowing the son, I feel I know the father. Is that prejudicial?”
“Perhaps,” Moody confirmed. “But in this case, your first instincts are correct. Malfoy slipped through our fingers the first time, claimed he’d been Imperiused…”
“If there’s a first time, then you’re implying there will be a second!” Percy gasped.
Moody’s face was solemn as he pronounced, “Evil never sleeps, son. Didn’t Voldemort take over when Grindelwald was deposed? It’s a deathless beast whose eggs are exceptionally fertile.”
“Do you have any evidence of this?” Percy demanded.
“Only my first-hand testimony,” Remus answered openly. “And I’ve already established how much weight that carries with the powers that be.”
“What about Ron, Hermione or Harry?” suggested Percy.
Remus’ eyes burned with fervor. “Witnesses also, but Harry has been systematically discredited in the press.”
“No one else was present?”
“Snape swooped in but managed to get himself shot with a Confundus-Expelliarmus combination.”
”You?” Percy considered.
Remus shook his head gravely. “Harry. An untrained wizard whose emotions often amplify his spell power.”
Percy was about to decry Harry for having used deadly force against a teacher, but then reconsidered when he remembered it was Snape. Likely, Harry was not the only student who had dreamed of wiping that mocking jeer from Snape’s face “ he’d just had the right set of circumstances.
“I don’t know what to say,” Percy stammered.
“Say this conversation goes no further than this room,” Moody insisted.
“You have my word on it,” Percy promised. “A one way ticket to Bedlam is not in my future, I’ll thank you to remember.”
“That’s a Muggle institution,” Moody reminded him.
“Long dismantled, I believe,” Remus added wryly.
“I doubt they’d care!” Percy proclaimed as he drained his glass.
So what he’d intended as a edifying conversation had turned to mush in his very hands, Percy concluded in retrospect. But one fact remained clear: neither Moody nor Remus thought like other men “ and Percy was in need of a fresh approach.
From there, try as he might, he couldn’t get the details of that evening’s discussion to leave him alone for long. A bit of diversionary dialogue, he told himself in the cold light of morning, nothing more. Remus had always been a rather entertaining houseguest; the man had certainly wiled away enough hours at the Burrow.
Perhaps his judgment had been altered by the unfamiliar presence of Firewhiskey, Percy chided himself. Yet every salient point from the Scabbers’ discourse burned clearly in his mind; so unlike the fuzzy, disjointed memories that often accompany alcohol consumption. But Percy had little experience with liquor, so the distinction was not so readily apparent to him.
Despite immersing himself in an overhaul of the Minister’s entire filing system, the disquiet still simmered in the back of his mind. Too many new questions had sprouted like weeds from the few provocative answers he’d received. What’s more, he had no idea how to contact Remus directly for any type of illumination; he’d been too caught up in his own concerns to even offer the basic banalities of inquiring after Remus’ current circumstances. Never had he berated himself more thoroughly for his deplorable social skills.
It did not help that tantalizing segments of the puzzle would come across his desk in the regular course of the Ministry’s paperwork, either, teasing his overwrought brain to the point of distraction. Fudge had made the capture of Sirius Black a number one priority and reports from the Auror Department were routinely channeled through Percy’s office. His job was to organize the information into binders for succinct review by the Minister whose time was extremely limited. For this very reason, there was very little that went on in the Ministry that didn’t pass, sooner or later, through Percy’s overworked hands.
Not that he’d paid much attention to the contents of many of the reports in the past. Route them into the correct folder so anyone could simply flip to the appropriate pages in a matter of moments. Suddenly, he found himself engrossed in the minutia, reverting to his long-standing habit of arriving at his flat only to tumble wearily into bed.
He had long recognized that it was in his nature to be thorough, obsessive even; it was a trait he’d inherited from both his parents. Much of his father’s contentment in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office stemmed from his reverence for all things Muggle-related; that was hardly a secret. Was it that unusual for Percy to have found a similar calling?
A few lines in the daily interrogation logs revealed just how often Remus had been subjected to a repetitive line of questioning about his involvement with Black. Each time, Remus had given the same stoic responses: they had been friends at school; he was present when Dumbledore had advised the Potters to go into hiding. Regretfully, he’d not witnessed when their fate had been sealed by establishing Sirius Black as their Secret-Keeper. He had no knowledge of Black’s actions the next morning; he himself had been recovering from a particularly debilitating transformation the night before. Luckily, Remus had witnesses to attest that he’d been properly confined during the full moon or who knows how else he would have been implicated? Always the transcripts of the questions ended the same: Black had not contacted him during all those months when the man had been stalking Hogwarts; their only confrontation had come on the night Remus had forgotten to take his Wolfsbane Potion.
No mention was made of Pettigrew’s presence. Was Remus hiding this from the Ministry? Percy considered briefly; then decided they wouldn’t have believed him without any proof and the last thing a werewolf needed was to appear mentally unstable.
More recently, they’d grilled Remus about whether Black had tried to coerce him into joining his band of renegades and whether he had been aware that Black was planning to orchestrate the largest mass escape from Azkaban in history. It was a foregone conclusion that since Black had engineered his own escape, he would return to free his dark colleagues. Yet other than the betrayal of the Potters, there was nothing to link Black to any other Death Eater activity. But surely all that would be forthcoming when they apprehended him and forced him to give a full detailing -- except no one had seen Black in public since he’d escaped from Hogwarts nearly two years ago. If Percy were to theorize, he might suppose Black had fled the country. But if that were the case, the man couldn’t have been involved in all the random lawlessness the Ministry was determined to pin on him.
Much to his surprise, Percy discovered that Nymphadora Tonks had also been brought in for questioning although she’d been in the midst of her Auror training at the time of Black’s escape from Azkaban. Questioning a Ministry employee was irregular enough to spark Percy’s concern. Only through due diligence did he arrive at the connection: despite the difference in their ages, Tonks was Sirius Black’s cousin. She, too, denied any knowledge of Black’s grandiose plans. She’d met him once or twice as a child, but her side of the family had been estranged from the other Blacks since her mother eloped to marry Ted Tonks, a Muggle-born wizard.
Over and over, the reports mentioned that only Pettigrew’s finger had been found at the scene. Mass mayhem, annotated by the accounts of numerous Muggles prior to their memory modifications. The Obliviator Squad had been under Fudge’s direct control when he headed the Magical Law Enforcement Department. Percy tried to dismiss Scabbers’ missing toe as a coincidence, nothing more, one of those serendipitous moments that peppered life in general.
There was no doubt that consigning a wizard to Azkaban without a trial was somewhat unusual, though. The Blacks had been a powerful family in wizarding circles; surely, someone would have spoken out on behalf of their self-acknowledged black sheep. Percy was absolutely certain his own parents would not have washed their hands of him so cavalierly had the situations been reversed. So many holes in the story, so many elements that could be made to fit Remus’ retelling just as easily as the Ministry’s official version.
He tried to take the snippets of information and weave them into another plausible alternative; if Remus could do it, why couldn’t he? This would provide the antidote, Percy convinced himself. For days, his dreams were haunted by images of gnarled kite strings he painstakingly untangled only to watch the first gentle breeze undo his hard labor. None of the alternative explanations held up under scrutiny. Even the most promising scenario, that once freed from his rat shape Pettigrew had aided Black in his escape from Hogwarts, seemed too unlikely. An accomplice who had cleverly avoided capture would have tried to assist Black’s escape from Azkaban, not cower in his cage. And why frame his partner in the first place? A territorial dispute perhaps? Even if the rat had taken advantage of Arthur’s benevolence, he’d had ample opportunity to fade away into the woods surrounding the Burrow. He could have then assumed an alias in human form. Remaining in rat-face for twelve bloody years didn’t make any effing sense!
Even more unsettling was that having cut himself off from his schoolmates along with his family, Percy had only Remus’ word that Pettigrew was still alive. But if that were indeed true, then his father’s over-reaction about a spy being introduced into the Burrow was not so unreasonable. It still rankled Percy that Arthur would accuse him, his own son, of allowing the Ministry to manipulate him in such a fashion; but for the first time, Percy could understand why.
He had to get some perspective, Percy reminded himself sharply. Tossing the burgeoning Black file into his credenza for later, he turned his attention to more immediate matters. Merlin, that Umbridge woman seemed to be mired in quicksand at Hogwarts! He fully allowed they could be a bunch of miscreants, his Head Boy duties attested to that, but she had unleashed a virtual civil war. A backlash for her totalitarian methods; but as the adult in the equation, she should have anticipated that. Hadn’t the Minister placed full confidence in her managerial skills?
The next document brought him up short. The Auror Department was submitting an emergency requisition for Veritaserum. He was looking at a duplicate showing that Fudge had already signed off on it two days ago. The request came directly from Rufus Scrimgeour, the current head, but something about it didn’t sit right with him. Pulling the Hogwarts folder towards him once again, Percy riffled feverishly until he found another document which chilled him to the bone.
Perhaps he’d take a stroll down to the Auror Department, Percy decided. After all, the overview of supply requisitions fell within his job duties. The clock showed it was only a quarter hour past quitting time. With luck, he would encounter someone other than Scrimgeour who could provide him with an unbiased assessment. If he was really lucky, he would find Moody still at his desk.
Halfway down the corridor leading to the double doors, Percy encountered Moody just leaving for the day.
“No one left but the cleaning crew, I reckon,” Moody grunted as he awkwardly swung his cloak over his shoulders. “Late night yesterday.”
“More arrests?” Percy asked casually.
“Dead ends. Chasing phantoms, if you ask me.” At Percy’s determined expression, Moody added in an undertone, “Is there something I can help you with?”
With a self-deprecating sigh, Percy admitted, “I feel a bit like that hapless classmate of Ron’s, to tell you the truth. Neville Longbottom. His most intent actions always go up in putrid smoke before his eyes.”
Moody scowled for a moment. “Only Longbottom I know is Frank. One of the most deadly Aurors to ever tread these halls. His wandwork was legendary; that is until Bellatrix Lestrange took it into her barmy head to torture him and his wife into madness.”
He hadn’t known then how a recent visit to the Incurable Ward had disturbed Moody just as much as Harry. But at that moment, the man’s words felt like a strange affirmation of sorts. Percy nodded grimly as he hefted the heavy portfolio under his arm.
Catching the subtle signal, Moody proposed in a jovial tone, “You look like you’ve spent too many hours at your desk, son. Why don’t we both stretch our legs? Looks like winter has finally given it up for another year; but I don’t suppose you rate an office with a magical window, do you?”
Locking the files in his office, Percy grabbed his own overcoat and dimmed the wall sconces in case he felt a need to return later. Truth be told, he could use a breath of fresh air himself.
Once past the employee entrance, the blustery wind threatened to snatch Moody’s bowler hat but he managed to Summon it just in time. A judicious application of a Sticking Charm kept the problem from recurring. Even fully buttoned, Percy’s coat tried to wing itself from his frame until they turned the far corner and the wind died down to a dull roar. The first purple fingers of dusk were reaching out to them, but the sidewalks had already been deserted by Ministry workers eager to return to their homes and families.
“Seems like a ghost town,” Percy remarked conversationally as he cast his Patronus inside a dark storefront as they passed.
“Preferable to be surrounded by wraiths without ears and mouths,” Moody rumbled in return as he followed Percy’s example. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Veritaserum,” Percy replied succinctly. “An emergency requisition from Scrimgeour.”
“Got to be ready for interrogations. Veritaserum is considered to be humane.”
“Scrimgeour established a redundancy when he first took over. He was very careful in that respect,” Percy explained.
“And you’re wondering whether we’ve completed an inordinate amount of interrogations within the past, what?”
“Six to nine months.”
“Not that I’m aware of. Do you think an employee may be siphoning some off to sell on the black market?” Moody suggested.
“Actually, I hadn’t considered that,” Percy mused. “You have a suspicious mind, Alastor.”
“I’m paid to be suspicious. What about you?”
Percy was caught unprepared. “Me?” he stammered. “I’m the Minister’s entire clerical department; I review all sorts of documents before filing them.”
“Is this what you wished to bring to my attention before?” Moody shot back. “When I found you moping in the halls?”
“Geez, Alastor, does that magical eye allow you to see into my brain?” Percy decried nervously.
“No, I’d have more success with entrapment if it did. I found you in a corridor that leads nowhere but the Auror Department. Unless you were leaving, which didn’t seem to be the case…” Moody let his words trail off into the evening shadows.
“Am I that transparent? First Remus practically yanks the very words from my lips and now this!”
Moody chuckled deeply. “I’m also paid to be observant. And Lupin’s no Legilimens, if that’s what you’re implying. He would find delving into another’s private thoughts unseemly.”
“Then how does he do it?”
“Can be a bit uncanny, I admit. Reads the little tics everyone else overlooks.” Moody shrugged. “Suspect it’s just an outgrowth of having too much time on his hands. Idleness doesn’t really agree with him.”
“Has he been unable to secure a position? Dumbledore doesn’t seem the type to give him a bad recommendation.”
“Have you even read the laws your august Ministry has been spewing out in the past decade?” Moody growled. “Dumbledore could give him the most glowing review and the anti-werewolf legislation would still slap him to the ground. Dumbledore was the only one willing to give him a chance.”
“He was a superlative teacher,” Percy affirmed with gnawing unease.
“Tell that to Dolores Umbridge who thinks werewolves aren’t fit to lick her boots!”
“How does she figure into it?”
“The most restrictive laws were penned by her poisonous quill. Check the archives. I doubt anyone would question the Minister’s right-hand man reviewing such documents.”
With a sinking feeling, Percy admitted, “The Wizengamot records are in total chaos. I’d be flummoxed if the clerks even know how to alphabetize!”
“Doesn’t surprise me one bit.”
“You don’t trust anything with Umbridge’s name attached, do you?” Percy ventured.
“Part of my job.”
“Well, she’s also at the heart of the problem I encountered and I’m fairly certain the Minister himself is unaware of the ramifications.”
His interest piqued, Moody urged, “Veritaserum again?”
“A rather large portion of the Aurors’ backlog was diverted to Hogwarts just months ago.”
“Can’t say I have much intimate knowledge of the inner workings at Hogwarts,” Moody muttered in a self-deprecating manner. “But I trust Dumbledore.”
“Despite those who wish to paint him as senile, I’ve never doubted him either.” Remembering his rather pompous words to Ron, Percy added, “But I’m not paid to speak my mind, you know how it is.”
“Minerva McGonagall has a heart of gold.”
“If the request had come from her, I would be less worried. Some clumsy student smashing an entire tray, perhaps.”
“Then who?”
“Dolores Umbridge at both ends. She submits the request, then approves redistribution from the Ministry’s stores. Stores that should be sacrosanct.”
“Sounds like a clerical snafu,” Moody commiserated. “Right up your alley.”
“There’s more to it than that! Brewing Veritaserum was part of Snape’s curriculum for his seventh year N.E.W.T. classes. Something he muttered under this breath as he berated our efforts kept tugging at me. So I checked the Ministry’s ongoing contracts for Veritaserum. We buy it from Hogwarts; Snape brews it in his spare time as extra income for the school as well as himself.”
Moody laughed sharply at the absurdity of it all. “Do you think it’s like one of Mundungus Fletcher’s schemes to get the Ministry to buy back its own Veritaserum?”
“That I could handle. I’m wondering what prompted such an unprecedented need for Veritaserum at Hogwarts when they are capable of brewing enough for their own needs!” Percy stopped in his tracks to emphasize his point. “The faculty is not that large; and the one thing I was able to discover in the legal archives is that it’s illegal to administer Veritaserum to anyone who’s not of age. Not without the express consent of their parents. Not even a Healer can administer it.” Percy took a moment to catch his breath, then wailed, “Did they somehow manage to capture Sirius Black and forget to inform the Ministry?”
“The Auror Department has no jurisdiction over Hogwarts,” Moody testified grimly. “Why seek me out?”
“Am I seeing evil intentions where there are none?” Percy moaned as he took off again at a brisk clip.
Moody struggled to keep up as he cautioned, “You’re asking a man with a propensity to question every shadow.”
“I’m asking a man whom I trust, someone how knows evil when he sees it,” Percy corrected.
“Do you want me to relay this to Remus?”
“I would have brought it to him myself if I knew how to owl him,” Percy conceded. “Even the records of his interrogations don’t show his current address. Just London.”
“You’d have to ask Dumbledore about that,” was Moody’s enigmatic reply.
“Dumbledore?”
“He’s the Secret-Keeper,” Moody supplied. “That’s all I can say.”
As their footsteps echoed hollowly among the concrete storefronts, the implication rose unbidden in Percy’s mind. “Remus’ residence is being protected by a Fidelius Charm?”
“It’s more for the benefit of the owner of the house, not Remus.”
“I should have drawn him out when we were at the pub,” Percy muttered under his breath.
“If it’s any consolation, laddie, Remus is as tight-lipped as they come. You’d likely not get anything out of him that he wasn’t ready to share. And werewolves are impervious to Veritaserum.”
“And what exactly puts Remus in a sharing mood? Large quantities of alcohol?”
“He’d never fall for that.” Moody thought for a moment before suggesting. “You could begin by asking him about the tail end of your previous discussion.”
“About the rat who’s not really a rat?”
“Ask him where Ron got Pigwidgeon.”
Percy had always wondered how that conversation would have gone, but he never got the chance to initiate it. The night he was to meet Remus for a friendly game of darts at a nearby Muggle pub, he received an urgent Patronus message advising that an emergency with Harry had come up. After a few hours of fitful sleep, an owl arrived from the Minister himself alerting Percy to meet him in the Atrium as soon as possible -- the Ministry was under attack.
By the time he next heard from Remus, Rufus Scrimgeour had assumed the post of Minister for Magic in the wake of Fudge’s resignation. This time, they met in the tony flat Dumbledore had provided and Remus introduced Percy to Kingsley Shacklebolt, on temporary leave from shadowing the Muggle Prime Minister.
Percy sighed deeply as he took in the Muggles basking on the nearby park benches. Licking the sticky honey from the baklava off his fingers, he smiled as he imagined doing the same for Penny. Soon, he promised himself. If he couldn’t yet share the secrets from his past, he’d share a bit of the present. As for the paperwork that awaited him in his flat, it would still be there when he returned. But today, he’d been afforded a rare gift indeed: the opportunity to daydream.