1) The Ministry has Might.
The memos flew quick and fast around the office. Through the open door, Percy Weasley saw the hunch of the minister's shoulders, heard the huff of resignation with each exhale. Occasional shouts and bangs echoed down the corridor, unruffled by the thick carpet.
Percy would have been happier enclosed in his office, door shut from prying eyes. Every day, random people would stop by random offices at the Ministry of Magic for a chat, a spot of tea and a little random personality change. Every week, the atrium was a little less crowded, the line for the fireplaces a little shorter. Every minute Percy was a little more afraid.
Thankfully, no one had stopped by his office for a chat. No spells had whispered into his ear to take over control.
Percy didn't know what was worse; Death Eaters attempting to cast the Imperius curse on him, or the realization that the Death Eaters didn't think they had to cast it on him.
That was a tough pill to swallow.
He didn't care who your parents were! A person couldn't decide where they were born or where they died; only how they lived their life in between. He believed he lived his life like that. Apparently, no one noticed.
Or he didn't let it show as well as he thought.
A loud roar from below shook him out of his stupor. Was that it? Were the Death Eaters coming? He sought out the eyes of his coworkers.
Quick check of the office: Himself, special assistant to the minister, pure blood. In the main room: Zeb Smith, Media liaison, not Muggle born. Cara Carmichael, Magical Creatures liaison, proud pure blood. David Pinsher, European liaison, not Muggle born. Madeline Doughty, Muggle liaison, Muggle born. Shit.
Smith and Carmichael had their heads down, unwilling to catch his eye. Pinsher was frantically writing, possibly covering his tracks, most likely the tracks of someone else.
Time to live that life in between, Percy thought. He stood abruptly.
"Ms. Doughty, my office, now!" Percy bellowed out. His office was essentially a broom cupboard with an Engorgement charm, another person would barely fit, and the door wouldn't close. Come to think of it, that would be better. He would have nothing to hide.
"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" Madeline Doughty hurried over, eyes glancing toward the minister's open door and their suddenly busy co-workers before looking at him quizzically. Percy never bellowed at the office, preferring for his co-workers and assistants to like him.
"I've noticed the minister has not eaten today," he stated a little louder than necessary for a witch standing two feet away. "He enjoys pastries from a little shop in Diagon Alley. Please buy some." Percy's wallet fell to the floor. Galleons spilled out. Both of them kneeled down to pick up the mess.
"Mr. Weasley, I..." Madeline's voice trailed off as she picked up a wad of Muggle money that had fallen out of his wallet.
"He prefers Napoleons and empanadas, not local fare." Percy stated, staring at her, willing her to get the idea that maybe a Cornish pastry would not be the best choice at the moment.
A crash was heard down the hallway. They jumped to their feet, Madeline still holding the money.
Madeline started trembling. "Was that it?"
Percy didn't know if she meant the order was complete or the fact the roar was getting closer. Or both.
"Leave from the flue right here, and on the double," he grabbed her arm and started walking to the nearest fireplace. "The minister needs service, quick!"
"The minister likes Continental pastries, correct?" Madeline gave his arm a squeeze, still trembling but face resolute.
Relief flooded Percy's face. "The fresher the better," he reminded her.
"I'll go to Spain if needed," she gave him a smile, though tears gathered unshed in her eyes. "Thanks, Mr. Weasley," she whispered.
He whipped around, his robes flying to attempt to cover her disappearance. A whoosh told him she was gone.
"Weasley, my office," Rufus Scrimgeour stood calmly at his door, beckoning to his assistant.
Percy knew Scrimgeour had seen the exchange between him and Madeline. What was the minister going to do about it? The noise outside their department door was getting louder. What were they going to do about that?
"Close the door behind you, Weasley," the minister directed. "The doors have eyes now, if you have seen Dolores' entrance." He motioned to a chair. "Please, have a seat." Percy sat down quietly, ear half turned toward the office entrance, poised for flight or fight, he hadn't figured out which yet.
Scrimgeour stared at him, waiting for him to calm. "I know what you did with Doughty, I know how you will react when the Death Eaters come. I need you to leave me be."
"What?" Percy breathed back, shocked. "What are you talking about? I'm not leaving your side, Minister."
"Let go, Weasley," Scrimgeour repeated. "They are coming. You-Know-Who's puppet is coming. I'm not leaving the room alive. You can."
"I'm not leaving you, sir." Percy declared to the minister, standing up, wand out. Scrimgeour was an auror at one point, wasn't he? Where was the fight? If Percy was choosing to fight for his life over flight, so should Scrimgeour.
"Weasley, walk out that door. Go sit in your broom cupboard, keep your head down and stay alive," Scrimgeour commanded. Percy remained still. Scrimgeour tried one last tactic.
"You want to help the Madelines of our world?" At Percy's nod, Scrimgeour's shoulders rose for the first time today. With a quick flip of his wand, the minister conjured a bit of Muggle origami. In his memory, Percy likened it to a crane.
"Go, my friend. Let them know Percy Weasley will be looking for you." the minister said to the crane resting in his palm. With a puff of air, Scrimgeour blew the little origami bird into the air, than watched it vanish into the ether.
A knock on the door signaled time was up. Cara Carmichael entered the room. "Sir? Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Rowle and Mr. Thicknesse to see you."
The minister stood, loped quickly to Percy's side and put a hand on his shoulder. "Go now, Weasley." Percy felt a push and walked to the exit.
The Death Eaters stood on the other side, elation on their faces. Percy slowly returned to his office, his desk, and his chair, sinking down into his seat, hands covering his face.
Percy realized he had just witnessed Rufus Scrimgeour's last bit of magic.
The hours passed slowly. The unerring quiet told Percy that charms had been cast, spells had been flung and the old auror had not emerged victorious.
The Minister's door flew open with a bang. Malfoy and Knowle strode out, wearing looks of satisfaction. Percy knew that he needed to repay Scrimgeour for his last act of magic, for showing Percy the way to help instead of defending himself.
Percy knocked on the open door frame. "My congratulations, Minister." Percy felt the bile rise in the back of his throat. "I will be in my office if needed, at your service." He spun on his heel, desperate to escape the room. No sign of blood, no sign of disorder, no sign of Scrimgeour. What horror had happened there?
"Not so fast, Mr. Weasley," Thicknesse intoned. "You, from a family of blood traitors. Are you willing to betray your blood?"
Percy froze. Here it was. Was he choosing his place, only to die after all? He turned toward the new minister, this puppet of You-Know-Who.
"Sir, you can't choose your parents. You can only choose your life." Fists balled at his side, Percy dared Thicknesse to strike him down, to see the double meaning of his words, how important his words were to someone Muggle born. But the puppet minister only laughed.
"Good choice. Go on, young man. Post this in the atrium, and spread the word." Thicknesse directed and unrolled a big poster. Percy saw his little brother's best friend staring back, 'Undesirable No. 1' written above his head.
Percy accepted the packet and strolled away from the minister's office, down the hallway, madly tempted to whistle. He tried to mimic those stupid flying inter-departmental memos, mocking him with their pastel colors and weightlessness. They had no ears to hear the last silent screams of Rufus Scrimgeour, no eyes to witness the coup at the ministry.
Pretending not to have a care in the world, Percy called the lift and began the journey to the atrium. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the only other passenger. The elder wizard looked at him, concern on his face. Percy realized he was trembling.
"Pius Thicknesse is our new minister, Shacklebolt," Percy vocalized with a heartiness he did not feel, nor Kingsley would buy. "This is the auror department's new assignment." He unrolled the poster.
Kingsley stared at him.
The lift doors opened. Stepping out, he cleared his throat. "Shacklebolt, I hope you will join me in welcoming our new minister, Pius Thicknesse," Percy intoned in his most pompous manner, speaking not just to the tall wizard but everyone nearby in the Atrium. "Please let all who are skeptical know that the ministry is might."
A wave of voices covered the two men. Witches and wizards turned to each other aghast, turned away to disapparate, turned away from them in horror. Percy slowly turned around and affixed the poster of his brother's best friend to the wall. The mighty were coming.
