This story, with its little drabblings of Tom Waits lyrics woven in, is for my fellow Lounger, iwright. Happy Christmas, Ian. Thank you, as always, to J.K.R. for letting me play with her toys.
Bloody Rita.
Harry ran through the swath of lawn until he reached the empty play park, where he threw himself on the climbing bars and crossed as though he were being chased by Fiendfyre. At the last bar, he swung to the side and started chin-ups over the top.
One might reasonably assume that being forced for years to wear Dudley's hand-me-downs, with their fabric stretched beyond the limits for which it was engineered, would have taught Harry the pointlessness of vanity, and if not, surely the visit to the otherworldly King's Cross would have done so. Assuredly, these punishing training sessions he'd set for himself were not for the attentions of witches; he had more of that than he wanted, and Ginny, the only woman whose opinion mattered, seemed pleased enough with how he looked, especially after she'd won a Quidditch match. So it was with an embarrassed reluctance that Harry had to admit to himself that the genesis of this newfound attention to fitness flowed directly from the quill of the repellent Rita Skeeter.
Unbelieveable.
The question had seemed innocuous enough, even for Skeeter, who had purred, "How are you planning on keeping up with that Chaser girlfriend of yours now that you've been retired to a desk?"
He'd rolled his eyes and had questioned her back about some minutiae of public policy Hermione had parsed over supper at the Burrow. But this little needle poked at him, and now that he had assumed his desk job in the Auror offices, he had carved out time before and after work while Ginny was still training - to train himself for the job he no longer held.
He hooked his legs in the bars and began to curl his body up to his knees, spitting his count as he went.
He had to admit a bit of guilt. These workouts weren't all a reaction to Rita's lucky jab. He had taken pride in fighting with the Aurors, the people who fought the dregs from the War - those who had not been killed at the Battle of Hogwarts or caught soon after. He cringed at being crowned a savior, yet he'd slid into a post-war job of saving, of service. It had made him break a sweat. It had made him feel needed.
But Voldemort had taken his venom with him when he'd left Harry, and the burn to fight was snuffing itself out. He and Ron had both been encouraged to apply for the positions which would have them fighting threats with quills instead of wands. And when he was awarded a promotion and Ron was not, Ron was generous, but Harry remembered the schoolboy in his shadow, the one who let a Horcrux tell him his mother would have preferred Harry to the child she was given. And too, there were the other Aurors who still were risking more than anyone should ask of them.
Unlike Percy. How is it the ones responsible for making this mess had only gotten their sorry arses stapled to a goddamn desk?
Harry unlocked his knees from the bars and dropped to the ground, the shock of the impact shooting up his legs. He lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his face before making his weary body race home. Everything ached. Harry prefered it that way.
He barely had time to shower when his Floo roared, and Ron called out for an invitation into his drawing room. Ron slid onto a sofa and peeled off his boots, easing each leg onto the cushions as he did so.
"Tea?" Harry offered.
"If you don't mind. Got to go to the shop before I go home, or else I won't want to go at all. Taking Hermione out tomorrow. Need to get my hours in tonight. George'll probably want me to stay over, I reckon." Ron forced this speech out and then closed his eyes.
Harry frowned and went to go put the kettle on. Ron had been working full time at the job Harry'd just given up; Harry knew it could be exhausting work, especially if a night shift were required. George and Fred spent long hours at their shop before Fred's death; now, Ron spent at least twenty hours there a week, sometimes more, for Ron had said that he would go in the storeroom sometimes and find George just staring at nothing at all, a pricing quill limp in his fingers.
Everyone worried about George, but there wasn't enough time in the day to do what one wished. His parents hovered close; Molly worked at the register whenever he'd let her, but the unspoken feeling was that it wasn't the same as Fred. Ginny was traveling for Quidditch, Charlie was back in Romania, and Bill was absorbed with work and his new family. No one faulted them. They did what they could.
But Harry could see it wasn't a clerk or a casserole or a grieving mother's fierce hug that George needed; it was Fred's fraternal presence that he required, and Harry's help or a pint with Lee weren't filling the hole. George needed a brother, and Ron was there, always there for him, putting others' needs before his own.
It was a problem Harry couldn't fix, and his irritation at this mingled with his guilt over Ron, and the Aurors, and settled onto Percy.
The git.
Percy lived in London and still worked at the Ministry, at a desk like the one Harry now occupied, and yet he'd not made a habit of the shop. Or George. Molly, who was relieved to have her straying boy back into the family fold, was careful in her mentions of him, and in a rare moment, was quietly abrupt with Harry when he'd pointedly asked about his absence.
"Tea." Harry set the cup in front of Ron, who spoke without opening his eyes.
"Got to go buy Hermione a present. Anniversary."
Harry frowned. "Of what?"
Ron cleared his throat and turned pink. "Right. Never mind."
Harry pulled a face. "Merlin. Did that whole she's like my sister bit mean nothing to you? Shall I tell you how Ginny likes…."
"Bugger. Off." Ron turned from pink to red.
Harry grinned apologetically. "You are excused, as you look like shite. Haven't dealt with vampires lately, have you?"
"Seen Perce this week?" Ron said, casually.
"Leaving." Harry said, trying to keep the bitterness from creeping into his voice.
"Huh. Says he's been busy. Dad is too. Makes sense." Ron sat up to take a gulp of tea.
Harry bit back the thoughts of the swotty parchment-pusher leaving at five o'clock exactly, his inbox empty, his hands carrying only an obnoxious metal lunch pail. Bloody empty inbox. Who has a perpetually empty inbox?Not someone who is "busy," I reckon.
Harry wondered when he'd started to fuss over Ron like Molly would have - if she knew how much he was trying to do in one day, every day.
Ron bolted the rest of his tea and grunted as he laced his feet back into his boots.
"Harry," Ron blurted, as a sudden afterthought. "I'm glad you got the promotion. Really. Maybe it's time for me to quit, too. Dunno how Mad-Eye did it all those years. Even though there were more of us Aurors then."
"Yeah, and you're already that ugly for starters." Harry nodded.
"Sod off," Ron laughed.
..o0O0o..
Harry walked leisurely up the hall to Kingsley's office. He'd generally avoided the Undersecretary's office, but lately he'd made a loop to pass through, to figure out what the hell Percy was up to. He strolled by his desk, where Percy was signing flagged parchments in files, scanning each in turn before blessing them with his name and flicking the folder shut. A medal from Rufus Scrimgeour was framed above his head. Harry stopped, transfixed by its absurdity. How many ways can you polish up a turd?
"Harry," clipped Percy, saying it as a welcome and a dismissal.
Weatherby.thought Harry. "Hello, Percy. Haven't seen you around much."
"Oh, you know, Minister Shaklebolt keeps me very busy."
Harry scowled at the empty inbox. "Looks like it. See you."
In the Minister's office, Kingsley was standing with his wand pointed at his chair.
"Morning, Harry! Office tip for you - an Engorgement Charm to the lower back of the seat is quite helpful for the spine. Had an Egyptian colleague who spread his work on his carpet and sat midair. But the breeze, you see."
"Minister," Harry nodded as he took a seat, noticing that the wooden chair was gouging into his back.
"I am sure that you have plenty of direction in the Auror office, but I do want to allow for you to carve some time into your day for a project. I'd like for you to go back and look through the War files; I think, being Outsider Number One, you would have an interesting insight which would lend itself to the ongoing reforms. Hermione is working from a similar end backwards, and it's my opinion that when you meet in the middle, we will be able to create some permanent change. I would think starting somewhere around Delores being settled at Hogwarts would be a good place for you to begin. Read, take notes, look for patterns. What do you think?"
Harry forced a smile. "I think I'm going to need a comfortable chair."
..o0O0o..
Harry requested a large pile of files dating shortly after Voldemort's return. He'd almost corrected the archivist in the File Room when she brought him these unfaded folders until he realized with a pang how very recent this history was.
Recent. But complicated,he thought, as he switched from carrying the heavy load to levitating the stack through the lift and back to his desk. He lingered over his new coffee ritual, packing the small moka pot with espresso from beans he had just ground - Pulvis!- and shut his office door to keep him from distractions. Or from escaping.
He shouldn't have worried, for the files proved fascinating reading. Just minutes into his work, Harry began two lists on separate parchments. The first was for his report, a carefully annotated list of details within documents with his own commentary in bullet points underneath each item.
The second list was the one drawing his greater share of interest, for like anApareciumor aSpecialis Revelio, this compilation of months of Ministry misdeeds glowed with the quill ink of Percy Weasley illuminating a picture Harry had not expected.
It started with Arthur. His position, and his freedom, had been in peril; there were notes to begin inquiries into the allegiances of Arthur Weasley which were never commented upon again. Percy's name was not tied to these forgotten memos, but Percy had been responsible for accounting for the misdeeds of many others; here his name was obvious by its absence.
Percy had wounded his parents with his blind love for the Ministry, but Harry was finding a more complex story, one that included a net of wards over Arthur Weasley delicately and carefully woven together by his son.
Weeks after Ron ignored his brother's nasty note warning him of the dangers of becoming tied to Harry Potter, Ron needed his own net. Much later, the Healer that was to be dispatched with an officer from Magical Law Enforcement never received the notice for a house call to Ottery St. Catchpole to examine a student reportedly convalescing from Spattergroit.
The Carrows had pushed the Board of Governors to create a Reform Academy for the children who required correction, the ones who subverted the educational process by attempting to release their classmates from discipline or by stealing valuable Hogwarts antiquities.
Like the Sword of Godric Gryffindor.
The implementation of the project had the full support of all invested parties, with Severus Snape slithering through an abstention from the vote, but somehow the plan breathed its last while snagged in Percy's quill.
The large print giveth, and the small print taketh away.
However, it was the last document floating casually from the tottering pile on his desk that silenced the mutterings in Harry's mind, for after it, he had no more to say. An indictment, crafted by Percy, detailing his faulty fidelity to the Ministry throughout the rise of Voldermort and his refusal to join his brothers in their fight - an intricately thorough case for his punishment - lay pathetically apart from the valid cases sorted by another quill that were sent to trial. Percy had included charts. In a solitary report, meaningful to no one but him, he had tried himself and found himself guilty as charged.
A punishment had been issued; Percy was to report to St. Mungo's after working hours and over weekends to volunteer with the war wounded. A specific assignment would be forthcoming. At the end of the page, in a shakier version of Percy's schoolbook-perfect writing, there was a note:Percy Weasley's volunteer work has been assigned and will begin on this day, the 1st of July, 1998.There was no end to this self-imposed punishment.
Harry had a headache. A day of reading, a missed lunch, a final maximum of espresso exceeded would have been enough without the knowledge that Percy Weasley had, in a very organized and thorough and furtive way, set himself a life sentence.
The clock read five until five. Harry abandoned the dregs of his cup and his files splayed open, and he bolted out the door to beat Percy to the lobby. Fortunately, Percy had no attention for anyone but senior officials. Harry put little effort into his stealth, only sliding his invisibility cloak over himself when he reached the lobby of St. Mungo's.
A chance greeting by a Healer paused Percy, one hand open on the door to the locked Spell Damage ward, allowing Harry to slip past him.
Alice and Frank Longbottom, still in their beds, had mournfully aged, thinning greying hair framing smoothed, waxy features. Percy said a careful hello to each and moved beyond them to a bed in the far corner. There was a young woman hugging her knees and facing a bright bank of windows, sunlight filtering through a long tangle of golden curls which hid her face.
An odd feeling of reverence held him back from sneaking closer. Percy reached her bed and knelt down, lightly touching her shoulder. As if he had pushed a button on a Muggle toy, she moved suddenly to grab him into a frightened hug, and while Percy smoothed her hair, Harry's stomach wrenched as he looked into the relieved face of Penelope Clearwater.
He turned away reflexively and circled around the Healer station at the front of the ward. The Mediwitch had stepped away, and he was able to easily pull a file under his cloak.
He hadn't remembered Penelope at the final battle, though that is where she had received an odd mixture of hexes and curses, dulling her mind and heightening her anxious senses. The mediwitches were giving her near toxic amounts of Calming Draughts, their regret and frustration spelled out in multiple experiments detailed in her chart.
Harry did not need to read more. He did not need a Calming Draught, though he decided in a moment of impulse that he did need a draught of some kind, and someone in whom he could confide his concerns.
He had to wait for a Mediwizard to leave before he could slip away and apparate to the Leaky Cauldron. He knew Neville would be there; the new Herbology professor regularly pitched in during the summer holiday from Hogwarts. Hannah nodded a greeting to him, her hands full of a tray of cottage pie.
Neville was leaning over the bar, and Harry, who had missed out on the entire last year of his schooling, still found the transformation from the shy boy to barkeep and professor a sudden one. Neville's voice rang out across the early evening pub chatter.
"You touch those Knuts, and I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'!" A scruffy wizard jerked his hand away from the bar and scuttled into the crowd as Neville stared hard after him, sliding the coins into his apron pocket.
"Harry!" Neville's face abruptly brightened as he saw Harry pick through the crowd of wizards and witches. The Leaky Cauldron had always been a gathering place; now that the Death Eaters were no more and Hannah had scrubbed every surface gleaming, it was rarely empty.
"Hey, Neville." Harry grasped Neville's hand in greeting and dropped into a bar stool.
"Look a bit peaky. Another here for tea and sympathy?" Neville grinned.
"Something like that," Harry said absently. Neville looked at Harry more carefully and grabbed the bottle of Odgen's, pouring him a finger, neat. He slid it across the bar, keeping his eyes on his friend, whose smile of thanks did not reach to his eyes.
"Here's your tea. I've had quite a run of rambling drunks this week, Harry. I'm afraid you are going to have to really bring your best game to impress." He snorted a laugh. "Who knew I'd become a connoisseur of lurid tales?"
Harry let the smoky liquid warm the back of his throat. He smirked. "Oh, really?"
"It is a dull second to the first perk of this job," Neville smiled as he let his eyes wander over to Hannah, who was bending over to clear plates from a vacated booth. He continued to smile at her back as he spoke. "Seamus calls me the Father Confessor of Bellends. Saw MacLagan in here the other day. Had I known he was pissed and salty when he walked in the door, I wouldn't have poured him that Hungarian Horntail. He got interrupted at his girlfriend's house. By her husband. Splinched himself trying to dodge a hex, and now he can't even play reserve for her until it heals."
Harry, still feeling rather broody, recalled Ron's agony in the woods and pulled a face. "Splinching's a bad business."
Neville affected a look of pity, his eyes twinkling. "'Specially when you lose one of your bludgers to it."
Harry stared at him, as Neville shook with laughter. "Oh, the git! Tell Ron that one, will you?"
"I will save the pleasure for you, Nev." Harry smiled with his eyes; the whisky soothed him, but not as well as Neville's company.
"Seriously though, mate. Something's on your mind. The Order members don't have to pay extra for confidentiality." Neville leaned back against the back cabinets and crossed his legs in front of him, a quiet smile on his face.
Harry only gave the warm silence a moment to settle. "Ron's beat." Harry blurted. "He's still trying to get it right for Hermione - he needs to. He's working too much. And he's running himself ragged working with George."
Neville crouched down to peer at Harry's face. "Mrs. Weasley, is that you in there?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Molly'd go spare if she knew how he was working himself. He'd never let on, though."
Neville straightened up and slowly mopped the counter, realizing Harry was indeed worried. Harry could see him doing the Weasley maths in his head, plus one wife and a Gringotts job, minus Romanian dragons….
Neville shrugged. "Where's Percy?"
Harry took an overlarge pull of his drink. "That is a good question."
"He's the one who insisted Aberforth keep the passage open."
"What?" Harry seemed startled.
"Abe's a good bloke - a true Dumbledore - but Percy was panicking about Ginny. Seemed to know more than he let on. Managed to get food to the Hog's Head for us. Should have gotten an Order of Merlin for it, actually. We were really hungry for the first few days, before we got it sorted." Neville had wiped the bar twice thoroughly and tossed the towel in a bin under the counter. "Can I freshen that?" He pointed to Harry's whisky.
"No thanks," Harry said as he slid the empty glass over to him.
"Give me a minute." Neville slid over to a group of witches and began pulling martini glasses from a rack overhead, his wand spinning a vortex of lurid pink into a glass carafe.
He came back and waited for Harry to speak. "Ginny never told me that Percy was watching out for her."
"I dunno that she knows." Neville shrugged.
"How did you know?"
"Made it my business. I hope you don't mind me saying so, but before Hannah made me see the error of my ways, I held a torch for your girlfriend."
Harry put his chin in his hand and shook his head at Neville. "That drink still on offer?"
Neville grinned as he pulled out two glasses and poured Harry another round and one for himself. "Not that Ginny noticed, mind you, but I had company in the Ginevra Weasley Fan Club. A lot of company."
Harry peeked through the hand now over his eyes. "God. Why am I asking this? Such as?"
Neville nodded. "Because it's funny, that's why. Let's see. Dean and Michael, obviously. Seamus. Jimmy Peakes. Colin. Half the lads in Hufflepuff, save Justin…."
Harry raised his eyebrows in question.
"In your fan club, mate."
Harry closed the gaps between his fingers.
Neville held up his hand, ticking off fingers as he continued, "Zabini, Nott, Parkinson…."
"Parkinson?"
"So says Hannah. Pansy was very eager to hand you over for a multitude of reasons."
"Merlin."
"Let's not get carried away here, Harry. I haven't started on the list of the dead."
Harry pursed his lips. "Slytherins? What, did Draco Sodding Malfoy harbor secret desires for my girlfriend, too?"
"No, he was tormenting himself with Hermione."
Harry slapped the table with a hand and stared at Neville.
Neville put his hands up in surrender. "You stalked him for years and didn't see that? I swear it on the sword of Godric - ask anyone!"
"Anyone."
"Well, better not ask Ron."
"Noted."
Hannah came in from the kitchens and sidled up to Neville. "Hullo, Harry," she beamed. Harry smiled back.
Neville put his hand on her back. "I was just filling Harry in on what everyone else at Hogwarts was doing while he was fighting Voldemort."
"Pining for Ginny, then?" Hannah asked airily as she restocked glasses.
Neville grinned and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her in for a quick peck as she laughed and swatted him with a bar towel. Their obvious affection for each other soothed Harry somehow, and he sipped his drink, thinking about how to proceed.
"Thanks, Nev. You two stop by soon." He slid some coins on the counter and left the whisky unfinished, for he had a mission that was also left undone.
..o0O0o..
"Hermione, can I come through?" Harry poked his head into the fire and waited for her to come to her hearth. Her greeting was always the same, a delighted and surprised "Harry!" which allowed him to step into the lounge she shared with Parvati Patil.
He was immediately folded into a hug. "You look rested! How is the new job? Ron said you were doing well?" She didn't let go of him entirely, holding on to his arms as if she were afraid he might disapparate. More than anyone else, Hermione still had not entirely recovered from seeing Harry's limp body lolling in Hagrid's arms.
Harry gently peeled himself away from Hermione's grip and pulled aparchment from the pocket of his robes. "Sorry to bother you outside of the office for a work matter, but do you suppose I can get a Ministry seal on something?" The casual way he asked made Hermione look at him carefully.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Confidential, if you please." Harry handed over the parchment and studied the book titles on the shelf behind her as she read.
"Harry." Her voice was quiet. "Does Ron -"
"No. Please sign it."
Hermione sighed, deciding the things she should say weren't things she wanted to say at all. She looked at Harry and flicked her wand, putting a red, waxy circle with a ribbon at the bottom of the page.
"Unorthodox."
Harry nodded, bent down to kiss her goodbye, and left as he came.
..o0O0o..
Harry had never been to Percy's flat. It was a narrow building tucked into a row of the same. It blended into its Muggle landscape, but Harry, trained to note details, knew he was in a Wizard building, the absence of post boxes and the odd coat rack - the hooks bearing the scratches of owl claws - confided secrets that slipped unnoticed past Muggle eyes. He didn't have to peek into the large lidded urn on the marble shelf opposite the open window to know it held owl treats.
A pretty woman his age with a brown bob of hair and a scattering of freckles on her nose was lugging a bicycle into the foyer.
"Hi!" she breathed. "May I help you? Oh! Are you -"
"Maybe," he smiled, answering both questions in one. "I'm looking for Percy Weasley."
"That would be two of us," she murmured under her breath. "He's hard to...catch. Just up the stairs, here."
"Thanks." Harry put out his hand "Harry."
"Oh, right! Audrey," she smiled, shaking his hand lightly. He watched her pull out her wand to levitate the bike to a niche under the stairs before he walked up to Percy's flat.
Percy answered the door after the second knock. Despite the seasonable weather, he was holding a cup of cocoa and wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a Harpies jumper.
"Harry! Is everything all right? Is George -"
"Everyone is fine. Mostly. Sorry to have startled you." Percy stared at him. "May I -"
"Right. Sorry, come in."
Harry found himself in a small, exceedingly tidy flat. The orderliness had a sterility to it that made Harry feel an unexpected pang of sympathy for Percy. One could decipher very little about the occupant from a quick survey of the room, except that its resident wasn't home much.
"Cocoa?"
"Thank you, no."
Harry was going to speak when Percy said, "What do you mean by mostly?"
Harry sat on the sofa. "Percy, do you talk to Ron often?"
Percy looked at his hands cradling his mug. "I don't think he minds."
Harry frowned. "He just asked me if I see you more frequently since my promotion. I reckon he minds. What about George?"
"What is this about, Harry?" Percy's voice was flat.
"Look, you must know George needs company. Ron's exhausted trying to cover everything. George needs every brother he's got."
Percy blinked and stared out the window. "Did my mother tell you -"
Harry snorted. "I'm not using Polyjuice." They sat in silence for a moment. "Tell me about Penelope."
Percy clenched his jaw and stiffened. "Are you here on Ministry business?"
Harry shrugged.
Percy put his cup down and took his head into his hands. "No one knows the hexes, the curses. She is always scared. But she forgets everything. Doesn't remember I've come. Can't figure out if that is better or worse. I stay until she falls asleep. Healers say I do it for myself. If they only knew how right they were."
Harry stared at a nick in the wood floor. "Your brothers need you too, Percy. They remember you."
"Can't see why they'd want me. They forgave me when I didn't deserve it. Doesn't mean they should want me around. Figure I do more good where I am. I don't deserve them."
Harry sighed. He knew Ron would come, as would George, but now they needed Percy to be the bigger man and come to them - neither had the energy to root him out or the detached insight to wonder if he was frozen by guilt - if he was avoiding them.
Harry pulled the folded parchment with the Ministry seal and slid it across the table toward the defeated man.
Percy opened the document and stared at it, sliding his eyes past the standard Ministry heading and introduction.
Based on an extensive review of Ministry documents from the War, Percy Ignatius Weasley has been found not guilty of the most serious of his alleged crimes, including betraying Ministry officials and imperiling Hogwarts students and members of the Resistance Movement. Therefore, the sentence of Percy Ignatius Weasley has been commuted to time served. It is the wish of the Ministry that Mr. Weasley move forward in his quest to make the Wizarding world a peaceful one.
H. J. Potter, Deputy Head Auror
H. J. Granger, Magical Law Enforcement
Harry spoke quietly when Percy's eyes stopped flying across the paper. "I'm not saying don't go to her, Percy. I think Hermione would like to go with you, sometime. She always liked Penelope. Your family needs you. In person. Not just on paper anymore. You can't bring Fred back by punishing yourself."
Percy stared at the parchment, avoiding Harry's eyes. Harry could see him blinking furiously. Finally he spoke. "Ron asked about me?" he whispered.
Harry nodded a vehement yes, amazed at how thick Percy was being. "George needs shop help this weekend, and Ron needs a break. And maybe I am turning into Molly, because I'm thinking of adding an addendum mandating you ask your neighbor Audrey out soon."
Harry grinned at the startled bemusement on Percy's face. "See you, Perce."
Percy nodded slowly as he walked toward his bedroom holding the parchment. Harry supposed George would have a chess partner in the flat above the shop later.
That evening, Harry skipped his usual run. He accepted a cup of tea from Kreacher and settled into a hammock in the small back garden of Grimmauld Place. He rested the album of his parents' photographs in his lap. His eyes had stopped on it while he changed his robes, and without thinking about why, he carried it downstairs. When Ginny found him after practice, he was curled around the book, sound asleep.