Ambition
~*~
Author's Notes: I never could understand why Percy always gets such a bad rap in Harry Potter fanfiction. This story exhibits what I believe to be the true Percy Weasley, in all his redheaded glory. Feel free to leave a review. Better yet; feel really free to leave a review. Was that too subtle? Just in case…please review.
Disclaimer: Oddly enough, I don't own Harry Potter or any of its affiliates. I wish I did though.
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"It is our choices, Harry, that show us what we truly are, far more than our abilities."
-Albus Dumbledore, CoS
Percy Weasley sat down at his desk and once again tried to concentrate. He was drafting a letter to the office of the Venezuelan Secretary of International Magical Commerce. It was about…cauldron bottoms, and the thickness thereof. Cauldron Bottoms! The world was on fire and he was sitting in a hole in the wall office, writing on a subject drier than the ink he was trying to scribble with. It was Cauldron Bottoms for Merlin's sake! He could be warning the world of the incredible threat that had just been resurrected at the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He could be fighting the good fight, aiding Dumbledore like Bill and Charlie, and even Dad, who was rounding up support from within the Ministry walls. Sometimes Percy felt that if he didn't convince himself that what he was doing was important, and in doing so convince others, he could never take it seriously. But that was in a time of peace, a time that was before last June. Now he never mentioned his work at home, it seemed so petty, and though he continued, his heart was elsewhere.
7777 Diagon Alley
London, England, UK
17 November 1995
Venezuelan Ministry of Magic
Department of International Trade
1750 Plaza Morelos
Caracas, Venezuela
To Whom It May Concern:
We regret to inform you that a recent shipment of Bolivar Special No-Rust Cauldrons failed to meet the quality requirements set forth by the International Council on Potionsware Trade of this year. An agreement, signed by every country in attendance, including Venezuela, states quite clearly that every cauldron imported or exported internationally in any member nation must be of the quality and thickness deemed acceptable by the aforesaid international…
What was the use? Why was he doing this?
Percy got up and stretched. Then without thinking he walked out of his tiny office, down the stairs and into the street. He knew where he was going, though he made no conscious decision to do so. There was a shop down the road that sold and served tea and various antiques. The witch who owned the shop brewed many varieties and flavors, but among Percy's favorite was Thinkwel's Tea From Concentrate. He had discovered it while he was studying for his Apparition test and it was fast becoming indispensable in the fight against feelings of uselessness. Because of this tea, and the fact that the owner of the shop, Mrs. Monroe baked the most delicious scones in the British Isles, Percy found himself going there three or four times per week. Yes, he though, tea would clear his mind and when he returned he would be able to work again.
Unfortunately for Percy, the tea did not help him concentrate on his cauldron bottoms. Less agreeable thoughts, the ones he had been trying to avoid, only came into sharper focus. Memories came unbidden to his head and he thought many things he would just as soon forget.
Percy decided that he wanted to be Minister of Magic on his ninth birthday. On October 27 of that year, his older brother Charlie sent an owl home from Hogwarts. He had been made Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. He was only a second year; hardly anyone was picked that young. Dad was beside himself, and after a brief inquiry over his safety, Mum fairly sparkled with joy. And Percy's birthday seemed forgotten.
He sat there alone at the kitchen table staring at his half-eaten cake. There and then he swore that one day he would be the center of attention. One day he would be the one to make Mum sparkle and Dad brag to the neighbors. He would ascend to the highest post in the magical community. He wanted to be Minister of Magic. Even while he sat, now smiling over the happy fantasy, the sting was still there. He wasn't jealous of Charlie; he always admired his older brother and was very happy for him. Charlie deserved such an honor. He was just tired of being overlooked. He wasn't the oldest and smartest like Bill, or athletic like Charlie. He wasn't a twin, constantly causing havoc, or a baby like Ginny and Ron. He wasn't anything special. But someday he would be.
Percy couldn't help being overlooked. It wasn't his parent's fault either. In a family with seven children, attention came at a minimum. Usually you had to do something to get noticed. Unfortunately, Percy didn't.
Percy was the child who did what he was told. He was instructed to sit quietly or he would wake the baby. He was told not to ask questions when he wondered why Mommy was crying in the kitchen. His parents never told him about Voldemort. He was only five when You-Know-Who lost power. They had planned to tell him when he turned seven, just like they had done with Bill and Charlie. By then it would be inevitable, he would learn to read and see a copy of the Daily Prophet. As it turned out, they hadn't had to. He learned bits and pieces growing up, and heard the whole story when he got to Hogwarts. It came as little shock to Percy when he did find out. In some ways he had always known. Even as a young child he sensed the shadows of gloom lurking in the house, try as the toddler twins did to dispel them. Perhaps if sat quietly in the corner, the shadows wouldn't notice him. Invisibility became his shield. Maybe if he did exactly what he was told they would go away completely. Obedience became his only hope.
Then one day it worked. One day all the shadows disappeared and the house seemed unnaturally hopeful and alive. Gradually this joy became normal, the twins forgot about the days of gloom, the babies never even knew they existed. But Percy could never forget. He remained the obedient son, responsibility was part of him now and he could not change nor did he want to. But there is a saying: The squeaky wheel gets the most oil. This was certainly true in the Weasley house. The twin's squeaky wheels got the most of their mother's attention, though it was usually given in the form of a tongue-lashing. Percy would gladly have been told off by a creature as fierce as an angry Mrs. Weasley, just to be sure his parents knew he was alive.
For the next two years Percy planned his glorious future. He knew he had to make top marks at Hogwarts to get a job at the Ministry. He was not brilliant but knew he could achieve his goals through hard work and dedication. Then there was the issue of what house he would choose to be in. Bill and Charlie kept hinting darkly at some sort of test that would determine your house. Percy supposed that if you passed this test, you could choose. That was how all of his family had ended up together in Gryffindor. But Percy had doubts about his choice. Another house, the Slytherin House, conjured up one word—Ambition. That was him really. More than anything in the world, Percy Weasley wanted to be Minister of Magic, he was ambitious. But there were rumors, only rumors of course, about the Slytherin House. Perhaps Slytherin, like all the hard work and study, was a price he had to pay for his dreams.
Despite all of his careful planning, Percy boarded the school train with the crucial decision unsettled. As much as he burned with indecision, he was not at all comfortable with the idea of being a Slytherin. For some reason he could not abandon his future to the house that should have been his rational choice. His reason and his feelings waged a silent war within him. Even as he sat down on the chair with the Sorting Hat about to be placed upon his head, he was unsure. For a few eternal moments, the Hat said nothing. Then it spoke. Percy was surprised to find that only he could hear the voice, for the impatient rumblings of the crowd went on unchecked.
"You are uncertain of your choice, but you know it must be made. You must choose, and choose wisely for this is not the first time you will decide your destiny."
There was a lump in Percy's throat that was growing steadily and soon would threaten to choke him. He was no closer to his decision than he was at the beginning of the summer. All that deliberation had gotten him nothing. He began to panic. He looked around the room wildly. His eyes rested on the Slytherin Table and his stomach lurched with something feeling suspiciously like terror. He looked away and his eyes again scanned the room. He caught a glimpse of bright orange hair, under which resided the cheerful countenance of his brother Charlie. Across the table sat his oldest brother Bill. They were both straining to see him, listening anxiously for the Sorting Hat to speak. And Percy knew he could never turn his back on his family. By choosing to be in Slytherin House he would be competing against these same brothers, the ones who were nervous for him, the ones who wanted him so badly in there house. They had never said so, but as Percy sat there looking at their faces, it all became so clear. It was no choice at all. He was a Gryffindor.
And before this last thought even registered in his mind, the Sorting Hat had shouted, "Gryffindor." The Gryffindor table erupted into cheers, led by Percy's two older brothers.
With a start, Percy realized that he had been sitting in the teashop for over an hour. That was an unheard of break for him. How could he have been so careless not to set the Alarm Charm on his watch? What would they say at the office? He shuddered at the thought of his inbox. He had planned to mail that cauldron report by noon. It was now 1:30. Of course the report was not due until the next morning, but not having it done would bury all hopes of having his PCS report finished two days ahead of schedule. He quickly paid the bill and hurried back to the office.
When he got there, no one said anything about his absence. In truth most of the office was on its lunch break, which lasted the hours between 11:30 and 3:00. This was true for everyone except Percy who either ate at his desk or went out for a short break, 35 minutes, tops.
Despite the initial smugness of again being the first one back at the office, and the indulgence of imagining himself reaping the rewards of all his extra work, Percy was again troubled by feelings of futility. He imagined Bill and Charlie, doing whatever they were doing for Dumbledore. They made sacrifices for the war, even put their careers on hold, but for the moment, Percy envied them. They never questioned themselves, never had to wonder whether their choice was the right one. They never wondered whether what they were doing was in any way important. Percy was in constant doubt.
What was he doing here? Did any of this even matter? Was he just a coward, hiding behind his desk and his ambition? How could he do this to his brother, let them risk their lives while he sat around his comfortable office? How could he do this to his family, to his parents, to the entire world, magical or not? He could no longer fight it, he just knew. For the second time in his life Percy Weasley was forced to make a decision that would dictate his destiny. And for the second time in his life, he reacted before that decision had even registered in his mind. He got up and walked toward the door. Then, as an afterthought, pulled out a quill and a piece of leftover ministry parchment. He wrote:
7777 Diagon Alley
London, England, UK
17 November 1995
Venezuelan Ministry of Magic
Department of International Trade
1750 Plaza Morelos
Caracas, Venezuela
To Whom It May Concern:
We regret to inform you that You-Know-Who Voldemort, the most feared dark wizard in over a century, has been a restored to his body and is rising in Britain. It will not be long before the rest of Europe, and indeed the rest of the world, is affected by this dark wizard and his followers. The British Ministry of Magic denies this occurrence in all official statement. I however know for a fact that this is true. I consider it my duty to warn all mail contacts of this terrible threat, as it is my last act in this position. By the time you have reached this I have resigned from the Ministry in order to take a more active role in the fight against You-Kn Voldemort. You can contact Albus Dumbledore, current headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in order to confirm this statement or to reach me. You must contact him in order to take precautions against the dark wizard's rise in your country, and to help fight him around the world. It is only by acting now and acting decisively that we can defeat Yo Voldemort before it is too late. I leave you with this knowledge and implore you to plan accordingly. A single owl may save hundreds of lives around the world.
Sincerely,
Percy Weasley
Assistant Postal Projects Coordinator
Percy gathered up his cloak and the few belongings he had brought to that surprisingly austere office in the months he had been employed there. He could carry everything in a small briefcase. Then he walked out of the office, down the stairs and out of the building. He began to walk home. His step was considerably lighter than it had been less than an hour ago, and likewise was his heart. Overhead fluttered his post owl, Hermes. The owl was feeling very important for he was burdened with two letters, one to the Venezuelan Ministry of Magic, and the other to the British Ministry, informing them of his owner's resignation.
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I have no idea how the address system works in England; I hope nobody found a problem with Percy's letters. Either way, it was set up to be a proper business letter…in the US anyway.