For the Hogwarts Forum

Assignment 8

Psychology: Write angst about a new job

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Note: Liza confirmed that I could write about a promotion (though this term might be used a bit loosely in this case)

"Weasley!"

The sudden interruption startles Percy. He nearly falls out of his chair in his haste to rise, clumsily spilling ink across his desk. Swearing softly under his breath, he mutters a spell to clean up his mess before turning his attention to the man in his office. "Minister," he says politely, awkwardly brushing his fingers over his tie to make sure he looks presentable.

Pius Thicknesse regards him coldly for a moment, his dark eyes moving slowly over Percy. Percy swallows dryly, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. No one has ever looked at him like this, like they're trying to see directly into his soul.

After several seconds, Pius offers him a curt nod. Whatever he sees in Percy seems to please him. "You have done well at the Ministry," he says. Percy is sure that it's meant to be a compliment, but his voice is apathetic, almost rehearsed. "You were willing to distance yourself from your traitorous family for the sake of your career."

Percy feels uncomfortable now. He nods silently, unsure what to say other than, "Thank you, Minister."

Pius lets the silence hang between them for a moment longer. He brushes his fingers through his long, black and silver hair. Perhaps it's a habit, but it looks forced now. "Your ambition is admirable, Weasley, and it should be rewarded. How would you like to be the head of a new department?"

Percy's eyes widen at the thought. He's spent years trying to prove himself; it's finally paid off. It doesn't matter what Pius asks of him. Junior Assistant to the Minister is impressive and all, but having the chance to take charge of something is everything he's ever dreamed of. "It would be an honor, sir," he answers, unable to contain the pride in his voice.

…

Percy smooths his hand over his red curls one last time before adjusting his glasses. This is a new career opportunity, and he cannot risk looking even slightly disheveled.

"Mister Weasley!" An older witch with greying hair approaches, a grin on her heavily painted lips. "Has the Minister briefed you on your responsibilities?"

"No. He's only told me that it's a new position," Percy answers.

She watches him for a moment, amusement in her hazel eyes. "I was surprised he wanted you for the job. No offense, but given your family's views…"

"Views that I do not hold," he assures her quickly.

He doesn't know why he feels the need to defend himself. If the Minister feels that he's right for the job, everyone else's opinion shouldn't matter. Still, he finds himself standing a little straighter, his chest puffing out as he tries to assert authority.

This is his job. He was chosen.

It seems to do the trick. The witch softens slightly, nodding. "Right. Well, my name is Beatrice Vex. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Percy offers her a quick nod, satisfied by her change of attitude. "If you'll excuse me, I would like to see my new office."

That strange grin returns to her face. "All in good time," she assures him. "I think you should meet your charges first."

"My… charges?" he asks, wondering if he's heard her correctly.

She doesn't bother to elaborate. With a quick crook of her finger, she directs him to a door. Percy hesitates. He doesn't like the wicked glint in her eyes, but he can't back down. He's already proven himself to her, and he has to carry on with it.

"Thank you," he says before forcing his legs to move.

"Good luck," Beatrice calls sweetly.

Now, Percy doesn't hesitate. Head held high, he pushes open the door.

…

There has to be some mistake. Percy wraps his arms around himself as the air grows colder. He'll have to get in touch with the maintenance workers to have them check that the Atmospheric Charms are working properly.

"Please!" someone calls. "Hello? Can you help us?"

Percy frowns, looking around the dim corridor for the source of the voice. There is nothing there.

"Let us go!" another voice says, and Percy hears several faint thumps, as though someone is banging against a wall for attention.

Percy shivers. Perhaps he should have asked Pius about his new job before accepting so eagerly.

He shakes his head. There's no turning back now. The Ministry has changed over the past few months; denying the Minister anything isn't so easy anymore.

His legs feel heavy, but he manages to force himself forward. Slowly, the corridor veers to the right, and everything changes. Where there had been white walls only moments before, there are now thick, black bars. More disturbing, however, there are people behind those bars.

"Please! I'm telling you!" one girl insists. "I'm a witch! I can prove it!"

Percy jumps back, his stomach growing sour. She is young— no older than fifteen.

"What—?"

"Let us go," a man adds. His gnarled, arthritic fingers wrap around the bars. "We aren't criminals."

Percy stares at the scene before him. A dozen people— men, women, and children— are inside. They are dirty and shivering from clear neglect.

His first instinct is to let them go. It's what his father would do, and maybe he's distanced himself from his family, but his sense of right and wrong hasn't changed. Percy approaches the cell, ready to unlock it before stopping.

This is his job now. Any acts of heroism will be punished severely. Besides, he's never been a hero. His brothers and sister are all wonderful people filled with courage and chivalry; Percy is just… Percy.

"Please! Please, don't let them take us!"

Percy stumbles backwards until his back rests against the cold, hard wall. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

Heroes do not run, but Percy does.

…

"What…" Percy trails off, fingers nervously tugging at his tie as he tries to find the right words to say. "What was that?"

Beatrice offers him a smile that does nothing to calm him. There is nothing soothing in her lined, weathered face. "Surely you've heard about the Muggle-born Registration Act," she says, leaning back in her chair.

Percy swallows dryly. He's assumed the act is just a ruse, some strange fear tactic to make others accept the new shift in power. Even if the Ministry has changed, it could never allow such a thing…

But he's seen the proof with his own eyes. There is no denying it now. Percy nods mutely, not trusting himself to utter even a single syllable.

"Those are the latest ones who have been found guilty of stealing magic," Beatrice explains. "We get more and more every day, and the Minister felt the need to do something with them before they're imprisoned."

Percy swallows dryly. His mouth opens, but no words come out.

"Don't worry," she adds quickly. "You don't have to do anything. It's just a holding cell. All you have to do is keep up with paperwork and make sure none of them have killed themselves."

"Right. I- I think I need to sit down."

Before Beatrice can say anything else, Percy hurries away. It's a miracle he doesn't vomit.

…

Percy stares at the mirror, adjusting his tie. His heart isn't in it this morning. Now, he knows the truth of his new job, and he can't even bring himself to care about looking presentable.

For the first time since he'd first set foot in the Ministry, he doesn't look forward to going to work.