This is written for wvvampire's 366 Days challenge on HPFC.


Alate
by maybeknot

alate: having wings; winged

A small fire raged in the musty living room, ferocious but controlled. The flames leapt high, but never quite reaching the ceiling, never quite escaping the little circle they were contained in. If one ignored the fire, the apartment seemed completely normal. There was a worn coffee table and a mostly empty bottle of whiskey, a pair of crumpled up socks behind a ratty, faded red couch, yesterday's (half-read) Daily Prophet on the floor... A typical bachelor's apartment.

Percy hurried around the dark room, not lit by anything other than the light of the fire, picking up papers hidden underneath cushions, shaking leaflets out of volumes of unread encyclopedias. Forged family trees, stolen government documents, confidential lists of prisoners from Azkaban, illegal pro-Order newsletters. He was trusted in the ministry, trusted enough to have access to what he needed, the only sane one in a family of traitors. But even the most trusted are subject to unannounced searches these days. He Who Must Not Be Named was getting paranoid, people whispered. The resistance was succeeding.

They had searched Milkavich's place yesterday. He was presumed dead, although there was always the possibility that they left him to rot in Azkaban. Either which way, Percy couldn't take the chance of being caught. He tossed bundles of papers into the fire at a time, tossing the leaflets in last, watching the heavy stacks of paper slowly get eaten by the ravenous flames. Watching the door, Percy wiped sweat from his brow, tongue tasting the slightly bitter tablet in his mouth. The moment he bit down, the poison would disperse through his body, racing through his veins at lightning speed, destroying his brain first. Destroying any possibility of betraying his loved ones. Again.

The leaflets soon disintegrated completely. Destroying the papers let them fly away on wings of smoke, in a sense. Wings to take them somewhere where they would have a second chance. A chance to right their wrongs. Percy liked to think he was righting his wrongs, making up for all the pain he had caused. He had gotten his wings.

If they knew, his parents would be proud. They always did say he would fly one day.