I love Percy, as everyone knows, but he's hard to write fluff for, like all good men are.  So this is what I did for him, an angsty little fic.  It's first person, which I don't do well, so expect it down in a day or two.  It's told from Ginny's point of view and takes place over Christmas holidays.  (What a horrible time of year to turn evil, eh?) 

Last Hope

            Harry, despite excelling in most of his subjects, despite receiving eight O.W.L.s, despite being from strong wizarding stock, was not very bright when it came to Weasley family issues.  Ron wrote to me saying that The Boy Who Lived looked him right in the eye and said without a hint of remorse, "But I thought only Slytherins went evil."

            Ron socked him one, like any good brother would.

            Headmaster Dumbledore shouldn't have been the one to inform me.  He shouldn't have been the one to pull be from my Advanced Potions study session, only to whisper to me in the dungeons what had happened.  He shouldn't have offered me a sweet.

            I had Dumbledore to tell me what happened, Professor Snape to keep me after class and console me, my own head of house to say that, "All hope is not lost."

            I had the urge to scream at them all.  I had the urge to turn to them and say, "How could there be any hope left?"  How, I wondered, could there be hope, when my parents couldn't leave their own home?  Where was the hope hidden?  Is it tucked away with his hand on our family clock, the hand that had suddenly disappeared?

            I growled into my tear-stained pillow and turned to face the glowing fire.  There was, I decided, only one person who could help me cope.

            "Professor?"  Snape's office door was made of heavy mahogany, and creaked as I pushed it open.  "Professor, may I have a word with you?"

            Before the war Snape had always looked so young.  His face had lines in it, but they tended to be graceful.  The man I saw look up from the papers on his desk had aged more in two years than he had in his entire lifetime.  As I stepped in I wondered if he ever considered a hair dye potion to cover the salt and pepper hairs coming in at his temples.

            "Miss Weasley," he sighed, rubbing at his eyes, "I have given you my condolences, what more do you want?"

            I glanced down at my shoes, then up into the eyes of what had to be my least-favorite professor.  "I… I need the password to the Slytherin Commonroom."

            I expected him to laugh.  I wouldn't have been surprised if he growled and took away every house point Gryffindor had earned for the last three hundred years.  He could have easily rolled his eyes and told me to leave him be.

            "I expect you are not using this to seek revenge on any unfortunate first year."  He plucked a small piece of parchment from a drawer in his desk and picked up his quill.  "This password," he informed me, "Will work until the end of the week.  After that, it will be changed, is that clear?"

            I nodded and took the paper he held out to me.  "Thank you, Professor."

            The note was nothing elaborate.  It was written on a scrap of parchment torn from the bottom of my latest Charms essay, not due until after the holidays.  I didn't scold him, or tell him he was worthless.  I didn't gush about how wrong he was or how much I still love him.  I sat for a day, just wondering what to say to him, knowing that I could.  I watched the snow fall outside the almost vacant commonroom.  I wondered to myself if Ron and Harry were so much better back at the Burrow, and if I would have felt differently if I had been there with them.

            Sighing to myself, I rolled up the scrap with the words numbering under a dozen and headed to the Slytherin Dungeons.

            "Malcom?"  The young boy looked up from his seat and glared at me.

            "How'd you get in here, Gryff?"  His almost black eyes glared daggers through my red hair and worn Weasley jumper.  Even without the Gryffindor crest plastered on me, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

            "I need to speak with Draco Malfoy."  His eyes went wide and I dared glance around the room.  Two fires burned at opposite ends and high windows were black with piled snow.  "Do you know where he is?"

            "In his room, I'd venture to guess."  He glared at me again.  "What do you need him for?"

            I glared down my nose at the mousy boy, trying to give him a sense of anxiety.  If it worked or not I can't be certain, but he did lead me down a winding hall, stopping at a door that mimicked the one in Snape's office.

            "No saying he'll answer, but you can't say I didn't show you."  He disappeared back down the corridor and left me to face the blonde Slytherin alone.  I hesitantly knocked on the door.  No answer.

            I knocked harder and almost fell backwards as it flew open to leave me standing face to face with Draco Malfoy.

            He glared down at me.  "What do you want, Weasley?  I don't have time to taunt you now."

            I took a deep breath and looked up at him.  "I need to speak with you, Malfoy.  I have a favor to ask."

            He snorted out a laugh and stood back, motioning me into his dorm.  "Then by all means, do enter."

            He took a seat in a plush leather chair and I had to wonder if he had stolen it from his commonroom.  "What do you want from me, Weasley?"

            I stood awkwardly in front of him, my eyes cast down at my shoes, then his, then back at my own.  After a deep breath, I handed him my parchment.  "I… I would like to get this message to my brother."

            Draco cocked an eyebrow and held it out for me to take back.  "Send an owl, you don't need me."

            "Actually," I corrected him, "I do need you."  I looked up, tears welling in my eyes, "He's not taking any of our owls."

            "Use a school owl."

            "They come back after only hours.  The post office claims he doesn't exist."

            "Then," the blonde shrugged, "Maybe he doesn't."

            It snapped in me then.  All the anger I had felt towards Dumbledore, all the resentment to Snape and McGonagall, everything that had been hurting me since the holidays began.  It all snapped.  My eyes burned with angry tears and I glared at the Slytherin mocking me.

            "Don't even," I whispered harshly, "Don't even say something like that!  He is alive, and I know it, you filthy excuse for a human!  He's alive and he's so buried in your kind that you are the last hope I have."  I turned so he couldn't watch as tears rolled down my cheeks.  "An ungrateful Slytherin is all the hope I have left."

            I heard him sigh behind me and as I turned back he was rubbing his eyes in the same manner I had seen Snape do.  "I can't promise anything, Weasley."

            I nodded.  "I couldn't expect that much."

            "I'll try though."

            "Thank you."

            "On one condition."

I looked up at him with a straight face.  "I expected that much."

"Tutor that Baddock boy in Potions over the holidays."  My eyes went wide.  Was that all he was expecting from me?  He shrugged in response to my impression.  "He's rivaling Longbottom and I can't be bothered to hear Snape moan about him."

I nodded and headed towards the door.  Turning back, I caught sight of the blonde folding up the note.  The creep had already read it.  "Draco," he looked up at me and shoved the parchment in his pocket, "It's for Percy.  Percy Weasley."