Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of Warner Bros. They are used here for entertainment purposes only.
Warnings: Angst. POV.
Spoilers: Post-OotP.
The light of the moon is falling in the dusty window of my flat and I've still got a half a bottle of brandy left.
Father never drank.
He was... comfortable enough, I think. In his own skin, in his own life, in his own little world, to know that he didn't need extraneous substances to make a go of it.
I wonder how he is.
I had pulled myself from my solitude yesterday evening, and I passed Charlie on the street. I never knew he was in town, although I suppose I had no reason to know. I haven't Owled Mum or Flooed over for a year now.
It doesn't seem so long.
It seems like only yesterday that I hugged her goodbye and rolled my eyes at her overprotectiveness. "Percy," she said, "you'll come over right away if you need anything. Don't suffer because you're too proud to ask for dinner."
I haven't heard her voice in so, so long.
So there I was, walking down a dark, London street, and by he walked, my own brother. Our eyes met for a moment, I was going where he was coming from, and he didn't even nod a hello. His eyes showed no recognition, as if he saw right through me. The only sign I had as to his mood having met me was a hesitant turn of the head, as if he couldn't bear to look at me.
I know the feeling. It's been months since I could bear to look at myself in the mirror.
There doesn't seem a way to be redeemed. Not in my eyes. Presumably not in theirs. Oh, I'm sure they'd love to hear from me, and Mother might even cry. Father would give me a hug, and take me back. No questions.
Not in words.
But in their eyes... even if it weren't really there, it's all I'd ever see.
I'm down to a fourth of a bottle of the brandy now, and the stars are starting to fade into the light, dusky blue of early morning.
My arm... it itches. I never thought it would itch, really. Burn, perhaps. As if I'd been touched by something evil and unholy.
But it only itches, and I've been assured that the feeling will go away.
I remember when I began at the Ministry. I was so sure that being there, at the heart of it all, would make up for something. That it would make up for all the mistakes I'd thought my family had made. Somewhere along the line, I thought that perhaps I had something to prove. All those years spent studying, grueling, determined at work. I was convinced that I could make some kind of real difference.
I tried.
I tried so... so...
I wonder if I drink that second bottle, I'll be saved the trouble of waking up in the morning. Perhaps I'll sleep the whole next day through.
I shouldn't. I do have work tomorrow.
Ah, work.
I'm laughing.
They let me go at the Ministry.
They let me go.
After what I gave up, all thanks to their promises and machinations... I believed them.
I'm laughing now. Laughing.
I believed every word that came from that... that man's mouth. I believed him when he said that my parents were mistaken... befuddled... bewitched by the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
I believed him when he said that Dumbledore was against us. The Enemy.
All out of brandy, and the sun's coming up. I've been told I think too much...
Do you think maybe the light will be too bright?
I've fallen.
I've sunk.
I've... I'll be worried about myself in a moment, if I can't stop my chuckles...
They let me go!
After all of that. After everything I've done and given up and sacrificed and... done!
I've been fired.
Oh, I know why, of course. When your eyes have been opened, it's amazing how much you can really see.
They need somebody to blame. All of Minister Fudge's closest advisor's have been let go. All of them. Most of his assistants-yes, that would be me-have been let go as well.
'A full turnover of the staff,' he assures the voting public, 'will ensure that this sort of thing never happens again.'
I think I'm still laughing, but I can't tell through the tears.
Oh, don't get me wrong, I haven't turned to the drink. Well, yes. But, not completely.
No, I have to be sober for work tomorrow.
Oh, there's the laughter.
I'm working for a man I swore last year didn't exist anymore.
It itches.
I almost wish that it burned.
They came to my door, politely, as if they were making a simple house call. They told me that they knew that they had cut off all of my ties... burned all of my bridges.
Ignored my urgent Owls, while my father nearly died in St. Mungo's.
They spun a wonderful tale. Better recruiting than the Ministry, the Dark Lord has.
Vold. E. Morte.
Oh, if I don't stop laughing my brandy will all have been for naught, because it'll be all over my carpet.
No, no. They said that I could make a difference. They played to my pride. They said all the right things, and it sounded so good. They didn't mention the killing, I suspect I'll be eased into that. They told me I'd be able to put my brain to work. Do you know how far I went between challenges at the Ministry? Sometimes I could go weeks without speaking to a semi-intelligent person... They told me that I'd be able to contribute.
I rather think the Dark Lord thinks it would be amusing, to have a Weasely working for him after all these years.
I accepted.
And the Dark Mark... it itches. Funny.
I suspected it would burn.
I wonder if I would have accepted their offer, if it hadn't been for the visit I had earlier that day.
Albus Dumbledore at your very own door is not the exact person that you expect to see, especially when you're rather hung over.
I remember blinking wearily at him, and then telling him to go away.
He smiled at me... softly and pityingly, like he knew that my life would, from here on out, amount to nothing.
He told me that they'd had an informant in the ranks of the Dark Lord for a while now, and that his position there was growing dangerous. Soon, Severus Snape would be retiring from the business of spying.
Would I happen to like a job, seeing as he was very sure I'd be contacted by the other side soon.
I'd no idea I was in such demand.
Oops. I'm out. Well... I'll just have to get some more this evening. Double what I got last night, I feel a depressing day is in order.
I learned Occlumency, you know. Not from Snape, it was a bit of a surprise to find that he was an expert at it. But then, you'd have to be if you were going to do something as monumentally stupid as to spy on the Dark Lord. Anyway, Penelope and I taught ourselves. Tested it out on each other. Attacked each other and defended ourselves. It's surprisingly difficult, but she wanted to be an Auror after school, and I was interested enough to help her out.
I never really thought I'd find a use for it, but the world works like that sometimes.
I wonder how Dumbledore knew... but it doesn't matter.
My left arm now sports the mark of an evil wizard bent on world domination, and my acting lessons need to be refreshed. I'll be reporting directly to Dumbledore, and not to the Order. Apparently, they're worried that the news of Snape's involvement with them may have somehow leaked out amongst their newest members.
Somehow.
And tomorrow, when I begin my new job, I walk a tightrope. I'll sacrifice my soul, I suppose, to the darkness. Whore myself out a bit for information. My hands will be bloodied.
I wonder if I'll be able to handle it.
I wonder what my parents will think. Dumbledore isn't planning on telling them. I'm told that I'm on my own, until such time as Voldemort is dead-deader this time, I hope, than last- or that I am.
They won't ever know the truth until it's too late for me to tell them.
I suppose it will be obvious that I'm working for the Dark Lord. Soon.
The pinkened rays of the sun are fighing for purchase on my threadbare floor, and the morning is lonely.
The End