Six months ago, the state of Diagon Alley would have been unthinkable to Percy. Three months ago, the sight of people living in the street and the smell of their unwashed bodies would have made him nauseated. Now, he could almost ignore it. He walked briskly toward Quiverton's Quills and Parchment, careful to keep his gaze focused straight ahead. A female voice called out to him. Another beggar, most likely. He willed himself to ignore the sound. In the early days of the new Ministry regime, he had given a handful of Sickles to a dirty-faced child who had reminded him of Ginny. He had nearly been crushed by the ensuing scramble for coins. After that, Percy had learned to restrain his charitable impulses.
A grubby hand clutched his sleeve. Percy turned. A middle-aged wizard with long, iron-gray hair looked up at him. His cheeks were hollow and sunken. Grime stained his robes. He seemed familiar somehow, but Percy could not think where he had seen him before. "Weasley? Percy Weasley?"
Percy squinted. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure."
The man smiled. He had had extremely good teeth once upon a time—no one got their teeth that straight without magical help—but they had long since turned yellow, and he was showing the early signs of gum disease. "You don't know me? I'm Vincent Paulson. I was in the IMC at the same time you were. You had the office across the hall."
He did remember a Vincent Paulson who had worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation at the same time he was there, but this man couldn't be him. The Paulson he had known was the only man neater than either Mr. Crouch or Percy himself. The man had organized quills by length, for Merlin's sake! Paulson would have rather died than be seen in such a state
His disbelief must have shown on his face, because Paulson continued, "I realize that my appearance has suffered a turn for the worse. Times are hard for every Muggle-born witch and wizard. I've lost my job and my wand. My family is God-knows-where. At least my wife had the sense to take our boys out of the country this summer."
Percy dropped his eyes. Aside from his neatness, the only other thing that he remembered about Paulson was that his desk had been covered with pictures of his sons. Always. "I'm very sorry to hear that."
Paulson's eyes brightened. "Then perhaps you can help me? Word on the street—and I assure you I mean that literally, I'm sorry to say—is that you still work at the Ministry. Am I correct?" Percy nodded dumbly, and Paulson's smile widened. "You always were good at ingratiating yourself to those in power. Tell the Ministry that I'm an honest wizard and didn't steal my magic."
Paulson thought he had influence? Percy suppressed a laugh. If there was one thing that could be said for the Ministry, it was consistency. Blood really did mean everything. Being related to a blood traitor was almost as bad as being a blood traitor himself. He had gone from being Rufus Scrimgeour's personal assistant to being a file clerk. He supposed that the only reason no one was following him was that he wasn't important enough. Rescue Paulson? He couldn't rescue a kneazle from a tree. "I'm sorry, sir, but there's nothing I can do."
Paulson clutched his robe as if it were a lifeline. "But—"
"You're on your own. It's not that I don't want to help you. I can't."
Paulson's smile vanished. In its place was a snarl. "There was a lot of gossip about you when you were hired, Weasley. You were supposed to be the most intelligent and talented wizard to enter the Ministry since Kingsley Shacklebolt. Ludo Bagman wagered ten Galleons that you'd be Minister within fifteen years. Well, what good is all that talent if you can't save people?"
"In case you haven't noticed," Percy snapped, "Shacklebolt has gone to ground." He turned on his heel and darted inside Quiverton's while Paulson screamed obscenities at him.
That ought to have been the end of the matter, but it wasn't. Paulson's face kept flashing into his mind as he shopped. Percy had known that the Ministry in general, and the Muggle-Born Registration Committee in particular, were responsible for horrible things. Every day, employees talked of the latest disappearance in low whispers. The Prophet's editorial pages regularly called for "Muggle hunts" that were supposed to provide retribution for the witch hunts of the 16th and 17th centuries. If that was not proof that something was very wrong, he had only to look around and see the misery created over the last few months.
Before this moment, however, he had only known of Muggle-borns who had been displaced. He hadn't known any of them. The closest he had come were the reports that Hermione was on the run with Ron and Harry. He had certainly never had the chance to compare how one lived before the Registration Decrees to how that person lived after. Paulson had seemed scarcely recognizable. Worse than that, he had seemed scarcely human. Was that the real purpose of all this: to turn the Muggle-borns into the filthy, crude, grasping wretches that those sickly sweet pamphlets claimed them to be?
Percy shook his head. Sometimes, he wondered how this could have happened. Wizarding society had always been prone to occasional violent bouts of reactionary sentiment: the Founders' War, Malvolio's Rebellion, the Hogsmeade Riots of 1742. The history books were filled with examples of what could only be described as temporary insanity. Usually, though, there was some visible proximate cause. The Danes invaded. A plague ravaged Scotland. Disgruntled Cannons fans started a riot that blossomed into a full-scale rebellion. Not this time. This time last year, the country had been fighting a war against pureblood fanatics. A year later, it was willing, however timidly, to hand over government to those same fanatics. Had Britain gone mad while he wasn't looking? The next thing he knew, the Ministry would be handing out yellow stars and pink triangles.
He had done all he could to prevent it. Hadn't he? His family would certainly argue that point. They thought he should have fallen in line behind Dumbledore and Harry like they had. How could he have known that Harry was telling the truth two years ago? The dead did not come back. It was a fundamental law of magic. Harry might as well have said that the sky was purple or that you could Conjure food out of nothing. Yet, his family had trusted Harry instead of a millennium of magical knowledge. Instead of him.
The following year had been no better. He and the government had accepted their error and were fighting the war against He Who Must Not Be Named to the best of their ability. His family had not. They had once again followed Dumbledore's lead and assisted him in waging his own private war. The memory infuriated Percy. If Dumbledore had wanted to be responsible for the security of Wizarding Britain and lecture the Ministry on appropriate conduct in wartime, he ought to have become Minister. Keeping the citizenry safe was the responsibility of the state, not private individuals.
Percy was halfway home when he noticed the girl. Her dark brown hair was plastered with sweat, and her face was ashen. She huddled against a brick wall, clutching her hand and gasping in pain. Several passersby stopped to gawk at her, but no one offered to help. It was only when she raised glazed eyes to meet his that he realized he was looking at Hermione. "P-Percy?"
He stopped. Had the rumors been wrong? Was Hermione merely another homeless Muggle-born? Perhaps she had been the deprived of her wand and subsequently broken her hand. But why did she not go to a Muggle hospital? Professor Quirrell had assured him that Muggles could mend broken bones, if not as quickly as wizards. He really ought to convince her to see a Muggle healer. "Yes," he said, making his voice as soothing as he could. "What happened to your hand?"
She shook her head and screwed her eyes shut. "Nothing. Where are Harry and Ron?"
Percy ignored her. He knelt before her and gently extended her arm to examine the injury. Her hand was red and swollen, with thick scars covering it. It glistened with some fluid Percy preferred not to think about. The faint stench of decay hung in the air. No ordinary injuries could have caused such a wound. This was Dark magic. She should not be here. Curses cast on one part of the body sometimes spread to others. Hermione could suffer permanent disability or worse if she did not get treatment.
It wasn't his problem. Hermione was an Undesirable. Aiding her would land him in Azkaban for the rest of his life. He wasn't a Healer, and he could hardly drop her off at St. Mungo's. The scraps of medical knowledge he had acquired over the last year in case the worst should happen might dull the pain a bit, but that was all. He could hardly be expected to risk his life for that. And yet…
Even disregarding the probable magical emergency, Hermione was clearly in no state to defend herself. The Snatchers or Death Eaters would find her easy prey. Would they even bother with the semblance of a trial, or would they just throw her to the Dementors? If she somehow escaped capture, she would likely find herself begging on the streets. He remembered her sitting in the common room with her nose in Hogwarts: A History or waxing rhapsodic over Grisoli's seminal paper on the magical properties of the number forty-two. She'd been the only Gryffindor besides him to take Ancient Runes in the last decade. The idea that she could become as desperate, as debased, as Paulson nauseated him. It would be like vandalizing one of Pradorf's oil paintings.
"What good is all that talent if you can't save people?" Percy inhaled. He was almost certain that he was going to regret what he was about to do, but he was terrified that he would regret not doing it more. "Come along, Hermione." He grabbed her left arm and hauled her to her feet.
She jerked away weakly. "What are you doing? Let me go. I… have to find… Harry and Ron."
"And what good would you be to them like that? You need help, and I mean to see that you get it." She made a noise in the back of her throat, which he chose to take for a cry of pain and not an incoherent attempt to tell him to piss off. Her knees buckled, and he put an arm around her waist to steady her. "We're going home."
She didn't resist him any further, and they walked together awkwardly down the street. As time wore on, he found himself bearing more and more of her weight, until he was half-dragging, half-carrying her. Several strangers shot him sympathetic glances as he passed. He supposed they thought him a long-suffering brother or boyfriend dragging Hermione home after she had gotten thoroughly sloshed at the local pub. He tried to imagine a drunken Hermione and almost smiled at the incongruity. Neither of them spoke, though Percy didn't know if the curse was affecting her ability to speak or if she was conserving her energy.
Percy's flat was a shabby two bedroom affair in Bloomsbury. Its two chief virtues at the moment were that the building was otherwise occupied entirely by Muggles, and more importantly, it was on the ground floor. He doubted he had the strength to get Hermione up a flight of stairs. He stole a quick glance to make sure that there were no Muggles around, and shifted Hermione's weight slightly so he could grab his wand. "Alohomora," he whispered. The door swung open, and he carried her inside.
There were advantages to living on his own instead of with inveterate slobs like his siblings. He was spared the inconvenience of having to clear a path to the couch. Which was fortunate. Hermione was not especially heavy, but he was not used to carrying over a hundred pounds of near dead weight for several blocks, either. By the time he was able to put her down on the couch as gently as he could manage, he was sweaty and exhausted.
His night was far from over. "Can you talk?"
She turned to look at him through half-closed eyes. "Yes," she croaked.
Percy breathed a sigh of relief. That was a good sign, and it made his task much easier. "Do you remember what spell you were attacked with?"
"Don't know… name. Incantation was…Mu — Mutil. Something like that."
Well, that was something. Percy walked over to his bookshelf and pulled a six-inch thick leather-bound volume from the top shelf. Ever since You-Know-Who's return had become public knowledge, publishers had turned a tidy profit printing handbooks for the identification and treatment of common (and not so common) curses. The Official St. Mungo's Guide to Hexes, Jinxes, and Other Dark Magic was among the most comprehensive. Unless the spell that had afflicted Hermione had been created in the last year, it would be in the book.
After several minutes of frenetic searching, he found what he was looking for:
The Mutalus Curse. Incantation: Mutilo. Developed by Gustav Sjoric in 1723 specifically to incapacitate fellow wizards. It most commonly affects the wand hand or arm of the victim, though it can be cast on any limb. The characteristic welts (see figure 13) cause excruciating pain and severely restrict motion in the targeted area. The pain increases exponentially over time. If left untreated, it can rival the Cruciatus Curse. Application of essence of murtlap to the affected area can provide some pain relief. However, it is essential that a Healer be seen as soon as possible. If treated within twenty-four hours, most (average 88.9%) function can be restored. You don't want to know what happens when you don't see a Healer. Trust us.
Percy paled. There should be some of essence of murtlap in his Potions chest, but where was he supposed to find a Healer who wouldn't have both of them arrested on sight? Posters emblazoned with Harry, Ron, and Hermione's images hung in every shop window in Diagon and Knockturn Alley. A person would have to be either blind or an imbecile not to recognize her. Healers were generally neither.
There was one other option that didn't involve leaving Hermione to fend for herself. There were rumors that Dumbledore's private army had not disbanded upon their leader's death and were doing everything they could to thwart Thicknesse's administration. Armies always had to have a medic. Whatever their other failings, they could be trusted to take care of one of Harry Potter's dearest friends. He would have to bring one of them to her.
But who? It wasn't as if Dumbledore's followers went around wearing "I'm a member of the resistance" badges. He was almost certain that his entire family were members, but he could not and would not contact them. There were others, though. Dumbledore had always had a gift for inspiring loyalty in a certain class of person. The trick was finding one who had not yet gone into hiding. There was Professor McGonagall, of course. She had Dumbledore had seemed to function as one unit for as long as he could remember. He would bet his life that she was a member. But McGonagall still taught at Hogwarts, and Hogwarts was no longer safe. Snape was Headmaster, and the walls literally had ears. That eliminated Hagrid as well.
He mentally ran down the list of those known to have displayed great personal loyalty toward Dumbledore. Alastor Moody was missing and presumed dead. Kingsley Shacklebolt had vanished. Remus Lupin… now there was a thought. It was commonly known that the only reason that Lupin had been able to teach a Hogwarts was that Dumbledore had offered him the job and guaranteed him a supply of Wolfsbane Potion. Lycanthropy was a debilitating condition that rendered the victim virtually unable to work. Lupin must worship Dumbledore for what he had done for him. Thanks to his recent marriage, his address would be in the Ministry's personnel files. Tonks had been transferred to a desk job, ostensibly because of her pregnancy, but she still came to the office every day. Even resistance fighters had to eat. It would be a simple matter to head back to the Ministry on some pretext or other and look up their address. It was a risk. He probably wasn't judged important or suspicious enough to be under surveillance, but the Lupins almost certainly were.
He looked over at Hermione. Her face was now contorted in an expression that he had thought to find only in macabre illustrations of Dante. Her breath came in short, hoarse pants. If the book was right, she was in terrible agony, and her condition would only worsen with time. The pain might eventually drive her mad, as it had the Longbottoms. Percy shook his head. He had already committed treason by bringing her here. He might as well risk a bit more and save her. First, though, he should do what he could and apply the murtlap.
The bottle was at the back of the cabinet and covered with a thin layer of dust. Percy removed the stopper and sniffed. At least it hadn't spoiled. He returned to the sitting room and pulled up a chair beside Hermione, then held the bottle to her eye level. "I'm going to put some of this on your hand. It should help with pain. Then, I'm going to find some proper help."
"Harry?"
Why the bloody hell was she so set on finding Harry? He probably couldn't heal so much as a scrape. Percy gently took her injured hand and covered it in murtlap. The mingled odors nearly made him physically ill. "No, not Harry. Remus Lupin. Maybe he or one of his friends at Dumbledore's little group can heal your hand. I'll be back soon"
"They're called… Order." She sighed. "That feels good. Thank you."
He finished applying the paste and closed the bottle. "You're welcome. What's the Order?"
"Order of the Phoenix. Secret society that fights You-Know-Who."
Percy filed the information away for later use. One never knew when knowing something's real name would be useful. He stood up and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "I'll be back soon, I promise."
It was only half past seven by the time he re-entered the Atrium, but it seemed unnaturally still and quiet. Until last August, it would not have been unusual to find dozens of ambitious young employees like himself bustling about, working late in a desperate attempt to impress their superiors. Now, only the masochistic and those truly dedicated to the new regime stayed a moment longer than they had to. Every time the Dementors entered the building, they left impressions of their passing. If Percy stood in certain spots for too long, long suppressed memories would claw their way to the surface: his mum sobbing over Uncles Gideon and Fabian, his father telling him exactly what he thought of Percy's loyalty to the Ministry.
Unfortunately, one of those spots was in the corridor that led to the office he now shared with a half dozen other junior clerks, the office that contained the filing cabinet that held personnel records. Percy walked briskly and did his best to think of nothing at all. Sounds like whispers at the edge of hearing assaulted him. Percy shivered, but did not stop. If he stopped, he would remember, and he could not afford to remember while he was on a mission.
To his surprise, the office was not deserted. Casca Warrington sat at his desk, scribbling furiously. Percy didn't know if Warrington was masochistic or dedicated group, but given that his father had been twice arrested (but never convicted) of attacking Muggles, he would suppose Warrington fell into the latter category. He sighed. Nothing had gone his way this evening. Why should this be any different? "Evening."
Warrington's gaze flicked upward in surprise. "Weasley? What are you doing here?"
"Er…" Percy had never quite gotten the knack of lying convincingly, a serious oversight in retrospect. His eyes landed on the filing cabinet. Perhaps he would be best served by a half-truth. "I came to retrieve some files. When I got home, I realized that I had made some rather serious transcription errors. I would like to correct them as soon as possible."
Warrington chuckled knowingly. "Want to avoid old Struthers dressing you down, eh? Can't say I blame you. I forgot to make a note that Mr. McNair was going on vacation last month. Struthers yelled at me so loudly that my ears burned for a week."
Percy bared his teeth into what he hoped was an approximation of a friendly smile. "Precisely." He began thumbing through the folders, taking care to remove one or two at random to camouflage his true goal. Tonks' file was surprisingly thick, filled with a record of days she had missed due to various accidents. Apparently the woman tripped over her own feet on a regular basis. No wonder the Death Eaters had been able to infiltrate the Ministry.
Warrington came to stand behind him and read over his shoulder. Percy stiffened. He couldn't have come so far only to be discovered now. If worse came to worse, he would have to cast a Memory Charm on Warrington and hope he was faster on the draw. He would not be sent to Azkaban over this. "Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks," Warrington read with interest. "I know her. My dad says she's as bad a traitor as her mum was. What sort of right-thinking witch would marry a filthy werewolf? She's polluting her family's blood even further than it already was. There are all sorts of rumors going around that she and her husband are involved in a group that wants to overthrow the Ministry, and after all the good we've accomplished."
Percy closed the folder. So, he wasn't the only one who thought the Lupins were likely members of this Order. That was as close to confirmation as he was going to get. Best to play along, though. "Traitors should be dealt with. Why hasn't she been arrested?"
Warrington waved him away. "I hear that the DMLE is watching both of them pretty closely but hasn't been able to catch either of them doing anything illegal. The wife's mum was a Black. The higher-ups don't want to arrest anyone who's from one of the old families without proof. That could make a lot of the wrong people very angry." His eyes glittered with ill-concealed glee and malice. "They'll get what's coming to them. Traitors always do."
"Well, I certainly hope she does." Percy took out his pocket watch and flipped it open. "If you'll excuse me, I have to leave now so that I can get these corrected before tomorrow morning. Good night." Percy caught his reflection in the metal drawer. The image that stared back at him was distorted but looked every inch the driven, industrious employee. Good.
The mask did not fall until he exited the building and stood once more on the street. It was time for the trickiest part of this mad scheme. According to the personnel file, the Lupins had a residence in the East End, not far from the docks. He was torn between the need to hurry for Hermione's sake and his terror that someone at the Ministry had seen him come back and decided that his actions were suspicious enough to warrant further investigation. He wished that the Lupins lived in the country, someplace he could Apparate safely without risking being seen by a half-dozen Muggles. As it was, discretion won out. He took a circuitous route through the city, doubling back and taking the wrong turns several times. He hoped Hermione would understand. The Dementor's Kiss she would be subjected to if she were discovered would be far worse than the pain she suffered now.
The Lupin residence was a dingy brick townhouse that looked as if it might have been impressive once, but now looked merely shabby. Faded blue curtains were drawn over all the windows, and the front door was chipped and scraped. The smell of sea water and sewage from the nearby Thames so nauseated him that Percy fought the urge to pinch his nostrils. He squared his shoulders, struggled not to take a deep breath, and tapped the knocker against the door three times.
No one answered. Percy knocked again, more loudly. "Open up. It's an emergency!" After a several long moments, he heard voices talking in low tones, and then footsteps. The door opened, and a single red eye peered at him. "What sort of emergency?" a woman's voice said.
Percy almost fled it alarm until he remembered. The young Nymphadora Tonks had delighted in turning her eyes red to frighten first years like himself whenever she passed them in the corridors. Now that she had left Hogwarts, she could frighten potential intruders as well. "It's Hermione Granger. She's been hurt."
The red eye widened and vanished. Two or three seconds passed, though it felt like two or three years. At last, the door swung open. Tonks stood just inside the door. Her wand was pointed at his heart, though at least her eyes were green. "Explain."
Percy did. He told her about finding Hermione on the street, nearly incoherent from the pain and that he had taken her in against his better judgment. "She needs greater assistance than I can provide. She needs the Order of the Phoenix."
Shock flickered across her face for the briefest of moments, and Percy knew that he had guessed correctly. She was a member of the resistance. "This is all a very pretty story, but the Percy Weasley I know isn't quite altruistic. Loads of Death Eaters and Ministry operatives have been using Polyjuice Potion in an attempt to get people to make incriminating statements. How do I know that you aren't one of them?"
"I'm not an imposter, I swear!" Percy held up his hands. "I'll prove it to you. Professor Lupin took five points from me at the end of seventh year because I was out after hours with Penelope Clearwater. It was the only time I ever lost House points."
"Let him in, Dora," a familiar voice called. "That's Percy, all right. I'm surprised he remembered that little incident."
Tonks did not lower her wand, but she did step back enough to allow him entry. Deciding that was as much of a welcome as he was going to get, Percy slipped inside. The door slammed shut behind him. Remus Lupin put down his cup of tea and rose from the couch. "A pleasure to see you again, Percy," he said, sticking out his hand. "Please forgive us for our caution. We've been a bit on edge these last few months.
"Think nothing of it," Percy said, though he thought a lot of having a wand pointed at him. "Now, about Hermione."
Lupin's expression grew suddenly grave. "Of course. You said she was gravely injured? How bad is it?"
Percy told him. Lupin paled further, and Tonks' hair and eyes grew black. Percy did his best to ignore them and keep his tone businesslike. "Can one of your people help her?"
Lupin thought for a moment. "Since we lost Sn — our potions expert, I've become our de facto field medic. I'm only a mediocre healer, I'm afraid, but I should be able to stop any further damage, and perhaps reverse it slightly. Dora, do you mind coming with me in case I need some help?"
She shrugged and patted her belly. "Little Theo and I need to get out of the house anyway."
"Theo? What if it's a girl?" Tonks gave him a look. He sighed. "Let me get some supplies and we'll be on our way. And we are not naming him Theo. Teddy, maybe."
"Just so you know," Tonks said when he was gone, "I won't hesitate to kill you if it turns out that this is a trap. We've made too much progress against the Death Eaters to see it ruined by the likes of you. My son is not going to grow up in a police state."
"Yes, ma'am," said Percy in a small voice.
Lupin returned several moments later carrying a bag and a battered potions kit that looked old enough to have belonged to his father. He turned to Percy. "You had better go now."
"What? What about Hermione? Aren't you coming with me?"
"Will be along shortly. It's safer if we travel by different routes."
Percy nodded. He didn't like having to wait on Lupin, but at least he wouldn't have Tonks breathing down his neck the whole way home. "I'll see you then."
It was dark by the time Percy made it home, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for hours, but who knew how long it would take Lupin to administer Hermione's treatment? The only consolation was that he wouldn't have to worry about his neighbors prying. Thanks to his Muggle Repelling Charm, they thought his two-bedroom flat was a set of abandoned storage rooms, and his landlady thought that the gold coins (so much more valuable than the paper Muggles normally used for money, surely) that appeared outside her door at regular intervals were gifts from a well-meaning but eccentric stranger.
He checked on Hermione. All the color had drained from her cheeks, and she thrashed weakly. Her moans were louder and more incoherent than when he had left, though Ron's and Harry's names still popped up regularly. Percy's lips thinned. He had only seen her this ill once before. He had sneaked into the Hospital Wing to visit her every day after classes. Well, technically he had been visiting Penelope, but visiting Penelope necessarily entailed visiting Hermione, too, so it still counted. He had fallen into the habit of leaving small, inexpensive sweets on her bedside table. Percy couldn't say why he had done that, though he was inclined to chalk it up to sentiment and the desire to do his duty by a fellow Gryffindor. Hermione had not lacked for well-wishers. She had never figured out who had left them, either. As far as he knew, she still thought it was Dean or Seamus. Percy had never corrected her. It might have led to an embarrassing scene involving crying and hugs. He shook his head. Such foolish memories were irrelevant. They might as well have belonged to an entirely different man. He could no longer afford even those small kindnesses.
Since Hermione was in no state to have a conversation, Percy sat silently by her side and watched the grandfather clock in the corner. At precisely 8:57 there was a sharp knock at the door. Percy jumped up and looked through the peephole. Lupin and Tonks, as promised. He opened the door and ushered them inside. "She's on the couch," Percy said softly.
Lupin took the chair he had been using and Tonks moved to stand beside him. Percy tried not to be too obvious in his hovering. Hermione moaned loudly when Lupin took her hand to examine it, but otherwise gave no sign that she recognized him or even knew that he was there. Lupin examined her hand for several moments but kept his face carefully blank. Percy had to fight the urge to ask him how bad it was. He passed his wand over the injury three times. A soft blue glow enveloped Hermione's hand for a moment before fading again. "Good. That should keep the pain from getting worse." He dug into his bag and pulled out a jar filled with thick purple gel that smelled like raw sewage. Tonks wrinkled her nose, and Percy gagged. Lupin didn't react to the smell at all. He placed a dollop of the stuff on his fingers and massaged it into her hand. "Dora, please get the bandages from the bag."
"Way ahead of you," she said, producing a stack of clean linen bandages.
Lupin took them and wrapped Hermione's injured hand. "Could one of you hold her head up for me? I'm going to give her a sedative so she can rest."
Percy pushed his way past Tonks. "I'll do it." He propped her up as gently as he could while Lupin poured a vial of clear, odorless liquid down her throat. When the vial was empty, Percy lowered her back to the couch. Moments later, Hermione's eyes fluttered closed, and her breathing became deep and even. Lupin wiped his brow. "There. I've done all I can."
Percy exhaled. "Thank you." He flushed when he realized what he had said. "On behalf of Hermione. I'm sure she would thank you herself if she were, er, conscious."
Lupin looked between Percy and Hermione and smiled slightly. "I'm sure." He cleared his throat. "You've shown extraordinary courage tonight."
"I only did what I thought was best." It was better to risk his neck saving Hermione and hope she would somehow escape England than for her to become another dirty beggar who screamed obscenities at him.
"The Order could use a man like you."
"What?" Percy couldn't believe his ears. Joining secret societies seemed like something his dad or his brothers would do. Not him. For a moment, he almost said yes. As a boy, he had owned a box of Muggle science fiction novels that Professor Quirrell had given him before he had left for Albania, back when he had taught Muggle Studies. They were all the same: a heroic yet doomed band of rebels fighting a hopeless battle against a tyrannical state. This was almost like that. The Ministry was certainly tyrannical, and the Order was certainly doomed. "No. It's too risky."
"Says the man who stole government property and is harboring a known fugitive."
"That's different!" Percy scowled. "There's a good chance Hermione will recover and you lot will be able to spirit her out of the country or whatever it is that you do. Besides, I know her. There is, however, very little chance that your organization can do anything to topple or weaken the government. Dumbledore is dead and the supposed Chosen One is Merlin-knows-where. How do you propose a group of ordinary wizards fight against… him? No, I will not throw my life away on a meaningless gesture."
Lupin shook his head. "If that's how you feel. You've helped save Hermione. That's enough for now."
What did he mean "for now?" "Speaking of Hermione, when will you be able to get her out of here? I don't want to be at risk for any longer than necessary."
"It will be some time before she's recovered enough to be moved comfortably. Two weeks, perhaps three. In the meantime, we'll meet to discuss security precautions."
"I'll make sure to put Locking Charms on all the doors and windows."
Tonks laughed. "Do you think Locking Charms would keep You-Know-Who or his cronies out if they discovered one of Harry Potter's two best friends was staying here? They'd be on you before you could even start begging for mercy." She stroked her chin. "The best thing we could do is set up a Fidelius Charm with you as Secret Keeper. Hermione is incapacitated, and Lupin and I are involved in things that might get us captured. You aren't."
Percy nodded. He was the logical choice. If Hermione was discovered, he was in as much danger as she was. He had no logical motive to betray her. "Very well."
Lupin brightened. "Excellent. We can cast it right away. What's the exact address of this flat?"
"27B Wimpole Street." Lupin stared at him expectantly. "London," he finished lamely.
Lupin drew a line between Percy and Hermione with his wand. "Repeat after me: Hermione Granger is located at 27B Wimpole Street, London, at the residence of Percy Ignatius Weasley."
Percy did so, though he felt a bit stupid referring to himself in the third person. When he had finished, Lupin screamed, "Fidelio!" at the top of his lungs. The sitting room was bathed in a brilliant orange glow that made it look like the home of deranged Cannons fan. Percy heard a sound like a key turning in a lock, though it might have been his imagination.
"Now you need to tell us that Hermione's here," Tonks said. "Once we leave, the spell will affect us and we won't even remember that she's here."
Percy did so. "So, I suppose you two will be back in a day or two to check on her." He walked towards the door to show them out. Once they were gone, he could finally get some sleep.
"Not so fast." Tonks held up a hand. "I think we need to give Hermione one more bit of protection. You'll have to swear an Unbreakable Vow that you won't tell anyone where she is or throw her out until we say you can. That way you won't be tempted to tell the Ministry anything."
"You think… you think that I would betray Hermione?" Percy drew himself to his full height and shook with barely suppressed rage. "Just because I won't join your little Order doesn't mean I want to see her tossed in Azkaban or worse! You can trust me!"
Lupin laughed, though there was no humor in it. "The last time someone told me that, one of my dearest friends was murdered and another spent thirteen years in prison for a crime that he did not commit. You'll excuse me if I don't take you on faith. We must ensure that you can be trusted. The only other option would be to place you under the Imperius Curse."
"But that's an Unforgivable Curse! I thought your crowd was above that sort of thing."
Tonks seized Percy by the front of his robes and pulled him close. "Listen to me! Hermione is Undesirable Number Two for a reason. If the Death Eaters ever get their grubby little hands on her, they won't hesitate to use her as bait to attract Harry. Harry is the only hope we have to stop You-Know-Who. If something happens to him, we're done for. If I have to do dodgy things like cast Unforgivables to prevent that from happening, well, this is war."
She released him, and Percy stepped back hurriedly. She was serious. So much for the supposed "good guys" being nice. He remembered the stories that had surfaced after Mr. Crouch's death, and how his attempts to fight off the Imperius Curse had driven him mad. Would they be willing to risk that he would end up the same way? Yes, he decided, they would. Lupin might call it "a dirty business" and Tonks might chalk him up to regrettable collateral damage, but they would take away his will if they thought it would keep Hermione safe. And he had no hope of fighting off a trained Auror and a former Defense professor. "Let's get this over with."
"Thank you," Lupin said pleasantly, as if Percy had agreed to look after his cat while he was away. He took Percy's right hand in his. "If you would be so kind as to serve as our Bonder, Dora?" Tonks nodded and laid the tip of her wand over their joined hands.
"Will you keep Hermione's location secret unless she, Tonks or I give you leave to disclose that information?" Lupin's voice was low and rhythmic and Percy could not escape the feeling, foolish as it was, that his words contained the true magic and the wand was just for show.
"I will." A ribbon of flame shot from the wand and wound its way over and around their hands like the pair of Muggle handcuffs Fred had once tricked him into. Percy flinched instinctively, but it did not burn him.
"Will you allow her to stay in your home until she has recovered and another suitable place can be found?"
"I will." The flame intertwined with the first, forming a chain that danced and quivered over them.
"Will you protect her to the best of your ability while she is in your care?"
"I will." The final jet of flame issued from Tonk's wand. Percy could see the light reflected in Lupin's eyes. The flame twisted with the others, coiling around their hands like rope or a burning serpent. The flames grew brighter and brighter until Percy was forced to use his free hand to shield his eyes. Everyone held their breath. Percy felt something like a thousand grains of hot sand burrowing deep within his chest and knew that the Vow had been made. For good or ill, Hermione was his responsibility.
The flame vanished. Percy exhaled and drew hand back quickly, fighting the urge to rub the area where the fire had touched it. Tonks stowed her wand away again while Lupin smoothed a crease from his robes. It was almost funny, Percy thought. An outside observer would have thought nothing more ominous than a particularly tense dinner party had taken place.
He saw Lupin and Tonks to the door. Tonks smiled at him. Either she had already forgotten that she had threatened him with an Unforgivable less than ten minutes earlier or, having guaranteed his compliance if not his loyalty, thought she could afford to be polite. "We'll be back in a few days to check on her and bring by some fresh bandages. You do know how to change bandages, don't you?
Percy nodded. "Anyone who lives with Fred and George for more than five minutes learns a bit about first aid. I'll pick up some bandages on the way home from work tomorrow."
"No. Someone might be suspicious about why you want them." Lupin indicated the scars on his face and hands. "No one ever questions me for buying bandages." He and Tonks shook his hand one last time and were gone.
Percy wanted nothing more than to collapse into a heap and sleep for three days running. How had he gotten himself into this situation? Taking in injured fugitives, even old school friends, was the sort of thing that Bill or his mum would have done. He usually had a stronger self-preservation instinct. It was all Paulson's fault, he decided. He had made Percy felt guilty about how far he had fallen, even though the Ministry's policies could hardly be laid at Percy's feet. If his conscience hadn't been pricked, he never would have been so stupidly chivalrous as to risk his life and bring her home. He never would have gone to see Lupin and Tonks. He never would have sworn an Unbreakable Vow to keep her safe. He never would have…
Well, he had done it, and that was all that mattered. He looked over at the Hermione, who still slept soundly. If the sedative Lupin had given her was as strong as Percy thought it might be, nothing short of an Erumpet Horn explosion was going to wake her up. He went into the back bedroom. Since she was going to be his guest for some time, he might as well set her up properly. Percy wrinkled his nose in disgust. The guest bedroom had not been slept in for nearly a year. He had once dreamed of having influential friends and colleagues over on a regular basis, the better to network. Those dreams had come to nothing. He had been one of Fudge's most ardent supporters, and his stock had fallen along with the Minister's. Any hope that he might have had for a resurgence had been dashed when Scrimgeour figured out that Percy had held no sway over Harry Potter. The last person to sleep here had been Penelope, before she had gotten as sick of him as everyone else.
Percy cast a quick freshening charm. Domestic spells were not his strong suit, but it would serve for now. He threw back the covers and smoothed down the sheets before returning to the sitting room. Hermione had shifted slightly and her head was at an uncomfortable looking angle. Percy debated getting her a pillow, but thought better of it. It would be simpler to put her to bed since there was no chance of waking her. "Locomotor Hermione," he murmured. Hermione floated off the couch. Percy guided her through the bedroom door, being careful not to scrape her injured hand. He set her gently on the bed and laid the coverlet over her with a flick of his wand. She sighed in her sleep and Percy half-smiled at his handiwork.
"I do hope that you appreciate this," he said softly as he closed the door behind him.