Finally Home
Chapter Two
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the blood.
It wasn't as if he could help it. The blood had been everywhere, wet and crimson and shockingly real. The blood of a co-worker.
It wasn't the blood that scared Percy. He had seen blood loads of times growing up—when he had almost cut his hand of with a kitchen knife and his parents had to take him to St. Mungo's, when one of Fred and George's pranks had gone horribly wrong and Bill had almost bled to death. No it wasn't the blood.
It was how real it seemed.
When Penelope had gotten cut over one eye, and the blood was dripping everywhere, but that wasn't his pain; it wasn't real. When he had almost cut his hand off, when Bill almost died, the blood was flowing and red and quite definitely real. Perhaps the reason this seemed so real was the fact that one of the Department Heads was holding a knife to the employee's throat. Or perhaps it was the tiny red trickle that ran steadily down from the knife blade.
Through all this, all he heard was the Minister speaking. Normally, Percy listened with rapt attention to the Minister's words. Today, however, he heard them as if through a haze. Perhaps it was the haze that made the words sound so threatening—but he never had been a person to exaggerate things.
"You have nothing to fear if you have nothing to hide."
And with a pang, Percy realized that the employee had been Muggle-born.
Percy shoved the Daily Prophet article to the side. A savage fury reared up inside of him. How dare they! Ron, his own flesh and blood, would break into the Ministry of Magic, the very institution he was fighting so desperately to save!
And they—for of course, Potter was involved—had the audacity to interrupt a trial of the greatest importance for no reason other than to free the accused!He remembered the trial—some Ministry employee's Mudblood wife was about to be punished for stealing another witch's magic. That was, of course, how all Mudbloods had gotten their magic.
Suddenly, the words of the woman at her trial popped into his head: "I didn't steal the wand… I bought it at Ollivander's when I was eleven. It—it chose me!"
As soon as he recalled her broken lies, he heard the voice of Ollivander, the wandmaker. "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Weasley." Wands don't choose Mudbloods, he thought savagely. Then he recalled a memory of his fifth year at Hogwarts—before Dumbledore had managed to competely destroy it and it's principles.
He had overheard Professor McGonagall's voice, talking to Neville Longbottom. "I know you have it in you, Mr. Longbottom. Your wand may be the problem—the wand only channels the magic inside of a person, it works much better if the wand chooses the wizard…"
"The wand only channels the magic inside of a person…" The woman had proven that she was capable of magic—there was magic inside of her, and her wand… Percy racked his brains to remember whether the woman was under Veratiserum…
His mind spinning with thoughts, Percy tramped over to his bed. He was angry—at his brother, at Potter, even at the Ministry for planting that tiny seed of doubt in his mind.
It wasn't much. But oftentimes it was all you needed.
They had broken into Gringotts. Percy sank down into the nearest chair, which happened to be right next to the Minister—not that he noticed—and sighed.
All he could hope for now was that people wouldn't judge him by his brother. An all-too familiar sense of anger rose up in him. People had always judged him by his family—poor, easygoing, friendly. A guilty feeling arose in him as he realized he had started out with the goal of becoming the opposite of his family, but he had only thought about it as far as the 'poor' aspect went.
Percy felt sick as he realized he had accomplished his goal: he was nothing like his family. He had never been easygoing, and now he certainly wasn't poor. But he wasn't friendly. He was practically a stone wall.
People saw him as cold-hearted for leaving his family. They saw him as indifferent because he didn't hear their pleading cries.
And how did he see himself?
He was the ultimate traitor.
Percy felt a sudden urge to be sick in the hallway off to his right.
He had seen it. It was there, right under his nose the entire time. The Ministry had been abusing their employees—all the pointless trials, the hidden threats—and he had missed it all because he was so power-hungry.
The first threat? He might have worried, but he didn't know the employee. It wasn't his pain. The first trial? He had just ignored it. He was a Pureblood. But this… This was different.
They had taken her.
She had fought, but they had taken her, kicking and screaming and resisting all the while. He had stood there, horror-stricken, as they dragged her out of the hall. The last glimpse he had of her was her falling, finally unconscious, her blood-streaked auburn hair slipping down to cover her face. And the only thing he could think was: Thank Godric she's still alive.
He didn't remember leaving. But next thing he knew, he was in front of a Floo, powder in hand. Now the overwhelming question hit him: Where would he go? There was a Caterwauling Charm on Hogsmeade Villiage; no one could Apparate there without setting off the alarms… Hogwarts was definitely out—the stories he'd heard from co-workers were absolutely atrocious—and for a moment, all he felt was an all-consuming fear for Ginny, who would be at the school that very minute…
There were voices from behind him, and he knew he had to leave, before they reached him, because he was finally, finally betraying them, finally leaving…
With a wave of the recklessness that so distinguishes Gryffindors from the rest, he threw the Floo powder into the flames, and stepped into the flames. And he shouted, with all his might, all the fear and anger and fury that he had suppressed inside himself for months. "Take me home!"