2) Eye to the Soul

Percy sat in the little pub on Marchmount Street, nursing a stout and debating the merits of a supposed mango bean burger, whatever that food group that belonged to. He chewed on the thought of his brother getting married that day, the day of Scringemour's death, of all days, and where was he? Surviving Umbridge and that dark unpleasant feeling that one is loneliest surrounded by a room full of people.

Earlier that morning, Percy answered summons from Dolores Umbridge, head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission.

The last couple of weeks he had nervously taken notes, followed Thicknesse's orders and directives, and clocked in and out on schedule.

The only act of rebellion he had actually accomplished was not referring to Thicknesse as Puppet to his face, because that was his name in Percy's head.

Receiving the summons from Umbridge delighted him. Was she Scringemour's contact? Granted, Scringemour had avoided Umbridge, but compared to Fudge, everyone avoided Dolores Umbridge.

He hurried to her department, eager to do something, to help, anything. His determination propelled him through the office area, briefly acknowledging the Undesirable No. 1 posters hanging around. Then a gaze caught his eye.

Was that an eye in her door? It was an eye in the door! A pupil of electric blue, scanning the entire room.

Disgusting. Percy had admired Dolores Umbridge's determination, her need to bring Hogwarts up to the levels of modern wizard educational standards. Percy had assisted her, even, when Minister Fudge realized his young assistant displayed the same zeal for effective government and sent him over to her department like an inter office memo.

But an eye? No trust in her staff, no trust in her visitors, co-workers or constituents? No one helping Muggle borns would stick an eye in the door. No sane human would do that.

No wonder the Death Eaters had left him alone. A few years back Minister Fudge had assigned him to work with Dolores, insisting that he, Percy, reminded Minister Fudge of a young Dolores! Was that the path he was on? He had trouble swallowing the fact that in 20 years, his door would probably have a matching set, complete with spectacles.

Percy realized he had come to a complete stop, by the assistant desks. He also realized the electric blue eye, most likely powered by Dolores herself, was taking in his every move.

"Excuse me," he asked the nearest assistant, attempting to cover his pause, "Please announce to Madam Umbridge that Percy Weasley is here."

The door to the office swung open at his statement. "Please enter, Mr. Weasley," Dolores murmured with a smirk.

She had watched him through her eye apparatus. Apparently, Puppet would be getting a companion. Evil-eye Umbridge, perhaps?

Percy stepped into the office, as Evil-eye closed the door behind him. "Tea, Mr. Weasley?" she inquired.

"Yes, please," he courteously replied. Percy's mind raced. If not to help, what did she want from him?

She bustled around, industriously making tea? Industriously? Why such effort for tea? He heard clinking and realized she was adding something besides milk and sugar. Poison? Veritaserum? He grinned at his morbid thoughts. Paranoia strikes deep. She wouldn't poison him. At this point, it would be easier to call the Wizengamot for a trial than bothering with the disposal of his body.

"Mr. Weasley, how are you?" Umbridge asked courteously.

"Fine, thank you," he replied, mind whirling. A distraction, something, anything to get her gaze from him. "And I hope all is well with you, Madam Umbridge."

"Fine, thank you. Please drink your tea, it tastes better warm," she reminded him. Percy nodded and took a pretend sip.

"What do you know about your brother's wedding?" Dolores Umbridge stared at him.

Percy inhaled his tea accidentally than spit it back out in a rush. "Excuse me, Madam Umbridge. Did you say wedding?" His face blanched as the rest of his body chilled. He wrestled with his external response. Which brother had married? Why hadn't he known about this? His vision clouded briefly. How badly had he messed up, to not get invited to a wedding?

"I see by your reaction you knew nothing about the uniting of William Weasley and a filthy half-breed by the name of Fleur Delacour?" Two expressions were fighting on her face, frustration and what Percy was really hoping was not pity. Because he did not need pity now, especially from someone who had an eye in her office door. "You knew nothing about a guest list, about Potter?" She continued, probing him with questions, frustration winning out.

Percy took a deep breath. "I know nothing, Madam Umbridge." He fixed a mask of indifference on his face. "As I told the minister, you cannot choose your parents, only the life you lead. I chose to move away from my family years ago." He watched her expression carefully. Evil-eye Umbridge, like Puppet Thicknese, seemed to miss the irony of his words. No Muggle born had chosen magic. It had chosen them, but the Death Eaters and pure blood sympathizers unaware or ignorant of this apparently neglected to diversify the gene pool a few generations back.

"How is the minister, Mr. Weasley?" Umbridge stared at him, eye to eye. He was starting to guess Veritaserum was the extra ingredient in his tea. No worries there as he had spit half of it out already. He hadn't lost it over Bill's wedding. He could keep his cool over questioning with this crazy person.

"He is busy giving orders and directives," Percy shot back. "My job is to make his job easier." Easier to do what? Call people half human? Search after a 17-year-old boy? Put eyes in more doors?

"Weasley, thank you for the interview," trilled Umbridge, concluding the interview abruptly. Percy was unsure of her shift in mood but was not going to question his opportunity to get away from that eye. "Our Minister calls, and we have so much to do." She stood up, he followed her lead, careful not to look at the door as he opened it, holding it open and resisting the temptation to slam it in her face. She strode out, his long legs had no problem keeping up with her mincing steps. He wanted to get out of that department, away from that blue eye, and as far away as necessary from his lack of invitation, even knowledge, of the marriage of his big brother, the man he once modeled himself after, as soon as possible.

A jerk on his arm stopped him abruptly once again by the assistant desks. Umbridge sailed by, unaware of Percy's lack of activity.

"Hey, ginger, meet me at the Goose, in Bloomsbury. 7 o'clock sound good?" An attractive brunette witch called out, running a finger up his arm with one hand while she fiddled with a little crane necklace charm with the other. "I'll show you a good time, I swear," she finished to catcalls in the office.

Percy blushed a true Weasley red but remained fixated on the silver crane around her neck. The sense of indignation over a lack of invitation and a healthy sense of self-pity and a bit of self-loathing vanished. He felt his color fading from his face. This was it! Days of biting his tongue and biding his time had paid off. Umbridge was out the door, headed to the Minister's office. He was safe.

"Ask and ye shall receive, miss," he tried his best at a rakish grin. "Percy Weasley, at your service." He picked up her hand and gave it a kiss.

"See you tonight, Weasley. Name's Kym O'Connell." Percy nodded and left the room without a second glance. Being blindsided about his family's nuptial news and quizzed on it was enough to fog his mind, much less being hit on by crane-wielding witches. The rest of the day was a blur.

Percy dragged himself back to the present, to the stout he nursed. That very same Kym O'Connell was focusing her piercing eyes on him, in the entrance to the pub. "Buy a girl a drink?" she asked, walking over to him. He nodded and motioned to the bench across. He slid out of the booth and ambled to the bar. Turning toward her, he motioned to the bartender. "A light ale, please," was Kym's request.

He returned clutching her pint. She patted the spot next to her and he obligingly sat down.

Kym nursed her drink. "Listen, Weasley, here's the deal. Anything that comes by the Puppet Minister, let us know. We may act, we may not. Don't be a hero and act by yourself. And start getting used to the Muggle world. It's easier for us to play. They stick out like dragons here."

Kym started nuzzling his ear, continuing her explanation. "do grus aeris,'' nonverbal. We cranes do fly like the wind, like our information." Her free hand traveled up and down his leg.

"Who else is out there?" Percy asked. "How do I know who to trust?" He moved closer, intoxicated by her self-confidence and the attention she was showering on him. If this was Kym's cover he was greatly enjoying it.

Kym shrugged. "Some things you can't know. Some things are better off not knowing. There are a lot of us trying to get through the day. You knew me, didn't you? How will someone find you?"

Percy focused, muttered and maneuvered his wand under the table, away from any Muggle eyes in the pub. A set of conjured silver crane cuff links appeared on the table.

"I like your style, Weasley," Kim said as she picked up admired the cuff links. She rolled them in her hand.

"Something you can know, Weasley. I'm a love 'em and leave 'em type of gal. I don't want to see your face after tonight." Kym snaked her hand around his head and pulled him close to her, their lips inches apart. "Or tomorrow morning, depending on how good of a lay you are."

Percy inhaled her scent. "Really?" He breathed, hopeful.

"No, not really." Kym abruptly stood up and shot him down. "Won't be seeing you around."

Percy watched as the witch laid the cufflinks on the table, stood up and walked out the door.