-3-

He apparates directly into the dining room, and her mother screams. Samantha, who is setting the table for dinner, drops the soupspoons on the tablecloth, grabs a steak knife, and edges between her mother and the unknown wizard.

"Where's Penny?" he demands, and she sees that he is Percy. Thinner than ever, almost haggard, in rumpled robes and smudgy spectacles, but still, indubitably, Percy.

"She's not here," says Samantha firmly, lowering the steak knife but not relaxing her grip.

"Where is she? Mrs. Clearwater, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I must ask—"

"Don't ask her," interrupts Samantha. "My parents don't know anything. She's not here—"

"What the hell is going on in here?" inquires Dad, storming in from the study.

"Mr. Clearwater—Dr. Clearwater—I need to find your daughter—"

"She's off with your lot," says Dad truculently. "She didn't have the grace to tell us where, or when she'd return, or even that she was going." He glares at Samantha, who has been persona non grata all week because she was the one member of the family who did know that Penelope was leaving, and she didn't make her stay.

"Dr. Clearwater," says Percy, "Mrs.—I mean, also Dr. Clearwater, Samantha, I cannot impress upon you too firmly the gravity of the situation. The new administration has issued a decree requesting all Muggle-born witches and wizards to register with the Ministry and submit to questioning. The first announcement in the Daily Prophet said 'interview,' but it's not . . it's actually . . . In ordinary circumstances, of course, I would encourage your daughter to cooperate fully and frankly with the Ministry—but it's been a strange sort of summer—and . . . off the record, there's been talk of internment. I can't in good conscience . . ."

"She's abroad," says Samantha suddenly. The words plop down like snowflakes, bringing a tiny measure of grace and calm to the hysterical scene between Percy and Dad.

"Thank God," breathes Percy.

"She is?" snorts Dad.

"Are you absolutely, entirely certain of that?" demands Percy.

"Yes," says Samantha, who is only nine-tenths certain but senses that "yes" is the safest thing to say. "She went abroad. She didn't tell me where. As you can see, my parents know even less than I do—"

"When did she leave?" interrupts Percy.

The Clearwaters look at each other, tacitly deferring to Samantha. "Don't knock over the crystal decanter," mutters Dad. "My wife is attached to it. Stop fidgeting, and control your wand."

"Was it Monday?" demands Percy, edging away from the sideboard. "No one's seen her all week. I've been . . . she's on the short list of Ministry employees who haven't reported . . . I went to her office this afternoon, and Perkins told me that she owled in Monday that she was suffering from a bout of incompatible charms malaise, and was going to try to see a Healer at St. Mungo's, and thought she'd be out sick for at least two days. When she didn't turn up on Wednesday, he Flooed St. Mungo's and found out she'd never been there at all—but by then the political situation was heating up, and Perkins didn't want to turn her in, so he decided to just lie low until someone asked him about it—"

"She left on Monday," confirms Samantha. Penelope didn't authorize her to say this, but how much harm can it do if he already knows?

"The Ministry may send someone to question you about her whereabouts. As of next Monday, Madam Umbridge will be issuing search warrants for the dwellings of all Muggle-born Ministry employees who haven't turned themselves in. Dr. Clearwater, may I have your permission to search the house for magical artifacts that might compromise you or her?"

"She took all that garbage with her," says Dad. "Her bedroom is as bare as—." He doesn't finish the sentence.

"I'll search with magic," announces Percy, brandishing his wand. "It's more thorough than a visual search."

"Do whatever you like," mutters Dad. "Just don't make a mess, and please relieve us of your company as soon as possible." He pats Mum ineffectually on the back and saunters out to the kitchen, muttering, "I wish to God I'd never heard of magic. We should have sent her to Roedean . . ."

Samantha follows Percy out of the dining room. "Accio magical objects!" he cries, waving his wand in the drawing room. Nothing happens. "Accio magical objects!" he cries, waving his wand in Mum's study. Nothing happens. "Accio magical objects!" he cries, waving his wand in her parents' bedroom. Nothing happens. "She really did sweep it clean," he comments to Samantha, with a curious note of pride in his voice.

"There was nothing to sweep," asserts Samantha. "Mum and Dad have never allowed any magical objects anywhere downstairs. They don't allow Penelope to cast spells downstairs, either. They really have nothing to do with magic."

"Samantha," says Percy, laying a hand on her shoulder, "I know your sister. I've known her for years. I know that you were her friend, and your parents were not—supportive." She surveys him stonily and wonders if this is kindness, or a veiled threat. She left the steak knife downstairs.

"This is our brother Alan's old room," announces Samantha, opening another door, "and you can search it if you want to, but you're not going to find anything."

"Accio magical objects!" cries Percy. Nothing happens.

"Do you want to search the loo?" asks Samantha drily.

"I'd like to search your room," retorts Percy. Samantha leads the way upstairs.

Percy searches her room, the box room, Penelope's room. They are clean, clean, clean.

"She did a good job," says Percy, gazing around Penelope's barren white bedroom. "She's a very smart girl, your sister. I wish—she's really abroad?"

"Yes," says Samantha firmly.

Percy hesitates and then says, in an anguished tone, "Samantha, I don't know how much you're not telling me, and I'm not going to embarrass you by asking where she is. But if you're in touch with your sister, tell her to stay there. As far away as possible. I'm very sorry to say it—I've never spoken ill of the Ministry—but I think . . . the new Minister . . . may be taking an irresponsible line . . ." He adds, so softly that Samantha can hardly hear it, "Damn the whole concept of blood."

"You waited four days to warn her," points out Samantha. "The trials have already started, right? You waited four days. As far as you're concerned, she could—"

"Samantha—"

"Good thing she wasn't depending on you," sniffs Samantha.

"I've been looking for her all week!" protests Percy, gesticulating so wildly that he nearly drops his wand. "You don't realize how dangerous it is! She wasn't at work, and I couldn't ask questions, because I didn't want anyone to know I was looking for her. I thought about Flooing her, but the Floo Network is being watched, and—finally I decided to risk Perkins, because I've known him since I was a kid, and he—come to think of it—" He breaks off and points him wand at the fireplace. After several swipes and swishes, he turns to Samantha and says, "I thought your sister had a Floo connection."

"She does."

"Which fireplace?"

"That one."

"No," says Percy. "It's been disconnected."

"Penelope must have done it before she left," says Samantha, adding, a little smugly, "She was very thorough."

"Penny couldn't have done it," objects Percy. "The Floo Network is under strict central supervision. Only a member of the Floo Network Authority could have disconnected it, and in any case, all adjustments to Floo connections in Muggle buildings have to be approved by either the Head of Magical Transport or the Minister himself. She doesn't have any friends on the Floo Regulatory Board, does she?"

"I don't think so," says Samantha slowly, thinking that even if Penelope did, she would hardly expose them to Percy. "Penelope doesn't have many friends at the Ministry, and most of the friends she does have work in Muggle relations. Oh, and she knows some people in Improper Use of Magic, of course—"

Percy blanches and stares with renewed chagrin at the fireplace.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just remembered someone Penny knows who has a useful contact at the Floo Regulation Panel."

"Is it safe? Is he reliable?"

"Yes," mutters Percy. "I dare say he is."

"Percy," says Samantha, "how bad is it, really? What's happening to the people they catch?"

"Their wands are being confiscated," he says slowly, "and those who are perceived as significant threats are being interned . . ."

"Penelope's never been interested in politics—she's never—"

"But she works at the Ministry. And she has a lot to do with Muggles. They caught Viola Merton. She splinched herself when she was trying to flee. Umbridge booted her up to the top of the hearings list, because she was in a Muggle-related job and might, supposedly, have disseminated Ministry secrets to Muggles. Those are the ones who are really at risk—those in sensitive jobs. If Penelope were a shop assistant or a barmaid," sighs Percy, "this would be so much less worrisome . . ."

"Are blood traitors also at risk?" inquires Samantha.

"Blood traitors?" asks Percy incredulously. "Did your sister teach you to talk like that?"

"She has a friend she's been worried about," says Samantha. "Arthur something-or-other. He's an older man—I don't mean an old man, just older than us—and he works with fake Dark detectors or something like that. Penelope says he's—" She breaks off, suddenly realizing that it may not be a good idea to tell Percy everything that Penelope suspects that Arthur has been up to. But Percy is staring blankly out Penelope's window into the gnarled branches of an oak tree. "Penelope was always worried that the Ministry might give him a hard time for being a 'blood traitor,'" she finishes lamely. "I—do you even know him?"

"My entire family is going to be 'given a hard time' before this administration is through," says Percy, as if a million miles away. "He let them in for it—he's the one who started the family's association with Dumbledore—he and my Prewett uncles, and they're already dead. If he'd made a mark at the Ministry, if he'd made people take him seriously, he might have more influence now, and the Ministry wouldn't be prosecuting—I mean, I never expected him to save the world, I just wanted to have a family I could be proud—"

"Percy?" whispers Samantha. "Percy, who is Arthur?"

"He's my father," mutters Percy. "I know your sister didn't put up any Anti-Apparition wards downstairs. Did she put them up here?"

"N-no," stutters Samantha.

"Good. Take care of yourself. Don't tell anyone where your sister is. Don't tell anyone I was here. If I learn anything, I'll be in touch."

He takes a deep breath and disapparates. Samantha stares after him and wonders why her sister never told her that Percy was Arthur's son.