Pretend Friends and Blood Traitors
Author's Note: Percy is my least favorite Weasely character, but I don't hate him. In fact, I can relate to him on some levels, and I don't think he's that bad. His worse flaws are an overvaulting ambition that overleaps itself, and his naivete. Fleur will make a stunning appearance in the next chapter. I haven't forgotten her, never fear.
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Disclaimer: Nope, my name is not J.K. Rowling, and therefore, Harry Potter is not my property, because I don't believe in slavery.
Two days later was one of the worst and longest days of Bill Weasley's life. Of course, it would be one of the lengthiest, because fate elongated the unpleasant days, and reduced the hours in a lovely one, he decided sourly. After spending a majority of his waking hours placing curses on high security vaults in the fathoms of Gringotts bank, he relieved Mundungus Fletcher, a bandy-legged, baggy-eyed wizard, who smelled like a particularly foul bunch of tobacco and stale ale, of one of the Order's two Invisibility Cloaks, and Apparated to outside number four, Privet Drive to spy on Harry Potter.
Fortunately, he did not have to search long for the boy, since the dark-haired lad was sprawling under the living room window in a patch of parched begonias, for some bizarre reason. A strand of Muggle news from the pelevsion or whatever that queer talking box was named, filtered out of the Dursely's open window. Harry must have been listening to it, for some of the tension etched onto his face loosened as the news gradually became less and less significant. When the newsreader finished explaining how another lawsuit was beingfiled against some fast food firm by an obese person who seemed surprised to find that all that junk did add up around the middle, Harry issued an impatient tut rather like a steam engine's, and then rose.
With an invisible Bill on his heels, Harry began tomeander through the streets, seemingly unaware of where his feet were carrying him. Within five minutes, they had arrived in a deserted Muggle park, where Harry leaped dully onto a swing, and started swinging listlessly back and forth, his feet propelling him dully. A distant expression clouded his face, suggesting he was lost in a debate with various aspects of himself. Only when the sun had set entirely, leaving the world and sky indigo, did Harry jump of the swing, and turn homeward, if you could call the Dursley residence his home. By the time Harry had returned to the dwelling of his doting aunt and uncle, Bill's shift was over, thank the merciless Lord, and he was exchanging the Invisibility Cloak with Tonks, who had the night duty.
As he Disapparated for the Burrow, Bill exhaled gustily. The task he had just completed had been an excruciating one. When he had signed up for risking his neck, he had not imagined it would entail this sort of thing, sneaking around behind his youngest brother's best friend. Standing perhaps a dozen feet away from a confused, desolate Harry, and being unable to reveal himself or assist the boy in anyway that mattered had torn at Bill, and exhausted him in ways even a full day at Gringotts could not. It violated the core of his nature, and yet, he had to do it, he recognized that much, because Dumbledore and the rest of the Order expected him to fulfill his responsibilities, even if they were terribly agonizing. At least he only had duty one more time this week...he should be grateful for such a blessing as that.
While he determined this, he had arrived outside the Burrow. Regaining his wits, he opened the door. When he entered, he registered that his mother was finishing concocting a dulcet meatloaf, and his sister was setting the table for supper. Excellent, he offered a weary, mental smile, we're eating soon. I feel like I haven't eaten in a month. With that in his mind, he slipped, exhausted, into a chair. However, this earned him a glower from Ginny.
"You are the laziest bum I ever had the misfortune of meeting, Bill. Instead of sitting there like a wart on a frog, you could help me set the table, if that's not too much exertion for you."
"Oh, the abuses I put up with from my little sister, who's supposed to admire me. Still, don't worry, tigress, I'll help you, anyway." Grinning at her, Bill Summoned nine platters over to him, an action which did not garner his mother's support.
"Bill!" she reproached, ducking the stack of plates that sliced through the air. "Those saucers nearly beheaded me. Your sister's right, for you're a lazy bum. I mean, really, what on earth was wrong with getting off your bottom, and fetching them by hand?"
"That way was far too slow, Mum," teased Bill, as he sent each of the dishes to the appropriate location at the table, and Ginny crossed the room to load the goblets with pumpkin juice.
Not long after that, Mr. Weasley returned home, closely tailed by Percy, whose expression was even smugger than usual, if that was possible, which, apparently, it was. Then, the twins and Ron crashed into the kitchen at their mum's holler, and the family settled into their typical dinner seats.
"I have important news," Mr. Weasley and Percy announced in unison as Mrs. Weasely served everyone slabs of meatloaf and a scoop of green beans. Father and son glanced at each other, before Percy waved his hand in an attempt at a magnanimous gesture. "Go on, Father."
"No, you go first." Mr. Weasley shook his head, and then waited for his third born to continue.
"Very well. Thank you, Father. Anyway, it is with great pleasure that I impart upon you all that I have just been honored to receive a very important promotion."
"Really?" Fred pretended to choke on a mouthful of meatloaf. "Wow, what do you do now? Clean people's toilet bowls, instead of kissing their butts?"
"Do you reckon that they'll learn your name soon?" inquired George in mock seriousness. At this, Ron snorted into his goblet of juice, and Ginny giggled. Even Bill could not stifle a grin. The dreadful duo were horrible and remorseless, but they were nothing if not a laugh.
Before Mrs. Weasley, who was drawing herself up like a bullfrog, could defend her favorite child, her spouse had demanded in a rather terse voice of Percy, "What?"
"I've been promoted to Junior Assistant to the Minister," Percy informed him in a complacent voice. The smile etched on his face implied that he had misinterpreted his dad's tone.
"Percy, you can't be considering taking this job," Mr. Weasley stated firmly.
"It has an annual salary of over eight hundred Galleons." Percy's expression was a mask of incredulity. "Of course I'm accepting it, Father! In fact, I have already accepted Mr. Fudge's promotion, thank you very much. I am not such a fool as to refuse such an opportunity or such a salary, and I resent the implication that I am."
"Frankly, Percy, I think you more the idiot for accepting it." Mr. Weasley shook his head, a similar expression of disbelief carved on his features. In a carefully measured voice, he questioned, "Do you understand why they gave you that job?"
"Because I am a hardworking, obedient, enthusiastic, and clever Ministry employee, obviously, Father."
At Percy's words, Bill buried his head in his palms in defeat. Honestly, his second brother could be astonishingly thick sometimes when it came to accepting grim realities of human nature. The only reason Fudge would have promoted Percy was to employ him as a spy against his own blood, and, indirectly, against Dumbledore.
"No," Mr. Weasley was responding, his voice sharper than it usually was when he was addressing his offspring. "Wrong answer. This just proves that you can read all the books you want, and still be incapable of thinking intelligently. Can't you see that they've hired you to spy on your own family, and Dumbledore?"
"It's your vision that needs to be rectified, not mine, for that's not true!" Percy's face was a scarlet splotch as he dropped his fork with a resounding clatter.
"I'm afraid that it is your eyesight that needs to be tested not mine, because it most certainly is true." Mr. Weasley was shouting now, as he, too, threw down his cutlery. "We live in a real world, Percy Weasley, come back to it. You're aware of how Fudge has become Big Brother lately: sneaking about, breathing down everyone's neck to ascertain that they're not having contact with Dumbledore the Great Heretic."
"So what if he has?" sneered Percy. "He's the Minister, and he may do whatever he pleases within the bounds of the law―"
"Which he has taken to modifying a lot recently!" Bill flinched at the contempt in his father's tone.
"You would do well not to criticize your superiors," Percy snapped, his eyes blazing with wrath. "Can't you comprehend that the Minister of Magic is wiser than you?"
"Percy," Mrs. Weasley gasped. However, Percy paid her no mind, as though she were a beetle he had just trampled.
"Did it ever enter your pea-sized mind that there's a reason why he's higher up than you are at the Ministry, and did you ever consider that there might be a reason why you have such a lousy reputation at work? Or are you just too arrogant to do that? Or just too idiotic?"
"It's the Fudge that you worship who is the arrogant fool!"
"Those are the words of a jealous man, and a weak one," retorted Percy.
"Fudge has replied upon Dumbledore ever since he got the job. Who's the weak one, now?" scoffed Mr. Weasley, and Bill mentally confirmed this, wishing his little brother would back down, and see the light of reason and truth. "He can't manage on his own, and he'll soon learn that the hard way."
"Now Dumbledore has gone senile, so Mr. Fudge is prudent to sever ties with him."
"He's not senile, and he's not in denial, unlike your Fudge," rebutted Mr. Weaslet heatedly. "At least Dumbledore isn't refusing to deal with the truth."
"Excuse me, but what truth are you referring to― You-Know-Who returning? How in the world do you even know that's the truth?" Percy shrilled, and Bill groaned at his sibling's stupidity.
For a few seconds, the ire washed off their dad's face, and was replaced by shock. "How I know it's the truth?" he echoed, stunned. "How do I know?"
"That's exactly right," Percy affirmed, sounding pompous once more. "The only proof you have is Harry Potter's word." When he heard these words, Bill felt his spine stiffen. Was his sibling blind enough to believe the Daily Prophet's portrayal of Harry as an attention-crazed, deluded adolescent?
"You don't trust Harry?" demanded Mr. Weasley. "You've known him for years―how can you mistrust him?"
"He's a decent enough boy," Percy conceded, as Ron chucked a forkful of meatloaf in his direction, though it narrowly missed its target. "However, he's desperate to be the center of attention, so he obviously just concocted a story about You-Know-Who returning to manipulate the terrified millions into worshipping him, and Dumbledore was dumb enough to take him at his word!"
"You believe all the rot the Daily Prophet spews about him, then?" Mr. Weasley's eyes narrowed.
Solemnly, Percy bobbed his head in assent. "Still, I have to admit that Harry's more of a man than you. At least he has the ambition to seek attention, unlike you. Your lack of ambition is the reason we're dirt poor, because you never worked hard enough to rise in the Ministry. In fact, the only thing you provided me with was an example of how not to behave."
Bill's mouth fell open in horror. What was happening? How could Percy's voice such hateful sentiments? Sure, their father had never been able to afford to provide them with many toys or new robes, but he had invested far more than gold in his offspring. He had spent valuable time and energy on them, and Bill suspected that his dad may have sacrificed his career for his family, and it only made him love the man all the more.
"I'm your father!" snarled Mr. Weasley, his neck and ears crimson. "Watch how you address me, son."
However, Percy was furious enough to override his parent entirely, "You're a blasted imbecile to run around with Dumbledore. He's headed on a crash course, and everybody with four semi-functioning brain cells recognizes it. Why can't you? You should detach yourself from him while you still are able, but you won't, because you're too loyal." The final assessment came out as though it were an atrocious charge like murder. "It will be your ruination, mark my words."
"You're a traitor to your House, and your family," Mr. Weasley shouted.
"Is that the best you can hurl at me?" Percy's ears was the color of bacon strips. "Who cares if I'm a traitor to my House? Gryfffindor is worthless to me. I was only placed in it, because the Sorting Hat was too lazy to look beyond my Weasley hair."
"You should've been in Slytherin!" screamed Ginny abruptly. Turning to her, Bill realized that tears of anger and sorrow were sparkling in her eyes, and his heart went out to her, since his emotions were as confounded as hers.
"Yeah, I wish you had been," contributed George.
"It would have made the parties after victories on the Quidditch pitch much more awesome," Fred added vindictively. Both twins looked uglier and more bitter than Bill had ever witnessed them to be.
Ignoring the three vehement interjections, Percy drew himself up loftily. "Anyway, Father, if I am a traitor to my family, you're hardly one to do the accusing, because you and Mum have betrayed the Ministry."
"Percy, please―" Bill's mother faltered, but her third son cut across her.
"Let me tell you something else, Father. I know where my loyalties lie, and if you're going to follow Dumbledore like a blind lunatic, then, henceforth, we are enemies." At this, Mrs. Weasley sobbed, and Bill thought that his heart would cease beating in his chest. How long would it be before wands were pulled out? he wondered dazedly.
"If you're going to betray the entire magical world, then I am going to make certain that the whole world recognizes that I don't belong to this family." Percy rose, denouncing them all in one swift movement. Then, he stomped up the stairs to his bedroom.
Suddenly, Bill remembered how he had stalked up that same stairwell, declaring to his mother that he was leaving home, and was never going to return again…how he had not used magic tp pack…how he had allowed his dad to catch up to him, and to convince him to stay and make peace with his mum. From there, he abruptly recalled how he had accused his dad of not having enough ambition to get a job that would support his family, words that were eerily reminiscent of Percy's, when he had wanted money for that exchange trip to Brazil. Hope flooded him briefly. Those times had ended happily enough, so maybe everything would work out this time.
Yet, Percy seemed to be using magic to pack, unlike Bill, and Mr. Weasely did not seem inclined to chase after Percy, and his wife was crying too much to move. Personally, Bill had no idea how to soften his brother's stance, since he had never been able to chat with his second sibling, so he stayed where he was, bound to his chair like an inmate in Azkaban. And Percy did not appear poised to apologize as Bill had done when he had charged his father with the same crimes all those years ago.
Percy's trunk landed on the kitchen floor with a dull thud that resounded in the taut atmosphere, and dragged Bill back to reality with a bump. A minute later, its owner descended the steps, as well. "Farewell," he commented stiffly, as he conducted his trunk out the door.
"It seems you're no son of mine, but Fudge's boy," Mr. Weasley remarked, his tone glacial.
Percy glared at him, and then slammed the door. Watching him go, Bill began to comprehend why everyone loathed blood traitors so much. Evidently, the trouble twins shared like emotions, for they tossed forkfuls of meatloaf at the door through which Percy had just exited, and their mum was too busy wailing into her hands to chide the,. Meanwhile, Ron and Ginny were glaring after Percy.
"Dinner was excellent, thank you, Molly." Mr. Weasley's voice was hollow as his chair scraped across the floor when he got to his feet. He dumped at least half of his meal into the garbage bin, and headed for the steps.
"Wait, Dad," Bill called after him, remembering something the man had said earlier, before the blow-up that had torn their family to smithereens.
"What?" Mr. Weasley pivoted about to face him, the lines of his face still harsh after his confrontation with his third child, who had just disowned them, or been disowned by them.
"You said you had news for us," Bill reminded him.
"Right, everyone pack your bags, because tomorrow we're moving into number twelve, Grimmauld Place."
Two days later, Bill decided to visit Mike and Chris at work to give them a litmus test on where they stood in the fight against You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters. Choosing to check in with Mike first, he hurried to the Daily Prophet headquarters in the throbbing heart of London during his lunch hour off of work. The receptionist directed him to Mike's office, and within five minutes, he was knocking on his old friend's door.
Mike glanced up as he entered, his azure eyes widening with recognition. "Bill―Bill Weasley!" he exclaimed, beaming, as he bounced out of his leather seat, and clapped Bill heartily on the back. "It's so amazing to see you again. Oh, do sit down." He indicated a matching leather chair opposite his own.
As Mike returned to his seat, Bill settled into the other leather chair. "You've returned from Egypt, then?" inquired Mike.
"Right in one." Bill nodded. Thinking at the moment it was best to be cautious in this exchange, he explained, "The work in Egypt steal much from a man, so I figured that I'd return home for awhile, and spend some time with my family before I start making a home with a pretty English girl."
"That's an excellent plan," Mike responded on a laugh.
"Speaking of marrying lovely English girls―" Bill pointed at a bride and groom photo, whose occupants were waving merrily, that was placed on the desk, and whose groom bore an uncanny resemblance to Michael O'Connor― "who's that?"
"That's, um, my wife Tammy―we've been married for two years now." For the first time, Mike looked awkward. "I would've invited you to the wedding, but we hadn't been in contact for years, and I thought you might have forgotten about me."
"No sweat." Bill endeavored to ensure that the smile remained in place, even though he was surprised and a little stung. "I understand completely. So you're happy with Tammy, then?"
"Oh, yes, very."
"That's great." After that, Bill could not think of anything to destroy the uncomfortable atmosphere. In the end, he merely remarked, "I'm sorry to say that I haven't kept up with your writing while I was in Egypt."
"It's fine," Mike reassured him quickly. "I know how a life can get filled up, and all, and old friends can fall at the wayside. That's not to say that they don't matter anymore, because they so, since they've provided wonderful memories. However, they're not the center of your life like they once were. Anyway, when I'm trying to say is, we shouldn't feel guilty about not keeping in touched since we've been at other ends of the globe, although now that you've moved back to Britain, that should be easier, because Chris and I could do a fair job maintaining our friendship."
"I'm going to drop by at the Ministry to catch up with Chris soon. Now that I'm back home, I've been reading the Daily Prophet." This was the opening of the litmus test.
"That's cool."
"I have to admit I'm a little puzzled by some of the things I see in it," Bill remarked as tough it was a throw-away observation of no real import. "For instance, the paper has taken to referring to Dumbledore as a senile lunatic, and the Potter boy as a power hungry nutcase."
"Yep, that's about right," answered Mike casually.
Disgust deluged Bill. Acting on a nasty, suspicious impulse, he leaned forward, and snatched the article Mike had been penning before his entrance, and read the opening line aloud, "In a tale worthy of Harry Potter that only an airhead like Dumbledore would believe, Icarus Hilborn declares that he has flown to the moon and back again last night on his antiquated Comet Two-Sixty. Mr. Hilborn has seen taken to the lunatic ward of St. Mungo's." At that point, Bill ceased reading, and focused serious chestnut eyes on his companion. "Why do you speak so of Dumbledore and Potter, Mike? What have either of them ever done to you?"
"You wouldn't understand, Bill, if you've only just got back," soothed Mike, "but the pair of them have been creating all sorts of trouble since June with their doomsday tales of You-Know-Who being resurrected."
"So you definitely think their story is nonsense." Bill arched his eyebrows in question, willing his old friend to answer negatively, and prove that his mind was still his own and untainted.
"It doesn't matter what I believe," replied Mike with a lackadaisical shrug. "The paper tells me what to write, and I write it, because if I don't, I'd lose my job, and then what would my wife and I do, huh?"
"Great Scott, Mike, would you look at the time?" Bill forced his expression to remain unrevolted, and kept the acidic words racing inside him from bursting out, though he comprehended that his mask would not endure long, so he would have to escape quickly, because if the mask broke, Mike could no longer be trusted. This stark fact seared Bill. It cut him and it caused him to grieve for everything that they had once had and lost, and everything that Mike had once been, and now was not. "My lunch break is almost over. I'd better get back to the bank."
"I'll owl you about going out to lunch or dinner sometimes," Mike shouted after him as he departed. "You should meet Tammy, because you'll really like her."
Bill waved his understanding, although he privately prayed that he would never have to meet Michael O'Connor face to face again in his life. With a dejected heart, he Apparated into the Ministry atrium. After he checked in with the Ministry Security guard, he rode the gilded lift up to Chris' office. He asked a pretty witch in blue robes for directions to Chris Brown's office, and then followed them into the small room, where Chris was busy scribbling on a piece of parchment.
He looked up from his work as Bill entered, and his eyes grew to twice their normal diameter as Mike's had done a few minutes earlier. "Well, if it isn't Bill Wealsey, finally returned from the land of the mummies, but not the daddies."
"Yes, I'm back to visit my family before settling down to make my own," Bill smiled, praying this conversation would end better than the one with Mike had.
"Good for you. I wish you the best of luck. Having a family is great." As he asserted as much, Chris gestured at a photo with a laughing and beaming mum and dad and a waving male toddler, who appeared about one. "There's my wife of three years, Elizabeth, and our son, Tommy. Beth works in the Magical Law Enforcement Office."
"Congratulations on your marriage and baby."
"Thanks."
"Mike claims there's a wild rumor circulating about You-Know-Who being back," Bill observed indolently. "What do you think of that?"
"People who believe that codswallop make me laugh my head off," chortled Chris, and his comrade struggled not to display disappointment that his other best pal from Hogwarts had been swept up in the vortex of Ministry lies. "I mean, they seriously believe that he's back after all these years. That's just hysterical."
"Yeah, hilarious." Bill hoped his tone was not as empty as his heart felt. "Well, my lunch break is almost over, mate, so I'd better dash, because I don't want to lose my job. Just wanted to let you know I was back."
"I'll send you an owl about having you around for dinner," promised Chris as the other man prepared to depart. "Beth will want to meet you, and Tommy's starting to say 'Mummy' and 'Daddy,' and he's really cute."
"I can't wait to meet them." Bill offered the rote response as he shut the door behind him.
Tears tore at his eyes as he hastened to the lift. His two former best friends were dead to him. No, he was not angry at them, just disappointed, because they had betrayed themselves. When they were at Hogwarts, Chris and Mike had been infinitely braver than they were now. The adolescents that had played hangman in McGonagall's class and whispered insults behind Snape's back had contained more courage than the grown men who believed whatever their superiors instructed them to, which was the recourse of the small, who were doomed to remain children forever.
With a jolt, he remembered them piling their hands on top of each other, and vowing in one voice, "We'll be best friends forever." As the memory intruded upon him, Bill snorted as he walked into the lift, and punched the button for the atrium level. Sure, Chris and Mike were willing to be best friends with him as long as he was the shiniest star in the sky, and as long as it was simple, but the instinct that was no longer true, they had vanished. Maybe he was being too judgmental, for it was entirely possible that their growing apart was natural, and they had only moved away from Bill because they had chosen to stay still, rather than move and grow.
Apparently, he still seemed more irritated than usual when he arrived back in the kitchen of number twelve Grimmauld Place, where his mother was chattering with Remus as she cooked a potato casserole, for the moment he entered, Mrs. Weasley asked, "What's wrong, dear?"
"Nothing, just the fact that Chris and Mike are Ministry fools, and, because of that, our friendship is essentially over," Bill informed her gloomily, as he poured himself a glass of wine to fill the emptiness inside him.
"I'm sorry, dear," Mrs. Weasley murmured in sympathy.
"It's not your fault, and, anyway, I'm not complaining, as Dumbledore has endured the same nightmare all summer," he answered, sipping his wine. "Betrayal shouldn't take me by surprise after witnessing that sort of double-crossing and backstabbing."
"But it did," Remus noted quietly, causing Bill to jump in alarm, and then glare at him, miffed.
"I wasn't aware that I was addressing you."
"Then I won't say how it's the worst thing in the world to feel abandoned by a friend. I won't tell you how desolated and devastated I felt when I heard that Sirius, one of my best friends, had turned his back on Lily and James, two of my other best mates, and how horrible I felt when I learned that I had misjudged Sirius so much that it surprised me to hear that he could blow up Peter and a street of innocent Muggles."
"But he didn't do those things," pointed out Bill on a thoughtful frown.
"I thought he had, so it amounts to the same thing," argued Remus.
"I'm too tired to debate with you," Bill grinned. "We should chat more often, thought. You're responsible for trying to convince the werewolves to ally with us, correct?" For some reason, he found that his interest in the man had been piqued.
"Yes, and you're our goblin expert."
"I attempt to be that. Maybe we should swap tips on dealing with different magical creatures sometimes before or after a meeting," suggested Bill, thinking it might be possible to forge a new bond with this man to replace the one he had just lost with Chris and Mike.
"You're opening yourself up to another betrayal, you know," Remus commented, "because I am agreeing to exchange diplomacy ideas with you."
"I'll take that risk." As he established as much, Bill drained his goblet, and placed it in the sink with its fellow dirty dishes, before crossing over to the doorway. "I would be so lonely if I didn't open my heart again, and isn't that what living is all about? See you around."
