Percy couldn't get it right anymore.
Mother-- No. Molly-- No. Mum-- No...
Perfect prefect Percy who can't even figure out what to call his own mother. Who sent back his Christmas present and made his mum cry. Who'd done it for the wrong cause and followed the wrong man.
I've made a terrible mistake, and
No. It hadn't been a mistake. Percy had acted as he was expected to, out of duty. It had been his duty to follow Fudge. It was what Percy's job had been. It had been what Percy needed to do for himself and his station at the time.
I hope you can understand the position I was put in by
No. That wasn't right either. The call of duty and the drive to succeed wasn't something his parents had ever been able to understand. That was why Percy'd grown up in shabby robes and a household of ghouls and shared rooms and second hand books. He couldn't ask them to understand his own ambition when they had none of their own, nor could he ask them to understand duty to the government. Arthur... his father... Dad... hadn't found a problem with betraying the people for whom he worked.
I cannot be excused for my actions, but nor can you be excused for yours
No. Percy's actions had reason. Had motivation. The actions of his parents had... nothing. His parents had been wrong. Percy had done what was right. Percy had followed the rules. Percy wasn't the one at fault.
What happened between I and your family was not my fault; it can be blamed on Fudge's ignorance
Almost. Almost. Fudge. If Fudge hadn't refused the truth, Percy wouldn't have to apologize for doing the right thing, the thing which had gotten him power and success and brief happiness. But it had been so brief. It had ended with Dumbledore's proof and Fudge's concession and now he was sitting at a desk and preparing to be humble for something which hadn't been wrong.
Percy wouldn't do it. He didn't have to do it. He hadn't done anything wrong. He'd done everything right. He'd gotten to a high position in the Ministry, he'd stayed true to his employer. But, where had it gotten him? To this desk. To this lying quill and this sorry green ink that spilled across the paper like water and oil before his wand came out of his pocket to erase the parts that weren't right.
Nothing was on this paper anymore. Percy had taken away the apologies and the names and the justifications, because all of it had been wrong. Fudge had been wrong. The family had been wrong. Percy hadn't been wrong. He didn't need to write this. He wouldn't.
There was something else that he could write, though. Something he could write to ensure that he'd never have to deal with the Ministry's stupidity or his family's bad name. Somebody he could address that would understand his motivations of power and success. An entity that thrived on such power and success, and wouldn't hold him back in wealth or in recognition or in status.
Lucius Malfoy. The quill scratched the name onto the paper and paused a moment, as if waiting for some approval. The parchment soaked up the letters, drinking them in a way that Percy would remember when he stood within a circle of dark robes. Lucius Malfoy. The paper was accepting the name and the decision. This time, for these words, Percy's wand stayed in his pocket.
Yes.