Chapter 9
"No, his name is Alastor Moody. A, l, a, s, t, o, r. Yes, M, o, o, d, y…he doesn't have a phone listing? Ok, thanks." Percy sighed. Wizards really underestimated the use of phones. Alastor Moody, the only person fanatical enough to help him was also, unfortunately, paranoid. He didn't list his address in any wizard books, he didn't use floo powder, his house was unplottable, and he didn't list his phone even if he had one. Percy hit the phone book repeatedly in frustration, while an old woman peered in at him, clearly displeased. Blushing, Percy stopped. That had been rather…uncalled for. He was beginning to lose his calm and poise, and it was making him begin to panic. What if he was a retched convict and mental patient forever? What if he became viler and viler and viler, more and more unlawful until he forgot he was ever successful Ministry worker with great potential? His heart feeling like a stone, Percy stepped out so the woman could make her phone call. Lockhart was sitting on the curb, smiling at everyone who was passing by. Percy went and sat with him, head in his hands.
"You know what?" Percy said, "You know what?!"
"What?" Lockhart said blankly.
"What is wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with me? Why? What is my problem?!" He sighed and looked at the ground, his hands clenching into fists, "I am an awful person, I killed my sister and I betrayed my family! I almost joined Voldemort, and for what? A promotion! I don't deserve to live. I should just die. Die right now before I do anything else dumb. That's right. I should just die. The world would be better without me! Yes, it would!" Percy got up and yelled, not caring about his reputation, not caring about looking silly, not caring about anything. No one would notice if he was dead. Nobody at all. Everyone hated him; no one would even look for him. He imagined his parents casually discussing the weather and moaning about duty at his funeral. It would be better. The world really would be better without him. Fred and George? They would probably laugh. Perfect Percy finally died. Now they could run their joke shop without him writing letters about how he disapproved. Ron? Ron hated him, Ron would be happy. Ron the Prefect would be very happy. Ron the Prefect. Nobody. Nobody at all. Even Penelope wouldn't care. Nobody. Nobody loved him. Why had he even born? Why did God bother to create him? Did God have some kind of cruel sense of humor? Percy thought about it for a second and decided yes if he had created him and didn't let him die in the womb. Percy got up and yelled to the sky, "Does anyone have a rope? Anyone? Someone give me a rope I really need it!" He breathed in and out, panic creeping in on him, "Someone give me a ******* rope!" People were beginning to stare at him as they passed, "Nobody has a rope? Somebody has to have a rope! **** you people, don't you have a rope! Please, anybody!" Nobody had a rope. He had shouted himself horse for about half an hour, Lockhart covering his ears, and nobody had a rope they would give him. The traffic was too slow to run into. He didn't have any money to buy a knife.
Percy sat back down. He couldn't believe he had been yelling for half an hour on the public streets. His ears red, Percy tried to think of an alterative way to die.
Everybody: I'm sorry this is so morbid, please don't worry! I know this is a bad time to leave you hanging, I'm sorry! Please don't worry!