Percy opened his mouth and yawned hugely.
Minister Fudge paused in the letter he was dictating and regarded Percy curiously. "Are you all right, my lad?"
"Quite all right, sir." Percy stifled another yawn. "Just haven't been getting enough sleep lately, I suppose."
"Ah yes," said Fudge smugly, rolling onto the balls of his feet. "Yes, I see. And that's quite all right, Weasley, a young man at your age should have himself a bit of fun -- and you could stand a bit more of it, my lad." He cast Percy a knowing wink. "So long as she doesn't interfere with your work."
Percy straightened indignantly. "Of course not, sir! And it's not like that at all," he added hastily, realizing the implications on Penelope's character.
Minister Fudge looked his junior assistant over and then let out a little sigh. "No, of course it wouldn't be, would it," he said. "Carry on then, Weasley. 'I expect your reply within the week. Your efforts are greatly appreciated, the Ministry thanks you, et cetera et cetera, signed the Minister of Magic.'"
Percy put the finishing touches on the letter and handed it to the Minister, who scanned it over and put his signature at the bottom with a quick, practiced hand.
"Splendid," said the Minister, handing the letter back to Percy. "Deliver that before lunch and the matter will be closed." Indeed, Percy had already rolled up the letter and was busily marking the wax seal with the Ministry crest. "Now, my boy, I have a somewhat more difficult assignment for you."
Percy's ears perked up. "Yes, sir?" he said eagerly.
"There'll be a reporter coming in from the Daily Prophet at around three o'clock --a young Mr. Dellinger, I believe," said Minister Fudge, flipping through a vast folder of parchments that Kingsley Shacklebolt had left on his desk. "He wishes to do a piece on Dolores Umbridge and her new promotion. I would submit to the interview myself, but I'm afraid I shall be meeting with the Goblin Liaison Office during that very hour. I'll need you to -- as they say -- speak for me."
Percy couldn't believe his luck. "Of course, sir! I'd be delighted." And he'd buy copies of the article for everyone he knew.
"Ah, good, good, Weasley. I knew I could count on you. Bartemius Crouch -- wherever he may be -- always spoke quite highly of you."
"Thank you, sir." Percy smiled proudly on the outside and slyly on the inside. He knew perfectly well that he had been promoted on the basis of his ability to spy on the rest of his family -- of everyone hurt by the estrangement, Minister Fudge probably felt it most of all. Since then he had realized Percy's merit, and was pretending that it was the reason he'd been promoted in the first place.
"I've made up a ... well, a fact sheet of sorts," said Minister Fudge, plucking a scroll from his desk. "It describes the office of the Hogwarts High Inquisitor and establishes the Ministry's position." He gave Percy a very meaningful look.
"I'll do my best to honor it, sir," said Percy promptly.
Minister Fudge smiled. "Of course you will, lad. Well! I'm off to chat with the Wizengamot -- horrible conflict concerning the use of courtrooms, apparently the Ludicrous Patents Office booked them for an office party on the day of an important trial -- I'll just leave these so that you have a chance to read them thoroughly." He laid the parchment on Percy's desk. "Carry on with that report. Good luck this afternoon!" He grabbed his bowler from the hat rack and strode out.
Minister Fudge had been gone a bare few minutes when a fluffy white head poked into the office.
"Weasley!"
Percy got up from his desk and hurried over to the door. "Perkins! Couldn't this have waited --"
"Just found out," said Perkins. "Sturgis Podmore -- that bloke that was caught trying to get into the tenth floor --"
"He looked like a regular vagabond," said Percy with an air of distaste, "hair flying in every direction --"
"He's in Dumbledore's Order!"
Percy stared.
"Well, he used to be," Perkins reconsidered. "'Spect he will be again in six months, once they let him out of Azkaban."
Percy leaned against the doorframe, deep in thought. "It's as bad as we expected," he murmured. "Getting themselves thrown in prison, and even before Voldemort makes a public move ..." He chewed on his lower lip for a moment. Then he remembered the danger of meeting in the office, and straightened. "Is there anything else?"
"Stop by my place after work," Perkins said quickly. "We'll begin those lessons you wanted. I'll fry something up for dinner."
"I'll need to leave by seven," Percy told him. "Meeting Penny." He yawned again. "I don't suppose we could pass up on the toilet stakeout tonight, eh?"
"The night we're not there is the night he'll strike," Perkins said stoutly. "See you after, Weasley."
"See you," said Percy halfheartedly. He returned to his desk. Three weeks of nightly patrols had led to no incidents and no suspects, let alone a capture. Still, Percy remained convinced that they had the right location. The Muggle-baiter -- or, as he and Perkins had come to call him, the Loo Bandit -- was simply laying low. He would give himself away in time.
Percy yawned, settled back in his chair to read the Minister's 'fact sheet', and fell asleep within seconds.
Percy snorted awake at five minutes to one. Congratulating himself on having an impeccable internal clock, and praying that no one had seen him sleeping through lunch, he fastidiously straightened his desk and got to work preparing for the afternoon interview.
The young Mr. Dellinger turned out to be a burly, brown-haired boy not much older than Percy, who had a firm handshake and said, "Daedalus Dellinger, I'm with the Daily Prophet" as if he hated the taste of the words. Percy ushered him up to the Minister's office and they sat on opposite sides of his writing desk.
"So," said Dellinger, when pleasantries had been dispensed with, "I understand that the Ministry has created a new position -- the Hogwarts High Inquisitor. What prompted the creation of this job?"
"Well," said Percy, proud of his knowledge of the situation, "the Minister has been growing uneasy about the goings-on at Hogwarts for some time. He is now responding to concerns voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve."
"Like who?" said Dellinger, scribbling on his parchment with another quill between his teeth and still another wedged behind his ear.
"Oh, support for this measure has been vast," said Percy smugly, "especially given the events surrounding the end of the school year. I won't embarrass those who privately support the decree, but both Mr. Lucius Malfoy and Madam Diana Edgecomb have told me that they would be quite happy to discuss it with the Prophet." That was in the notes Minister Fudge had left behind.
"But there's been some dissension," Dellinger said, looking up at Percy.
"Sadly," said Percy, taking off his glasses and meticulously polishing them on the edge of his robe, "not everyone is as perceptive to the needs of the students -- and as progressive -- as Minister Fudge and Dolores Umbridge." He put his glasses back on. "Just this morning, both Mr. Ogden and Madam Marchbanks of the Wizengamot have resigned their positions as a sign of protest."
"Yes, I had heard." The reporter made a quick note. "Dolores Umbridge. Can you tell us more about her?"
"Certainly," said Percy, straightening his collar. "Dolores Umbridge has been a key player in wizard politics for well on twenty years. With extensive training in educational issues and a thorough knowledge of the workings of the Ministry, she was Minister Fudge's first choice to fill the vacancy at Hogwarts."
Dellinger looked surprised. "Minister Fudge was able to appoint someone to a Hogwarts position?"
"Why yes," said Percy. "In full accordance, I might add, with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two. That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff at Hogwarts. Dumbledore couldn't find anyone, so the Minister put in Umbridge and of course, she's been an immediate success, totally revolutionizing the teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts."
Some of that was from Fudge's notes as well, but much of it was Percy's own. He was quite proud of knowing the names and numbers of the various decrees going through the office every day.
"Interesting," said Dellinger, though he seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Percy. He checked his notes. "What's this position entail?"
"It's quite encouraging," said Percy, now fully comfortable with the interview and, in fact, rather enjoying himself. "This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with what some are calling the 'falling standards' at Hogwarts. Again, I would refer you to Lucius Malfoy," he added, and the reporter made note. "As for the position itself, it is something like ... an overseer, if you will, a foreman. The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch."
"Then this is a promotion," Dellinger deduced.
"Yes and no," Percy chuckled. "It's quite an honor, of course, but she will retain her original job. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post, and we are delighted to say that she has accepted."
"I'll bet you are," said Dellinger. He glanced through his notes again. "I think that's everything I need from the Ministry." He rose to extend a hand. "Thanks for your time."
Percy shook his hand solemnly. "The pleasure was mine, Mr. Dellinger. Might I say," he added hastily, as Dellinger began to leave, "that should you ever require the opinion of a Ministry insider --"
Daedalus Dellinger turned around. "I'll come straight to you," he said, not betraying a smile. "I'm sure you'll have words to spare."
Never dreaming that he had been insulted, Percy bowed the reporter out the door.
Cornelius Fudge returned at four forty-five, bearing a sheaf of parchments and looking disgruntled. "Gringott's wants to bone up security with a couple of trolls," he told Percy, depositing the teetering stack on his desk. "It's ridiculous, of course, trolls in Diagon Alley ... Goblin Liaison Office won't listen to reason ..." He collapsed into his chair and flipped open a purple paper airplane that had come in moments before. "Ah, the Ludicrous Patents Office has rescheduled their party. Very good, the Wizengamot will be thrilled ..." He looked over at Percy for the first time. "By the way, Weasley, how did the interview go?"
"It went splendidly, sir," said Percy proudly. "I believe that the ministry's stance on the subject has been very clearly delineated."
"Ah." Minister Fudge nodded approvingly. "I'm delighted to hear it. Duplicate this and pass it on to the Wizengamot, my lad."
He flicked the memo expertly through the air; Percy caught it by one wing.
The Minister stood up and patted himself on the chest. "That's it for me, Weasley, I'm off early. Dining with the Parsimmers, you know. Excellent people. Quite generous..."
He wound his scarf around his neck and picked up his lime-green bowler from the hat stand by the door. Percy carefully unfolded the memo and began copying it to another purple parchment.
"Oh -- Weasley -- one more thing."
Percy looked up quickly from the memo. "Yes, sir?"
"Lucius Malfoy is holding a dinner party of sorts in honor of Madam Umbridge's new position. She'll be in attendance, as will I ... I was wondering, Weasley, if you'd care to join us. You were kind enough to facilitate that interview, after all, and Dolores did appreciate your work at the Potter trial."
Percy was stunned. "A ... a dinner party, sir?"
"Yes, you see, it's a sort of gathering where we all go and eat dinner."
"Of course --" Percy's ears went very red. "I'd be -- I'd be very honored, sir."
"Delightful." Minister Fudge looked genuinely pleased that he had accepted. "The Malfoy Manor at five o'clock on Sunday, then. Dress robes, of course."
"Of course, sir," said Percy, nearly knocking over his inkwell in his excitement.
"In that case I'll see you there. Have a good weekend, my lad. Do try to have some fun."
"If you insist, sir." Percy's face was serious again.
Minister Fudge sighed.
Perkins lived in a cookie-cutter townhouse in Covent Garden. His knowledge of the Muggle world kept his neighbors blissfully unaware of his magical connection, and an arsenal of charms completely hid the fact that his small home contained a restaurant-quality kitchen, a living room, a dining room, a bedroom, two libraries and one-and-a-half baths.
Percy apparated to the end of the street and approached the house casually. He knocked briskly and waited for nearly half a minute. No response. He tried again, more loudly. Nothing.
Reasoning that he was invited and therefore expected, he tried the doorknob. It turned in his hand.
"Perkins?"
The house was dark. Percy came inside cautiously and shut the door behind him, instinctively making as little noise as possible. This wasn't right. He reached for his wand.
A glimmer of light rose and fell in the direction of the study. Carefully, Percy made his way through the dark apartment. His every footfall echoed on the bare floors. He kept close to the walls, forcing himself to remember the position of Perkins' furniture, struggling to acclimate to the darkness.
The door to the study loomed on his left. Percy gripped his wand, took a deep breath, and burst in.
"Accio wand!"
The wand flew out of his hand. At the same instant, the lights blazed on in time for Percy to see a shimmering broadsword careening towards his head.
Percy dropped to the ground and felt the blade whiz over his head. From that vantage point, he had a split-second to take in what was going on: Perkins sat in an armchair in the corner, nonchalantly drinking a cup of tea, an abandoned sword lay across the end table, and the sword which had attacked him hung in midair, unsupported, waiting for him to move.
Percy lunged at the abandoned sword. Instantly the disembodied one zoomed across the room toward him. He grabbed his weapon and swung it wildly; the attacking sword was thrown over his shoulder and into the wall, where it hung shuddering for a few moments before pulling itself out and approaching Percy again.
Percy turned his attention on Perkins.
"What -- are -- you -- doing!"
"Teaching you to fight, lad!" called Perkins from the corner, raising his teacup in salute.
Percy ducked and the blade narrowly missed the back of his head. He took a swipe at the sword and managed to make contact; it hung in the air for a moment, singing with vibration, and resumed the attack. "You were supposed to teach me yourself!"
"Progress," said Perkins, with a devilish grin.
Percy ducked again. "It's trying to kill me!"
"Pish tosh!" said Perkins. "Anyhow I'm not half as good as the old Guardian here. Watch it, sprout, your left flank's exposed."
Percy rotated quickly to cover his left side and received in turn a long scratch in the right arm.
"Overcorrection!" sang out Perkins, as his young protégé dove behind a plant stand. The plant was severed with one swipe of the Guardian sword. Percy swung out twice and caught the Guardian first from one side, then the other -- the sword withdrew a foot and Percy came out from behind the shorn plant with the sword handle clutched in both hands.
"You'd better hope I lose this fight," Percy snarled, sweat dripping around the rim of his spectacles and down his long nose, "because if I win, I'll kill you."
"With that technique?" roared Perkins.
The Guardian pulled back and redoubled the attack. Percy fended off a half-dozen blows before the sword caught him in the left shoulder; another ten or so assaults and the Guardian sword caught Percy's sword just under the handle and sent it flying across the room with one deft twist. He dove after it and was delivered a hard smack in the chest with the flat of the blade. He thudded to the ground, panting, with the Guardian hovering at his throat.
"That's enough!"
Perkins had risen from his armchair, teacup still in hand. The sword backed away from Percy, snapped to attention before Perkins, and flew across the room to settle itself across the shield above the mantelpiece.
Percy stared after the sword and shakily accepted the hand that Perkins offered. He was barely on his feet again before he staggered over to the sofa and collapsed, quite ignoring Perkins' protests that he was getting blood on the upholstery. It was a few minutes before he spoke again.
"Where'd you get that sword?"
"Confiscated it in a raid," said Perkins, smiling fondly at the Guardian in its position over the mantle. He beamed over at Percy. "Sort of fun, wasn't it?"
Percy glared at him. "I think I hate you."
"Nonsense. You'll thank me someday."
He gestured toward the armchair.
"Have some tea?"
Penelope paced in front of Nelson's Column in Trafalgar Square. She glanced again at her watch. Percy wasn't late, technically -- well, not by much -- but she had grown to count on him arriving places ten minutes too early. He took punctuality to an extreme.
Just as she was starting to wonder whether to be worried, she saw a red-headed figure with a very familiar walk striding across the courtyard toward her. She grinned a little. Percy denied it, but she thought he looked dapper in Muggle clothes. Sweater-vests really suited him.
"Wotcher, 'andsome," she said cheekily, as he approached.
"Wotcher yourself," he grinned back, hands in his pockets. Yes, Muggle clothes definitely suited him. "Good day?"
"It is now."
She reached up put her arm around him -- but when her hand brushed his shoulder, Percy let out his breath and flinched.
Penelope drew back worriedly. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Percy said dismissively. "Just -- banged it at work, that's all --"
"Oh, do let me look at it --"
"I told you, it's fine," Percy said, more sharply that he intended. Penelope dropped her hands. He managed to smile at her. "Thank you."
Penelope smiled back. "Apart from getting banged up," she said, leading him over to a park bench, "how was work?"
"Smashing," said Percy eagerly, the pain in his arms completely forgotten. They both sat down. "I gave an interview to the Daily Prophet. And Penny, you'll never believe -- I've been invited to a formal dinner in honor of Dolores Umbridge. It's at Lucius Malfoy's estate. The Minister himself invited me!"
"Congratulations!" said Penelope. Percy hadn't sounded so excited for a very long time. Keeping her voice casual, she asked, "Could you take a guest?"
Percy looked shocked. "Penny, I would never presume --"
"It's all right," she said quickly. "I understand."
She looked disappointed. Percy reached out and took both her hands. "I know who I'd invite, though."
Penelope smiled back at him. "Oh? Who?"
"Johnny Peasegood. He's dying to meet the Minister." Penelope's jaw dropped indignantly, but Percy was grinning at her, and his jokes weren't so rare that she didn't recognize them. She laughed with him. "Honestly, Penny, I'd take you in a minute."
She leaned toward him. "Honestly?"
Their noses were nearly touching. Percy lowered his voice. "Of course. They might promote me for bringing along such a beautiful guest."
"You're joking again," whispered Penelope, her lips brushing his cheek.
Percy let his hands roam up her arms. "Not about the beautiful guest ..."
Further conversation became unnecessary.
