Monday morning came around entirely too soon. Percy knocked over his alarm clock, as usual, fixed it, as usual, and went about his standard routine.
He took his customary seat at the kitchen table and then did a double-take. Johnny Peasegood sat at the end of the table, mowing through a pile of pancakes and looking perfectly happy to be awake with the sun. Under less surprising circumstances, Percy would have come up with something more stinging, but all he managed was:
"What the devil are you doing up this early?"
"Morning, Weasley," said Johnny, not in the least perturbed.
Percy was empowered by the casual greeting. "How did you find out that this time of day existed?" he said loftily, wishing he'd come up with the line one moment earlier.
"Swainbrooke told me," Johnny grinned, tipping a wink to the landlady as she bustled past with a basket of linens.
"That's Madam Swainbrooke, thou crude Yankee," she roared heartily over her shoulder.
Percy seated himself, whipped out some parchments and got to work. Mother Swainbrooke stopped by long enough to drop a plate of flapjacks in front of him and then whisked away, whistling a tune that sounded bawdy even without words.
Percy was just about to write an exceptionally good line when Johnny's voice broke in and robbed him of the word he had been seeking for several moments.
"I'm going to lunch with Uncle Arnold, actually, and thought I'd get an early start on the day."
Percy snorted even as his fork was nearing his mouth. "What on earth do you intend to do with your early start?"
"Oh, you know, the usual," said Johnny carelessly, putting his hands behind his head. "Loaf. Loiter. Pick up a girl and do some -- what do you folks call it? Smogging?"
"I believe," said Percy through clenched teeth, "that the correct term is 'snogging'."
"Yeah, that!" said Johnny jovially. He gave Percy a hearty slap on the back, sending his quill flying into the oatmeal. "Ought to try it some time. Do you good."
"I have tried it, thank you very much," said Percy hotly, "and right now I would rather be finishing my extremely important report for the Minister of Magic!"
Johnny grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table and peered over Percy's shoulder. "Cauldron bottoms, huh?"
"Do you mind!"
"Come on, play hooky with me," Johnny begged. He plopped down on the bench beside Percy. "Be a sport. Just this once. I'll show you the bottom of a glass of firewhiskey -- put that in your report!"
"Owls are here, lads!"
Mother Swainbrooke entered, bearing no fewer than five owls on her massive shoulders. Four flapped up at the sight of Johnny and fluttered about his head, chittering to each other and jostling to deliver their letters, many of which were written on pastel-colored stationery. Hermes let out a disdainful hoot and soared to Percy's shoulder.
The letter was from Charlie. It was short -- Charlie didn't go in for writing much -- and polite, with briefly noted family news and a quick hope that he was doing well in London. The ending was unsurprising.
Percy let out an uncharacteristically heartfelt sigh. Johnny looked up from the lacy, scented note he was reading in time to see Percy tuck the letter into the pocket of his cloak. He eyed up the situation shrewdly, then said casually,
"Who's the letter from?"
"My brother," said Percy, without looking up.
Johnny sounded surprised and mildly impressed. "I didn't know you had a brother." He paused. "Or any siblings at all, for that matter."
"As a matter of fact, I have six."
"Six!" Johnny clutched his chest. "Good lord, Percy! What flavor?"
"Three brothers, one sister and a pair of twin criminals."
Johnny laughed. "You're funny, Perce. You know that?"
Percy put down his quill and looked over at Johnny. "I've never been told that in my entire life."
"Well, it's true." Johnny scratched a quick note on the back of one letter and sent the owl on its way. "I guess you're the oldest, then."
"Third, actually," said Percy, who had gone back to his report.
"No, you're too responsible," said Johnny, as if it were a point to be disputed. He scrawled another note and the second owl fluttered away.
"If that's the criteria, you must be the youngest," Percy said.
"Right in one," Johnny said easily. "Susquehanna's responsible enough for the pair of us. She's in Greece," he added unnecessarily. "She's appalled that I chose drafty old England for my European getaway. I like it, though -- just like it was in Oliver Twist, isn't it?"
"If only it was," muttered Percy, getting a strong and enjoyable image of Johnny in debtor's prison.
"Will you look at that," Johnny said fondly, reading a letter on heart-shaped paper. "Jacqueline wrote back. Well, I guess I'm hard to forget --"
Percy left for work before Johnny had finished answering his mail.
He picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet on the way to the Ministry. He was three steps away before he realized what was on the front page. Then he went back and bought out the newsstand.
After work, Percy made a beeline for Diagon Alley. He came to the steps of the Library of Gramarye and stood there stiffly beside one of the flanking stone eagles, watching the bustle of shoppers and commuters that filled the sidewalks at this time of day. Finally the sound of a creaking door caught his attention and he turned around. Penelope emerged from the library, putting up the hood of her cloak against the autumn chill. He brightened at the sight of her.
"Penny!"
She caught sight of him and smiled. "Hello, Percy."
"Did you see me in the Prophet?"
"You sent three copies to my door," said Penelope dryly, pecking him on the cheek. "How could I miss it?"
"I thought your parents would like one."
His voice was eager. He clearly had no idea how pretentious he sounded. "Your parents might like a copy," she reminded him gently.
"They've stopped getting the Prophet," he said, trying to make the comment sound casual. "They think it's rubbish."
"Oh." Penelope took his arm and they started down the crowded street. "How did the dinner party go?"
"It was smashing." His voice lit up again. "I had a chance to meet some of the most powerful wizards in the country -- they're not always the ones in office, you know," he added smugly. "Movers and shakers. Madam Umbridge was simply delightful. The Malfoy Manor is spectacular ..."
She let him talk all the way back to Mother Swainbrooke's.
The cool, bright days of September passed slowly, and very pleasantly. The Loo Bandit didn't resurface, so Percy and Perkins gave up on their nighttime vigil in favor of letting one of Perkins' Dark Detectors monitor a map of London for suspicious spells.
Percy told everyone in the office about the Malfoys' party, but no one seemed as interested as Penelope had been. He didn't notice.
Late in the month he got a letter by evening owl post:
"Here" was Perkins' place. "He" could be none other than the Loo Bandit. Percy gathered his things and hurried out the door.
When he got there, Perkins was hunched over the table poking angrily at his Dark Detectors.
"I had this thing set for every reversal jinx for twenty miles," grumbled Perkins, whacking around a squiggly golden aerial. "Bloody thing's on the fritz --" The aerial wiggled feebly and curled in on itself as if in remorse.
Percy hid a smile. "So when did you hear about it?"
"This morning," said Perkins, curling his lip. "Had to spend the best part of the day wading around in muck and fixing toilets. You keep your mouth shut," he added to Percy, who was now grinning broadly.
"Same fellow?"
Perkins shook his head. "Copycat. I saw the first three, they were geysers. This one was barely bubbling over the seat. Still made a right old mess," he added dolefully, "as if the department has nothing better to do than Banish sewage ... go ahead and laugh, you're not bloody underfunded!"
By now Percy was howling.
"I ought to --"
What Perkins ought to do was never explained. A fierce buzzing broke over his speech.
Percy stopped laughing long enough to see where the noise was coming from. "The Secrecy Sensor!" The aerial hummed violently, its tip fixed to the map before it.
"By George, it does work!" cried Perkins. "Pointing to ... let's see ... downtown London. Get your suit on, Raven me boy, the Floo'll drop you right at the scene of the crime!"
Percy had already torn off his glasses and was tying the mask over his face. "What street?"
"Gresham," Perkins said excitedly. He hustled to the closet and pulled out a pair of deep red, knee-high leather boots. "Use the Seven-League Boots," he ordered, thrusting them at Percy. "In case he runs. I'll be watching the mirror if you need backup. Don't let him get away!"
"Believe me," said Percy, fastening a pair of dragon-hide gloves, "I won't."
He tossed a pinch of powder in the fire, cried "Gresham Street, London!" and strode into the flame.
Percy sprang up like a beanstalk from the small bonfire in the sewers.
The air was musty and damp with decay; the stone walls bore testament to the years of neglect. Percy stepped out of the fire and straightened his collar. Tossing a Sickle to the tramp hunched beside it (who tipped his hat in thanks), he scaled a slender metal ladder and poked his head out of the manhole.
Things were quiet here. He slipped through the manhole and onto the street.
Gresham Street was a shopping district, by the looks of it; neat, uniform storefronts turned their blank dark faces to the road. A few lights were on in upstairs rooms, but altogether the street looked dead ... that was how Percy preferred it, and he was sure that the Loo Bandit thought the same.
He looked around. The public toilet stood discreetly on a small lot near the corner, one of those big plastic coin-operated jobs. Percy slunk closer. He pulled a miniature Sneakoscope from his pocket and flipped it on -- then disabled it right away as it went into a whistling frenzy. This was it. All he had to do was wait ...
The door of the toilet swung open.
The man who strolled out was short and grubby, chortling unpleasantly to himself. He got two steps before he ran smack into Percy.
The man reeled back and Percy rose to his full height. "Regurgitating toilets, eh? You're red-handed this time. Under the provisions for citizens' arrest outlined in Ministerial Decree number eighty-two, I am -- oof!"
Percy had expected a magical attack, not a clout in the stomach. He staggered backward, clutching his middle. The criminal shoved past and took off down the road.
Percy forced himself to straighten. If the villain hadn't thought to Apparate yet, there was still hope. He took two steps, bent his knees, and leapt into the air.
The Seven-League boots shot him forward like a cannonball. He flew over the man's head and landed lightly several yards before him. He sprang up and around. "Petrificus totalus!"
The man threw himself sideways into an alley. Percy could hear the spell zing around the close-set walls like a pinball. Then loud running footsteps started up again. Gritting his teeth, he darted into the alleyway with his hand outstretched.
"Not so fast you don't --"
His hands closed around the stranger's head. The man grunted, twisted, and poked his wand into Percy's ribcage.
"Supplantum!"
It was like someone had pulled a rug out from under him. Percy's feet went flying and he landed on his back in the pitch-black alley. Groaning, he rolled over.
"Catalepsia!"
That one was close. It would be suicide to stand. Percy army-crawled forward, virtually blinded in the dark. He could still hear his quarry somewhere before him. He pointed his wand in the general "forward" direction, hoping the fellow wasn't zigzagging as he ran.
"Impedimentia! Petrificus totalus! Tarantallegra!" The spells bounced harmlessly off the alley walls. "Incendio!"
The man let out a short shriek as his hat went up in flames. In the firelight, Percy had time to see the man raise his wand. He disappeared with a cracking noise and a puff of white smoke.
With him went the fire, and the alley was plunged into darkness.
Percy slammed a fist onto the ground. So close -- He swore creatively, stood up sneering, and Disapparated.
He reappeared in Perkins' living room.
The old man raised his head excitedly at the sight of his return. "Well?
"I had him, Perkins! I had him in my hands!" He collapsed onto Perkins' sofa.
"Did you --"
"Barely a glimpse!" Percy tore off his mask and dropped it onto the floor. "He's on the short side ... that's not enough to put on a poster, let alone convict someone with!" He put his hands over his face.
Perkins was silent for a minute. "You didn't fix the toilet, did you?" he said hopefully.
Percy shot him a look of disgust.
"Had to ask," said Perkins. "Otherwise I've got to pretend I don't know it's happened, and some fool Muggle will activate it tomorrow morning and there we'll be slogging around in goodness-knows-what and wasting another perfectly good day ..."
Suddenly Percy sat upright. "I had him in my --"
He leapt out of the sofa and tore across the room. Snatching his gloves from the floor, he threw them onto Perkins' dining room table and bent his face close to one, then the other. Finally he hooted triumphantly and whirled around. Between two fingers he held a single human hair.
"In my hands!"
Perkins let out a whoop. "Good show, boy, you're not as thick as you look!"
Percy's eyes were alight. "Where do you keep your Polyjuice starter?"
"In the icebox, behind the yogurt. I'll fetch the camera!"
Five minutes later, Percy had a glass of pustule-brown goop in his hand and he was slugging it back as if it was pumpkin juice.
He finished it with a grimace and placed the dirty glass neatly in Perkins' sink. Then he clasped both hands to his gut. "Urgh ..." He collapsed onto Perkins' kitchen floor.
Perkins watched the writhing, painful transformation implacably. When it was over, and the stranger stood up shaking, Perkins handed him a glass of water and looked him over.
The man was small but stocky -- well used to insults that ended in fights, Perkins guessed. The prickly brown hair along his scalp was beginning to turn gray. Greedy little eyes huddled close to a squashed-looking nose. He put down the glass of water and dabbed his mouth meticulously with a napkin. Then he turned to Perkins.
"How do I look?"
"Like a right old scoundrel," said Perkins. He held up the camera. "Say cheese."
They took photographs from the front, back and both sides. Percy went into the bathroom to check himself for tattoos (causing the mirror to let out a wolf-whistle which was audible from the hall) and came back with nothing to report but a long scar on one buttock which, they both agreed, they would not use for identification once they caught him. The stranger was weighed (14 stone), measured (5'7") and fingerprinted -- Perkins didn't see the point but Percy insisted that it couldn't hurt. He walked around the living room for a full half-hour, carefully watching the silhouette in the mirror and hoping desperately to see it again soon. Perkins developed the photos while they were waiting for the potion to wear off, and as soon as they were done the two of them sat around the living room, flipping through mug shots.
"I'll pick up the Big Book of Burglars from the Aurors' office and check him against the photos during lunch," Perkins promised.
"And I'll see if Fudge has any useful files," said Percy.
"Or any photographs of 'im on the wall," snorted Perkins.
Percy ignored the slight on his boss's integrity. "Once we know who he is, we can find him," he mused, "but catching him may be another story." He sat back in the chair thoughtfully. "Part of the problem was that I just couldn't see him ... that's how I caught his face on fire," he added.
"You what now?"
"I need new gear."
Perkins snorted. "Huh. In my days with the Aurors, we made do with what we had! None of this, 'I can't see in the dark, I need new gear' nonsense ..."
Percy was already clearing out his pockets. "How much gold do you have put away?"
"Fifty Galleons in the Raven fund, and ten in my underwear drawer."
Percy glanced over at him. "I don't want the ten."
"I wasn't going to give it to you," Perkins sniffed.
"But I'm going to need thirty or so," Percy went on, counting out a handful of Sickles. "I can spare twenty or twenty-five. And we need a buffer, in case he decides to haggle ..."
"Hang on, sprout," Perkins said, putting out his hands, "you haven't told me what you want to buy yet!"
Percy looked up at him with a glint in his eye. "An artifact," he said, with a slow smile. "A very valuable, very illegal artifact."
When Percy let himself into the boarding house at one o'clock that morning, the lights were still on in the living room.
Johnny Peasegood lounged in front of the fireplace, nursing a butterbeer and musing at the flames. At the sound of the door he twisted around; catching sight of Percy, he gave a lazy grin.
"Where've you been all night?"
Percy was almost too surprised to answer. "Er -- working. What are you doing home so early?"
"Bar caught fire. I had to remove myself from the premises."
"Good lord." Percy accepted the butterbeer that Johnny handed him and sat down on the sofa. "How'd it happen?"
"The fire? Some chap came flying in with his head in flames. We dunked him in a barrel of gillywater but apparently that's a bad idea." Johnny shrugged elaborately.
Percy stared at him. So that was where the criminal had Disapparated to. "But gillywater's not flammable ... is it?"
"Oh, yeah." Johnny nodded his head. "Like kerosene. Went up like a Roman candle." He sighed and took a swig of his butterbeer.
"And the ... chap?" Percy had to stop himself from saying "criminal".
Johnny shrugged again. "They doused him with some club soda and he ran out again. He was a mess. And he smelled like raw sewage."
Percy felt his temples start to throb. He finished half the butterbeer in one swig.
"Nice," said Johnny appreciatively, and matched him with half of his own.
~~~~~~~~~~
The idea of Polyjuice starter was filched from Gwena Lanish, whom I used to beta-read for until I fell off the face of the earth. (Sorry, Gwen.) She's a great writer, and most famous for cowriting The Tough Guide to Harry Potter along with Rugi. You can find her work on this site or on Sugarquill.com.
