Chapter Eight: Matters of State

Minister Fudge was already in his office by the time Percy got there Monday morning, and he wasn't alone; Kingsley Shacklebolt stood calmly before the desk, speaking in his slow serious voice. Percy stopped in the doorway uncertainly.

"We need to find him, Minister," Kingsley was saying. "He's been a big help."

"He sounds quite dodgy to me," said Minister Fudge.

"He brought in the fellow behind the toilet jinxes," Kingsley said, and Percy felt an odd jolt in his chest. "We need ..."

"Shacklebolt!" said Fudge sharply. "It is your job, is it not, to police the wizarding world -- and not the Muggle one?"

"Yes, Minister," said Kingsley, his deep voice cool. "But in this case, the worlds touch."

"Not enough to spend our valuable Aurors on!" Fudge sounded genuinely irate. "If we make a fuss about these Muggle pranksters it'll only help confirm those ridiculous rumors about -- well, you know -- coming back. We cannot afford that, Shacklebolt."

Kingsley made a small bow. "I understand, Minister." Percy thought that his eyes showed a shrewder understanding that his words let on.

Fudge's eyes slipped to the door and he noticed Percy for the first time. "Weasley! Good to see you, I have an important decree for you to work up." He sat down at his desk without another glance at Kingsley, who bowed again and left silently.

Percy scurried to his desk and whipped out his quill. "Shall we begin with the dictation, sir?"

"No, that won't be necessary, Weasley. I've already written it up over the weekend."

That was odd. The Minister rarely visited the office on weekends, and he never wrote his own documents. "Oh," said Percy. "Then ..."

Minister Fudge brought over a parchment and laid it on Percy's desk. "Educational Decree number twenty-four," Percy read aloud. "Concerning the jurisdiction of the Hogwarts High Inquisitor over school organizations, and regulations concerning activities of same."

"I signed this into effect over the weekend," Fudge explained. His voice came out slightly more quickly than usual. "Sort of a rush, you see ... fully legal, but it hasn't been through all the technicalities, so to speak. We simply need to ... give it the full weight of the law. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Percy, which was a lie. Ministerial decrees had to go through a Wizengamot committee and be notarized by the British Bureaucratic Headquarters. There was no way it could be legalized in one day, especially a Sunday.

"Splendid. Then I'll have you copy that to Punks, Wagner and Anderson -- they've put their full weight behind this measure already, informally you see -- and I'll ask you to take this down to the Bureaucratic people and whisk it through the appropriate channels. Just hand-deliver it to everyone, usual procedure, just -- speeded up a bit."

"All right." What was the rush for? Percy recovered himself. "I mean, right away, sir."

"That's the spirit!" said Fudge. "Right away. Yes, the sooner the better ..." He trailed off. Then he glanced over at Percy. "Well, get on it, lad!"

Percy jumped. "Yes, sir!" He hunched over the document and set his quill flying.

***

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Penelope Clearwater. I'm here to meet my -- ah, someone after work."

"Thank you. Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."

The phone spat out a silver badge with the words Penelope Clearwater, Meeting Someone After Work on it. Penelope fixed it to the front of her robes while the automatic greeter droned on about security protocol and the floor of the phone booth lowered her below the sidewalk. She got out of the booth and walked down the gorgeous hall toward the Ministry. She stopped by the Fountain of Magical Brethren and loitered. The witch on afternoon security cast her a funny look, but she ignored that. No need for a security check; she wasn't going inside.

It was no wonder that Percy was so proud of working here, she thought to herself. The blue-and-gold ceiling, the hardwood floors ... it was elegant, and organized in its elegance: two things that Percy always strove for.

The lobby was soothing; it was hard for her to remember her purpose in coming. Don't let it slip past, she chided herself. You have to tell him off for running off in the middle of a meal. Before a meal, even. Otherwise he'll never realize it was rude ...

Percy had never been very good at judging other people. She'd known that from the start, and she realized what an effort he'd put into trying to understand her, even if he didn't always succeed. She smiled as she thought of the many letters he had written when they were first getting to know each other. They could be dashing or gentle, occasionally even droll:

Dear Penny, I would rather have you than ten O.W.L.s -- maybe not twelve O.W.L.s -- but definitely ten O.W.L.s, assuming I could have you as well as the nine remaining O.W.L.s ...

It was, largely, his words that had wooed her -- those and the sweet little boy, desperate to be accepted, hiding beneath his pompous exterior.

She worried sometimes that the pomposity was taking over.

Since the summer he'd been less willing to show his tender side, and more absorbed in his work than ever. More and more evenings he would stay in his flat working, or go dashing off on some mysterious but urgent assignment for the Minister. She knew that his self-motivation and dedication to his work were unsurpassed. It just seemed that sometimes ... she wanted ...

"Penny! What are you doing here?"

Percy came hurrying past security and into the lobby. For a second, the look on his face was startlingly familiar -- almost the same as it had been back when they were both prefects, hiding their relationship. Then he stood before her, and the memory passed.

"Madam Graybill let me off early," said Penelope, because he looked so startled. "I wanted to come meet you after work."

"I wish you'd have owled me," said Percy, not maliciously, "I wouldn't have kept you waiting."

Together they rode the elevator to the surface and emerged from the visitor's entrance. They walked for a few blocks without speaking.

How nice, thought Percy, that we can be comfortable in silence.

I have got to say something, thought Penelope.

One block later, she got up her courage.

"Did it go well?"

Percy looked over at her blankly. "Did what go well?"

"Whatever you left to do the other night," Penelope frowned. "Did it go well?"

"Oh, yes." Percy beamed. He grabbed her around the waist, swung her once, and kissed her deeply. "Yes, it went very well."

"Oh." Penelope's face flushed; she hadn't been expecting him to be so happy. "I'm glad, then."

"Come over to dinner tonight," he said, impulsively taking her hands. "Mother Swainbrooke's always got more than enough, and if we're lucky Johnny'll be out on the town already ..."

Penelope's cheeks burned an even hotter red. Now he wanted to have dinner with her! "I can't," she said, somewhat coldly. "I've already promised my parents I'd eat with them."

He did not get the hint. "Fair enough," he said. "Are you busy afterward?"

Penelope sighed. "I suppose not." Blast those big brown eyes, and the adorable way they looked at her! "Shall I meet you at your --"

He kissed her again.

"... your place," she finished dizzily, a few minutes later.

"I'll tell Madam Swainbrooke to have some tea ready," he promised.

Penelope watched as he strode away down the street. Endearing prat ... A swirl of autumn leaves skated around her feet. Framed in the setting sun, she turned and walked home.

***

The last golden days of October bled into a cold and uneventful winter. Percy spent more time playing cards with Perkins than hunting down criminals; most Muggle-baiters, it seemed, preferred to work under warmer conditions. He never managed to reschedule the dinner with the Clearwaters, but his practices with the Guardian sword were getting more useful and less painful.

November was a quiet month in Fudge's office; apart from a new Educational Decree and some minor inter-department squabbles, the papers that crossed Percy's desk were mostly routine correspondence and reports. Still, he always found enough work to justify staying late.

Minister Fudge was surprised, then, when Percy began putting his desk into meticulous order right at the stroke of five o'clock one day in early December.

"I say, lad! Busy evening?"

"I'm having someone for dinner, sir," said Percy importantly.

"Really!" The Minister looked more astonished than impressed.

"Yes, sir." Percy straightened the papers on his desk so that they stood in three perfectly-aligned stacks.

"I'm jiggered." Minister Fudge stroked his chin. "I believe that's the first time that you've ever had something to do after work."

Percy looked up at him, nonplussed. "I -- I suppose so, sir."

Minister Fudge smiled and began to put away his own work. "Then get you gone, Weasley! I won't hold you up with any more chatter. Get out! And have a good weekend!"

"The same to you, Minister," said Percy soberly, and he gathered his cloak and left.

The Minister's words stayed with him on the walk home. True, being the Scarlet Raven had really taken its toll on his free time -- not, he thought to himself, that he had much else to do with it. He sometimes wondered if Penelope had noticed how many evenings he was occupied. In fact -- he chuckled aloud -- he seemed to be spending more time with Perkins than with her!

Percy thought about all the work he had put into catching Willy Widdershins. It seemed like a lot of effort just to keep someone from backing up toilets. But then, he thought, that's what they said about the cauldron bottom project, and look what came of it -- a nationwide standard for imports and domestic manufacturers that ensured uniformity, performance, and ultimately, safety.

His work as the Raven had been worthwhile. Even Kingsley Shacklebolt had said as much. Although he missed his family sometimes, he knew that he wouldn't have been half as effective if he hadn't left.

He found himself at the front stoop of Mother Swainbrooke's boarding house and realized that, lost in thoughts, he had taken the long way home. Night had already fallen, and the kitchen windows shone warm. He hurried up the steps and went inside.

Penelope was already there, chatting gaily with Madam Swainbrooke at the kitchen table with a mug of tea in hand. Both women turned toward him as he came in. He didn't like the way they were both grinning.

"You're talking about me, aren't you?" he said uneasily.

"Yes," said Penelope. "Do you really have your sock drawer sorted by color and pattern?"

Percy's face went beet-red, and both women giggled. "He does," Mother Swainbrooke confided. "And he insists that his skivvies --"

"Ah -- what's for dinner?" Percy broke in loudly, cheeks aflame. "Long day you know, Minister Fudge had me rallying support for a potential new commerce decree ..."

"Oh, do hush," said Penelope kindly, placing a mug of tea in his hands. "We're having chicken. Did anything interesting happen at work today?"

"Now that you mention it," said Percy, brightening, "there was a proposal to amend the Ban on Experimental Breeding ..."

Dinner passed pleasantly. Afterward, Percy and Penelope pitched in to help Mother Swainbrooke with the dirty dishes. "It's a shame Johnny Peasegood's not here," Penelope teased. "We could use someone else to dry."

Percy gave her a look. "I doubt he'd help even if he was here."

There was a knock at the door.

The three of them, wet to the elbows with dishwater, exchanged glances. "It's open," bellowed Mother Swainbrooke, wringing her arms and grabbing for a dishtowel.

The front door creaked open, and soon a thin wizard stepped into the kitchen. He hovered in the doorway nervously. It looked to Penelope as if he felt he were trespassing.

"Madam Emmuska Swainbrooke?"

"Yes?"

"I've been sent from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries."

"And to what do we owe the honor?" said Madam Swainbrooke sharply.

"We've had an admittance," the wizard said awkwardly, "which we were able to trace to your home."

"Do make yer point more clearly, sir, else I'll ask you to leave." Madam Swainbrooke had her hands on her hips. Her face held equal parts of annoyance and fear.

"Does a John Delaware Peasegood live here?"

Madam Swainbrooke's broad face went pale and she clutched the dishtowel tighter. "He does."

"I've been sent to inform you that Mr. Peasegood was admitted to St. Mungo's earlier this evening. His wounds are serious, but he was able to give us this address. He will live," he added, fidgeting, "but he will be kept at the hospital for slightly more than one month."

Mother Swainbrooke gasped.

"A month?" said Penelope sharply. "What happened to him?"

The wizard looked down at the floor. "He is currently being treated in the Crisis and Urgency Center, and will be moved to the Dai Lewellyn ward when his condition permits," he said.

"I beg you, sir," snapped Percy, "to be more plain."

The hospital wizard swallowed. "He's been bitten," he said reluctantly.

"By what?"

"By a werewolf."

The room fell silent.

"I'm sorry." The wizard made an awkward bow and slipped out the door.

Mother Swainbrooke had gone very white. She sat down heavily on the kitchen bench and crossed herself with a shaking hand. "Poor Mr. Peasegood," she said faintly. "And him so young at that." She heaved a bracing sigh. "Well," she said, looking up at Percy, "I'll have to be callin' a handyman. We're needin' bars on the windows, and a better lock on the door, I daresay."

"Then you're letting him stay?" Penelope sounded both fearful and hopeful.

"Of course, dear." Mother Swainbrooke managed a comforting smile. "Who else would be takin' him in?"