December was dreary.
Percy had never exactly enjoyed Johnny's company, but for some reason he never felt like hurrying to dinner anymore, knowing that only he and Mother Swainbrooke would share the meal. More days than not he outstayed Minister Fudge. Two weeks after Johnny's accident, he stayed until six o'clock rearranging the entire contents of the Outdated and Overrated Policies cabinet. He was just locking up his desk for the evening when a memorandum zoomed into the office and hit him in the middle of the forehead.
"Ow!" Rubbing his head, he picked up the memo and flicked it open. It contained two words:
Glancing about to be sure no one was near, Percy hurried into the hall and went downstairs to the second floor.
He was just passing the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts when a gnarled hand reached out and jerked him into the room.
The door slammed behind them. Percy detached himself and stood up.
"You know," said Percy tersely, wrenching his collar back into place, "that was entirely unnecessary. It would not be out of place for the Junior Assistant to the Minister to be inspecting another department --"
"Read this," said Perkins, and stuffed a parchment into his hands.
Date: 17-12-95
Time: 04:51:06
Location: Baker Street, London
Artifact involved: Biting doorknob
Results: Muggle buyer loses two fingers
Action taken: Victim transported to St. Mungo's Hospital. Perpetrator sought, not found.
Proposed further action:
The last section was blank.
"Biting doorknobs," said Percy in disgust. "That's -- that's ghastly."
"If you're the right sort of person, it's downright hilarious," said Perkins grimly.
"Or the wrong sort." Percy handed it back. "Not to be rude, but -- why isn't your department handling this?"
Perkins looked outraged. "We are handling it, you brazen cockatrice," he growled, "but you need to make sure it doesn't happen again." He put the paper on top of his desk. "We got this just at the end of the day, apparently an Obliviator was on vacation and happened to be in the right place at the right time. All we need to do is disenchant the doorknob." He gestured to his inbox, where a shiny brass bulb sat devouring his paperwork. "We can't do it until tomorrow. Your father took off right at the bell -- said he was busy this evening." Perkins raised his eyebrows. "It sounded like a Dumbledore sort of busy to me."
Percy sighed and went to the window. "However gruesome it may be," he said, leaning against the window frame thoughtfully, "this person is just a prankster, and a prankster will stay around to watch their results."
"Learnt that from your brothers, did you?" said Perkins, with a knowing grin.
Percy ignored this. "My bet is that he or she was hiding somewhere watching as that Muggle was brought in to St. Mungo's. You say this happened just at five o'clock?" Perkins nodded. "Then he'll have gone to a local pub to have dinner and brag to his cronies. Give him a few hours, enough drinks, and he'll ..."
"Go back and try it again," said Perkins.
"Exactly."
Midnight on Baker Street.
A fine little neighborhood, Percy thought to himself, prowling the streets under the cover of a Disillusionment spell. Well-kept. The Burrow was leagues from the nearest house, but Percy thought he might enjoy having neighbors -- provided, of course, that the fences were good.
A hoarse scream cut through the silence.
Bingo, thought Percy. He turned and dashed down the sidewalk, un-disillusioning himself as he went. He yanked a mirror from his pocket and flipped it open. "Perkins!"
Perkins's face flickered in the mirror. "Ten-four, Raven."
"I think we've hit something. Can you set up a Floo connection on the fly?"
"I'll be in the Floo Network Authority in two minutes."
"Roger that." Percy stuck the mirror in his pocket even as he ran. He skidded to a halt in front of a cheap two-level flat. A man huddled on the porch, clutching his wrist. Percy saw with a jolt of horror that it held three dripping stumps where the last three fingers should be.
"Sir!" Percy bounded up onto the porch. "I'm here to help. Let's get inside."
The man struggled to his feet and staggered into the house. He collapsed again when the door slammed shut. "I just -- just reached out --"
"It's all right, we'll get to the bottom of it," said Percy, meaning to be soothing and sounding only distracted. He whipped out the mirror again. "Are you in?"
"In and ready," the tinny voice replied.
"We're in 1437 Baker Street. A man's wounded -- hurry!"
"On it," said Perkins automatically, and the background filled with clangs and sparkles.
"We'll have you out in a second," Percy said, crouching down in front of the man. "Don't worry. Everything's going to be fine. Now, where's your fireplace?"
"Ain't got one," said the Muggle, not looking away from his mangled hand.
"Haven't --" Percy stopped dead. "What have you got?"
"Central heating," the Muggle muttered.
"What?"
"Raven! What's going on?" Perkins' voice crackled through the mirror.
"He hasn't bloody got a fireplace!"
There was silence.
"What are we going to --"
"Has he got an electric oven?"
"What's that?"
"Yeah, I do," said the Muggle. "Interestin' cell phone you've got."
"You are both speaking sheer jibberish," Percy snapped.
"I thought you took five years of Muggle Studies!" barked Perkins through the mirror. "There's this big metal box where he cooks food. It's in the kitchen!"
"All right, but what's a cell --"
"Just go find it!" There was the sound of scrambling around. "There, you're connected."
"You'd better be right about this," Percy growled. He reached down and hoisted the bleeding man to his feet. "Come on, you, into the kitchen ... point out this eclectic oven thing -- well all right you don't have to point, just sort of gesture --"
The man had a big metal box that was cold inside, and another one that was full of dirty dishes, but the third was nearly empty. "That's it," said the man thickly. He looked like he might come up faint. "Just twiddle the dial to turn it on."
Percy twiddled all the dials he could see and soon a metal rod inside the oven began to glow. Supporting the Muggle under one arm, Percy grabbed a packet of Floo powder from his belt, tossed it into the oven, shouted, "St. Mungo's!" and dragged the both of them inside.
The pair of them whirled through green mist and whizzed past fireplaces in the mad world of the Floo network. In moments, they were thrown out of the network and onto a smooth white floor.
Percy landed upside-down with the Muggle on top of him. "Oof ..." He pried himself out and sprang to his feet. The room was white and ringed with fireplaces, and small tables clustered in one corner. A large plaque read "Crisis and Urgency Center." Two witches in lime-green robes, who had been drinking tea at one of the tables, were approaching quickly.
Percy turned back the Muggle and helped hoist him to his feet. "This Muggle lost fingers to a biting doorknob," he barked at one of the witches, while the other supported the Muggle beneath the shoulder. More people, some in hospital uniforms and some in everyday robes, were starting to gather. He strode back to the fireplace and grabbed a pinch of Floo powder from a nearby urn.
"Sir?" one of the witches called after him. "Who are you?"
"The Scarlet Raven," he snapped, tossing the Floo powder into the fire. "1437 Baker Street!"
He stepped into the fire and vanished.
The electric oven spat him out onto a slightly bloody linoleum floor.
Percy bounded to his feet. The criminal had to be nearby, he had to --
A scraping sound wafted from the front door.
Aha.
Percy crept to the door and peeked out the window. A dark figure hunched over the biting knob, carefully unscrewing it from the door. He tapped the object with his wand and slid it into the pocket of his overcoat.
Percy took a deep breath and gripped his wand. He threw open the door and stood face to face with the criminal.
The short, stocky build and graying hair were painfully familiar.
"You!"
Willy Widdershins stared back at him, small eyes round. "You!"
Nothing happened for a split-second. Then Willy sprang upright, cried "Catalepsia!" and took off down the street.
Percy threw himself down onto the porch and felt a spell zing just over his head. It hit the lid of a dustbin and scattered. He leapt to his feet, took two steps to ready the Seven-League Boots, and bounded into the air.
He came down with both feet between Willy's shoulder blades. The man went down with a grunt. As they hit the ground, Percy felt a hand close around his ankle and his leg was jerked out from under him. He thudded onto the pavement beside Willy.
Willy's wand had skittered off to the sidewalk at the collision; the man was army-crawling toward it with amazing speed. Percy rolled over onto his stomach and thrust out his wand arm. "Impedimentia!" Gold sparks settled across Willy's body -- his progress slowed to a creep as every movement became laborious and heavy.
Percy's back and shoulders ached. He struggled to his feet. At the same time, the Impedimentia curse wore off and Willy scrambled upright, throwing himself at his wand. Percy barely had time to duck before Willy snatched up his wand and screamed, "Expelliarmus!"
The wand flew from Percy's hands; he grabbed after it and missed. He whirled around ferociously. This criminal was not getting away again. He charged forward and rammed his head into Willy's stomach.
Unfortunately, at that particular time Willy stood no more than two feet from a brick wall. They crashed, bounced back and stood reeling for a few moments; then Willy's world stopped spinning long enough for him to raise his wand.
Percy, gripping his head between both hands, saw the wand come up through watery eyes. He swung a fist almost at random and made some kind of contact -- there was a dull "oof" and the clatter of wood on the pavement. He straightened, head throbbing, in time to catch Willy's fist in the eye.
"Ugh!" Percy staggered backward. With his good eye he saw the next punch coming -- he fended off two or three blows before a good uppercut got him in the jaw. Wondering if the stars always whirled around like that, he hurled himself at Willy Widdershins. They went down in a heap of flying fists.
It went fast from there. Willy had years of brawling experience, but Percy had for his part the vigorous energy of youth and sheer fury. Five furious minutes later, Willy Widdershins was having his face ground into the pavement while Percy sat atop him, tearing his cloak into long strips.
"I am arresting you -- under the provisions for citizens' arrest --" He spoke in jerks as he tightened the strips of his cloak around Willy's arms, legs and mouth. "-- Ministerial Degree Eighty Two -- Part B -- section 3 -- paragraphs fifteen through eighteen --" He tightened the gag and Willy let out a whimper. "-- for introducing magical artifacts into the Muggle world, endangering the health and welfare of Muggles, risking the exposure of the wizarding world, and being a complete pain in my rear end." He retrieved Willy's wand and stuffed it into his back pocket. "Now shut up and lay still."
It took fifteen minutes to find his lost wand, during which time Willy complained gutturally and Percy couldn't care less. When he had finally found it behind a dustbin, he Banished Willy to Kingsley Shacklebolt's house and followed behind. There he tied Willy to the porch, snapped the criminal's wand in half, and wrote an irate letter which he tucked into Willy's collar so that it would itch until found.
He Apparated to Perkins' house. After changing out of the Scarlet Raven outfit and giving Perkins a blow-by-blow account of the battle, he felt a little better. The vandal was caught, after all. Hopefully this time he would stay caught.
He took the underground home and walked the last few blocks to Madam Swainbrooke's. He paused outside the door. Though it was nearly two o'clock in the morning, the light was on.
He turned the knob and went inside.
Mother Swainbrooke sat at the kitchen table, her blubbery face taut and worried. She burst out at the sight of him: "Oh Mr. Weasley! Where've ye been? Thank goodness ye've returned --"
"I'm all right," Percy assured her, startled to see her still awake. "I haven't been bit by a werewolf or anything."
"Sit down, dear," said Mother Swainbrooke.
She looked upset. Percy slowly took a seat.
"I'm so sorry, dear. Your father. He's been ..." She swallowed. "Attacked."
The blood seemed to freeze in Percy's veins. He felt suddenly dizzy. "He ... what?"
"Your brother sent word through the Floo," Mother Swainbrooke looked like she might start crying. "He was at work, and a great animal --"
"How is he?"
"Your brother said he was at St. Mungo's and they're doing everything they can for 'im."
He jumped to his feet. "I'll --"
He faltered. He had just been to St. Mungo's with an injured Muggle. A dozen people had caught sight of him. Would they recognize him without the mask?
"I'll ..."
Could he run the risk?
"I'll ... be in my room."
Mother Swainbrooke's mouth opened slightly. "Mr. Weasley! Will ye not go to him?"
"No." He squared his shoulders and slid easily into the haughty mask that he had spent his life perfecting. "I will not. Good night, Madam."
He went upstairs and prepared for bed exactly according to routine. Then he got in bed and lay wide awake, his heart cold with fear, until morning.
Word came at breakfast.
"He'll live," said Charlie's head through the fireplace. "Percy, you will go see him, won't you? Bill didn't want me contacting you -- said that if you cared, you'd come see for yourself --"
"Charlie, my job is not as flexible as Bill's," Percy snapped. He left for work without eating.
He was perfectly aware of the stares and murmurs that he passed through as he stalked through the Ministry to his office. No one spoke to him, for which he was both grateful and furious, until he let himself into the office and started shuffling through papers without seeing them.
Minister Fudge came in a few minutes later. He looked startled to see his assistant.
"What's top priority today, Minister?" Percy said crisply, before he could get a word out. "Shall I focus on those regulations of full-moon herb harvestation or finish the second draft of your W.W.N. Ministry Hour fundraising form?"
"Well --" The Minister was nonplussed. "The fundraising, I suppose. Weasley, your father --"
"I have heard," said Percy shortly, not looking up from his papers, "and am told that he will live. Would you like me to ask the Broom Regulatory Control how their safety report on the Twigger 90 is coming?"
"Er -- yes, thank you." Shaking his head, Minister Fudge hung his hat and cloak inside the door. He took a look at Percy and narrowed his eyes. "Where'd you get that shiner, my boy?"
He'd forgotten completely about his fight with Willy Widdershins. "Walked into a door," Percy muttered.
"If any other nineteen-year-old boy on Earth told me that," the Minister said, almost reflectively, "I'd laugh in his face."
"Thank you, sir," said Percy.
