The heavy rain of late May beat down on the windows of Mother Swainbrooke's home. Inside, haloed by lamplight, Percy was hard at work.
Across his desk lay a map of London, Floo nodes marked with bright green dots. Red crosses marked the sites of attacks on Muggles -- in the past few weeks, incidences had skyrocketed. I can't keep up with them all, Percy thought, marking another green dot from the notes that lay before him. But then, if they were so many that he couldn't control them, they might also be enough to make the Ministry of Magic take notice.
A familiar hooting reached his ears. Absently, Percy went to the window and opened it up to receive his owl. It had begun to rain harder. He moved some of his things to keep them from getting wet; then he went back to his notes. There had been a Muggle-baiting near St. James's Park; Perkins had promised to compile a list of known Voldemort supporters and purebloods in the immediate area. Percy couldn't act until the list was in his hands. Without a doubt, Hermes carried the information at that moment.
The long, beautiful note sang out again -- and without warning became a shrill shriek that broke off into silence.
Percy dashed to the window in time to see the owl falter and fall in mid-air, a shimmering shaft through its limp body.
"Hermes!"
The bird crashed to the pavement, parchment clutched in one claw, and lay motionless while a wet dark stain drenched the cobblestones around him.
Heedless of the rain, Percy leaned out of the window numbly. Slow, disjointed thoughts fumbled through his mind.
He's dead -- Hermes is dead?
Someone shot him down, deliberately.
Someone knows ...
He stared down at the crumpled mass on the street below, uncomprehending. Not a feather flickered on the dead bird. Apart from the shock of losing his beloved pet, a new worry sprung in his mind.
Someone knows who I am.
Destroy the evidence. Destroy the evidence.
Numbly, he reached for his wand and pointed it at the mangled feathers. Destroy the evidence. He croaked, "Incendio." Both bird and message went up in a brief, spectacular flame.
There was a knock on the door.
Percy whirled around. The door creaked open to reveal the landlady's round face, cautious and concerned. "Are ye all right, Mr. Weasley? I heard ye cry out."
"Perfectly fine," said Percy breathlessly, perfectly aware that he sounded anything but all right. "Something -- startled me --"
"So long as you're unhurt, Mr. Weasley," the landlady smiled. "You've a guest."
She stepped aside to reveal Penelope Clearwater at the top of the stairs.
Penelope involuntarily raised a hand to her mouth at the sight of him. Percy was drenched from the shoulders up, hair dripping in a pale and slightly panicky face. For a moment she was tempted to think that he was just that horrified to see her unexpectedly, and her cheeks went pink -- but no, there was something genuinely wrong, the way he stood backed up against the open window, still clutching the sill with whitened fingers.
"Thank you, Mrs. Swainbrooke," said Penelope, stepping carefully into Percy's room. "We'll be fine."
Casting him a wink, the landlady backed out and shut the door.
For a moment they locked eyes. Then Percy cleared his throat and straightened up, full of his old pomposity. Penelope couldn't help asking.
"Percy, are you sure you're all right?"
"I said that I was fine." He stood up and strode to the desk, gathering a mass of scattered papers in his arms. Then he crossed the room and chucked them all into the fireplace.
Penelope started a little as the fire roared up. "What are you doing?"
"Cleaning," said Percy, pulling two cloth-bound tomes from the bookshelf and throwing them on the fire. "Do you have something to say? I'm quite busy."
"Er --" Penelope watched as two more books and a quill went into the fire. They were followed by a pair of shoes and more parchments. "I was ... I wondered how you were doing."
"Did you?" Percy rounded on her haughtily. The flame flickered on his cheeks. "I'm very well. Is that all?"
Penelope took a deep breath. "Not quite," she admitted. She started to move toward the open window.
Percy got there first and slammed the windows shut. "Horrible weather this year," he said. "Appalling really."
"Yes ... yes, horrible," said Penelope. Why was he acting so odd? "Percy, I ... I thought we should talk."
"Did you?" He was slim and straight-backed, framed by the closed shutters. "Whatever about?"
"Well -- us," said Penelope. She wasn't sure whether to be angry at his coldness or saddened by it. She felt like Percy's mother must have felt after the row -- a mix of hatred and a love so deep that it hurt. She forced out the words that she had practiced. "I may have been too harsh with you at Christmas. It was so sudden, it wasn't fair to you not to give any warning of what I was thinking. I think if we just tried to talk to one another more about the things that really matter --"
"Don't be too hard on yourself, Penny," said Percy, detached as a professor. "In fact, I think you were quite right."
Penelope looked up at him as her train of thought hit a cow on the tracks. "You what?"
"I quite agree. We are very different people, Penny, and we cannot fill each other's expectations." The words came out with a dry, clinical precision. "You realized it before I did. I congratulate you."
Penelope looked from Percy to the fireplace and back again. "But you see, what I meant to say when I came here was that --"
Percy waved a hand carelessly. "It's not important."
A deep urgency rushed through Penelope's mind. "Oh Percy, don't you see? It's so important --"
His cold words cut into her own.
"I really think you should go now."
The words hit Penelope like a wave of cold water. She took a moment to regain her breath. "I think you may be right," she said in a low voice. "Only I'm not sure I'll say 'Goodbye' this time."
"I will," said Percy. His eyes were hidden behind the spectacles that glimmered with firelight. "Goodbye, Penny."
Penelope felt as if something inside her had died. She nodded, gazing at the floor. She met his eyes -- not eyes at all, but panes of glass -- and nodded again. "All right." She swallowed hard. "Yes." She straightened the sleeve of her sweater needlessly. "Do take care, Percy." Then two swift, reluctant steps to the door and she was gone.
Gone.
Percy watched the door for many minutes after it closed.
At least she would be safe.
Sick to the pit of his stomach, Percy went back to destroying the incriminating evidence.
Penelope was two blocks away when she came to a corner and stopped.
She stood stock-still under the stark light of a street lamp, rain sheeting down on all sides, drenching her cloak and hood. The sidewalks were empty, the streets wide black rivers. Her hands had curled into fists at her sides. With great effort she unclenched them. Closing her eyes, Penelope took three deep breaths.
She was not going to give up like this.
Percy wasn't himself. Something was wrong. She had to go back, if nothing else to set her mind at ease.
But more pressingly even than this was the certainty that fought through her, augmented with memories and images from years ago, from weeks before. She needed him. She had come to get him back. Nothing -- not even his cold dismissal -- could keep her from trying again.
Penelope turned around and began to walk.
She rounded the corner in time to see the door to Mother Swainbrooke's home swing open. Breathless suddenly, almost afraid, she retreated behind a corner.
Percy stepped lightly outside and practically leapt down the stairs. He carried an umbrella but had forgotten to open it. He's coming after me, Penelope thought, heart rising to her throat. She began to step out to meet him, hands trembling -- then she gasped and pulled back against the wall.
From an alley, a pair of huge figures leapt onto the sidewalk, blocking Percy's way. Percy's hand went for his pocket but as soon as he had his wand in hand, twin cries of "Expelliarmus!" sent it speeding into the hand of one assailant.
Percy gripped his umbrella with both hands and began swinging it like a sword, jabbing at the two thugs with smooth, fierce motions. He caught one in the chest with the tip of his bumbershoot -- the man howled and staggered backward, clutching his chest. Percy swung the umbrella up and under the second man's chin. The man fell back, but as he did the first one regained his breath and charged.
He tackled Percy expertly, butting his head into the boy's chest, and Percy was thrown back several yards. The umbrella flew from his hands. Instantly, the second man pointed a wand at him; ropes sprang from his wand tip and trussed Percy from shoulder to ankle. Another spell silenced him, although he had barely made a noise since the whole incredible scene began.
Penelope watched helplessly as the larger man picked up Percy, slung him over one shoulder, and retreated with his companion back into the alley from which they had come.
She bolted down the street and banged on Madam Swainbrooke's door.
The landlady opened the door almost immediately. "Miss Clearwater! Ye've just missed Mr. Weasley, he stepped out only a moment ago."
Penelope interrupted her without apology. "I need to see Johnny immediately."
Mother Swainbrooke's face crinkled sadly. "I'm sorry, my dear, 'tis that time of the month --"
"I know. That's exactly why I need to see him." She pushed her way into the house and started up the stairs. "He's had his potion, hasn't he?"
"Why yes -- but --"
"Then he's perfectly harmless."
At the door to his bedroom, Penelope stood aside to let Mother Swainbrooke unlock the door with a massive iron key from her waist. Pushing ahead again, she turned the knob and the door swung open.
The room was dark, save for the moonlight streaming through one window. Penelope thought she saw a glimmer of yellow eyes.
"Johnny," said Penelope sharply.
There was a whimper from the corner.
"Johnny, come out, this is Penelope. I know what you look like, just come out and show yourself. Percy's been kidnapped. I need your help."
Mother Swainbrooke gasped.
From the darkest corner of the room, a rugged gray shadow unfolded itself and padded into view. Penelope forced herself to stay still. He's safe, she told herself, not sure if she believed it. He's safe.
The wolf was leaner than she expected, smaller and rangier. The coarse gray fur held an hint of brown. He moved forward awkwardly, head down and tail between his legs. His emotional state was unmistakable.
"Johnny, this is no time for self-pity," said Penelope forcefully. The wolf raised his head in surprise. "Percy has been kidnapped. You must help me to find him." She moved aside from the door and pointed toward Percy's room. "Get in there and get a scent."
And to her great relief, the wolf did just that.
He emerged carrying a dirty sock in his teeth, which he dropped at Penelope's feet. Mother Swainbrooke bent to pick it up, ostensibly to throw it in the laundry, but Penelope got there first and stuffed it into a pocket. "You have his scent?" she said crisply.
The wolf nodded.
"Then let's go."
They tore out of the house and down the street, leaving Mother Swainbrooke frightened and confused at the top of the stairs.
While Johnny was testing out a newly-awakened sense of smell, Percy was relying solely on his hearing.
The blindfold made identifying his location impossible, and escape quite futile. He knew that he was sitting in a wooden chair (very uncomfortable one at that) with his arms and legs tied down; he knew there were at least two people in the room and that they were moving about restlessly, but not threateningly. Occasionally one would poke him or sneer a threat, but all their jibes seemed idle and impersonal. Clearly the kidnappers had done the job for someone else, and they were awaiting his or her arrival. But who ...?
That, he decided, shifting his position to avoid a particularly impudent splinter, was not important. The important questions centered around what he was going to tell them. And if denial didn't work, his only option was to fight his way out. They had taken his wand. It would be messy.
Hoping he wouldn't have to kill anyone with his bare hands, and wondering if he could manage it if necessary, Percy Weasley sat, blind and bound, and waited.
Johnny bounded down yet another alley and padded to a halt in front of a run-down storehouse. Sniffing around at the crumbling foundation, he sat on his haunches and let out a long howl.
Penelope came panting up to him, clutching her side. "You don't -- have to be -- so loud," she said, between catching her breath. "Taking us all over -- bloody -- London ..."
Johnny gazed up at her and pointedly licked his chops.
"Well ..." said Penelope, looking the building over, "this is it ...?" Johnny nodded his mangy head. "I suppose it looks seedy enough." She peeked in a few of the windows. "It's dark ..."
Johnny, pawing at the sidewalk, whined low in his throat. He crouched before a window that was so low it was on level with the ground. Penelope went to his side and hunkered down. At the bottom of the window, just at the corner, a flicker of light could be seen.
"Stand guard," she told him. Then she unhinged the window and slipped inside.
She dropped silently onto a cold concrete floor. Cardboard boxes and wooden crates, some with heavy red logos on the side, piled up around her nine or ten feet high. She crept around behind them until she could see through a crack, and had to stifle a gasp -- it was Percy all right, roped up and guarded by at least two men. Well, she thought, two against two isn't bad. She gripped her wand ...
A door opened. Penelope pulled back into the shadows and watched.
Commotion.
A door opening.
Hard, precise footsteps.
The blindfold was whisked from Percy's face.
At first he didn't actually see anything. Then, as he realized that he had his sight back, he began to take in the things around him. Crates and barrels, stacked to the ceiling; a thick, looming man in the background; another, smaller and timid, near him; and finally a lone figure standing mere feet away. His bearing alone was unmistakable.
Lucius Malfoy.
Percy calculated. Lucius Malfoy was friends with Cornelius Fudge. He knew that Percy had abandoned his family. He had seen his loyalty to the Ministry in action. There was hope.
"Mr. Malfoy!" he babbled. "Thank goodness, you see what they've done to me --? Minister Fudge is going to be furious --"
"Oh do stop it," said Lucius Malfoy. "You think we'll fall for all that? Please. We all know why you're here."
Percy looked from Malfoy to the other and his pale face blanched further. "I certainly don't," he said, pompous tone deserting him toward the end. "I demand to be released."
The snake-headed cane swung out and caught Percy in the jaw; the chair in which he was bound nearly tipped under the force of it. He tasted blood.
"I have dreamed of this," said Malfoy softly. "It is usually your father featured in my dreams," he added thoughtfully, "but believe me, I'll settle for you ..."
Percy tried again. "Do you realize, sir, that I report directly to the Minister of Magic himself? I will be missed, and let me assure you, as soon as that happens, every available Auror will be --"
The cane lashed out again, the silver snake head crashing just below Percy's right eye.
"You stupid boy," said Mr. Malfoy, savoring every word, "if an entire Ministry full of Aurors can't catch any one of a dozen escaped prisoners --" the man beside him sniggered unpleasantly "-- how on earth do you expect them to find just one Junior Assistant? Especially a weak ... pathetic ... know-it-all ... like yourself?" His words were punctuated with increasingly vicious blows.
"The Minister --" Percy began weakly, and winced when Malfoy raised his cane again. The silver-haired man threw back his head and laughed.
"Of course. My friend Cornelius. He'll be troubled at your disappearance, no doubt ... but to suspect genial, generous Lucius Malfoy? Ridiculous." He put his hands on the arms of Percy's chair and leaned down until his face was mere inches away. "Let's get to business, shall we? You are the Scarlet Raven."
"If you're so certain," said Percy breathlessly, taking a terrible chance, "then why aren't I dead yet?"
Malfoy smiled. "Good point." He stood up and swung his wand toward Percy's head. "Avada --"
The second part never came. Percy opened his eyes to see Malfoy gazing down at him with interest, wand still extended.
"On second thought," said Malfoy slowly, "I am curious. How have you managed such a remarkable record of arrests? Surely it wasn't accomplished by wand alone."
He folded his arms across his chest and began to pace in front of the chair, coolly keeping Percy's gaze.
"You must have equipment," he said slowly. "Amulets? An invisibility cloak?" He seemed to be reading Percy's thoughts. "Something else?" He smiled. "There is something, isn't there? You know, a Mr. Borgin recently mentioned to me that he finally sold one of his more precious artifacts." He interpreted Percy's silence with a rising delight. "You do have the Hand of Glory. Splendid. When we search your flat I'll make a special effort to find it. A gift for my son ... he's had his eye on it, you know ..."
Percy found his voice. "I'm curious myself," he managed. "Just what makes you think I have anything to do with the Scarlet Raven?"
"My dear boy. You were seen."
Percy's heart sank.
"A certain someone recognized you during your escapades at the Clearwater house," said Malfoy coolly. He gestured to the shorter man behind him.
The short, balding man smiled grimly.
"Or don't you remember Wormtail?" Malfoy continued, mockery in every word of his drawling voice. "I suppose you did know him in a different form. And a different name. Now what was it again ...? Oh, yes. Of course. Scabbers."
For a moment Percy's mind seemed to stop. Then, all at once, it lurched back into motion, swirling to assimilate this knowledge. What had Minister Fudge told him ... Sirius Black's escape ... Potter's silly story ... Peter Pettigrew ... a rat ... Ron's rat ...
"You see," said Malfoy satisfactorily, "he knew you immediately. Even behind that silly mask ..." He leaned toward Percy again. "You won't tell me anything more?" Percy was silent. "I thought as much. I would love to stay and torture it out of you -- believe me -- but I'm afraid I'm quite busy these days, and I simply don't want to put up with you any longer." He brought up his wand until the tip rested in the hollow of Percy's throat. "This, I'm afraid, will be the end of the Scarlet Raven."
"Are you quite sure?"
The voice was strong and unexpected. Mr. Malfoy straightened abruptly. "Who said that?"
"Why, the fellow above you."
Everyone looked up.
Standing among the rafters, crimson cape flapping behind him, was the Scarlet Raven.
