Shout outs!

Jenny:  You live in Lindon?!  Dude!!!!  We're practically neighbors!  Except I'm at school in Idaho right now.  But when I go back for Thanksgiving we'll be practically neighbors!  I'm glad you like snoopy Percy.  I didn't intend him to be that way, but that's what happened and I'm quite fond of him now.

Crystal Lightening:  Thanks! I'll try for longer…. I'm not really good at long chapters, though.  But I'll try for you!

Nkittyhawk: I don't hate you. I liked the story.  And the envelope… since you're being so impatient, you'll NEVER now!  *cackles madly(

Disclaimer:  I don't own any of Rowling's works bladdly blah blah.  Heck, I don't even own the computer I'm typing this on. I'm on campus.

And on with the story!

            Percy had just barely settled back into the chair, slightly perturbed at losing the envelope, when a door materialized on the wall.  It flung open loudly, and out ran Matthias Dormand.  He must have been in the middle of something when panic had struck him; he still absent-mindedly clutched a paper in his hand as well as his wand, the latter ready to conjur.  His face was a distorting of ash and too much blood, his eyes much too bright.

            Percy wasn't sure what to make of it.  He hadn't known the man long, but. . .  he seemed disturbingly out of character.  Sometimes that meant nothing, other times. . . the face of Crouch sprang into his mind.  Perhaps he should call someone.  But no one else was around.

            Dormand suddenly remembered the new employee, for he paused, turned around and took a deep breath in an obvious effort to calm himself.  "If you're finished, Mr. Ignatius, you can leave now.  I expect you back here tomorrow morning.  Normally I'd find something else for you to do, but I've urgent business to attend to which Mr. Morsley has just notified me of."             Morsley had been watching for something.  Clearly he had seen it.

            "I gave him Valentine's finished report, sir," Percy said automatically.  Damn.  Protocol over a man whose heart was nearly jumping out of his chest.

            "Good, good. I'm sure you did a fine job."  With that, he was out the door.

            Percy remained at the desk for several minutes, staring blankly at patterns in the woodwork.  Something wasn't right. He had felt this way during all those times with Crouch, but had just shrugged it off.  Because Mr. Crouch was his superior.  Because Mr. Crouch was always correct.  Whatever Mr. Crouch said was holy writ.  He bit his lip and stood up.  This was a completely different situation, one that was, this time, none of his business.

            The afternoon was in full bloom, the sun too hot on his drawn hood.  He ignored the discomfort as he made his way down the street.  No one was in sight. 

            Someone was waiting at the tent when he arrived.  An elegant screech owl, a letter tied around his talon.  Percy couldn't help but smile. "Hermes," he called. "I haven't seen you in days."

            Hermes hooted proudly and swooped to Percy's shoulder, displaying the letter.  Percy's smile faded. He already knew whom the letter was from.

            "Dear Percy,

                        I received your last letter.   Very short, as usual, but I guess I don't send you long ones, either.  Anyway, Hermes is surprisingly good at finding us.  If you ever want to find us, he'll know.  I'm not sure how the rest of the family would react, but I'd be glad to see you.

            School is going to start soon, and I'm excited.  I'm still a Chaser—that's the position that usually handles the ball, since you've always completely ignored the sport.  Ron is now completely over his keeper-phobia.  So, yeah, over all it should be an excellent team.

But the main reason I'm excited to go back is just because Hogwarts feels so safe. It's one of the few relatively safe places anywhere. I don't know what it's like where you are (where are you, anyhow?) but it's terrible here.  Everyone just wants to get away, but there is really no place to go.  Which is why I don't believe you attacked Dad.  You're my big brother, and no big brother of mine would support Voldemort.  Even Dad is doubtful.  I think. He still loves you, I hope you know.

Anyway, I don't want to say too much.  It's dangerous.  I hope to hear from you soon.

                                                                                    Love,

                                                                                                Ginny

Percy read the letter several times, memorizing it, before crumpling it up. Part of him didn't want to be writing to Ginny. She was the one who started it, after all.  He didn't even know why he kept replying—a force of habit?  Their communication was sparse as it was.

Penelope couldn't make up her mind.  She sat her bed, parchment, quill, and a textbook in her lap.  The quill was even in her hand some of the time.  Once it even dipped itself (it had to have been the quill, for she couldn't it have done) into the ink bottle.  Several blots of ink were scattered over the parchment like spots on the Dalmatian her parents owned.  But nothing had been written.

But something should have been written.  She knew it. In fact, in a few minutes, something would be written!  She was screaming the command in her mind: "Write to the Order!  Write to Dumbledore!"

But somehow, it wasn't getting done.

Of course, he'd understand no major news.  Dumbledore had admitted it when, hearing she was traveling to the little village for research anyway, he had assigned her the little spy job.  It wasn't as if he was sitting around Hogwarts expecting a declaration of one of the Ministry-infiltrating Death Eaters.

But he wouldn't reject the declaration, either.  She took a deep breath and told her hand to write something.

"PENELOPE!"

She screamed, the materials flying from lap.  The ink bottle landed on her roommate Pearl's robe which was lying on the floor.  Good thing the bottle had a no-spill charm on it.

Pearl darted into the room, her face flush.  "The window!"

Her natural curiosity ablaze, Penelope rushed to the window with her friend. "Who are we spying on?"

Pearl pointed to a small group approaching the tavern.  "Them," she whispered.  "It's Mr. Dormand."

Penelope squinted for a better look.  Yes, it was Mr. Dormand—whom she still needed to speak too—and another man she recognized as Winston Morsley.  They had their wands out, guiding something before them. . . heading for the tavern….

She and Pearl gasped in unison.

"Downstairs," she commanded.  "Apparate."

They apparated at the doorway just as one of the Healers-in-training was opening it. 

The man in the floating stretcher was a mess.  Dried blood covered his face, and his robes were but rags somewhat hiding what were obviously burn marks and more blood.

Penelope was too good a Healer to be disgusted. "What happened?"

"Healer Asa Cortez," Dormand commanded. "I need to speak with her."

Asa appeared almost instantly, running up to the door, her graying hair even messier than earlier. "Ay de mi!  What happened?"

"His name is Brogan Marchent," Dormand said.  "I need you and your students to take care of him."