Don't own Harry Potter. Kind of inspired by the song "Glass, Concrete, & Stone" by David Byrne (don't own anything related to that, either, except for In Good Company and it's soundtrack). I think Percy is a git…but a git with some hint of human very very deep down : ). How I imagine Percy's new life.
.x. Glass, Concrete, and Stone .x.
Percy groaned as the alarm clock went off next to him. It was still pitch black as he turned and squinted at the glowing analog letters: four A.M. He fumbled to turn it off and groped around the end table for his horn-rimmed glasses before rising and getting into the shower.
The towel still around his narrow waist, he stood in front of the mirror, looking at himself critically. Spraying a large blob of shaving cream into his hand, he spread it over his cheeks and chin, gliding over them with a razor until they were impeccably smooth. He dabbed on aftershave and combed his trademark Weasley mop. Not a hair was out of place as he slipped on a pair of navy blue robes. He paused as he caught sight of the Dark Mark that was burned into his forearm, but he quickly shook it off. He looked at his reflection in the mirror—apart from his hair, he was almost unrecognizable as a Weasley. He had finally achieved what he had always wanted, even if it was at a high price.
He strode haughtily to the fireplace, taking a fistful of Floo powder in his hand. The flames burst into a brilliant shade of emerald green and he stepped into them.
"The Ministry of Magic Atrium!" he said clearly.
He held his elbows in close to his body as he felt himself spinning. Had he opened his eyes, he would have seen glimpses of different wizarding residences, but he had had too much experience with this method of travel to do that. At long last he stopped and stepped into the Atrium. Wizards milled about. He recognized some, and others were strangers to him, but there was one blonde witch in particular he knew well….
"Percy!" she called. He turned around, and she came up to him, smiling coyly. Penelope Clearwater.
"Hello, Penny," he said nervously—she had pressed herself up against him.
"Dinner at my house tonight at seven, Weasley," she whispered seductively into his ear. "And afterwards, maybe we could have some…dessert." She nipped at his ear playfully before walking away without another word.
As he headed to his office, he caught sight of his father speaking to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Probably something to do with the ridiculous Order of the Phoenix. He looked away quickly as his father saw him staring, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he wondered what he would say if he ever learned his son was a Death Eater. However, the twinge of guilt he felt for leaving was worse…
"'Morning, Weasley," Fudge said distractedly as he entered the office and took a seat at his desk.
"Good morning, sir."
.xx.
He walked home from work that day—he felt like thinking a bit. As he reached his house, he stared up at it. It was modern, showy, and trendy, but it wasn't home. It wasn't the Burrow. It was just glass, concrete, and stone…
.xx.
"Hello, Percy," Penny greeted him.
"Hello."
She stepped aside, letting him enter. He looked at her—her long blonde hair was down and she had changed out of her robes, revealing a black pencil skirt and blouse with heels.
"Do you want to take your robes off?" she asked, her hands reaching for them.
"Ah, no, I'm fine, thank you," he said nervously, stepping back. His eyes darted unconsciously to the spot where he knew the Mark was.
"Oh, alright," she said. "Nice to see you, Percy."
"It's nice to see you too—" He was caught off guard as she leaned up and began to kiss him passionately. She led him over to the couch and tried to take off his robes again.
"Penny," he said.
"Hmmm?"
"I'd rather not take them off, thank you."
"Why not? They can't be comfortable."
"They're fine, Penny," he said, irritated.
She reached for her wand and he grabbed her wrist. Her eyes grew wide.
"What now?" he asked bitterly. He followed her gaze—the fabric of his robe had fallen down, revealing his Mark. She let out a shriek. Before he realized what he was doing, he had whipped out his wand and uttered the most unforgivable curse in the world.
.xx.
Rufus Scrimgeour was looking at him as though he was the vilest piece of scum on the earth, and Percy Weasley would have to agree with him.
"Sir?" he asked.
The Minister of Magic didn't say a word.
"I…I've confessed, sir, and I was wondering if, before you gave me to the dementors, I could ask one last favor of you, sir."
"And what would that be, Weasley?" he asked, his voice not concealing his disgust.
"I was wondering…if perhaps I could speak to my father?"
Scrimgeour blinked. "I suppose." He turned to Fudge, who was standing by. "Go get Arthur, would you?"
"Yes, sir," he said and disapparated.
Scrimgeour continued to look at Percy, but he had stopped paying attention to him. He had always wanted to work here, at the Ministry. These past years, it had almost been his home. But it wasn't the Burrow. It was just glass, concrete, and stone…
