Down the Corridor, Up the Stairs, and Into the Face of Death

Alternatively, If You Want To Be Particular: Down Five Floors in the Lift, Take a Left, and Into the Face of I'm Going to Die

A/N: This story is going to be PW/MM. It is going to be AU, and Minerva McGonagall is going to be in her late forties.

I got the idea for this story after a conversation with a friend about how there are thousands of stories available about older male characters and younger female ones and how this could possibly be a bit of a double standard. Even in the books, you find older man/younger woman couples like Remus and Tonks and Bill and Fleur. Minerva McGonagall and Percy Weasley seemed to be the most compatible couple that I could think of, and if someone were to exclude the movies and a handful of lines from the books, Minerva McGonagall could easily be thought of as in her forties. I'm calling this story AU, because if it is possible for AU to cover Harry being put in Slytherin, people who had died being alive, there being no magic in the wizarding world, and all the other countless things AU can be used to achieve, so please do not try to argue with me over a simple change in ages.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other things that I might happen to borrow in the path of this story. I barely even own the idea of this story.

Chapter 1: In which, Percy is not fired

Percy POV

I think my life might be ending.

I am going blind.

I think my heart might explode out of my chest.

I might just keel over and die right here and now.

Or now.

Maybe now.

Or not.

I would not deserve it.

Ever since the attack at Hogwarts, people have been losing confidence in the Ministry's abilities to protect them, and the public was in an all out panic. If Hogwarts could be attacked, then couldn't just about everywhere? The Prophet was filled with terrified editorials, which were steadily growing more and more terrified. It had been suggested that the Ministry disband temporarily and operate solely as an army.

As that plan of action began to gain popularity, nearly everyone in the Ministry were waiting in a state of limbo. Waiting to be fired. Waiting to be promoted. Waiting for everyone to turn around so that they can just lay their head in their intray and cry.

Unfortunately, you can only wait for so long. Eventually what you are waiting for will come, and sometimes it is not as bad as you thought. On the other hand, it can sometimes be worse, but it is better than the waiting, because once you know you have options. You can do something to work towards some kind of goal. Even if that goal is pulling your face out of your intray and drying off before too many people see you.

All the people who don't have jobs that are considered necessary to the war effort are being kept busy. I'm writing addresses on envelopes. Suddenly, I can see that my options are much less painful than I expected, and I will not have to work as hard as I thought I would to pull my face out of my intray and dry my eyes off. Metaphorically of course.

Scrimgeour sent a note inviting me to some fancy dinner party. I might still have a job. Why would he want to provide alcohol to someone he is about to fire? There is no way that would be a safe thing to do.

I live in an apartment building for Ministry employees who want to live in Muggle London. It is a modest red brick building with green shutters. The grass is kept short, and they pay people to walk in and out of the building in different outfits, so no one has to worry about being seen coming and going from the building.

My flat is on the eighth floor across from the elevator. The amount of floors sometimes reminds me of how my childhood home used to be on nights when I cannot sleep. Not that there are many, of course.

I never really pay too much attention to anyone that lives in the building. I do my laundry late at night to avoid glares and pity. I summon my mail to my room. Excluding what I was shown on my tour of the building several years ago, I have no idea what is beyond the elevator. I know that on the third floor Dumbledore keeps some of the teachers that work at the school who want a home away from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. In the flat next to mine is the son of a rich Beauxbatons graduate, who keeps me up late at night throwing parties. Then, there is a mother with two children. Her husband works in Magical Law Enforcement, and he hasn't been home in weeks. He left towards the beginning of the month with four stuffed suitcases, and his office is looking more like a home.

There isn't much to motivate me to meet the neighbors anyway. The place is growing emptier and emptier as more people are choosing places to live that are more expensive but at least safer from Death Eater attack.

Chapter 2 In which, Percy has the one night stand from Hell

I do not understand my life sometimes. I think that if I were to just sit back and pretend that I had no worries, and I just let things happen randomly to me without a care in the world, I would not get into quite as many predicaments.

I should not be here. I should have my pants on. I should be in my flat on the eighth floor across from the elevator, and while I am in there I should be wearing undergarments under the pants that I should be wearing. Unless I were showering. My attire would be appropriate.

However, it is generally much wetter in a shower.

Scrimgour suggested I "loosen up a bit," and he gave me a drink. Dolores insisted I share a bottle of firewhiskey with her. However, the alcohol certainly made talking with her easier. I swear the woman has gone completely batty ever since she came back from Hogwarts. Then, Kingsley Shacklebolt from the auror office decided I should also try to be more casual and share another drink.

I think I might have lost count somewhere after that, but you would think that Fred and George had possessed the entire Ministry in some kind of extremely elaborate prank the way the entire party was trying to get me drunk.

Arguably, I do feel noticeably better. If I were to begin sobbing, I would easily have enough dignity to hide under my desk. If my motor skills were still up to that level.

About midnight, I went upstairs in search of something. Most likely a bucket. It was crowded, so I found myself wedged up against a painting. Luckily, I had enough of my wits about me to try to stare intently at the painting, so I do not find myself with another drink in my hand. I do not recall what exactly was on the painting, but I know that it made me feel my stomach rising. Not in the vomiting way, like earlier but in a nice way.

I talked to a few people after that, but I continued returning to that painting. After another hour or so, I began to feel dizzy and somewhat nauseous again. I remember talking to a blonde woman. The same one I'm next to right now.

I think my life just ended all over again, or it will be ended soon. I would have preferred to be fired by the Ministry and killed by one of Dumbledore's friends. Okay, the second one will be happening very soon, and I found out via answering machine, so I was more than forewarned.

"Hi, Fleur, It's me, Bill. I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

I think it is very likely that Bill had all his vocal chords destroyed in a freak accident. One that involves mummies and an ancient curse. He could have been inside a pyramid filled with more gold than Gringotts when suddenly hundreds of mummified icky dead things hurled themselves out of hiding and dived hungrily at his throat…

They were very tiny mummified icky things, because they couldn't have hidden behind things otherwise, and, er, they wanted to make sure that he could not speak, because it was necessary to open the door to the treasure?

"Fleur, you know I didn't mean it. You're perfect, and you know it. Just talk to me."

On second thought, it would be much more likely for Fred and George to be at fault. They have always had a bit of a problem with letting other people have some attention, so they decided to start permanently disfiguring their siblings larynges. Unfortunately, this would also result in my eventual injury.

"Fleur, would you answer the damn phone. I told you I was sorry. I promise I'll make it all up to you. Just call me back."

Great. Terrific. I really wish you would kill me now and get it over with, person lying next to me who also had sex with my older brother. Most likely, on a more regular basis. Also, there is a good chance it was probably better most of those times. Otherwise, I would understand her not answering the phone.

"Fleur, please, I am coming over in a few minutes."

I feel like I want to say every word on the list of words punishable by detention or point loss list-or whipping if you listen to Filch- of Hogwarts. Yes, I do still have it memorized. Being told one hundred and seventy six swear words by the headmaster and then told to memorize it is not something easily forgotten. I did not imagine ever feeling such a strong urge to break a rule, but I suppose, once you've broken all the unspoken rules among family-save murder, you have to continue somehow.

You would think if one night stands were so awful people would have them less often.

A/N: This is getting a little out of hand, but I'm looking for someone to beta this, if only to give it a read through, so I have someone else's opinion.