I'd apologize for the wait if anyone was actually reading this.

A Helping Hand

I blink once, twice. Yup, the Minister of Magic is still standing in the middle of my living room, suspiciously eyeing my overstuffed, green couch.…I'm so totally fucked.

"Mr. Weasley… are you quite alright?"

No, my heart is playing some Native African drum solo that the butterflies in my stomach are dancing to, and I'm piss ass drunk. "O-of course Minister, please, er, come in." I stammer, trying not to slur my words.

There is a long pause in which Rufus Scrimgeour looks me over disapprovingly. "Mr. Weasley," he speaks slowly, enunciating each word carefully, as though I'm some immigrant worker. "you do realize that I am, in fact, already inside you're…home."

"Err, y-yeah." I'm soooooooo fucked.

No. I'll be alright as long as I calm down. According to "A Study of Hogwarts' Prefects and Their Later Careers", a true professional is always cool under pressure. I take a deep breath, plaster a large fake smile on my face, and approach the former Auror. "You'll have to excuse me, it's not everyday I walk in on the Minister of Magic in my living room!" I force a laugh and then turn my tone more serious. "It is such an honor to have you over, especially when taking in account the current events. I'm sure you are a very busy man, and-"

I'm cut off by a scoff from Scrimgeour. "This is not a social visit Mr. Weasley."

I suddenly have a horrible thought: Perhaps the Minister needs to talk to my family again. Yes, Scrimgeour is probably here because of my 'fortunate connections'. This is no surprise. To be honest, the man has never approached me unless he needed something. I often get the feeling the old Auror doesn't like me much.

"Perhaps we should have a seat?" The expression on the old man is one of annoyance now. I don't let this discourage me. With another fake smile I motion towards the green couch. Even after we are both seated, the tension in the room is unbearable.

"Could I get you some t-" I began to say, only to be interrupted by Scrimgeour yet again.

"No! No, that's quite alright."

The Minister raises his hand left hand and places it on my shoulder. "Mr. Wea…Percy, as you said before these are indeed troubled times: times of fear, confusion, and, unfortunately loss."

"Very eloquently put Minster."

Something like a grimace flashes across the Scrimgeour's face before he continues. "Despite these hard times, we must not allow ourselves not to fall victim to fear, grief, and blame. We must stand firm in order to defeat He-who-must-not-be-named."

Wow, this sound serious (as well as highly rehearsed). Maybe I'm being promoted.

"…But, as I look around this country I realize the devastating impact Professor Dumbledore's death is having on the whole of England."

"I know exactly what you mean, sir. I can honestly tell you there wasn't a dry eye anywhere in my corridor." I look away, sighing deeply "I myself like to find solace in the Ministry, and, if I may say, your excellent handling of the matter." When I look back at Scrimgeour, I blanch. The old man is wearing a wry grin on his face; in this light, it makes him look almost malevolent.

"Yes, yes, exactly. In these, our darkest days, people should look to their government, and only their government, for comfort. We need their unwavering support. We need them to understand: you are either with us, or against us. How else can we defeat this evil which lurks behind every corner?"

"How, indeed?"

"Percy," Scrimgeour eyes are locked with mine, "The people want answers."

Okay, I'm officially freaked out now. "Answers for what Minister?"

"The break-ins, Barty Crouch, the Dementors, Snape, the Hogwarts High Inquisitor, Dumbledore's murder, the Triwizard Tournament fiasco…my predecessor." Scrimgeour's hand on my shoulder tightens as he speaks. Soon I feel his fingernails digging into my skin.

"M-minister." I whisper, pleading. He ignores this and, instead, pulls me in closer.

"The Ministry needs your help, Percy. Help that only you can give…You were present, and closely related to all of the recent, err, mishaps."

My whole body goes numb as realization set in. They need a scapegoat, and it looks like they found one.

"You're making me the fall guy?" This. can't. be. happening.

Anger disfigures the old mans face; the next words are said trough clenched teeth. "Dose your loyalty only surface when beneficial to your career? I'm not asking you to throw away your life. I'm asking you to make a great sacrifice for your country. Perhaps you have not realized, but we are at war!"

Somewhere in the back of my mind I know that this isn't right. Unfortunately, the logical part of my brain stopped working some time ago, and my defense is not exactly a strong one. "B-b-but…no, you see…I, y-you…"

Scrimgeour finally releases my shoulder. I scarcely notice. "This is a friendly visit Percy. And, I feel for you; I really do." Here Scrimgeour's voice drops to a whisper. "But, if you were to disclose anything from this conversation, if you were to dispute the facts which will be soon printed in The Daily Prophet, our next conversation will not be as pleasant…"

The Minister stands up and walks towards the door. Before leaving, he turns to me one last time. "…A martyr can serve me just as well. Good evening Mr. Weasley."

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If you review, I'll update more often…and I'll also start helping old women across the street, go to Church, donate to charity, ummm, save kittens and puppies from the cold…

So, review. I can take criticism. Come on.

Think of the kitties!