Percival Weasley wakes and rolls over to run his fingers through Penelope Clearwater's curly hair. He stares into her azure eyes, unusually listless and dull, and the beginning of an apprehensive grimace appears on the corners of his mouth. "What?" he asks, his voice quivering, and he sits up.
"I--I don't want to be here any more. I miss Roger and Katie, and as much as I hate to admit it, even Oliver." She hesitates, her eyes taking on a haunted look as Percy's hand continues stroking her side. "Honestly, I would rather be at one of the camps. Then at least I'd be with people who care for me."
Percy gapes, quite unsure if anger or pain is more appropriate here. "You have everything you could ever want at this castle. But most importantly, you're safe. People die in those camps, innocent people! My brother died last month. He was protecting Ginny," he says, his voice composed only due to practice.
A few stands of recently cut crimson hair fall before his melancholy cerulean eyes, and he brushes them away before reaching for his black horned-rimmed glasses. He is still as lanky as ever, standing a little over six feet; his shoulders have broadened slightly.
"I know people die. I hear about it everyday."
Percy stands, grabbing angrily for the black robes slung over Penelope's oak trunk she's only kept for sentimental worth. "When will you realise that your place is here with me?" He throws the robes over his shoulders, his fingers fumbling as he hastily buttons them.
"All the women here have a function, Percy. Whether it is to be these blokes' sex toys or to bring up the children, they are treated as objects, never as people!" She sits up, clutching the white sheets to her chest in modesty. Her hair cascades down to the middle of her back, a few freckles grace her cheeks. Her frame is easy on the eye, and the years have served this twenty-two year old extremely well.
"I'm not a object! No one here is."
Percy swears he can hear her voice crack, break, and he turns his back towards her. "I have power now that I am a Death Eater. Power I could've never dreamt of with the Ministry. How can you not understand that? I'm someone here, I'm feared." He slams the oak doors to the Ravenclaw-blue chamber as he leaves, and Penelope begins to cry silent tears.
From the lower staircase at the end of the dank corridor, another Death Eater, his hair raven black and eyes ice blue, emerges. He holds his breath as he watches the redhead slam the door to Penelope's chamber and stand there for several seconds before striding away. And Adrian Pucey exhales, following Percy down the stone hall whose walls still bleed fresh blood although the slaughtering has long since stopped.
"Do you make it a point to follow me, Pucey?" Percy slows in his tracks, his head angled to the side as he surveys Adrian with a suspicious eye. "Or are you merely the average stalker?"
"Don't flatter yourself, Weasley," Adrian snaps. A beloved sketchbook and various other books are tucked safely under his left arm, and a couple of charcoal pencils are shoved lazily into the pocket of his navy non-issue robes. His hair is tousled slightly on the side as though he fell asleep while it was still wet. Adrian is half-a-head shorter than Percy and is rather athletic, though he considers himself more of an artist now.
"You shouldn't be down here."
"Look at yourself--don't talk to me about where I should be." Adrian tightens his grasp on the sketchpad, his eyes never straying from the Weasley he's hated since their fifth year at Hogwarts, which was nearly six years ago.
"I have someone here," Percy replies, authority laced in his voice. His eyes dart to the sketchpad, but after some consideration he decides to leave it. The last thing Percy needs is an angry Adrian sending Marcus Flint to pulverise him. Although it would be an excellent way to rid himself of that brutish troll, Percy considers himself better than them.
Adrian grunts. "That Mudblood? She belongs at the camps, or better yet, six feet under. You're a Death Eater, Weasley. A Death Eater. Do you know what that means? You have your pick of any woman around here, anyone in the camps or anyone in the castle." His mind wanders momentarily to one woman in particular--the one he would never want Percy to handle. "Why do you insist on disgracing yourself with that--that trash?"
Percy's ears redden with each passing moment, his hand clench at his sides as he glares at Adrian, his eyes narrowing in distaste. "Penelope is no disgrace! Listen, Pucey, I love her."
"As Flint loves Landon? Fuck, Weasley, that Penelope whore isn't worth loving. Where has it gotten you? Nowhere. Have you stepped a foot from this castle in the last seven months? I doubt it. You haven't been in the camps to see that people are crying because loved ones are dead! Bloody hell, your family thinks you are dead! They don't know that you're a Death Eater. And if they did, love would turn to hate. It's simple, it's easy, and too many people are doing it. Lovers pitted against lovers, friends against friends, family against family. You say you love Penelope Clearwater? You don't know what love is. You think you do, you think you know everything. But you're no better than you were at Hogwarts! Wisdom is overrated, love is overrated. There is only one thing that we can depend on, Weasley, and that's power."
Percy folds his arms and allows himself a little rueful laugh. "You are nothing but a little boy, Pucey," Percy begins stiffly. "Hiding behind your misplaced pride while you were at Hogwarts. You never let anyone know the real you. Maybe if you did, you wouldn't be standing here now telling me that love and wisdom, and whatever else you have to spit at me, are useless and overrated."
"It's the truth. You're just too damn proud to admit it." Adrian shrugs.
"No, you don't understand what wisdom and love can get you. Without them, power is irrelevant." Percy pauses, glancing around as the rising sun appears over one of the windows of the grimy and forgotten corridor he and Adrian decided to face off in. "As hard as it is for you to understand love, I do love Penelope. So just sod off." Percy spins on his heels, his posture and emotions never faltering, never betraying the sort of Death Eater he has now become.
"You shouldn't love anyone!" Adrian calls as he watches Percy disappear hastily around the corner, probably heading back towards the warm chamber he calls home. He waits until the hollow echoing footsteps fade into the distance before adding with a solemn tone. "They'll just be taken from you."
Travis Nott glares at Oliver Wood, and he tightens his grip on the clipboard he holds protectively against his chest. The Death Eater and former Gryffindor walk along the streets of Camp Alpha, their boots spattering in freshly fallen snow. They ignore the ranks of desolate prisoners, some of who glower at Oliver for conversing with the Death Eater, while others gaze dully on with hopeless eyes and red noses.
Travis huffs irritably as Oliver makes another quick move for his clipboard locked beneath his crossed arms. "Listen, Wood, I don't know where the Weasleys are," Travis snaps, his olive-coloured eyes focussing on Oliver's. "By Merlin, it's none of your business; why don't you be a good little wanker and sod off?"
Oliver exhales sharply and runs his hands through his greasy hair. "Bloody
hell, just look at that bleedin' clipboard!" he exasperates; but his only
response from Travis is a well-formed and practiced sneer.
"Don't you have something better to do than pester me?"
"There is nothing more important than finding me mates!"
Travis stops and momentarily contemplates reaching for his wand and death-cursing this annoyance away. In fact, as the moments pass and become greater, it seems more and more of an excellent idea; Travis reaches into the folds of his thick black robes, his fingers wrapping around the long, slender stick of yew. But before the curse can form past Travis's lips, the Head Death Eater of Camp Alpha emerges from headquarters and approaches.
"What is the problem here, Nott?" Gene Avery, a short, round man possessing unattractive dirty-blond hair that curls slightly at his ears, slinks up behind them. He folds his arms over his chest, sizing up both wizards with one apathetic glance.
Travis jumps and quickly removes his hand from his robes, leaving his wand to be unused and lonely. "Nothing that I cannot handle, sir!" Travis salutes his superior.
Gene raises an eyebrow, his wide eyes--too wide for his rotund face and too common an ugly green--staring at Travis. "Sure. Hand me the clipboard, Nott. You're off duty," Gene dismisses.
Travis lowers his head, reluctantly handing his prized clipboard to Gene before leaving, entering the main headquarters through oak doors, delighted to be out of the nippy January air.
Gene turns to Oliver, his smile broad and pleasant. "Now, Wood. What seems to be the problem?" Gene may be an old Death Eater from the time of Lord Voldemort's first rise, but his heart goes out to these prisoners. Besides, he's assigned himself as the unofficial Head of Morale.
"Uhh . . ." Oliver stammers, not noticing Gene's podgy arm finding its way to his slumped shoulders. "I have been attempting to locate the Weasleys for some time now"--and he adds as an afterthought--"sir."
"Weasley . . . Weasley, eh?" Gene studies the clipboard that he grips in the hand of the arm draped over Oliver, his lip twists in concentration. "Tell me, Wood, are you still a Quidditch player?" It was an insensitive query; the prisoners aren't authorized magical items such as broomsticks, spell books ,and wands.
Oliver kicks at an imaginary pebble, finding peculiar comfort in Gene's arm, and he shakes his head.
Gene removes his arm and tucks his hands behind his back. "Pity, you play a good game. Ah, here we go. Weasley--Charles, Frederick, George, Ronald, and Virginia. Building Theta. A nice place it is, fairly large and roomy." His grin now reaches from ear to ear and he glimpses at Oliver for a reaction.
Oliver's heart drops. "Bill and Percy?"
Gene freezes--Percy had specifically told him not to tell the Weasleys, or anyone else for that matter, of his involvement with the Death Eaters, and Lucius Malfoy had confirmed this. "William was murdered last month. Percival has not been found."
Chewing subconsciously on his lower lip, Oliver nods his head.
"Building Theta is not far--three blocks south and one west. Good luck, Wood."
Oliver begins to walk away, his mind in places of good times past. But before he rounds the corner, Gene suddenly calls out after him, "I'll be sure to ask you to be Keeper if Malfoy allows a Quidditch game to boost morale!"
