A/N: Hello, everyone! A few announcements: First, there is a violence warning for this chapter, so be aware. Second, I seem to have fallen into a 1.5 - 2 weeks regular update routine, so you can generally expect that rough schedule for the rest for the story, which is looking to be anywhere between 55 - 65 chapters.
Also - We're almost at 2,000 reviews! :) :) You guys and gals are THE best readers a writer could ask for! I very much appreciate your continued support and your communication of it to me; I am so glad you are all enjoying this from wherever you call home in this big ole world.
I know everyone has their own specific ideas about different characters' appearances, but MDominatusP has pointed out a really excellent Lily Evans doppelganger: Lydia Hearst from "The Face" (when she has red hair). Thanks!
Finally, reviewer AllAboutObsession asked a good question about why Muggleborns would buy into such discrimination in the wizarding world if they were raised in normal non-magic families for the first half of their lives. I've posted the explanation (basically more details on the 'reversed' structure of Universe B that I haven't had the chance to get into in the story) on my bio, if anyone's curious and had wondered the same thing.
The Best Laid Plans
Hermione's ire only grew when Percy promptly returned his attention to Harry after his severe demand that she remain put, launching into an extremely thorough cross-examination of the other Evans's House-Wizard plans. It made her manipulation of Ronáld for one hop, skip, snatch and run of Draco's lead seem like a walk in the park.
What was Harry's intended use for his new House-Wizard? Did he plan to bring it out in public — It, it, IT? Hermione thought in fury — and did he know the restraining charms he was required to use if he did? Did he intend to provide access to the prisoner in the Head Boy suite to anyone in particular? If so, to whom, specifically? (Just to My, she was glad to hear him say.) Would A58 have contact with any other House-Witches or Wizards? Would the prisoner be summoned to the slave hold in the evening, or remain in the suite?
Crossing her arms irately and jutting out her hip, Hermione listened to Percy's droning voice in anger but rapidly made note of his extensive list of questions, formulating responses should the same ones be raised to her (likely, since he would probably assume — correctly — that Filch hadn't asked them of her when she'd gained custody of Draco).
Was he, Percy intoned, aware that House-Wizard termination of life without official authorisation was a criminal offense? Did Harry wish to have a licensed tech-certified Mediwitch add a Pacemaker charm (for an extra 1,000 galleon fee, of course) to A58 which would, in most instances, keep the House-Wizard from permanent death should any potentially fatal damage occur?
Hermione's eyes widened slightly as the statement jarred a memory from one of the very first days she'd seen Draco, months ago:
"Lord Ronáld will be highly displeased if he dies," she'd sniffed, trying to sound more miffed than worried while Draco lay, unconscious and struggling to breathe, on the Hospital Wing floor behind her. "You don't want that, do you?"
"Death for that creature isn't a concern," said Madam Pomfrey, curling her lip. "That's one's got a Pacemaker charm on his heart. A gradual healing enchantment kicks in when it's activated."
Hermione had never heard of a Pacemaker healing charm but was aware of what a Muggle pacemaker was. Feigning ignorance, she asked irritably, "And that's supposed to be helpful when he's bleeding to death?"
"For cases like this it'll keep the Fusty alive long enough for the Mediwitch students to undo most long-lasting damage tomorrow," Pomfrey said impatiently. "Obviously it doesn't work for things like the Killing Curse, certain poisons, major arterial bleeds and constant internal hemorrhaging…"
Pomfrey carelessly threw out the explanation as if there was nothing wrong with it. Was this what the Weasleys, what even Hogwarts did to keep House-Wizards and Witches alive and tormentable without lifting a finger to heal them themselves?
The sheer amount of new information to remember about Universe B had been so great that this detail had slipped through the cracks of her mind until it had reason to resurface now. She hadn't even mentioned it to Draco, she realized — when she'd first learned of it, he had wanted so badly to know that he could die if the suffering became too great that it didn't seem terribly compassionate to tell him even that freedom had been taken from him.
But now Hermione understood this world much so much better than she had only two days into it, and she found it odd the Sovereignty seemed so concerned with keeping the vanquished Light Wizards alive. Why would they have bothered to care? No doubt Death Eaters would have killed Muggeborns indiscriminately if they had won the Second Wizarding War (Merlin knew they already had been). International wizarding standards, perhaps? But surely the same standards wouldn't have condoned such abusive treatment of prisoners, either—
"—the most common offense!" Percy exclaimed suddenly, jerking her back to their discussion. "If you want what's best for your record, Evans, I wouldn't forget it. Sharing leads without officially registering even a temporary swap with the Bureau of House-Wizard Regulation is a State misdemeanor." He scowled. "I know my siblings abused this rule most grievously."
Bollocks!
There it was, Hermione's usual excuse for Pansy's absence: officially a legal offense.
For the briefest of seconds, Harry's eyes shifted toward her, and Hermione knew her blood pressure had shot up from the heat that flooded her face. She again appreciated the amount of foundation she covered it with every morning that hid such flushes of rage or panic.
She had no doubt Percy would make an enormous red mark on her report — and in Lily Evans' mind — if she refused to provide the name of the 'client' who was currently borrowing her House-Witch. He might even make Hermione take him to her immediately. But summoning Pansy — well-dressed, unsuspecting, innocent Pansy — into the middle of a Sovereignty inspection was not an option.
Her nostrils began to flare angrily as she glared at the side of Percy's prattling red head. She didn't care how high and mighty Lily Evans' new Assistant Minister for Sovereignty Regulatory Affairs and Compliance thought he was. She had promised Draco that she would make sure everything went right tonight. She absolutely was not about to let an egoistic, pretentious little pillock like Percy destroy the safety they had all finally found.
For as much as the woman scared the bloody shit out of Hermione, the First Viceroy of the Sovereignty of the Phoenix was her legally recognized mother — who, only yesterday, had bloody well intervened to throw Percy's equally titled sister into a psychiatric ward because she threatened My — and My Granger Evans was a Muggleborn Elite.
It was time Lord Percy Weasley learned exactly what that would mean for him.
She tuned back in to Percy and Harry's conversation as the former asked, "Where do you plan to confine the creature? As this one's a Level A, I hope McGonagall informed you you'll need a cage."
"Unsurprisingly, she didn't," Harry responded calmly. "I assume it would have been left to Filch. No shock that fell through." The two men shared chummy eye rolls. "But I have plenty of space in my quarters."
"So the cage is not in place," Percy confirmed.
"At this rate, I might as well see just how big the tosser is before having the House-Elves make one," Harry said. While Percy wrote notes, his green eyes briefly shifted toward Hermione again, thank Merlin. She tilted her head ever so slightly toward her dorms, slightly arching an eyebrow.
He looked back toward Percy without even blinking. "But I expect you're considerably more experienced in that department, eh Weasley? Probably've brought along a whole load of cutting edge containment spells straight out of the Phoenix. I couldn't believe what those blokes were spitting out when Diggory gave me a tour of the Tech Integration Innovation Centre this summer."
"Well." Percy tried to look unassuming, though in the end he still appeared complacent. "Yes. I may have learned an exclusive spell or two."
"Bloody brilliant. I'll take your opinion and your magic over those freakishly arse-faced gremlins any day. Come on." Before Percy knew what was happening, Harry had clapped his shoulder, sweeping him along to the Head Boy suite.
As they headed up the stairs, conferring like old mates, Hermione exploded.
"Seriously?" she screeched. "First, you ignore me through ten minutes of bureaucratic drivel that doesn't even have to do with me, and now you're going to leave me to wait like a dog while you two go off on a lark? Well, I've got news for you, Percy Weasley: I don't come when you whistle, I will not go fetch, I am never ignored, and I don't 'stay' on command!"
From seven steps up, Percy's eyes narrowed into displeased slits. "Calm down, Lady Evans—"
"Oh, now you're ordering me about like a House-Witch? You insult me! And if you insist on treating me like an animal, you're going to be 'inspecting' something very unpleasant on the common room floor where I'm standing if you don't allow me to use my own bloody loo immediately!"
"Better ruddy well let her, mate," Harry grunted. He leaned toward Percy and muttered, "She'll bloody well go through with it if it's to make a point, and if my mother knows it was you who brought it on, it'll take you a hell of a while to get back in her graces. Not quite the most prudent way to start off your promotion, I'd say."
The redhead's face had turned green. After a moment, he let out a self-suffering sigh and raised his hand, waving her off. "Very well. Do what you must and return at once, Lady Evans."
Hermione huffed. "Oh, thank you, generous sir," she said mockingly, flouncing up the stairs to her room.
She slammed the door with a bang, cast security and muffling charms on it, and immediately darted into the room-sized, walk-in closet. With a hastily muttered charm, a quarter of the hanging and folded clothing inside fell in a mess to the ground, uncovering the edge of a five-foot tall, ornamental metal replica of the Eiffel Tower behind them from which scarves were hanging. With a wave of her wand, the scarves were also on the floor, and Hermione levitated the miniature edifice behind her and out the door as she pulled out My's ruby bracelet.
"Pansy!" she hissed.
Pansy thudded down hard on her bum with a sharp gasp, a book in hand, as if she had been sitting down in a chair in one of the Tributes. Her head jerked back to look up at Hermione, her eyes wide. "Hermione! What's—?"
"Put this on and start folding," Hermione whispered, keeping her voice brisk but calm for Pansy's benefit. She held out the drab House-Witch uniform and helped her to her feet. "We're being inspected. If questioned, which you probably will be, you sleep in this closet, right there—" she pointed at a slightly uncluttered corner "— and you cannot leave it between midnight and seven am unless I allow it. If you're asked anything you don't want to answer, lie."
Pansy nodded, already ripping off her current shirt and slipping the uniform over her clothes.
Hermione was about to dash out the door when she spun back round and breathed, "Any idea how My felt about Percy Weasley?"
Pansy froze. "That's who's here?" she gasped.
"Yes. Insight, Pansy." Hermione was acting like My's usual spoiled self, but she didn't want to push it if it was too far out of My's character around him… especially if being difficult could further jeopardize Pansy and Draco's safety.
Pansy scrunched up her face, clearly trying to remember. "I think she called him… Two-Faced Toad, and… and Weaselly Swot? Yes. Both animal names." She nodded to herself while slipping off her trousers beneath the uniform skirt and simply leaving them on the ground with the rest of the now absolutely shambolic pile of designer clothing. "I think he called her 'daft' once or twice, when she was still My Granger, but then he regretted it when she became an Evans and tried to brown-nose her. She never let him forget it. Overheard her telling Parvati Patil about it."
Hermione nodded. "Thanks. You'll be alright?"
Pansy mirrored her tight nod grimly, already folding sparkly dresses that looked like they'd sooner fit a child than a full-bodied adult.
Without another word, she spun and hurtled across the room to Draco, bringing the Eiffel Tower along with her. "Draco!" she hissed. "It's—"
"Percy W-Weasley," he finished for her, and swallowed hard. "I heard."
Oh sweet Merlin, he still faltered when he said the Weasley name aloud; was the very fabric of Universe B so cruel to its depth that it had conspired to make him face one of the monsters one-on-one so soon after he'd been removed from that hellish life?
Hermione crouched down beside him, but he didn't move from his hunched position hugging his knees to look over at her. "He might have red hair, but he's just another Sovereignty minion, and this is just another inspection," she said firmly, "though it's a bloody well by-the-book one."
She repeated the same Order to lie she gave Pansy, and Draco nodded rigidly. Hermione gently but firmly took either side of his face, and he finally met her gaze, his own clouded with a darkness that ripped her back to the very worst days of his imprisonment. "No matter what he says to you, I will be here with you the entire time. I won't let him hurt you."
Immediately, he shook his head. "No, not if it'll draw suspicion to yourself!" His gaze shifted down to his clenched hands, and his jaw tightened. "Listen, Hermione, he expects me to… act a certain way," he said, his voice strained. He took a breath and looked back up at her, his expression determined. "No matter what I look like, I'm alright. Whatever he does, I've had worse. This is my role to play. Don't ever let him suspect you care."
Hermione swallowed back bile, gripping her wand so tightly it was a wonder she didn't break it.
"Promise me," Draco persisted.
She took a breath and nodded stiffly. "I promise."
She already knew it would take all the restraint she had to respect his wishes.
Briefly, she placed her hand on his icy ones, squeezing them tightly, and stood. "I'm caging you in," she whispered, hurriedly bringing the Eiffel Tower beside her and turning it on its side with a flick of her wrist. "If anything, it'll keep him further away."
"Keep it small and Disillusion it after," he advised in a low voice. "The last thing My would ever want is any reminder I exist."
"Then she really is as idiotic as everyone says," Hermione bit out. Frowning in concentration, she lowered her wand on the metal structure and briefly closed her eyes, imagining precisely how the decorative Tower would smoothly morph into a gleaming, ostentatious cage around Draco without him even having to move. "Capsus commutatus."
Opening her eyes, she watched as a pale yellow glow flowed from her wand, and fluidly directed the transfiguration exactly how she'd pictured until the dull gray metal had all but swallowed Draco and turned to a golden color with flashy faux-diamond and ruby trimmings.
It looked ridiculous.
And exactly what My would have wanted.
"I'm in," Draco joked feebly from behind the bars; the cage's roof was so low he could hardly sit up straight.
It was another terrible pun, but Hermione knew how much his humor buoyed him, and she smiled sadly, hastily adding a simple locking charm to the door. "And soon you'll be out."
"Add an undetectable cushioning charm and I'll make an even bigger fuss if he tries to drag me from the cage while I'm down for a kip," he said, his voice strained despite his joking tone.
It wasn't a laughing matter, but her gaze still softened, and she sorted through her mind for the appropriate spells to at least make him more comfortable. As soon as she completed them non-verbally, Draco sucked in a surprised breath, prodding at the cage's metal floor with his bound hands. "Hermione, you didn't—"
Hermione shook her head, concentrating on producing a sloppy Disillusionment charm. Her first two attempts of it failed miserably and she found the focus it took to do one poorly was somewhat astounding. "Rubbish; I absolutely did."
Without hesitation, Draco lay on his side and stretched out along the length of the cage, which, to him, should have now felt buttery soft, luxuriously padded, and pleasantly warm. He instantly released a long, shaky breath, the tension melting from his rigid shoulders. "I never had service like this at the last place." Squeezing his eyes shut and nestling the side of his face into the enchanted floor, he mumbled, "You're the best owner a House-Wizard could ever ask for…"
Hermione's lips quirked upward fondly; she was willing to banter with him even about such non-humorous topics knowing it would help get his mind off the Weasley he was about to face. "I fully expect you to remember that on my birthday, Mr. Malfoy," she said airily.
A roguish grin instantly pulled at the corner of his lip a moment before the cage vanished; the single change completely lit up his previously troubled face. "Oh. I will."
Hermione couldn't help but wonder what exactly he'd been imagining, and flushed when her mind went somewhere she wasn't entirely certain she was yet prepared to go.
Merlin, it really was a wonder she had somehow managed to play a pseudo-seductress halfway convincingly all these months...
The common room was still empty exactly five minutes and four seconds after she'd left it.
She let out an annoyed huff, keeping her "My face" on in case Percy had already dropped surveillance equipment like the bug Lily had left without their knowledge. Looking idly at her discarded Witches Vogue magazine, she replayed Pansy's knowledge of My's relationship with Percy in her mind. Unless things had changed, it would seem that My had the upper hand, at least in terms of her guilting, though Percy could also feel resentful about that.
She'd have to tread carefully… and lessen her rudeness toward him only if he groveled first or made some other comment indicating she had loosened up toward him recently.
After another moment of waiting, Hermione groaned impatiently and tossed the magazine aside, climbing the stairs to Harry's suite. Summoning a pout to her lips, she calmly opened the door and sashayed inside.
Just as Percy, who was standing with Harry in the expanse of open space in the Head Boy dorms near his towering bookcase, snapped his fingers.
A House-Elf she didn't recognize appeared before them, its spindly fingers possessively gripping the ragged shirt collar of the kneeling form of Blaise Zabini, his hands bound tightly behind him.
"Lord Weasley, sir," the House-Elf saluted crisply, bobbing its head once in a sharp bow and thrusting Blaise's head and shoulders more deeply toward the ground at the feet of the other two men. Blaise didn't resist the shove, though his shoulders were rigid, his hands clenched in tight fists.
Percy gave the House-Elf a dismissive nod, and Hermione pointedly cleared her throat to announce her obviously unnoticed presence. Immediately, he and Harry glanced over at her, Harry's gaze inscrutable, while Percy merely looked annoyed. "What now, Lady Evans?"
"I'm bored," she whined, collapsing onto the soft leather of one of two dark armchairs. "I don't feel like waiting all by myself."
Percy glanced at Harry, who grunted, "Whatever. Let's bloody well get on with it."
The two of them returned their attention to Blaise and the House-Elf, while Hermione again pretended to file her nails while sharply scrutinizing the process to try to pick up any insight about the House-Wizard bonds they didn't already have. After another nod from Percy, the House-Elf lifted its shoulders self-importantly and pulled a slim metal armband from around its pale wrist — one of a number it wore. "Lamkin has lead here, sir."
Percy took it, though his lip curled slightly. "Very good. That'll be all."
Despite the expression of disdain on Percy's face that Hermione suspected involved having to deal with the House-Elf in the first place, Lamkin still seemed ecstatic at the words of praise. He nodded once, grinning broadly, and disappeared with a pop.
At the distinctive sound, Blaise flinched instantly. His head was shaved smooth and his exotically slanted eyes and cheekbones were sunken and exhausted, dulling features that Hermione remembered at least a few Slytherin girls in her Sixth Year Universe A Potions class had found attractive.
Percy held out the lead to Harry. "Evans. The House-Wizard is yours to examine before the deed is exchanged."
"Why the devil does one of those little mingers have his lead?" Harry asked. "I would've thought McGonagall owned all the vermin."
"She officially does, on behalf of Hogwarts. The Elves are merely keepers. McGonagall can hardly be bothered with something as menial as Ordering about prisoner movements and doling out disciplinary action, can she? Each one's responsible for supervising a squad of the inbreds; the Phoenix runs the same way. But when the work's all finished, the leads return to the heart of the castle, of course."
Hermione narrowly withheld a dark smile; count on Percy to unwittingly provide useful information to the other side. If the leads and deeds were all stored in roughly the same location (McGonagall's office, perhaps?)…
It could potentially be that much easier to destroy or nullify them.
Percy held up a small scroll. "The deed's here, if A58 looks acceptable."
Harry shifted his gaze to Blaise, tilting his head. "Hard to tell when the only blasted thing I can see is the back of a bloody head. Get on your feet, Fusty," he ordered.
After a split second, Blaise struggled to stand in the excessive restraints around his hands and legs. Both Elites simply watched his scramble with scornful, irate eyes, and Hermione bit her lip hard. She knew her very specific task was to observe, but no amount of preparation could help her appear nonchalant while witnessing how extraordinarily barbaric and oppressive this was… and the worst part was knowing she couldn't interfere.
After several seconds, Harry let out an impatient breath of air. "For the love of…"
He grabbed a fistful of Blaise's sleeveless shirt, hauling him to his feet. Visually, the difference between the Sovereignty's highest and lowest classes couldn't have been more painfully stark than in that moment: Percy in his grandiose Phoenix robes, Harry in his expensive Quidditch practice gear, and Blaise, shoeless, in a poorly fitting dull taupe shirt and trousers that were sullied and tattered.
The dark-skinned man was as lanky as Hermione remembered in her world, certainly a few inches taller than Harry and as tall as Percy, and surprisingly more built than the skinny boy she recalled from Hogwarts, as if the work he'd been forced to do here mainly consisted of physical labor. He stood stiffly, his gaze on the floor, as Harry circled him critically with a predatory expression that Hermione instantly recognized. It was unlike anything Harry Potter would ever wear, but it was certainly one she had seen on Harry Evans many times over:
It indicated he was searching for weaknesses.
"Started off as a Level B but was upgraded to Level A maintenance last year," Percy noted, glancing back to another parchment again floating beside him. "Was one of seven convicts here that had an early history of unrest… I assume McGonagall made you aware of the situation when you expressed interest."
"She did."
"If his file reads correctly, Mr. Filch and Mr. Hagrid, to their limited credit, took extensive measures to stamp it out when it arose."
"As I gathered. Nothing I can't easily manage." Harry stopped his circling directly in front of Blaise. "Even the most subversive of swine can be crushed with some choice curses and a few other unwilling participants."
To her surprise, Blaise straightened then and wordlessly flung Harry an expression of unadulterated hatred.
Hermione's heart sank.
Oh no.
"Ah," Percy commented, sounding displeased. "I see the Dunces Two weren't entirely successful in their efforts." The redhead's gaze shifted toward Harry appraisingly, as if curious as to how the new House-Wizard owner would respond to Blaise's impudence.
Hermione let out a soft breath, her stomach clenching in dread.
Harry met Blaise's venomous gaze undauntedly, his cold expression mildly amused.
Suddenly, his hand shot out, gripping Blaise's face tightly by the jaw. He cruelly twisted the Slytherin's long head sideways so Harry was now looking down into his eyes instead of up, dragging him closer until he was mere inches away. "Oh yes. I remember this slug from the unfortunate days his repulsive kind were free to roam these halls. Didn't know how to keep his filthy mouth or his trousers zipped; couldn't keep his bleeding fists to himself."
Harry flung his head away, and Blaise stumbled and nearly fell. His shoulders heaved with ragged breaths as he looked back at Harry, his dark eyes spitting fire. Harry smiled cruelly. "Oh, I bet you'd love to see me groveling right now in front of you instead, wouldn't you, 58?"
Blaise's angular jaw simply clenched tightly; he seemed to be doing everything he could to hold his tongue. Harry contemptibly shoved his face so close to the taller boy's he could've spit on it. "I said, wouldn't you, you feculent - little - Fusty?"
The Slytherin's eyes flashed in rage; the hoarse voice that finally burst from his lips was shaking with fury. "I'd rather see every last one of you Sovereignty scum dead!"
In a flash, Harry struck Blaise's face so violently he slammed into the bookcase and then crashed face first to the ground, several heavy books raining down on top of him.
Hermione narrowly withheld a gasp and pursed her lips tightly, blinking back tears, desperately reminding herself to look bored, bored, bored. Desperately, she dropped her file and reached for an Advanced Dark Arts handbook Harry had left beside the armchair if only to pretend to be paying attention to something else. She all but flung it open and looked down at the first page, but the words simply blurred before her eyes.
Harry stood over him, smiling coldly. "An eye for an eye, 58, that's how I operate. So why don't we have a few of your disposable little House-Wizard mates killed first?" As Blaise went rigid, breathing hard, the Viceroy's son pulled Percy's parchment toward him, scanning it briefly. "Let's see… C81, perhaps? Greengrass, Greengrass… Oh, that's right! You two always looked rather chummy, didn't you? If I recall correctly she was pretty enough; perhaps I'll get some other use out of her before I slit her throat…"
Percy's frown morphed into a measured smirk, as if catching on to Harry's game. "That strumpet? Skeletal now. I doubt she'd last two minutes under the Cruciatus, or you," he said with a slight curl of his lip. "You'll need at least two from his old crew to make a real impact on this sludge's backward brain." He frowned pensively. "I'll have Lamkin bring 81 and B45. I'll tell you now I recommend removing a few of their limbs first rather than killing them outright; sends a clearer message."
Harry chuckled darkly. "I always give these types a slow death; it's the most they deserve." He transfigured a quill off his bookshelf into a wickedly carved knife, harshly scraping the metal against the granite mantle above his fireplace so it produced a loud sharpening sound. Then he crouched down beside Blaise's sprawled body, lightly running the knife's edge down the side of his face. "The question, Fusty, is which one of your dirty House-Witch dregs do you want to watch scream first?"
Blaise didn't speak, his chest rising and falling so quickly it was a wonder he hadn't passed out.
Hermione's nails dug so tightly into her thighs she suspected they might leave permanent marks.
Stop it, Harry! her mind screamed. You've bloody well made your point!
Harry stood up again, seizing an interested-looking Percy by the arm. "What the ruddy hell are you waiting for? Get that bleeding House-Elf to—"
"Please… stop!" Blaise choked out then, struggling to a low crouch. His shaking, spindly hands squeezed tightly into fists behind him. "Please… Lord Evans… I was wrong! I was wrong… I know we're the scum… I know we're worthless… Just take me…! Hurt me!"
Percy and Harry momentarily exchanged positively loathsome, malevolent smiles, before Harry looked down at Blaise with a smirk. "Well, well, well. It seems this Fusty remembers his place after all," he said, spitting out 'Fusty' as if it was the dirtiest word imaginable.
He held out his gloved hand pointedly, and Percy handed him Blaise's deed. Without pause, he stepped up to the prone man and placed a Quidditch-booted foot on his back, shoving him flat on the floor. "But I believe you mean 'please… master.'"
Blaise breaths became more labored, though the hatred in the one brown eye Hermione could see from her seat never vanished. Abhorrence and anger filled her veins, and tears again burned at her eyes. Yes, Harry had to stay in character, and Merlin knew he was, but he didn't have to take it so far! That a Sovereignty official was actually enabling it was disgusting and criminal and only made her that more determined to see Riddle's preposterous plan through to the end—
"What was that?" Harry repeated loudly, digging his boot into Blaise's back.
"Please… master," Blaise croaked out, tears that she suspected were more from fury than from his own pain spilling from his eyes.
Harry glanced back at Percy, a small smirk on his face. "As I said. Easily managed."
With a focused kick, he flipped Blaise's body over onto its back, and after waving of his hand, the House-Wizard abruptly disappeared. Blood smeared the floor where he had laid, and Harry vanished that as well. Hermione briefly scanned the room, but he had disillusioned the cage she assumed Percy had helped him design much more skillfully than she had hers for Draco.
Percy shook his head disbelievingly. "And all without a single curse or Order uttered." From his raised eyebrows, he seemed duly impressed. "Psychological excellence, Evans. You're your mother's son through and through. I do hope you're considering a career in the Magical Law Enforcement upon graduation; they could certainly use that kind of talent."
"One consideration of many," Harry agreed, bobbing his head once in acknowledgment. "It's more the assertion of our superiority I enjoy. Breaking this one'll be a damned good stress reliever with NEWTs on the way."
Hermione quietly released a small, sickened breath and, trying not to react to their conversation, forced herself to focus on the first page of the book on the Dark Arts she'd grabbed off his side table.
Her eyebrows shot up ever-so-slightly in shock.
Inside, the title read: Making It Work: Seven Principles for Overcoming Your Past and Cultivating Long-Term, Healthy Relationships.
On a small piece of paper slipped into the same page, a careful yet somewhat childish hand had written, Saw this downstairs and thought it could help with the rain. -L. Mandrake
Hermione could hazard a guess as to "L. Mandrake" was, and she struggled not to smile, her spirits lifting minutely. Still, the idea that Harry had a soft spot for the sweet child of the Light wizards' two foremost leaders was somewhat mind-boggling. Being a spy in this mercilessly twisted world had made her truly understand why one might, out of necessity, live an outward life that was diametrically opposed to one's inner beliefs and values. But seeing Harry like this — this ruthless, this brutal — it was so easy to forget that he was the same man who had struggled to genuinely extend a hand in peace to her today, and somehow had the ability to make Pansy happy.
"I may call upon your expertise again while I'm here," Percy was saying, clasping his hands behind his back. "I was never quite keen on doing the, erm… dirty work, if you know what I mean. I'd be pleased to provide any necessary reference when the year's out, if you're interested."
Harry chuckled; she suspected it was because someone in his position didn't need a reference, even from a Weasley. "Well, now that I've got my own blasted House-Wizard to handle the day-to-day drudgery, I reckon I may have a bit of extra time…"
Percy smiled again, though in actuality it resembled more of pleased grimace. "Excellent. Merlin knows it'll be refreshing to have at least one Elite here who isn't a bona fide idiot."
Hermione scoffed loudly and reflexively scowled in case he was referring to her, shooting him a glare.
Simultaneously, she suddenly understood why Harry had pushed Blaise Zabini as far as he had:
With one brutal confrontation, he had managed to win Percy Weasley's respect, admiration and amity. Everything about his actions was so very Slytherin that Hermione felt substantially out of her league. At this rate, it sounded like he may have ingratiated himself enough to firmly establish a working relationship with an inside source of Sovereignty updates. With this, they could dig even further into the mechanisms of the House-Wizard bond here at Hogwarts, which held a substantial fraction of the Light Arts prisoner population.
The Hermione of Universe A would have insisted that cruelty was never acceptable, but this dystopian universe cast such shadows on even Light supporters' actions that gray areas abounded, throwing her stalwart moral compass into a major conundrum. If brief cruelty was the only immediate option that could remove a victim from even worse suffering and pave the way toward a strategic end goal that would lessen the trauma of a great many others in the long term… was it justified?
No matter the answer — and she suspected that depending on who was asked, such a question had a great diversity of answers — Hermione feared that, after what Harry had put him through, Blaise Zabini would not be so quick to understand… or forgive.
Percy Weasley followed My to the Head Girl suite in far better spirits than he'd entertained when he'd first arrived to his old common room. Talking to Viceroy Evans' impressively quick-witted offspring had been a breath of fresh air, especially after a day of wrestling with the likes of Filch, House-Elves, and Horst Scamander, Hagrid's replacement Keeper of Grounds and Hunter of Magical Creatures who was much more brawn than brain… not to mention constantly explaining his presence back at Hogwarts and why exactly he was the one barking out orders. (He had told the Headmistress to announce his arrival in the Great Hall today, not tomorrow!)
Percy had never had much opportunity to interact with the typically aloof Harry Evans beyond extending passing (and often curmudgeonly, on Evans's end) pleasantries at socials, but today had been a gratifying exception. He'd never been one for brute force but with Evans he could appreciate the calculated genius behind it, not to mention they were closer in age, status and intelligence than any of the other senescent faculty here.
Despite his nonchalant explanation of his new job to family and friends, Percy had leapt upon Viceroy Evans' frankly salivating offer for the Assistant Ministership only three minutes after she'd presented it to him (he would have hedged for more time so as not to appear desperate, but she had demanded an answer immediately). The Sovereign's Lord Chamberlain, Elphias Doge, had taken an instant disliking to him (he suspected it was because he and his grandfather Septimus Weasley had never gotten along) and kept him crawling painfully slowly through the administrative ranks of his office. Percy had originally had aspirations to eventually run the Sovereign household himself (Doge was, after all, nearly as ancient as the Sovereign was old), but had begun to face the unpleasant reality the opportunity may not materialize anytime soon.
When he put in his resignation, nothing had been more satisfying than the stunned look on that old skrewt's face when Percy casually mentioned he'd be returning to his alma mater as Assistant Minister to the Viceroy herself. He could tell his nauseatingly common and disgustingly bigoted coworkers were astounded the most powerful Muggleborn in the Sovereignty had chosen him, an Old-Blood, for such an important task, despite the fact that he was an hereditary Elite and among the top new talent at the Phoenix.
Percy had been strongly tempted to pour a few drops of Baneberry Potion in their favorite office Plangentine on his way out, but ultimately decided against it in the case he one day decided to return to the Lord Chamberlain's Office… as their supervisor. Surely after working so closely with Lily Evans, his future would hold nothing less than top management positions. She had seen his genius and had rewarded him for being the equal he was, and Percy respected that greatly. Blood was of no matter to her — and certainly not to Harry Evans, either, further confirming his belief that his family's irksome grievances with the Evans clan had no standing whatsoever.
Percy had a feeling Evans, like his mother, was going to prove to be a greatly valuable ally as Percy embarked upon the substantial regulatory improvements of which Hogwarts was so desperately in need.
The same brilliant genes, unfortunately, did not extend to his adopted sibling.
Fortunately, Percy could keep his dealings with the trollup brief and pointed. His biggest concern when it came to My Granger Evans was that she wouldn't have the mental capacity to adhere to proper prisoner handling guidelines for not one but two inbred insurrectionists.
Unlike A58, however, My's House-Witch was properly docile. This one was C Level and, he could tell, would pose no trouble, meekly complying when he took her lead and asked the required Inspection questions: Had she communicated with any other House-Witches or Wizards? Did she have any plans to subvert the Sovereignty? (Both no, of course; now two years after the conservatives had been put in their rightful place, such questions very rarely, if ever, yielded a 'yes.')
Outside the closet, My let out an impatient huff. "Oh, get a move on, will you?" she drawled. "I've got far more important things to do than have you sit here poking about my personal possessions asking absurd questions."
Doubtful, Percy thought disdainfully; the witch probably considered such things as filing of nails and exfoliating of skin among her greatest priorities.
If anything, he was surprised to see she'd managed to follow procedure with the House-Witch.
He left the conservative wench to her drudgery and returned to the main body of the suite. My had taken a seat at her vanity table and was in the process of reapplying her makeup. "Lady Evans, I realize you may not be entirely inclined to read small print, but in signing House-Witch and Wizard ownership documents you've consented to periodic inspections from authorized Sovereignty representatives."
"That doesn't mean I have to enjoy them," she said snidely.
Percy withheld a scowl. From the moment she'd latched onto his brother he knew she was nothing but a superficial parvenu. It was truly astonishing that despite her obvious lack of common sense, she had managed to scale the social ladder quite successfully.
To his irritation, this meant he could no longer outright express his personal disdain at her presence.
Distastefully, he held out the ostentatious bracelet; she looked up from her lipstick application to snatch it back from him.
"And the other prisoner… A15," he said slowly, looking past her to survey the suite. "Where is he?"
My tilted her head toward the right side of the room without bothering to move, waving her hand dismissively. "Over there… somewhere."
Almost immediately, Percy's eyes landed on a half-shimmering, half-shadowed enclosure, concealed so poorly it was laughable. "And his lead?"
She tossed a familiar-looking Wizex at him. For a moment, Percy held it up. The watch had been a gift to his father from the French Ambassador, which he had subsequently passed off to Ronáld; Percy could only imagine how much it must have irked his youngest brother to lose it. Then again, that's what the plonker got for thinking with his knob instead of his brain.
"You do realize you can switch this into something more… feminine?" he said, curling his lip.
My didn't even bother to turn around to address him. "Or I could leave it be, and watch the bollocks twist off your brother whenever he sees it."
Percy grimaced at the unpleasant image her words had conjured and shook his head, crossing the room. As he did, he felt a twinge of anticipation.
He had waited quite some time to have this moment alone with the Malfoy spawn.
Drawing his wand, he wordlessly waved the Disillusionment Charm aside and squatted beside the cage. He wasn't surprised to find the Fusty curled in a tight ball facing the wall. Faint tremors sporadically wracked his shoulders, his unsavory family's trademark hair matted dark with dirt and muck. The prisoner wasn't as bloody as Percy was used to, but then again, he rather expected a witch like My would prefer excessive neglect over brute force when it came to possessions he suspected held little value to her.
Percy turned a critical eye to the tacky enclosure itself. For a squib, it was hardy enough, he supposed, but with one simple Alohamora, the cage door swung open. He shifted his gaze to the Inspection checklist beside him, making a swift note of it. "Standard lock's unacceptable. You'll need to install something more advanced," he said, slamming the door shut again; the loud sound caused the Fusty to cringe.
"What?" My sounded confused. "You mean, like… a Colloporto—porta—?"
"Colloportus Charm? You may be surprised to learn you've already cast that," Percy impatiently interrupted with no little lack of derision. "No, I mean a specialized lock. Colloportus auditorius, contingo, signum…"
"No need to get snippy, Lord Weasley." My wrinkled her nose. "Those're too complicated. I want simple. If I want the Fusty out of his cage I'm not going to mess with that extra swish and flick rubbish."
Percy couldn't restrain an eyeroll. For the life of him, he couldn't understand how a magnificent witch like Lily Evans would have stooped to share her name with this even if she was a Muggleborn, and he could only hope it had been driven by political strategy. "Then I suggest a magical signature recognition security lock. Lord Evans has also ordered one for his House-Wizard. It's an extra fee of 1,500 galleons but it'll only take one touch from you to open. I can have it installed by morning."
"And I imagine you won't leave me be if I don't," she said, sounding irate.
"I will insist on a specialized locking charm, yes."
My let out an annoyed sigh. "Fine. Go ahead and buy one of the bloody things. But I don't want to be here when those Elves come round to put it in, hideous beasts," she said with a shudder.
"Yes, that can be arranged." Percy said, adding the order for the MSR lock to her report. "And they are technically considered beings," he corrected.
"No," she gasped, looking horrified. "You're joking." When Percy stared at her dourly, her eyes widened, and she exclaimed, "Surely I'm not the only one who finds that utterly repulsive! Can it be overturned?"
"If it irks you, Lady Evans, take it up with the Sovereignty once you graduate; the classification's been in effect for centuries," Percy said, snorting to himself at the idea of My Granger Evans choosing to spend her time campaigning against House-Elf rights.
He tilted his head, again surveying the prone body inside the cage. It was hard to believe such an inconsequential creature had spawned a feud between two entirely respectable families.
"How do you intend to use the House-Wizard?" he asked, rather intrigued to hear her response.
"Why, for revenge, of course," she said as if he were the idiot for not having known. As she looked over at him, she pushed her chair back slightly, extending her slender legs and placing her heeled feet up on the vanity.
Percy stared at the sudden, very long expanse of creamy skin in his view and then frowned when he realized he was, clearing his throat. Turning, he dutifully wrote "Revenge" under the report's 'Utilization' section. When she said nothing more, though, he frowned again. "And?"
For as quickly as she'd reclined, My stood, sashaying toward him. As her tiny skirt moved to cover her legs (slightly), Percy's body instinctively reacted in disappointment. When My reached him, she leaned toward his ear and whispered, "And other wicked things a priggish little prude like you can't possibly imagine."
Percy wasn't about to write that on the report. He shifted uncomfortably as she circled around behind him, slowly tracing her nails from his left shoulder to his right as she did. A shiver shot through him, and his lip curled in disdain at the swift realization that this dreadful social climbing cocotte was trying to lure him into her web of seduction.
"Lady Evans, if you don't control yourself I'll be forced to make note of it," he said austerely.
Her eyebrows flew up. "Control myself? You're the one asking question after silly question." Thankfully, the beguiling purr to her voice lessened slightly. "Really, Percy… Do you think I give two whits about that — thing? Do you think I want its grubby, Fusty fingers all over me? You think hard and answer that question for yourself. But it's mine now, not Ronáld's, and it can lay here and rot for all I care, so long as he doesn't get to enjoy it."
Percy's eyebrows flew up. The last time he had seen My, she'd been lying beneath his over-cosseted youngest brother while the two partook in an awful display of base sexual affections in one of the manor's very public rooms. "Whatever did my brother do to you?"
"Oh? He hasn't admitted to it, then?" she asked acidly. "That's a shock and a half; given the way stories about us are leaked to the press I'd've thought the news he's shagged half of Hogwarts would be halfway to Romania by now. Now, are we done, Lord Weasley?"
He frowned in disapproval at her repeated sneer of his title. "No, Lady Evans, we are not, and if you continue to delay my inspection this entire nasty episode will extend far longer than either of us would prefer."
Turning back to the Malfoy brat, he flicked his wand. In a heartbeat, invisible springs roughly spun the cowering conservative sludge toward the room and yanked him upright.
To his shock, My screeched, grabbing his arm. "You can't just—!"
Percy stood and pointed his wand at her. "Stand back, Lady Evans," he said tartly; oh, he was very familiar with her infantile tantrums, and he wasn't about to let one of them get between him and the opportunity he'd been waiting for. "Yes, no other witch or wizard but you can legally handle him without your permission, but as a Sovereignty minister I am exempted from this rule."
"Really? You'd raise your wand on a fellow Elite?" she spat at him. "How typical of a Weasley! I recall your sister doing the same to me only last week. The whole lot of you are exactly the same!"
Percy clenched his jaw angrily; for a moment, he felt a vein at his temple bulge. At the same time, her scathing comparison of him to his frankly embarrassing sister and his irksomely misguided family caused him to lower his wand, though he couldn't quite purge the iciness from his voice as he surveyed her severely. "You will stand back until I am finished, Lady Evans. Now step away."
She glared at him darkly, and then huffed and turned away without a word.
As soon as he crouched back down before the cage, Hermione subtly glanced over her shoulder in dread and fury… just in time to see the redheaded wizard lift his wand and mutter a spell.
A yellow shimmer briefly flashed between her and the cage, and the next time Percy's mouth moved, surveying Draco with an almost smug derision, his voice was simply gibberish.
A very powerful pull told her she really wasn't interested in what they were talking about anyway. No, perhaps she might take a walk… back to her vanity table, or down to the Common Room…
Yes, she'd left her Witches' Vogue magazine there; she had wanted to take a look at the article they'd written about My…
Turning, she walked to the door—
No! something deep inside her cried abruptly. NO!
Hermione gasped softly, and her eyes widened.
Even though it had only happened a moment before, she suddenly remembered clearly a swiftly forgotten memory of the yellow-colored spell Percy had cast.
It must have been some variant of Muffling and Repellant charms.
Hermione narrowed her eyes, gripping her wand so tightly her hand began to shake as she resisted the alluring temptation to simply abandon her efforts to look back toward the corner of her bedroom — there really were so many other interesting things she could be doing! —
Shut up! Hermione thought,gritting her teeth, and ever-so-subtly tilted the tip of her lowered wand toward Percy, channeling her desperation and her fear and her anger into a single spell and focusing, focusing—
Finite Incantatum!
"—ile filth. Oh. And my family sends their… best regards."
The siren-like pull vanished, and her tense shoulders collapsed minutely. She let out a soft breath of relief, grateful Percy hadn't noticed his spells had been terminated.
Then she focused back on the vile scene the Elite had, for some reason, been trying to keep her from witnessing.
Draco's face was deathly white. He had pressed himself against the back wall, staring blindly at the floor of the cage, his clenched hands shaking violently while his chest heaved with short, rapid breaths.
He had sworn to her it would just be an act.
Hermione was deeply afraid it wasn't.
Her head began to pound, and she desperately tried to keep her face annoyed more than infuriated in case Percy or Lily Evans reviewed the memory later.
With a jab of his wand, Percy shifted some of Draco's blond hair aside until the deep 'W' seared into his thin cheek became visible.
His smirk grew.
"Pity it doesn't seem you've met up with any Transmorgrifian Torture lately," he said nonchalantly, before his voice took on a bitter edge. "I know how satisfying it was to hear your bones crush and your skin rip, to watch your body twist into the grotesque criminal that your selfish, regressive kind has made every Old-Blood appear to the face of this society…"
Hermione's eyes burned with enraged tears, while Draco simply squeezed his eyes shut, uncontrollable, jagged tremors wracking his entire body. She thought of his brutal nightmares, and though she'd directly witnessed his sadistic abuse at the hand of a Weasley twice, she realized she really had no true conception of the unimaginable horror in which this witty, beautiful man who she had come to care about so deeply had been kept, for hours and days and months and years. She knew how hard he tried to hide it from Pansy and from even her…
Perhaps simply so he could also hide it from himself.
She swiftly crossed her arms over her chest when she found herself reaching for her wand, lest she do the very thing Draco had made her promise him she wouldn't—
Abruptly, Percy reached through the bars of the cage and grabbed Draco by the neck almost exactly like Harry had Blaise, yanking him flush against the bars. Hermione clamped down on her lip hard to restrain a horrified gasp as Draco struggled against him, fighting for breath, his eyes red-rimmed and glistening.
"Difficult, now, are you?" Percy sneered, tightening his grip with the help of a muttered strengthening charm. "That's atypical; how unfortunate a little more than a month away from a proper warden has returned some wind to your sails."
The metallic taste of blood permeated her mouth. You promised him… You promised him…
Percy lifted his wand again. "Anima Affligo."
The energy visibly drained from Draco's limbs and he slumped into Percy's grasp. With his free hand, the Sovereignty official reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a small, dark bottle. "Open your mouth, Filth."
Hermione recognized it instantly, and panic jolted her system.
No.
In a split second, everything changed.
The part of her fueling the blood that boiled through her system was glad it had.
"What the bloody hell is that?" she said tightly, stalking closer.
Percy ignored her, as if he didn't think she was speaking to him, and popped open the cap. Draco seemed to guess the bottle's contents as well and had pressed his lips shut, frantically trying to resist the Order. Setting the bottle aside, Percy reached through the bars with his other hand and slapped his face so forcefully the sound echoed through her bedroom, then grabbed Draco's chin, wrenching it downward. "I said open your mouth, you insurrectionist Fusty scum!"
Hermione furiously lifted her wand, no longer bothering to hide the fire she felt coursing through her veins, as Draco's shaking lips ripped apart, his breaths coming in short, panicked puffs. She wanted to curse Percy through the wall but knew that breaking character could result in an even worse fate for Draco, and she couldn't risk improperly performing the Imperius Curse on the Weasley, either. But she still had plenty of other options. "Percy Weasley, you pretentious louse, you will tell me what you are about to put in the mouth of my House-Wizard!"
Percy jolted and swiftly looked back toward her. His eyes widened in astonishment, blinking rapidly, but then he puffed out his chest. "Oh, sit down, Lady Evans. It's only Veritaserum," he said imperiously. He lifted the vial to Draco's mouth. "I have some idea of the sheer amount of lead changes — legal and illegal — this prisoner has undergone. It dilutes the veracity of his replies under Orders, which is a problem only Veritiserum can rectify—"
Before he could even tilt the bottle, Hermione snatched it from his hands and viciously shoved him aside, which caused him to swiftly release Draco before his own wrist could break between the bars. "You're lying! You're trying to poison him!" she shrieked, channeling all her anger into the first rationale that came to mind. "All because your lot's narked he doesn't belong to your family anymore!"
"Lady Evans!" Percy exploded. He leapt to his feet and lifted his wand; Hermione automatically lifted hers again as well. "That is Sovereignty property! I demand you return it to me at once!"
He fired a disarming spell at her; Hermione dodged the jet of red light. "No!"
With that, she turned and hurled the bottle of Veritaserum at her window, giving it an extra push of wandless magic for good measure. With a violent crash, it shattered through the glass and disappeared into the night, its contents spilling to earth.
For a moment, Percy looked so struck dumb he could only splutter. "This… This… This will go on your report!"
Hermione spun back on him, her eyes glittering angrily. "Fine! Go ahead and tell my mother how you were going to ask our House-Wizard, under Truth Serum, if he was planning to betray the Sovereignty, since apparently for this Fusty an Order isn't good enough but for all the others it is! How exactly do you think she'll like hearing that, Percy? Not one whit! Because the only people that snivelly little git's seen since the night I won him are me, Harry, and her! Do you know what that implies, Lord Weasley? It implies you believe one of us is trying to betray the Sovereignty! My family! Is that why you're here?" she snarled as his mouth fell open. "To spy on us, to try to destroy my mother and everything she's worked so hard to build for the sake of this country because of your family's petty resentments?"
Spy-worthy material, Percy was not, and he openly appeared at once astounded and nauseous. "What? That's — That's absurd! These questions are simply procedural; I—"
"And you call me daft?" she exclaimed scathingly, cutting him off. "Do you have any idea what you're saying? If it isn't my family you're after, then clearly you must be planning to accuse yours! Seeing as you were Head Boy and all that rubbish, one would assume you aren't that stupid!"
The briefest flash of panic crossed his face, and Hermione's eyebrow arched ever-so-slightly. Sweet Morgana… was that it? Did Percy think Draco had seen or heard something that could somehow incriminate the Weasleys? But what? And what on earth would possess him to slander his own family name?
She didn't have time to consider it then so she kept to her first story, jabbing a pointy, manicured nail at him. "If my mother had any idea you accepted her extremely thoughtful and generous offer just to try to belittle me at every turn and endeavour to falsely implicate us the first chance you had—"
"I'm not!" Percy exclaimed, sounding desperate.
"—oh, your shiny new job and those fancy robes you're peacocking about in would be gone in a heartbeat!"
His jaw dropped. "You cannot blackmail me!"
"And you cannot bully me!" she screeched. "Inspection or not, I am also an Elite and the lawful daughter of a Viceroy, not a simple commoner! And if you do not step down I'll ring my mother tonight to tell her exactly how you've flung mud in her face and treated me — treated all of us!"
Hermione paused for breath, while Percy looked rather shaken for someone who had nothing to hide. She forced herself to inhale slowly, deeply, and then once more, swallowing the hatred she felt toward him and carefully capping it off… for this moment, at least.
She smiled sweetly. "Now. I know you're an intelligent man, Lord Weasley. Despite our disagreements, the Sovereignty needs smart, accomplished men like you, and I'd hate to see your career there ruined over something like this." She let out a sigh. "I suppose, as long as you promise you didn't really mean it, I could always keep this conversation just between us…"
For a moment, Percy simply stared at her. In the silence, he could hear the late autumn night's cold, hollow wind whistling through the gap in the window. Extortion for a petty (yet accurate) insult he'd leveled at the awful strumpet years ago was one thing, but to have this erratic vixen hold something so dangerous like this — completely untrue, but dangerous nonetheless — over his head?
Well, that simply wasn't an acceptable solution.
"I would say I'm sorry about this," he said, "but I'm really not."
My's eyes widened as he swiftly raised his wand and said, "Oblivi—"
Her bedroom door burst open. "What the devil is all the ruckus in here about?"
Percy was paralyzed as his greatest fear of breaking a rule — and, not only that, being caught at it, in front of relatives of his direct employer, no less! — unexpectedly, horrifically materialized in ghastly form.
"Weasley," Evans' voice was a growl now, coming up to stand between them, "why the hell are you holding a wand on my sister?"
A cold sweat burst out along Percy's temple, his heart racing. Oh, he knew he should have simply come clean about his suspicions to Lily Evans right up front rather than go about all this secretly first in the hopes of impressing her with solid evidence later. If it didn't all go to shambles now, how on earth was he going to hide it from her penetrating green stare in a face to face check-in?
He remembered to react then, dropping his wand to his side, but it was far too late.
"What? Has she turned you into a blasted pumpkinhead? Answer me!"
He struggled to breathe. Oh, Merlin's beard! The anxiety crushing his chest was dreadful, most dreadful—!
"Oh, Harry, lighten up!" My said then, giggling. Percy sucked in a gulp of air, gaping at her, as she let out another awful, guileless laugh. "Lord Weasley was being such a gentleman… he was about to repair my window! Look." She gestured behind her. "It was simply the damnedest thing… an owl crashed into it!"
Evans stared at her. "You're not ruddy serious."
"Could I make up something that ridiculous?" My giggled again. "It was one of those hyperactive little brown ones… What must that fit new magical creatures instructor be feeding them, I wonder? Firewhiskey?" Her eyes lit up, and she smiled appreciatively. "Mmm. Do you think he'd invite me to join him for a drink?"
"Well?" Evans grunted, turning back to Percy with his mother's calculating green eyes. He had changed out of his Quidditch practice gear and into designer robes Percy recognized immediately as the top of Madam Malkin's new line out of Paris. He had considered purchasing them himself when he'd been promoted to Assistant Minister, but as familial relations and as a result his pursestrings into the Weasley vault had been a bit strained, he was loathe to admit he'd chosen a cheaper style. "Is that the way of it, Weasley?"
Percy set his jaw, staring vexedly at My's pleased expression. He was a proud man, but he was also an intelligent one, and he could recognize a battle that wasn't worth fighting.
He absolutely could not risk severing his newest alliance with Lily Evans's son as soon as he'd gained it.
His lips pulled upward into a taut, grimacing smile. "It was indeed."
With a wave of his wand, the glass twisted and flowed, creeping forward until it reformed over the gaping hole. My's pleased expression widened into a smirk.
For the first time in his life, the ludicrous idea that she might not have been quite as vacuous as she seemed crept into his mind, but… no — that was absurd! Why on earth would anyone voluntarily act more simpleminded than they actually were?
Abruptly, Evans clapped Percy's stiff back hard, causing him to jerk forward with a strangled cough. "Well. In that case," he said with a rather gruff cheerfulness as Percy flushed in mortification. "Jolly thoughtful of you, old sport."
Merlin's beard… How on earth had he landed in the midst of such abject humiliation? He was an Assistant Minister, for Merlin's sake! He doled out penalties; he didn't take them! By now he should've been halfway back to his office with the Fusty's proof (or lack thereof, though he was certain there would be proof) ready to hand to Lily Evans on a shiny platter! And he had gone to lengths to cover his actions — Sent the tartlet off with Muggleborn repellent charms, even!
Evans turned toward him, interrupting his thoughts. "I'm off for patrol. Are you two bloody well finished? I'm happy to give you a walk through of some of the changes here since you graduated. Certainly since the second suppression ended there's been a number of them."
Percy swallowed hard and lifted his shoulders, determined to regain at least a semblance of his authority… and his dignity. "Yes, I believe we are," he said icily. "Lead on, Evans."
He shot My a nasty look and, without another word, turned to follow Evans out of her suite, hoping to leave her to sweat over the contents of her report… even though he knew bloody well he wouldn't dare write a single word of what had just transpired between them.
"Oh." Evans spun abruptly, reaching into his cloak. He pulled out the Witches Vogue magazine My had been reading earlier, tossing it onto her bureau. "How many blasted times have I told you not to leave your witchy rubbish laying around my room?"
Percy automatically glanced toward her and instantly regretted it: instead of looking nervous, My winked at him. 'Just between us,' she mouthed with a small, saccharine smile.
Percy Weasley had never felt more disgusted.
He would have to wait, but certainly not for long, for his next chance to get to A15. If he could work up the nerve, a simple Imperius Curse to My Evans's air-brained little head would clear up everything…
But first, he needed to bloody well brush up on his Occlumency before his next check-in with Viceroy Evans.
A/N: I know that was an intense chapter! Thanks for getting through it with me... the next one won't be at quite the same level! What did you think of Percy; pretty awful, right?