There were indisputable facts. Percy couldn't breathe. Percy was caught kissing a coworker. Percy was gay. Percy was now huddled in a Ministry utility closet, sure he had lost his job. He was certain because the coworker who saw them had called them 'deviants' and 'disgusting perverts' before running off to tell a superior about the misdeed. Losing his whole career—which he had studied for, fought for since he was in Hogwarts, had abandoned everything for—all due to one spontaneous act. He hadn't even liked the man he kissed; he had just wanted…he just wanted to know. And now he did.

It wasn't worth it.

Merlin. He clutched at his arms, choking on nothing and yet everything at once, and rocked as the realization fully hit him. His family was going to know. All of them. His mother, his father, his brothers, his sister. It would spread quickly, he knew, to all their friends. They would love it, too. The 'Perfect Percy' not being so perfect. A deviant. A creature with a defective heart or mind or perhaps both. His lungs were hurting and he grabbed at his chest until his fingers became numb. Before he even knew what he was thinking, he was searching frantically with his eyes for something sharp or a rope. Maybe if he ended himself now, no one would know he was—

A strong, rhythmic knock broke that thought into two. His eyes flickered to the door and he held his breath. "Mr. Weasley?" He flinched, his head slamming into the wall behind him. Dolores Umbridge was behind that door. She had to have known what he was and she already didn't like him because he was a Weasley despite how he had left his family.

Percy stood on shaking legs. She was going to do something far worse than fire him. The doorknob was twisting before he could dive for a pair of rusty forgotten scissors. Umbridge was in the doorway, her shadow casting a sinister length over the shuddering, red-faced Percy. His cheeks were sticky and wet, his eyes most likely red and swollen. Despite how he was taller than his pink clothed superior, he sunk into himself in an attempt to appear smaller.

He waited.

And waited.

He kept his eyes open.

Umbridge cleared her throat daintily. "Now, this is hardly the professionalism expected of a Ministry man." Her sharp eyes trailed across his face to his curved shoulders and instinctively defensive crossed arms. "What has you so out of sorts?" she asked with a raised brow, apparently dismissing the disheveled appearance of her underling.

"I—That's—You know." Percy cringed at his own fumbling. Whatever little potential there was of sweeping it all under the rug was gone. She would ask. She would force him to say what he was because Umbridge was not a kind woman.

"Do I know?" Umbridge replied in a falsely sweet tone, raising both brows and tilting her head like she was a mere child.

Percy's throat felt like it was closing off and he choked obnoxiously loudly. He met the dead eyes of his superior. And then he couldn't feel anything. "I…" he began, feeling so far away from his own body and mind in his private panic; there was a bundle of horror growing in his chest, muted in this newfound experience of numbness. "I was caught kissing a man." The admission felt odd coming from him. Like someone else was speaking for him while he was underwater. He wondered if he would be able to feel again, if this was permanent.

He vaguely realized a box was transfigured into a chair or that he was guided to sit on it.

"That was very unprofessional of you, wasn't it? Sneaking off on Ministry time, on Ministry grounds, to snog a coworker. I expected more from someone with your pride and level of organization."

Something about Umbridge's wording made him blink up at her. But she wasn't finished yet.

"Next time, Mr. Weasley, wait until you clock out. We surely don't pay you to dawdle or fraternize in new romances."

"You're upset that I—You're not upset that it was—" Percy couldn't even say the words properly. It was too new, too fresh. Was he even allowed to call himself what he only recently realized he was? He was left staring at the woman helplessly.

There was a strange expression on Umbridge's face. "Why would I care that you're gay? Does it prevent you from doing your job well?"

"I'm not being fired?" the question was out before Percy could shut himself up. Impulsive and now broken out from the water drowning his head, he blinked past fresh tears that stung his eyes. Surely it was a trick, surely she was merely trying to lure him into a false comfort, but hope was worming its way into his chest. Alongside it was that growing fear of what would happen next.

She was silent for a while and Percy's hope began to die in his chest. He was folding himself in half, protecting his upper body, when she sighed. "No, you are not being fired. I ask again: Why would I care?" Percy blinked again at her, not fully understanding what was happening. It was only because he was studying her closely that he caught it. A minute change in her stance, the softening of her eyes. "Let me be very clear. I do not care that you are a homosexual. I have never cared about it in my line of work and I don't tend to start now. Your job is safe at the Ministry."

"Why?" Percy asked, voice breaking as he hastily pushed his glasses up to rub at his cheeks.

Umbridge did something he would never be able to forget; she smiled. Not one of her falsely sweet ones that she liked to use to lure others in. Not one of her professionally cold ones. It was small, a bit crooked, and imperfect. "Meet me in my office for some drinks. You look like you could use something strong after the day you've had." It wasn't quite an answer, he realized, but it was rather an invitation to learn more.

She turned on her heel, a hand on the door, before she stopped and turned just enough to look at Percy who was struggling to speak. "Mr. Weasley. Leave the closet when you're ready. It's dark and cold in there. It's nowhere near pleasant when you're alone."

Percy nodded wordlessly at Umbridge's retreating back and stood while the chair returned to a broken-down box. He breathed in with a bone-deep shudder, patting down his rumbled clothing and trying to fix his messed-up curls. He decided he was going to have tea with Umbridge. If only to ask what she had meant and why she had looked so understanding.