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Percy stood silently in the grand office, his hands clasped behind his back to prevent him fiddling or putting them in his pockets, watching the Minister for Magic pour over his report.
‘And this data…?’ Minister Fudge said vaguely, his eyes not lifting from the parchment.
‘Sourced by the Daily Prophet, Minister,’ said Percy. ‘They conducted the surveys last week, the collated data was sent to me last night ahead of publishing tomorrow - it won’t be front page news, not with Dolores’s new position, but Mr Cuffe says that he can secure page three for it, which I think should work marvelously in our favour. I stayed back late so you would be the first to see it, sir,’ he said.
But Minister Fudge did not react to his pointing out of his dedication, just continued to nod vaguely as he cast his eyes over it. ‘Yes… yes - good show from Upper Flagley. Knew we could count on them. My heartland, you see.’
‘Indeed, sir, you’ve always polled well there, and it’s only improved. You’ll see a very favourable rating in Diagon Alley too, sir; over 70% said they would vote for you again, and 63% thought that you seemed like the sort of man they could have a pint with.’
‘Bit divided in Hogsmeade,’ said Minister Fudge, a small crease appearing between his eyes. ‘They’d all like to go to the pub but wouldn’t vote for me again?’
‘I was worried about that initially, Minister, but when I looked into the raw data it seemed to me that their biggest problem was that they also tend to be Dumbledore supporters - many of them know him personally, you see.’
Minister Fudge sniffed irritably. ‘Yes, no doubt,’ he said sourly. ‘The ever wise Albus Dumbledore is frequently found in The Three Broomsticks and Hogshead, isn’t he? No doubt a large goblet of mead can inspire his latest tall tale…’
‘Well, quite, sir. But I think his level of approval is declining even there, and I think especially with the changes coming at the school we can expect to see a lot of improvement there. With that issue gone, I would expect us to see your popularity in Hogsmeade rise to similar levels as in Upper Flagley.’
‘Good… good…’ mumbled Fudge, turning to the next sheaf of parchment. He tutted loudly. ‘Appalling ratings in Godric’s Hollow, but it’s always the same there - rural, liberal elite. No connection to the everyday wizard.’
‘Quite right, sir,’ said Percy. ‘This is why the pint question is so important.’
‘I can do without them,’ said Minister Fudge dismissively. ‘Thank you, Weasley - if you could draft out a response statement the Prophet could quote, that would be splendid.’
‘I have that here, Minister,’ said Percy, lunging forward and handing him another piece of parchment.
‘Ah,’ said Minister Fudge approvingly. ‘Yes - yes, excellent. I’ll give this a quick look over, but it looks fine to me, I’ll send it along to Barnabas later.’ He peered at Percy over the parchment. ‘I don’t know where you get your initiative, Weasley, it’s not something I’ve come across in your family previously.’
‘No, I expect not, Minister.’
‘But then again,’ said Minister Fudge, in a rather grand voice, ‘a few more years and we may have another industrious, driven young Weasley in the Ministry, eh?’
‘Sorry, Minister?’ asked Percy.
‘Why, your younger brother! Ronald - I hear he has been made Prefect.’
‘Oh. I - I didn’t know, Minister,’ said Percy. He could not help the swell of surprise. ‘Are you sure, sir? Ron?’
‘Quite sure,’ he said cheerily. ‘I read the list expecting - well, you know, another boy’s name there - and I was quite ready to write and argue with Dumbledore that he should not be appointing criminals such positions, but there it was, clear as day - Gryffindor Prefect Boy, Ronald Weasley.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ said Percy, a natural grin breaking out on his face. ‘I never would have - good for Ron. I… I should probably write and congratulate him.’
‘Mmm,’ said Fudge, into his teacup. He swallowed, and smacked his lips. ‘Yes, encourage him to continue down the right path! Given his associations, I think he could do with a gentle nudge. Only fair on him, at that age, to have a guiding hand.’ He seemed to catch sight of Percy’s uncomfortable face, and shook his hand in a reassuring, hushing manner at him. ‘Oh, no, no, I don’t mean his name, my dear boy - you yourself are proof that blood is not always thicker than water - no, no, I only meant… well, the friends we make at that age… lie with crups, get fizzing fleas, eh?’
Ah.
Percy took a weary breath. ‘Yes…’ he said with a sigh. ‘Yes, I… I know perfectly what you mean, Minister.’
‘Well, Dolores will tidy the place up for us,’ said Minister Fudge, clapping his hands together and smiling jovially. ‘Thank you once again for this Weasley - excellent work.’
Buoyed by the praise, Percy head cheerfully back to his little office, nodding politely at Audrey as she passed, and the moment he sat at his desk he seized his finest letter-headed parchment and a quill.
Dear Ron,
He paused, collating his thoughts. He had to phrase this carefully - he knew how sensitive Ron could be. But then again, the fact that Ron had been made Prefect suggested - well, quite frankly it suggested that he and Ron were more alike than he had realised.
And it wasn’t Ron’s fault. He couldn’t have known, all those years ago, who he was making friends with. Percy had fallen for it too; Harry Potter had seemed like a sweet, inquisitive little first year. Sure, he had lost a significant amount of points very quickly, and, yes, Percy had been alarmed when he heard that he had been encouraging his brother and other students to sneak around at night, but he had quite liked him all the same. He had even been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt with all that Triwizard Cup nonsense last year, though in hindsight that had been foolish.
Indeed, it had been hard to think of that Harry as the same Harry Potter he had seen in the summer - taller, surlier, nastier looking. To see him sat in the defendant’s chair like that had been an eye opener to say the least; to see him wriggle out on a mere technicality seemed to be confirmation that he received special treatment where it wasn’t fair. Other students wouldn’t get away with that sort of thing. Ron certainly wouldn’t.
His mind made up, he dipped his quill in the ink pot, and began to write.
***
It was several months later, well past a lonely Christmas and approaching spring, when Percy next considered Harry Potter for more than a fleeting moment.
Every morning, he received the press monitoring pack. It was his job to scan through whatever newspapers and magazines that had been published that day, on the look out for PR or writings of interest to Minister Fudge or the Ministry as a whole. It was very much his favourite part of the job, his highlighter quill creating shining colours across the newsprint, cutting out snippets with his wand and collating them into a pack, sticking on little pieces of parchment with notes on how best to spin it or whether or not he thought it worth responding to.
The Quibbler was always in it, and Percy always ignored it. It had such a low circulation anyway, people just bought it to giggle over the bizarre quizzes and refer to the adverts at the back for naming seers and fortune tellers, if he ever did include anything to do with the Minister it was always such ludicrous nonsense that they knew not to respond to it anyway.
That morning, however, a familiar set of bespectacled green eyes pierced out at him from the front page, Harry Potter’s sheepish grin beneath a screaming headline.
HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN
Percy huffed. Here we go. This was the boy that had so enchanted the rest of his family, who had slipped into the Burrow like a cuckoo and dragged their names into disgrace, who was happily spreading terror and fear throughout the country - for what? For a bit of teenage attention.
He began reading with a scowl on his face, and forced himself to snort and scoff at the most ridiculous parts, but something in him niggled. Gnawed away in his stomach like a parasitic worm, the memory of Harry, Diggory and the Cup appearing suddenly on the lawn weaving in and out of his mind.
He realised he was wincing as he read the description of the cruciatus curse, as it did sound uncommonly similar to accounts he had heard during trials in the Wizengamot, but then it got onto priori incantatum ghosts and Percy couldn’t help but laugh in derision - that was not how priori incantatum worked, if it did, the Auror department would have every murder solved in a cinch. The only way that would possibly work would be if the wands were unusually similar, and even then it was a stretch. It was clearly a rather clever attempt at romanticism, to remind the audience of his tragic little past. It was a shame, really, that Harry had turned out so troubled. In another life he would have made an exemplary politician.
He added the clipping to the rest of them, and headed easily down the corridor towards the Minister’s office, the file tucked under his arm. For some reason, Harry Potter’s face kept swimming through his mind, sometimes pale and bloodied and blank just after the Third Task, sometimes surly and resentful while he was in the defendant’s chair, and, briefly, just as he knocked on the Minister’s door, young, wide-eyed and thin, sitting at his family’s kitchen table, a surprised little smile flitting nervously.
Minister Fudge was enraged by the article - Percy had never seen him like it. His face almost purple with indignation, bits of spittle clinging to his mouth as he blustered, the magazine snippet crinkling and creasing in his tight fist as he shook it. ‘How dare he?’ he roared. ‘How dare he? Dragging fine names through the mud - sowing more seeds of doubt in people’s minds - I thought better of Rita Skeeter, I really did! The Quibbler! Tch!’
‘It is ridiculous, sir,’ Percy agreed uncertainly.
‘Ludicrous!’ Minister Fudge exclaimed.
‘But thankfully it’s only the Quibbler, so I doubt circulation will be high. The usual crackpots.’
‘Oho, I doubt it,’ he snarled. ‘Anything with that boy’s name attached piques morbid curiosity in even the most sensible person. People will hold their noses to buy the Quibbler to gawp at that scar and frighten themselves into a paranoid fantasy - this is Dumbledore’s doing, I have no doubt - oho, he knows how to blame games like this…’
‘I can contact the Quibbler, see if they’ll reveal who arranged it,’ said Percy.
‘Yes - yes, do that - I’ll draft up a response statement - time to go hard, I think.’
‘Minister, I was under the impression that we never respond to Quibbler articles? To do so would lend credibility to their conspiracy theories.’
‘This is different, Weasley! To some people Potter is credible! They’re still stuck in this ridiculous notion that uncontrollable events that happened when he was an infant make him infallible. No, no, I want a full statement discrediting everything Potter has said - time to dig up the dirt, I think, find a Healer willing to suggest that-’
‘Sir,’ interrupted Percy uneasily, for he could bear the uncomfortable lurching in his stomach no longer. ‘I… I’m not saying I believe Potter-’
‘I should hope not!’ snapped Minister Fudge.
‘No, of course not - it’s just… I think Potter’s only fifteen and-’
‘If he’s old enough to be giving exclusive interviews without a guardian present, he’s old enough to deal with the consequences!’
‘Yes, I appreciate that, sir,’ said Percy, who was torn between utter desperation for his boss to praise him and the strange sensation of overwhelming pity mingled with guilt. He felt a strong urge to end the matter here, though he knew it would probably be better if they responded, if they didn’t let Harry have the last word. ‘I only think… whether or not it’s true is irrelevant - he’s clearly quite a troubled young boy-’
Minister Fudge snorted. ‘To say the least. A liar, a narcissist, a-’
‘-And I worry that more open criticism of, to be honest, sir, a child, would poll negatively.’ Minister Fudge seemed to pause, and tentatively, hesitantly, unsure whether or not he was doing the right thing or if he even believed it, Percy continued. ‘Given all the work we’re doing to improve education and family life, I wouldn’t want to risk any of that by giving the other side ammunition - to say that we were…’ Percy trailed off and shrugged slowly.
‘Yes, I see what you mean…’ said Minister Fudge, slowly. ‘Yes, if he insists on playing the victim…’
‘Better to give him enough rope, I think, Minister,’ said Percy, and he almost believed it.
‘Well, I can’t say I like it, but you’re probably right, Weasley. We’ll ignore it - but do monitor it, won’t you?’
Percy nodded, and left, walking down the corridor utterly at a lost as to whether he had done the right thing or not. All he knew was, whatever happened in that maze, what ever Harry claimed or thought he witnessed, the image of him sitting in the defendant chair was shifting. His expression no longer looked surly and resentful, but alarmed, afraid, nervous, and Percy rather thought that it was thanks to the propaganda he had just read in the Prophet that he was now feeling a swell of sympathy for the boy, and a sting of concern that Ron might have told him about the letter he had written.
He definitely didn’t want Harry to have read the letter. That was meant for Ron. It would be cruel to say those things to Harry, no matter what he’d been saying.
‘Oh hello, Percy,’ came Audrey’s voice, and he hadn’t realised he had been looking at the front of the magazine - he looked up at her just in time to see her peer over his shoulder. ‘Ooh, I saw that - Gladys had a copy in the tea room. Just don’t know what to think, do you?’
‘Er, no,’ he said, looking back down at it. ‘Troubled boy, whatever the truth is.’
‘Completely,’ she agreed easily. ‘That’s the sad thing with child stars. Anyway, I was just nipping to see Amelia; did you want me to take those forms the Minister signed for you?’
‘Oh! Yes, thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll just get them.’
He was grateful for the distraction, for it meant that he could shove the Quibbler in his filing cabinet, and not think about it again.