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Percy woke up with a jolt, his mouth dry and sticky and his right cheekbone aching from where it clearly had rested against his desk.
Shit. He must have dozed off.
The clock over the door read twenty to twelve. Just to be sure, Percy glanced outside the window. Yes, definitely midday, not midnight. He couldn’t have slept for more than half an hour then, his last meeting had ended at eleven. Good. Time for some damage control.
He felt around the desk for his glasses with one hand, the other hand already pulling a dark red leather agenda towards him. Two taps of his index finger, and the agenda obediently fluttered open. Percy pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose – and froze.
Instead of the usual neat column of meetings and to-dos, Percy saw a yellowed piece of paper that someone had tucked neatly into the folds.
Even more perplexingly, the note was labelled “In case you dozed off”.
Percy glared at it, as if the pure force of his frown could make the note reveal its secrets. But the scrap of paper remained stubbornly generic, and reluctantly, Percy unfolded it.
***
This is a back-up of our agreed plan for September 14th, since, if you have fallen asleep, you will likely have forgotten what I previously told you.
I admit that this format is hardly a good replacement for an in person briefing, but for reasons that I can't detail right now, it is the best I can do. For the same reasons, I can't reveal my identity at this time.
Of course, I anticipate that you will want proof of my trustworthiness, so here’s something: the three scars on your left elbow stem from when the twins tampered with the exploding snap cards.
That out of the way, here's what I need you to do.
Check the time. If it is before noon, please go to the main elevators and take them to the atrium. Leave the ministry by foot, and go to Rosa Lee’s. Get your usual order.
If it is past noon, remain in your office and await further instructions.
***
Percy’s frown had only deepened while he read. Clearly, the author had taken pains to disguise their identity – the handwriting was the nondescript cursive produced by a Quick Quotes Quill, the paper itself clearly torn from a Ministry-issue notepad.
Which led to the obvious suspicion that it might be a trap. After all, Wizarding Britain was teetering dangerously close to war and nobody knew where people’s loyalties lay, even if Scrimgeour was intent on disguising that fact from the public. But in the climate of secrecy and rumours created by that policy, it was just as possible that this plan was genuine, and that someone had information for Percy.
He absentmindedly rubbed his left elbow, trying to clear his thoughts.
Who might possibly know about the exploding snap incident and the resulting scars? The obvious answer brought a bad taste to his mouth: anyone in his family, of course. Which meant that the author of the note was either a member of his family, or had ways of sourcing this kind of information from them – which could make them a member of Dumbledore's resistance, or a Death Eater with good Legilimency skills.
Percy huffed a frustrated exhale. There was just no way of knowing – either, someone had placed this note in his agenda with good intentions, predicting for some reason that Percy might suffer a bout of sleep-related amnesia. Or, this was a weirdly convoluted plan to lure him to a specific location.
He glanced at the clock. 11.45. The time reminded him of the second part of the instructions: Why would the note tell him to stay in his office if it was past noon? If this was a trap, what would anyone gain from having him stay within the Ministry, the most closely guarded location in all of Britain, with the possible exception of Azkaban?
One part of Percy wanted to stay right where he was, if only to find out what in the world the plan was here.
But another part – a part that had been gaining in persuasiveness over the past months – insisted that if there was a chance that this might be genuine, that someone close to his family might have important information for him, he had to at least try.
So try he would – but not recklessly. He opened his desk drawer and from a small locked box, he retrieved a thimble, a small vial or dark blue liquid swirling with silver, and a velvet pouch. He placed them in strategic pockets, smoothed down his robes, and rose.
If whoever had written that note thought Percy Weasley was easy prey, they had another thing coming.
***
The main elevator doors opened with a shrill bing that set Percy’s teeth on edge. To make matters worse, the lift wasn’t empty – instead, Percy found himself face to face with his two direct superiors: Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minister Scrimgeour himself. The latter looked up with a slight frown, as if Percy had interrupted a private meeting in his office as opposed to simply calling the main elevator. Then, his facial expression smoothed and he gave a nod.
“Weasley,” he acknowledged.
“Minister,” Percy replied. “Mr Shacklebolt.” He kept his facial expression neutral, but his thoughts were racing.
Even though of course he was not supposed to know, Percy had learnt that Shacklebolt was assigned to the Muggle Prime Minister. What he didn’t know, however, was how regularly Shacklebolt reported back. Was it normal for him to be here in the middle of a weekday?
Percy suppressed the urge to click his fingers nervously.
Everything today seemed to be both deeply suspicious and simultaneously easily explainable. A certain level of paranoia had become second nature to Percy over the last months, given his position in the Ministry, but this level of guessing and second-guessing was proving almost too much to handle.
“Off to lunch, Weasley?” Scrimgeour asked suddenly, and Percy almost jumped out of his skin. The Minister was looking at him with an unreadable expression. Shacklebolt seemed to avoid Percy’s gaze entirely.
“Y-yes, Sir,” he managed.
“Good,” came the gruff reply. “Heard you’ve been working very long hours.”
“Sir?” Percy asked, confused. Was this some sort of reprimand? A hint that Percy was under surveillance?
“Breaks, Weasley,” Scrimgeour elaborated. “You should take them. Things aren’t likely to slow down any time soon.”
“Yes, Sir,” Percy replied, nonplussed.
Before Percy could add anything more, the lift reached the atrium level, and the Minister gave him another nod before sweeping out into the hall with Shacklebolt in tow. Percy sighed an exhale and filed his questions away for a later time. For now, he needed to keep his mind on the matter at hand.
***
The familiar scents of Earl Grey and Jasmine wafted towards him as soon as he opened the door to Rosa Lee’s, and Percy felt his shoulders drop a fraction. Even though it hadn’t been his idea to come here, the thought of a nice cup of tea felt like exactly what he needed right now.
“Mr. Weasley!” Mrs Lee greeted him. “Back already!”
Percy frowned. Of course he was back – he came to the tea shop every afternoon.
“The usual?” Mrs Lee asked, her warm voice carrying easily over the din of boiling kettles, clinking cups and the chatter of the patrons.
Percy nodded gratefully and slunk behind the cocktail table by the door that he usually occupied, surreptitiously glancing around the guest room.
Three middle aged witches were sitting by the window, skeins of wools and plates with scones on their table. Behind the counter, two teenagers were leaning over a table, whispering to each other. Otherwise, the shop was empty. Maybe whoever had sent Percy here wasn’t here yet.
“Here you go, darling,” Mrs Lee said, floating a cup of tea and a small jug of milk over to him. “Oh, and I almost forgot – you left this here!”
Percy’s head shot up and he saw a small book – green, clothbound, familiar – follow the tea. “Thank you,” he said hurriedly, not even waiting for the book to settle on the table but picking it out of the air instead.
It was, of course, “A Brief History of Magical Fraud”, one of his favourite reads as proven by the ubiquitous notes in the margins. He remembered re-reading it here in the tea shop some days ago. But it was very unlike him to simply leave it – maybe he really needed to sleep more.
Suddenly he noticed a folded page in the back of the book that clearly hadn’t been his own doing. He would never dog ear a page – that’s what bookmarks were for! He flicked to the offending leaf and unfolded it, only to find something written there, in black ink and the tell-tale Quick Quotes slant:
Meeting point at the back door of the Wheezes stockroom at 12.50.
P.S. If you’d been born a girl, your parents would have named you Philomena.
Percy took a sip from his tea and promptly burnt his mouth. Shit.
***
Five minutes later, Percy left the tea shop, adrenaline coursing through his veins and his thoughts racing. He had considered all possibilities, and even some impossibilities, and then considered them again, but there was nothing for it: he had to go if he wanted to know who was behind this.
Whoever it was, they knew entirely too much about his family. Which might of course mean that it was Fred or George who were behind this. Or maybe Ron? Of course, Ron should be at Hogwarts, but he and Harry had never been big on following the rules… Yet, Percy’s mind kept returning to the far worse option: that someone had gained access to his family by nefarious means. And if that was true, Percy needed to know as much as possible.
He was so preoccupied that he almost collided with a wizard, only to recognise the dark hair and sharp nose of Rufus Scrimgeour. How was this man suddenly everywhere?
“Merlin, Weasley!” Scrimgeour said, shaking his head. “Watch where you’re going! You won’t always get a second chance.”
Percy apologised, then froze, following Scrimgeour with his eyes. You won’t always get a second chance. The words bounced around in his mind, suddenly taking on another meaning. Did Scrimgeour know anything about this plot, about the secret notes? Was someone giving Percy a chance to make up with his family?
The clocktower down Diagon stuck quarter to one and Percy shook himself out of his thoughts. Whatever Scrimgeour knew or didn’t, there was no time. Percy turned decisively and headed towards his brothers’ shop.
***
The Wheezes’ windows were boarded up, but the gate towards the backyard was unlocked and swung open noiselessly when Percy tentatively turned the handle. His hands were shaking and he patted down his pockets for the umpteenth time.
What if there were many? What if they tried to apparate him? Percy ran through Fred and George’s Slippery Soap spell, just in case.
He reached the backdoor to the store room and paused to listen, but couldn’t hear a thing. That didn’t mean much – they might have cast a Muffliato, after all.
What in the world had he gotten himself into?
Percy raised his wand and opened the door.
Inside, illuminated by a flickering lantern, he found himself face to face with… himself. Or someone who looked like him.
“Hello,” the other Percy said.
Percy’s hand shot into his pocket, fumbling for the thimble, which was, of course, an emergency portkey.
“Calm down, you don’t need the thimble.” The other Percy seemed utterly unbothered. “Dizzy Dragons–” “–Fly straight after midnight,” Percy completed automatically and froze. That was his code! He had memorised it as a safeguard for timeloops, and even placed it under an Occlumency lock. Nobody except him could possibly know it!
The other Percy smiled. “Yes, exactly. I’m you. Or rather, you’re me.”
Percy opened his mouth to protest the impossibility, but the facts were irrefutable. “Why?” he stammered. “And how?”
The other Percy nodded, as if satisfied with the question. “As for why: I saved Stan Shunpike from Azkaban, and you were my alibi.”
Percy’s mind was reeling, rapidly rearranging the facts given this new knowledge. Of course, he had learnt this morning that Shunpike was sentenced to serve in Azkaban. He, that is, the other Percy, must have intercepted that transport. “That’s why you made sure I’d run into Scrimgeour!”
“Exactly,” the other Percy nodded. “I'm happy to hear it worked. As for how there's two of us, that’s the tricky part: I adapted this Magical Splitting spell I found, but it isn’t very stable over longer times. Whenever my copy- that is: you- fall asleep, you lose the recollection of any events after the duplication. So I had to be creative.”
Percy mulled this over and had to admit that it made sense. Not surprising – it was his own plan after all. “And what now?”
“Now we remove the evidence,” the other Percy smiled and lifted his wand. “Reintegro!”
For a confused moment, Percy saw out of four eyes, feeling both dizzy and nauseous as his body adapted to being only one person again, but with some excess memories. He blinked owlishly for a minute until the world stabilised.
Alone again. But at least he could trust himself.