Chapter Text
Percy Weasley pushed the door to his cramped office closed with an elbow and sighed. Navigating the numerous boxes stacked high against the walls, he dropped the stack of files unto his already crowded desk and slumped into his creaky old chair.
He felt absolutely knackered. His robe of three days was crumpled and askew, his hair was an overgrown riot of ginger and… *he sniffed at his armpits and made a face*… he smelt a bit ripe despite the numerous cleaning charms.
Cups of stale tea and several old teabags littered the stained the edges of the table, mixed with empty plates, crumpled napkins and takeout containers long empty. Thick manila folders; fat, heavy reports and old and faded journals were stacked sometimes ten strong on every inch of his desk. And it kept growing everyday.
He dropped his head unto his hands heavily, his elbow knocking into a smaller stack of reports on the affects of the recent humidity on flying broomsticks in the Amazon rain forest. A relic from his 'carefree' days as Fudge's bootlicker when he'd been sent on one ridiculous mission after the next as Assistant Undersecretary to the Minister.
Percy had been so stupidly proud back then. He'd actually believed that he'd been hired for his stellar school results and his excellent record while head boy. Head hunted for a position before his NEWTs were even released even, he'd had such visions of the future. Such stars in his eyes.
So much hubris.
So much bullshit.
Fudge had just been more clever than anyone had thought possible, including Dumbledore and the Old Crowd. Even though his father was a career civil servant, Arthur Weasley was Dumbledore's man and everyone knew it. At first he'd been proud of his son joining him at the Ministry but soon enough Percy's ambition and reluctance to stay 'in the doldrums' with his father had soured their relationship somewhat. It had only gotten worse from there.
Cornelius had promoted Percy up the ranks at such a pace that no one would ever believe it wasn't favoritism. Then, when he'd gotten Percy tucked up under his wing and away from any kind of actual professional respect, he'd sent him off to the ends of the earth on essentially useless fact finding missions.
Before he'd known it, Percy's professional feet had been eroded out from under him and he'd become the Ministry joke, in the end powerless and doomed to stay in his current position until he eventually died and his ghost took back up the job.
It had been a bitter blow to the middle Weasley son. One day he'd looked up and realized that he'd lost everything he'd worked so hard for. Penelope Clearwater had long walked out, he didn't speak to his family much, didn't get along with his co-workers. He had nothing but the farce of a job he'd clung to because the thought of leaving, of giving up even now terrified him.
The stack on his desk wobbled and knocked over the nameplate on his desk. Sighing, he reached over and righted it, noticing dully that someone had spelled his name to 'Pussy-val Weatherby' as a joke. It was the latest of many. He was well aware of what people thought of him. He'd heard whispers in hallways, giggles as he passed, smirks and snide remarks.
Back from Zanzibar already eh Weatherby?
Did you show them witches down there the proper way to bundle their gathered herbs eh Weatherby?
Off to measure cauldron bottoms again eh Weatherby?
Fudge is really keeping those Alaskans on their toes eh Weatherby?
Got your nose deep in Fudge's arse today eh Weatherby?
He bourn it with a quiet shame until eventually he'd grown numb to it. Eventually he'd just given in and started answering to the name Weatherby instead of putting in an effort to correct the mistake. The harassment had gotten so bad over time that he'd come close to quitting several times but had always chickened out before he actually could go through with it. Just when he'd just about thrown in the towel, for real this time, the great fall had come.
That is what they were calling the death of Lord Voldemort and all of his marked servants by the hand a Gryffindor Know it all and two Slytherin goons.
The end of the Second war of Light and Dark.The Great Fall of the Dark The Great Fall of Lord Voldemort and his reign of Terror The Great Fall of the entire pureblood structure that was the foundation of wizarding Britain.
And in the days and months after the Fall, the WB had been slowly toppling, its very core cracked and weakened by the deaths of so many rich and powerful (magically and politically) and left the community balancing precariously on what was left of 'society'.
It had been six months three weeks, five days seventeen hours and fifty three minutes since the dark lord's demise. Since everyone of his marked death eaters fell down dead in their tracks. Since so may people integral to the wizarding world followed Riddle to his horrid end.
Six months and some since Ginny fell from the tower. Free from the prison that was her mind, her life. Sweet Ginny. Six months and some since one of the few lights of his life got snuffed out. He blinked away the sting of tears and quickly squashed the flare of pain under his ribs.
No… he couldn't dwell too much on that now. That way led to laying curled up, wailing in the corner of his small flat with a bottle of Ogden's fire whiskey and a strong silencing charm.
Six months and some since wizarding Britain had been tossed into the middle of shit creek and was clutching at straws like a drowning man. Since, in the middle of a routine progress meeting, half the department heads of the ministry screamed bloody murder as they expired slowly and painfullyand the other half watched in horror.
He'd heard that those left alive had been running around like headless chickens, casting protego's, revelo's and even expecto patronum's willy nilly in their confusion. The rest of the ministry hadn't fared any better. Memo planes were flying helter skelter, patroni scampered about, sending messages to and fro, the floos were flashing almost constantly until someone with a clear head ordered them shut down. The cracks of apparition like a symphony through the marble halls.
By all accounts, It had been utter pandemonium. Percy had not actually been present during the fall. He'd begged off last minute from the mind numbingly boring meeting and had called in a favour from Jenny from Secretariat to take minutes for him.
In fact, he had been in the process of getting his brains fucked out of his ears by Marcus Flint's heavy uncut cock when the Fall had occurred. Flint had been Percy's dirty little secret since Hogwarts. After school they lost touch for a few years when, one day when Percy had tried to drown his misery at a dank little pub in Knocktern Alley, they'd met again.
Flint had taken one look at the redhead and had scrambled him by the collar to a dingy flat two streets down. There he'd thrown Percy down on the tiny bed and fucked him hard.
And Percy had let him. Oh did he let him.
They never spoke a word that day, or any of the other days they arranged to meet by charmed paper. Marcus was rough and aggressive in bed, his large hands leaving bruises on Percy's pale skin that he would stare at for days after, like some kind of badge he'd owned.
Marcus was that same uncouth, crooked teethed, foul mouthed bully he was in school but in the bedroom he was a master at pulling unbelievable noises from Percy. He knew how much was just enough and handled the redhead's body like a fined tuned instrument. Sometimes Flint would get dressed and slip out while Percy lay panting on the bed, sometimes Percy would be the one to leave first.
Outside lives didn't matter in that dingy flat. It didn't matter that Percy was pigeonholed at the ministry and hated his life when he rode Flint dick like he was born to it. It didn't matter that Flint was a card carrying death eater, his dark mark pulsing on his forearm as he buried his hands in ginger curls and fucked Percy's mouth. Only Sex mattered.
That and that Percy call Flint "Captain" while they were fucking. That mattered.
By the time he'd dragged himself to work the next day, the news of the Great Fall had become just one of many other horrors he'd have to endure.
His office door banged open, startling him out of his reverie. It was Jenny from Secretariat.
"They've sacked Nolton in Magical Creatures."
she slammed the door closed behind her and pushed a pile of paperwork off of one of his chairs before collapsing into it. Jenny had been a Ravenclaw prefect two years after him and he'd given her a great review when she'd applied for work. They'd had a good working relationship both in school and at the ministry and they often met regularly to trade news and information about the workplace. One thing Ravenclaws loved was information and he and Jenny had just gelled together as co-workers.
"That's the third this week" Percy frowned.
In an effort to keep up appearances with what was left of the British magical community and the world beyond, Fudge had begun head hunting for scapegoats within the ministry itself.
"I've heard rumors of Johnstone and Billingswood getting the axe by the end of work day."
Percy leaned back in his chair and joined his hands under his chin, index fingertips on his lips. They were starting to happen faster. First came the sacking. Then the arrests, the 'investigations' and straight to Azkaban and the kiss. All reported publicly in the Prophet of course. The spectacle of it seemed to soothe the angry masses like the ancient games of the coliseum. It was abhorrent.
He looked up at the anxious woman. "What are you going to do?"
She flattened her skirt nervously. "I'm going to make a go of it in Spain. I have a cousin there. they've agreed to take me in."
"Did you contact Hevanas about the…?"
"Portkey yes. Just got it today. Paid muggle cash, under the table just like you told me. Kept it very hush hush. Thanks for that by the way." She smiled weakly.
He nodded. "You're a good worker Jen, one of the finest in Secretariat. I don't want to see you harmed for something that not your fault. This place is going to the shit. It's just going to get worse from here. When do you leave?"
"I was thinking Sunday morning since Monday is holiday…."
"Go tonight."
"But… my things"
Percy leaned forward. "You can get new things. Throw your kit together with your keepsakes and slip out the back way. Lose yourself in the muggle world for a bit and portkey out. Don't give anyone a chance to come after you. You can't trust Hevanas not to rat you out if he's discovered."
Jenny gives a trembling nod. "Ok…" she breathes, "What about you?"
Percy ran a hand over his tired face. "I have some things to do first."
Jenny leaves, slipping out of the office with a 'be safe'. There's nothing more to say. Wizarding Britain is flailing it's last. The ICW are looking for an in, any reason to sweep in and take over. Fudge is hanging on like a mad man backed into a corner and he intends to take as many with him as he can when he finally goes down.
A memo plane zipped into his office an tangled in his ginger curls and he snarled a curse, reaching up to untangle it. It was just a copy of an official document, hastily made. Good old Jenny. It was a pink slip, walking papers made out to 'Percicles Weatherby' that had come back to the office for verification on the name.
Thank Merlin. Seems like that stupid nickname has just saved his skin for once.
The paper crinkled as his fingers clenched around it. So soon? He wasn't ready yet. He still had a few loose ends to tie up before he used the portkey he'd have Hevanas make for him almost four months ago. No matter, he had most of what he needed, the rest he could source.
He stood up from his desk, grabbed the picture frame of his family that always stood on his desk, shrunk it and tucked into his robe pocket. It was time.
In the middle of Thursday afternoon, Assistant Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic 'Percicles Weatherby', popped out his office and informed his secretary Amelia that he was taking a late lunch and to hold all of his calls until he got back. Shrugging on his simple brown coat, he slipped through the doorway that led to the emergency staircase and was soon lost in the crowded London street.
He was never seen again.