2-May-99

Chapter 19

May 2, 1999

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Annie found Charlie and Percy seated on some steps leading up to the castle. She was relieved, yet mostly unsurprised, to find them both sober and far removed from the festivities. Percy wasn't much for parties that didn't involve schmoozing with Ministry officials, and Charlie always made himself scarce around strangers, she'd learned. – George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography, Chapter 45

* * *

The hour was getting quite late, and Charlie was tired. Walking across the gently sloping lawn below the partially reconstructed castle, he contemplated for a brief moment the option of Apparating back to his bed at the Burrow, then reconsidered the wisdom of this plan when he remembered his mother was there, very possibly waiting up for him. Considering she'd just witnessed the birth of her third grandchild that very afternoon – A girl, no less! Bill certainly caught the brass ring there – he knew what lay in store for him. And while he was pleased both for Bill and his mum – the arrival of a healthy new member of the family helped counteract some of the sadness of a day otherwise spent memorializing many so recently lost – he had no desire to be harangued again about finding a wife for himself and settling down. Molly had been relentless yesterday, badgering him about the marital status of his old schoolmates.

The day he'd just spent on Hogwarts' grounds had been a long and emotional one as it was: he'd endured – as an official representative of the Order, the Ridgebit Reservation keepers and Romanian contingent of fighters, and a friend and family member of more than one of the heroic dead – the first of what was no doubt many annual memorial services to come. The ceremony itself was fine, managing to avoid much of the self-congratulation and pomposity politicians usually inflicted upon the audience at such things – Trust Kingsley and McGonagall to maintain a respectful, solemn attitude, thank Merlin.

Not that what had come afterward was remotely solemn. The first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, as it had come to be known, would not soon be forgotten, and not just because Fleur had gone into labor during the service and ended up delivering the baby in the castle's hospital wing. George and his cohorts had outdone themselves putting on a proper wake for their lost friends, replete with mountains of food, rivers of booze, music, and dancing.

But the garden party was slowly winding down now. The band was packing up and collecting their fee; the stage had already dissolved into nothingness. Charlie had just taken leave of Hagrid, whose hut was hosting several large, hirsute, drunken gamekeepers keen to swap tales of hunting adventures and show off magical menagerie scars. Most of the party stragglers remaining were Weasleys sitting in a little knot off to the side with their mates, periodic bursts of their laughter still punctuating the celebratory night.

One lone figure caught his eye, however. Making his way toward the familiar fellow seated on some steps carved into the steep pathway that led from Hagrid's hut toward the castle, he summoned two fresh bottles of butterbeer from what was left on the tables.

"Why aren't you celebrating with the rest of them?" Percy greeted him, his tone jovial as his chin jutted out toward the group of their siblings in question.

Charlie held out one of the bottles to him, and Percy accepted it with soft thanks. "Just between you and me, that lot makes me feel a little old," Charlie wryly confessed. As time went by, he seemed to have less and less in common with George with his wife – their twin sons having been taken home by Arthur several hours ago – and Ron and Ginny with their friends and significant others. He very much wanted to chalk this fact up to their age difference rather than anything else.

Percy only chuckled.

"And you?" Charlie countered.

Percy's smile now took on a slightly pained aspect. "Just between you and me... that lot makes me feel more than a little unwanted," he offered, mimicking Charlie's wry delivery but adding a whiff of bitterness. "And before you protest otherwise, don't bother. I know that in the space where logic resides in their minds, they've accepted my apology if not totally forgiven me. But that doesn't mean any of them particularly wish to spend any time in my company."

"Perce... it was four years you were gone," Charlie counseled. "It'll take time for things to get back the way they were." If anyone knew how much distance affected a relationship, he did.

"Heaven forbid we resume that," Percy muttered. "I don't particularly miss playing the wet blanket to everyone else's picnic. And you mustn't misunderstand me; I'm not whinging about the lack of welcome. For the most part, the feeling's mutual. Nor do I blame them one whit."

"Would you rather I leave you alone?" Charlie offered, perfectly willing to respect his brother's wishes for solitude. He set it great store by it, himself, and would never begrudge someone else's desire to be alone. "I won't be offended, honest."

But Percy patted the stone step he sat upon. "Pull up some gneiss and take a load off," he said in a friendly tone.

"When you say things like that, is it any wonder people think you're a prat?" Charlie chuckled, easing himself onto the step.

"That was a very humorous and clever comment," he insisted, and Charlie was mostly sure he was only pretending to take offense. "And I refuse to dumb myself down to the insipid average. Nor do I include you in that morass," Percy quipped just before taking a long drink from his bottle.

"Leave my arse out of it, thank you very much," Charlie chortled.

"So, they make you feel old, do they?" Percy needled him while keeping his eye on the younger members of their family.

"Amongst other things," Charlie sighed. After a thoughtful pause, he added, "I've been gone for so much of their lives... They've changed so much... grown up, really. I know they're my family, but..."

"They're strangers," Percy said, completing his thought. "You don't know them, and they sure as hell don't know you. I understand you completely."

Perhaps not completely, Charlie thought, his secret-elephant tapping him on the shoulder with its trunk.

Percy considered his bottle. "Speaking of feeling old... have you ever wondered about the age gap between you and me? How we're four years apart while everyone else is two years or less?"

Charlie shrugged, not very clear on where Percy was leading the conversation. Perhaps his brother had been tippling a bit too much? "Not really. I mean, there was a war going on." Small wonder if things got a bit too hairy for a while to consider trying for a baby.

"I've spent some time in the Department of Vital Records and discovered something rather... interesting." Percy now picked at the bottle's label, and Charlie felt decidedly leery of what was coming next. "Does the name Richard Leander Weasley mean anything to you?"

Charlie shook his head, then a flash of recollection hit. "Wasn't Mum's dad called Leander?"

Percy nodded. "Well, you were not quite two years old at the time. Bill was nearly four, but that's still awfully young," he said in a hushed, leading voice.

"What?" Charlie pressed, recognizing he was being baited. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear what was coming, but he didn't enjoy being led along for naught, either.

Percy sighed. "Mum had a miscarriage," he said softly. "Between you and me. I never knew before I stumbled upon the stillbirth certificate. I've been wondering ever since if you or Bill remembered anything about it."

Charlie shook his head again, still trying to absorb the startling news. I suppose it makes a kind of sense, timing-wise. And I can understand why neither Mum nor Dad ever wanted to discuss it with us. "Why were you nosing about in vital records?" Charlie asked, suddenly suspicious – of what, he wasn't quite sure.

Percy snorted. "There've been an awful lot of things I've done that nobody knows about." He took a very dramatic drink from the bottle.

It wasn't any mystery what he wanted. "I'm listening," Charlie said, humoring his brother.

But Percy seemed to have thought better of his confession and demurred, shifting the subject slightly. "You'll probably think that what I'm about to say is blasphemous, but sometimes I curse the day Dumbledore came into our lives," he confessed, glaring at his bottle. "In fact, there are moments when I'm quite pleased the Machiavellian old pouf snuffed it."

"I won't argue the old codger was manipulative, but I don't think his sexuality had anything to do with it," Charlie countered, gritting his teeth. He wasn't sure why his brother's casual use of the slur irritated him so – Merlin knew his colleagues certainly employed much uglier terms than "pouf," and he generally let those just roll off his back.

Percy donned his wry smile again. "Quite right. His being gay had nothing whatsoever to do with his being a plonking arsehole."

Over the years, Charlie had discovered that most people fell into one of two diametrically opposed camps regarding Albus Dumbledore: one focused exclusively upon his illustrious contributions to wizarding society, the other harped upon his many personal faults. As a member of the Order, Charlie could see the merits of both arguments. Dumbledore was an incredibly powerful wizard and unquestionably devoted to fighting evil, but harbored the nastiest penchant for keeping secrets and hoarding information to the point of playing God he'd ever come across.

"I like to think he was doing what he thought he had to in order to win the war," he offered. "Such an exceptional enemy required exceptional tactics." Including exceptional sacrifices. His thoughts turned to one name amongst half a hundred carved on the marble monument just around the corner: FREDERICK CYRUS WEASLEY.

"True again," Percy replied, scowling. "No matter how many lives he ruined, it was all for a good cause. One that we've celebrated today. All of us here are much better off, surely."

There was no mistaking the sarcastic bitterness in Percy's voice. Aside from George and their parents, Fred's loss had seemed to hit him the hardest, which was a bit surprising, considering the brothers' history of bickering incessantly. Perhaps it's got something to do with the fact Percy witnessed it firsthand? Then again, so did Ron, and he seems to have bounced back comparatively well.

"I miss Fred, too. But casualties are unavoidable in war, Perce. He did die fighting for a good cause."

"I know," Percy sighed.

After observing a considerate pause out of respect for the dead, Charlie asked, "What did Dumbledore do to you that was so terrible? He got you an awfully good job for a kid right out of school."

Percy narrowed his eyes, thinking back to that summer four years ago. "Yes. Like my elder brothers before me, I ostensibly owed Dumbledore for my entry-level Ministry position. Not my father, who was a tenured Ministry employee, or my stellar academic record, but Dumbledore, my Headmaster." Once again, his voice was tinged with bitterness.

"I didn't enjoy the way he made me feel beholden to him for it. I'd earned everything I'd ever gotten in school all on my own: my grades, my OWLs and NEWTs, being Head Boy. So, at the time, it was rather easy to convince myself that maybe his string-pulling had very little to do with my success on the job – that perhaps my scholastic reputation and achievements were what had earned me my position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, after all. And when Crouch promoted me so quickly, entrusting me with his directives and ceremonial duties during his absence, such things admittedly fed my suspicions."

"Your cauldron bottoms project must've really impressed him," Charlie offered, gently teasing him with the old family joke.

Percy smiled wryly again. "Yes, yes, it was asinine of me to take the thing so seriously. Who gives a toss about cauldron bottoms, eh? Only... potioneers do, actually... quite a lot. For their personal safety as well as that of anyone who consumes or uses their products. The whole investigation was launched because several of our best brewers had been injured in freak accidents linked to shoddy equipment. I don't apologize for caring about that or for being diligent and thorough in my assignment. Is it really too much to require of cauldron manufacturers to exercise some basic efforts in standardization and quality control?"

"No, I suppose not," Charlie agreed, a little chastened. Funny how he'd never thought of it that way before. It had always been so easy to view everything Percy'd done through the lens of pleasing authorities and cherishing rules for their own sakes.

Percy rubbed the back of his neck. "I was mortified after the fiasco at the Triwizard Tournament when I learned how our enemies had used me to get to Harry," he said, his voice hard and full of regret. "I suppose Pettigrew and his master counted it as a stroke of luck to discover a Weasley was available to manipulate, relying on me to favor Harry over the other champions when I was a judge, ensuring he'd make it to the Cup-Portkey."

His voice took on a self-accusatory tone. "I know I should've been more skeptical when Crouch tapped me for so much responsibility when I had so little experience and seniority – the man never once got my name right, for Merlin's sake – but I was so sure he was giving me an opportunity to prove myself worthy of his trust!" Then he became defensive. "And I'd only known Crouch for a few weeks before he'd been Imperiused. It's not like he ever ordered me to do anything unethical or illegal while he was supposedly ill and sending me directives from home. It was an honest mistake!" Percy argued as if on trial once more.

"To be perfectly blunt, I've always wondered how you managed not to get sacked over that," Charlie confessed.

Percy smirked. "The inquiry committee was about to recommend that very thing, dear brother," he grumbled. "I panicked and went crawling back to Dumbledore, begging him to intercede on my behalf. He offered to owl a few of the committee members, certain he could get my punishment softened down to an official reprimand."

"That seems like a decent thing for him to have done," Charlie suggested, wondering why Percy's scowl was deepening.

Percy's nose twitched with distaste. "That's the precise moment the old dragon's claws sank all the way in," he growled softly. "Dumbledore suggested to me that, in the near future, Fudge would be making a grab for power and launching a campaign to discredit him, fearing for his position. He recommended that I do whatever it took to get into Fudge's good graces and stay there.

"I told Dumbledore I would never work for someone I respected so little as to spy upon him! That I would never betray my employer's trust, that no position was worth stooping so low. He then warned me that perhaps his own influence amongst the inquiry committee might not be as solid as he'd hoped, and that I might better rethink my career in the Ministry, just in case."

Charlie squirmed a little in discomfort. He'd never had an occasion to think twice about anything Dumbledore had asked him to do. To his knowledge, neither had Bill. But he could certainly understand why Percy had balked at outright spying. That Dumbledore had used such a heavy-handed manner to impel Percy to compromise his ethics bothered him a great deal.

"All I've ever wanted out of life was to devote myself to public service," Percy confessed. "I firmly believe that the thankless task of a civil servant is also a noble one – that society would grind to a halt without such organization, no matter how trivial it seems to those on the outside looking disdainfully in." His eyes narrowed. "The old bastard had me up against the wall, and we both knew it.

"I did what he wanted – slunk back to Fudge with my tail between my legs – but the bubble of Dumbledorian admiration had quite burst for me by then. I dropped his name as frequently as I could within Fudge's hearing but in a consistently disparaging way – not that this was any great stretch for me. I told anyone who would listen that despite our family's long connection with the Hogwarts' Headmaster, I wanted to be my own man. Again, this was hardly a falsehood.

"Fudge fell for it hook, line, and sinker. He'd made me a Junior Assistant by the end of that June. As expected, our esteemed Minister began pumping me for information about Dumbledore immediately. And as instructed, I fed him whatever he wanted to hear." Percy rubbed his temples, his tone a guilty twinge.

"Fudge was an unmitigated arse," Charlie offered by way of absolution. He had no real idea what had become of the fool since leaving office, nor did he care.

"That's what I kept telling myself at the time," Percy ruefully agreed. "Kept rationalizing away all the lies, trying to convince myself that Fudge deserved to be duped by someone he trusted rather than convinced of the error of his ways, that the subterfuge and sabotage was all for a greater good.

"Then Dumbledore insisted I raise the stakes. He'd heard some rumor that I was under suspicion, supposedly. He told me to prove my false-loyalty to Fudge by severing ties with the rest of you, arguing that to do otherwise would leave me open to accusations of being a double agent. Which was, in fact, exactly what I'd fucking become."

"Are you bloody serious?" Charlie spluttered, stunned by the revelation. The most divisive event in the history of their family had been at Dumbledore's bidding?

Percy glared out at nothing across the expanse of lawn. "Thing is, Mum and Dad were never made privy to that little detail of The Plan. I never meant for the row to go as far as it did. I tried to warn you all about Dumbledore's manipulations, hoping one of you would question him about me and find out the truth I was forbidden to reveal. Of course I'd known Dad was right all along – that Fudge hired me in hopes I'd funnel information about Dumbledore and his supporters, including all of you. I'm neither barking mad nor a complete moron!"

Percy drew a deep breath before he continued. "But such was my reputation amongst you that none of you questioned my actions or trusted my motives."

"Not true," Charlie insisted, an upwelling of guilt threatening to choke him. "Mum did. She kept telling everyone that none of it made sense. That you wouldn't just abandon us without a reason. But we didn't listen. I'm sorry for that, Perce. Really sorry."

Percy looked at him through the corner of his eye. "Don't get me wrong – I'm not blaming any of you, really. Nor do I imagine I'm such a consummate actor as to have so convincingly pulled off a complete reversal of personality. I'd been a pompous arse to you all for so long, why would you expect anything different, much less give me the benefit of the doubt? But I never would have said those things to Dad... Never imagined Dumbledore wouldn't have somehow let you all know what was really going on..."

Percy blinked fiercely for a few moments, gathering himself, before continuing the story. "I was there at Harry's trial, you know – Fudge brought me along as a scribe. I was so worried for Harry, but I couldn't let it show or else risk my position. Then Dumbledore swooped in, made his usual speech, got the charges dismissed, and swooped out, leaving us all agog in his robe-billowing wake. I'll never forget waking up that morning to his Patronus, reminding me not to acknowledge him, or Harry, or... or Dad.

"I hated every moment of that wretched autumn and winter that followed the trial," Percy growled. "I funneled information to Dumbledore – mainly about Umbridge's mission and her connection with Fudge. But I began to wonder then if some of what Fudge was spewing might not have been on the mark. That perhaps Dumbledore was acting for his own gain, maneuvering in his own grab for power, or at the very least working to shore up what he had. Having experienced firsthand Dumbledore's manipulations and secrecy, some of Fudge's accusations rang rather true."

"Is that why you sent that shitty owl to Ron, warning him away from Harry?" Charlie asked. "You really believed Fudge was in the right?" How could you? Knowing Harry's testimony about You-Know-Who returning was true?

"Partially," Percy admitted. "I did suspect Dumbledore of ulterior motives at the time. But I also knew the scope of Umbridge's orders – that she was sent to ferret out Dumbledore's supporters, Harry first and foremost among them. I was more worried about what might happen to Ron if he was standing right next to the target, you know?"

Charlie nodded, having come to the same conclusion more than once during the war in regards to Ron's seemingly dangerous friendship with Harry.

Percy continued, "I was also aware that, along with everyone else working in Fudge's office, my correspondence was being spied upon at that point. The man was beyond paranoid, and I knew my making a last ditch attempt to turn my own brother away from Dumbledore's pet would help substantiate my faux-loyalty.

"Admittedly, by that time, I was rather cynical about both sides of the coin. Fudge, while possibly accurate regarding Dumbledore's motives, was completely off the mark regarding his denial of You-Know-Who's return and the danger posed therein. And Dumbledore was asking a hell of a lot of me – I hated the necessity of my never-ending duplicity, hated how much pain I'd caused you all, and blamed him for it. I wasn't sure either of the two devils deserved my respect, much less loyalty."

"But you did it," Charlie said, suspecting Percy was owed a debt of thanks he'd likely never get. He found his respect and admiration for his brother increasing quite a bit that evening.

Percy took another long drink. "I learnt several very valuable lessons that autumn – the most important one being the discovery of who really gets things done within a government. Department Heads and other such high-ranking personages like to think they're responsible for the world turning round on its axis, but in my experience, they at best only direct the decisions being made, and that's only on a good day with every aspect in perfect alignment. But those of us low- and mid-level grunts, us bureaucrats – and yes, I know the word is synonymous with 'git' – we cogs in the machine are what drive it forward... or bring it to a standstill." His eyes twinkled wickedly.

"Aha," Charlie chuckled. "I think you might just be a Weasley after all, mate."

Percy snickered somewhat proudly. "I also discovered the value of fraternization during those months," he then added in a decidedly impish manner more befitting a younger twin brother. "Spending time with my peers had never really interested me much before. I'd always preferred to be in the presence of my superiors and therefore make the most of the opportunity to learn from them. When I started socializing with the other younger assistants in the office, I was mainly driven by loneliness. But I quickly realized how much information could be gained from them."

"How very cloak and dagger of you," Charlie quipped.

"Not nearly so," Percy insisted. "There's nothing terribly clandestine about meeting a few blokes at a pub for a bit of disgruntled chatting over a pint or two. Or commiserating over a long, tiresome week with a pretty girl on a Friday evening, blowing off a little steam." Here, he paused to add a smug wink. "But if a fellow kept his ears open, occasionally he'll learn a tidbit or three."

"Well, now, that certainly sounds like a life of hardship," Charlie needled him, taking a stab at lightening the mood. "Booze, mates, and women, you poor wretch. You've just described what nearly every bloke I know looks fondly back upon as his heady days of young bachelorhood."

"I suppose it was some small consolation for the loss of my family," Percy said softly. "Some of those people I still count as dear friends today. But I would've traded the entire Ministry to have been back in all of your good graces." He took a long, thoughtful drink. "It nearly killed me to send Mum's jumper back unopened that year," he said. "Worst Christmas ever, hands down. Spent the entire time alone in my flat, pathetically drunk and wallowing in my misery, ruing the day I ever got caught up in Dumbledore's horrible web."

"Sorry, Perce," Charlie offered, patting his brother's shoulder. He suddenly felt very guilty for his years of avoidance of such family celebrations. He was the sort of man who preferred solitude and quiet, and despite his mother's annual invitations, he'd never bothered returning until last year. But Percy's pseudo-self-enforced separation had clearly affected him deeply.

Percy took a deep breath and straightened up. "The thing that really put me off Dumbledore was when Dad got attacked by the snake right after the hols. I was absolutely livid that the ruddy old ponce had risked Dad's life on a mission right there under my bloody nose. I'd known absolutely nothing about the Order taking it in shifts to guard the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. I couldn't believe the bastard's temerity, expecting me to blindly trust him and do his bidding when he didn't trust me with the smallest clue about anything else going on! And then... and then he forbade me from seeing Dad at St. Mungo's, insisting he was in good hands, and my mission was too important to compromise," Percy spluttered.

He took an angry drink from his bottle and continued in a slightly calmer manner. "When Umbridge summoned us to Hogwarts late that winter, I'll admit I was somewhat eager to see Dumbledore get a bit of comeuppance. And when it came to light he'd been creating an army of students and put Harry at the head of it–"

"You know that's not how it was," Charlie corrected him. "Ron said the idea for that came from Hermione, actually."

"So what?" Percy snapped. "You were a prefect! You know how Dumbledore was like, forever anticipating every problem that ever arose in that blasted school! You cannot tell me our beloved Headmaster didn't know it was going on, and he did nothing whatsoever to dissuade those children from putting themselves in unsupervised, significant danger. The whole thing made me seriously reconsider what the hell Dumbledore thought he was playing at. Maybe Umbridge and Fudge, as odious as they inarguably were, might've been right about him."

"But they weren't," Charlie insisted.

"No, they weren't," Percy sighed, visibly deflating as he agreed. "I realized my own folly when You-Know-Who attacked the Ministry. If nothing else, my faith was renewed in Dumbledore's ultimate goal, of not the entirety of his methods. I'm ashamed I ever put any stock in anything Fudge ever said or did. He was a weak, greedy man, and I hope to God I never let something as empty as power corrupt me like it did him."

"You won't," Charlie assured him. "We bloody well won't let you."

Percy smiled in wry appreciation. "How very comforting to know."

"You landed on your feet after that debacle, as well," Charlie mused aloud. "One might say you've an uncanny knack in surviving your superiors."

Percy winced. "Once again, I suspect my surname had everything to do with Scrimgeour keeping me on. Now don't take this the wrong way, but some of what I said about Dad's reputation in the Ministry was true: back then, he was viewed as something of a harmless, non-ambitious bumbler in the best of lights. But he was also regarded by most as Dumbledore's man, through and through. Scrimgeour was an Auror, for Merlin's sake – it wasn't hard to imagine he planned to keep an eye on the Hogwarts' Headmaster through me."

"Caught in the middle of it all once again," Charlie grumbled sympathetically, thanking God he hadn't been asked to do anything like it. He'd've gone mad in Percy's shoes for any number of reasons, certainly.

"I was used to it by then," Percy claimed bitterly. "And anyway, the stakes were undeniable: You-Know-Who was back, and it was up to the Ministry to stop him. Unfortunately, Scrimgeour had no better plan to do so than Fudge. I, too, can manage to look furiously busy whilst doing absolutely fuck all."

Percy stared off in the distance. "Dumbledore summoned me to meet him in person that summer. At some Muggle teashop in York, of all places. Told me to wear a disguise. He looked ruddy awful then, with that gruesome dead hand of his. He warned me that You-Know-Who would undoubtedly launch a coup d'état, more likely sooner than later. He suggested that I was in a perfect position to observe the Death Eaters' machinations from within the Ministry. I argued my position sounded rather precarious in that case, thank you very much, and I'd prefer to tender my resignation beforehand. But he simply chuckled as if I were making a particularly childish joke. He recommended that I do whatever it took to hold my place within the Minister's office, no matter who might occupy it.

"'And what am I to do then, if You-Know-Who's successful in his bid to become Minister?' I asked him. 'Improvise, my dear boy,' he laughed." Percy shook his head. "Ruddy bastard," he grumbled.

"So, what did you do?" Charlie prompted.

"I tried to mitigate some of my boss' more egregious mistakes, for one thing. Sometimes I wondered if Scrimgeour's solution to the Death Eater problem was simply to lock everyone up. I managed to keep a few innocent people out of Azkaban, but my efforts certainly were a drop in the bucket compared to the number going in on flimsy if not thoroughly trumped-up charges. But he didn't make it terribly easy to do – the man was at least as paranoid as Fudge, though for different reasons. Turned out he was right to think those around him would be his undoing."

"Poor bastard," Charlie muttered.

"Yes, well, while his heart was arguably in the right place, Scrimgeour was inarguably riddled with faults," Percy said. "He was constantly interrogating me about all of you, convinced you were hoarding vital information regarding the key to defeating You-Know-Who. What did I know about Harry? Or Lupin? Or Dumbledore? Was McGonagall second in command, or Moody? How did Hagrid figure in? I'll wager he had just as many Aurors tracking suspected Order members as Death Eaters."

"Fucking hell!" Charlie exclaimed softly, remembering his meeting with Tonks in Berlin. Though that was during Fudge's reign, not Scrimgeour's, he corrected himself. It was sad to think the Head Auror he'd fought alongside with during the riot at the World Cup had made such a poor Minister of Magic.

"I presume you were informed of our ill-fated visit to Devonshire at Christmas that year?" Percy snickered.

"I was," Charlie returned wryly. All his siblings' reports had detailed Scrimgeour's harassment of Harry in an effort to bolster his own reputation, as well as Percy's less-than-fully-heartfelt welcome back into the Weasley fold. His mother's owl was the only one that included even a smidgen of happiness to have seen Percy again.

Percy snorted. "What an unmitigated debacle that was," he muttered. "The only good thing to come of it was that my chilly reception finally convinced Scrimgeour of my pariah status within the family. He eased off his constant interrogations of me after that."

The two brothers were silent for several moments before Charlie quietly said, "We missed you at Bill's wedding."

"I doubt that very highly," Percy replied tersely, then sighed. "I certainly would have preferred to be there with you all that day, no matter what a row it would have stirred, rather than where I was."

"Where were you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I was there," Percy whispered, a long-buried wave of remembered fear sweeping back to haunt him. "In the bloody office when they hauled Scrimgeour away. They came charging in, wands drawn – they wore no hoods or masks, but there was no doubt in my mind who they were. They dragged him off in chains – in bloody chains! – and no one ever saw the poor bastard again.

"They held us there for hours. We were hostages, for all intents and purposes – no communication was allowed in or out. A few of us later sussed out that everyone else in the Ministry that day was either one of their own or Imperiused. It was some kind of miracle Kingsley managed to warn you at all."

Charlie knew that whatever part of the tale would come next, they'd be venturing into territory no Weasley ever spoke very candidly about. The months that stretched between the wedding/coup and the final battle had been dark, trying times filled with fear and constant risk. Ginny and her friends had led a mutiny of sorts at Hogwarts, Ron and his mates had lived hand to mouth on the lam – neither of them discussed the events freely with others. The remainder of the family had all had their own Order missions: sabotage, reconnaissance, recruitment, various other sorties – even the comparatively innocuous-sounding job of hosting meetings and preparing refreshments would've earned Molly a cell in Azkaban (if she'd been captured alive, that is).

"It was as bad for you as it was for the rest of us, wasn't it?" Charlie asked softly.

"I wouldn't go that far," Percy replied equally softly. "I was never hunted, never harassed, never persecuted like the rest of you. I was a pureblood wizard ensconced in the puppet Minister's office as a Junior Assistant. I was being watched but no more so than anyone else. Nobody believed anymore that I was affiliated with the Order – especially none of you."

After a moment's pause, he said, "That was probably the worst part about Dumbledore's death – for me, anyway. He'd been my only remaining connection to you all, tenuous as it was. There I was, sitting in Thicknesse's office, practically in the center of it all... and I had no one left to deliver my information to. No way to warn any of you what was coming."

Percy seemed to shake off the sense of melancholy then and replace it with determination. "So I did what was left to me: I cultivated my reputation for blindly following the letter of every law and encouraged my cohorts to do the same, effectively mucking up many of our government's more disgusting decrees within the molasses of our bureaucracy. We secretly coordinated our efforts to 'lose' critical files for weeks on end and blame each other until the web of deceitful finger-pointing was so tangled they lost their way, chronically mis-scheduling appointments and meetings, generally making arses of ourselves when it came to getting forms completed and documentation registered."

Charlie found himself grinning, envisioning the chaos caused by Percy's efforts. "Well done you," he chuckled.

Percy smiled a bit, too, recalling his little rebellion with pride. "A few of us concocted a plan to appropriate some half-blood birth certificates that were no longer being used, if you get my meaning, to help out desperate folks who could put them to much better use. It's next to impossible to forge one completely, but you can nudge a few of the facts when you know an excellent forgery spell... You know, I really must thank George for that some day."

"I'm sure he'd be pleased, but... how...?" Charlie marveled.

"I caught those two at it back in school – forging new excuses and hall passes out of recycled old ones – and made them tell me how they did it. At the time, I was more concerned with discovering a way to distinguish the counterfeits from the valid ones, but the spell proved its worth to me that year, make no mistake."

"That was a heroic thing you did for those people," Charlie praised him, easily imagining how the falsified pedigrees prevented families from being rent apart, enabling schoolchildren to continue their education. "You should be proud."

But Percy, instead of puffing up like usual whenever praise was directed at him, shook it off. "We could never keep up with demand. I worried that if we produced too many, we'd attract suspicion and put everyone in jeopardy. We took only the direst requests. I still feel horribly about all the people we said no to back then."

"But you were being sensible," Charlie argued. "If you'd been found out, then no one at all would be helped."

Percy smirked. "Sensible... or cowardly? I could have risked more. I should have–"

"You can't let it eat you like this, Perce," Charlie counseled. "You did far more good than you give yourself credit for, I'll wager."

A quiet settled between them then, and both men drained their bottles of butterbeer in the silence.

"Did you do things you were ashamed of? During the war?" Percy asked very softly.

"Not ashamed of, no," Charlie replied honestly. "The stuff Dumbledore asked me to do... none of it ever resulted in a crisis of conscience. But then, I was so far removed from everything the entire time. Maybe he set me the simple task of recruitment because he reckoned that was as much as I could handle. You, on the other hand, he had much higher expectations of – and for good reason."

Percy grimaced. "But you didn't fail miserably–"

"Neither did you!" Charlie insisted. "And believe me, it was some kind of miracle I delivered what few reinforcements I managed despite months' worth of lead time."

"But you pulled through during the critical hour! And you don't have a mountain of regrets piled up behind you in the process."

"Everyone has regrets, Perce. If not about the war, then something else."

"Even you?"

"Even me." And no, I don't want to talk about it, so don't ask. The unfortunate situation with Ileana – walking a tightrope of trying to maintain a friendly relationship while she continually pressed for something more – or his failure to tell his family what Sasha really meant to him: none of these things ranked high on his list of things to boast about.

Time to change the subject. "I've always wondered how you managed to turn up at the battle the way you did."

Percy smirked. "It started several months prior, actually. See, the Christmas before the battle proved nearly as depressing as the first one I spent apart from you all. I was morosely ruminating on the insignificance of my war effort, my life in general. I wondered how much longer we would be able to keep on with our petty little resistance – several of my friends and co-conspirators were under investigation, a few of them had disappeared completely. I was beside myself with worry about you all, especially Ron, and yes, even for my own miserable hide. I eventually dragged my maudlin carcass out of my flat, out of London altogether, and somehow found myself leaning against the bar of the Hog's Head."

"Here in Hogsmeade?" Charlie confirmed.

Percy nodded. "The very one. In what was very nearly a drunken stupor, I confided to no one in particular what a damn shame it was to be an informant with no one left to report to. And in a prodigious stroke of luck, the estimable Mr. Dumbledore bustled my sodden arse into his most moderately dingy room, sobered me up, and offered to act as my liaison to what remained of the Order."

"Hang on... Dumbledore?" Charlie cried softly, worried for his brother's sanity. "You saw his ghost?"

"That would be Dumbledore the Younger," Percy chuckled. "I am speaking of Aberforth, not Albus. And a very clever, very brave fellow he is, I must say. He instantly believed me when I explained what his brother had asked of me, bless him. And we both agreed that my reputation as a turncoat would otherwise taint my information if anyone in the Order suspected I was the source. So he agreed to be my go-between, in effect laundering my inside information."

"Well, fancy you with all your Black resourcefulness on display," Charlie playfully teased.

"Mustn't forget my dogged Prewett determination," Percy quipped. "Let's give credit where credit's due."

"I suppose so," Charlie laughed.

"Anyway, our arrangement lasted throughout the winter and spring leading up to the final battle. I'd pass along what I knew about Death Eater targets, any particularly worrisome new legislation, some possible weaknesses. In return, he kept me abreast regarding the safety of my family and promised to notify me when anything major developed, for we both assumed that, at some point, Harry would have to make a stand and fight."

"The prophecy," Charlie murmured.

Percy nodded. "I know it sounds ridiculously sentimental, but when I finally met up with everyone in the castle that night – present company excluded, of course – I was so overwhelmed with joy to simply lay eyes on them all again. I begged them to forgive me for ever doubting Dumbledore and for allowing them to think I'd turn my back on them even for a moment. And then Fred... Fred was the first to welcome me back. Can you believe it?"

Charlie nodded, but only because he'd heard that bit from several different witnesses to the reunion. "Have you told any of them? What you've just told me?" He suspected Percy hadn't – otherwise, he'd expect their younger siblings to treat him far better. Regardless, he'd personally be making a point to demand it of them anyway, ignorance notwithstanding.

Percy shrugged. "Mum knows... well, not all of it... but a fair portion."

"You ought to tell them," Charlie suggested. Then he scolded himself for butting his nose into Percy's business like an overbearing elder brother. And you've set such an excellent example of transparency and trust, haven't you?

"The subject's never really come up," Percy stated, indicating that particular avenue of conversation was over. "And I don't plan on ever broaching it, really. I'm glad to have spoken with you about it, but you must believe me that I never intended to do so. What's done is done and best left in the past – especially in my case. No use rehashing it over and over. Let's not turn into grizzled old war veterans who have nothing left but reliving those days. Let's move on."

"If you say so," Charlie conceded reluctantly.

"Speaking of moving on... I think George's better half is looking for some help dispersing the last entrenched remnant of the party," Percy chuckled.

Charlie turned to see their Muggle sister-in-law striding toward them with a clear purpose. "And she thinks we're to be the brute squad?" he grumbled teasingly.

"Speak for yourself," Percy quipped. "I'm obviously the brains of this operation."

Charlie snorted. "Brawn does not equate a lack of intelligence," he protested whilst flexing his arm and chest muscles menacingly. "I suggest you mind your manners, you Bowtruckle-necked parchment herder."

Percy rolled his eyes. "Is that what impresses the witches on your little mountaintop? You'll have to try a little harder here in civilization, brother. Your lizard-brained humor leaves a bit to be desired, I'm afraid."

Charlie laughed, enjoying a bit of brotherly banter. He couldn't remember a time when Percy just let himself play along instead of taking every teasing word deadly seriously. Whatever it was that had happened to him... to them both... to them all during the war, he decided the changes were by and large for the better. The whole experience certainly clarified one's priorities, if nothing else.

"Thanks, Perce," Charlie chuckled. "It's been really good catching up with you."

Percy's teasing sneer softened into a real smile. "Me, too, Charlie. Me, too."