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Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all.
-Emily Dickenson
The day after the ministry falls, Percy is hungover and dragged into a chair in front of a jury. Umbridge is there. There are so many death eaters there. They are all staring at him, at his red hair, his freckles, his still second-hand - even after three years - dress robes.
And then the new minister, Pius Thicknesse, gives him a long up and down and grins.
“This,” he says to the gathering of death eaters. “Is a good moment. A good example. The Weasleys are a blood traitor family, and Perseus here is a good example of those who follow orders and correct their beliefs.”
He doesn’t say anything.
Doesn’t correct him. Not on how his name is Percy, just Percy, nor how he firmly still believes in the rights of muggles and muggleborns. It’s safer, if he’s honest, to let them believe what they want.
Instead of answering anything, he just says, “Sir. I was the assistant to the last minister of magic. If there is anything I can do to be of use to you, let me know.”
And his life continues on.
The day before the ministry falls, Percy goes to work.
Then after the night falls, he gets drunk. Bill was getting married today. He was invited but… better to not show his face.
He’s asleep when his boss is killed, asleep when his brother's wedding is crashed, and asleep when Voldemort comes into power.
He is awoken in the morning forcefully and dragged out of his apartment.
Percy wonders, on those days after the fall, if the rest of the wizarding world saw it coming. If it was a surprise or merely a brief shock that it happened so soon. Did people hold out hope, like he had in the beginning, that the Ministry would prevail? Or did they see the writing on the wall?
Because he knows those in the office of the Minister of Magic had seen the writing on the wall.
Every morning, Percy had woken up, wondering when the day would come.
He’d go to work. Do his work. Eat lunch. Do more work. Go home to his tiny one-bedroom flat. Sometimes he found himself crying into a pillow, missing the easy way he could rely on a brother- younger or older- to have his back on nights when he genuinely felt sad. He missed his mum and his dad. No matter how strained his relationship with Fred and George became, he missed them too. Ron and Ginny. Bill and Charlie. Then he’d fall asleep, and repeat the cycle the next day.
Maybe a month before the fall of the ministry, however, his routine was… altered. Not changed. Just altered.
“Weasley,” A girl in the office next to him tugged his arm lightly, flashing him a charming smile. “I was hoping you’d come to grab some files with me. You’re much better at organization than I am, and I’m so new, I’m not sure where I’d look.”
Calypso Smith, his mind supplied him as he looked down at her. She was Fred and George’s age, extremely new to the office. A muggleborn. One of the only few muggleborns in Slytherin, if his memory served correctly. If he also recalled, she survived it by positioning herself as though she was one of the ‘good’ muggleborns in the blood purists' eyes. It used to make Fred mad, which in turn made George antsy.
He nodded, “Of course, Miss Smith.”
She smiled. “Please, call me Calypso.”
And then she led him to the office cabinet, her long blonde hair brushing against her back. Looking back on the day, it's strange that that's one of the things he remembers most about it. Her long blonde hair and the way it curled down in gentle waves. Then she turned to him, light green eyes hardening.
“I need you to swear to me that what I speak of here won’t be told to anyone else.”
“I,” Percy blinked. “I suppose.”
“You’re a good man, Weasley.” She said slowly, never letting her eyes leave his. “Better than most, and smarter than most. You’re clever. Cunning. You would have made a fine Slytherin.”
He shifted uncomfortably, “Where are you-”
“They’re going to hunt down muggleborns.” Her words were blunt. “Every single day the ministry gets closer to getting overturned and no one wants to admit it. And when it finally is, they’re going to hunt me and those like me down.”
“I-” He blinked again, pushing his glasses up before nodding. “Yes. I suppose you’re right.”
“I have some sources,” She said slowly, painstakingly slowly, “From back when I was in Hogwarts. They’re- they’re bad people now, but they have been foolish enough to let it slip to me what will happen.”
“We should tell someone-”
“And get ourselves killed?” her voice wavered and finally she looked away. “I’m safe, you know. They’ve already pleaded my case to the Dark Lord. I’m the perfect example of a mudblood knowing her place according to them and as long as I fulfill a marriage contract to a man of pure blood, they’ll let me live.”
Percy’s head was spinning. “That’s insane.”
“Yes,” She looked at him again. “But it will keep me alive long enough to make sure that I can help other muggleborns escape.”
“And- how are you going to do that?”
“Not me. Us.” Calypso held out her hand. “We’re going to forge bloodline certificates for as many muggleborn wizards as we can.”
He shook hers, without thinking.
A coward in the eyes of his family he may be but if he had the chance to save even one life he would take it.
When the death eaters take over, Calypso casually starts wearing the ring of Apollo Carrow, grandnephew of Alecto and Amicus Carrow. She grows paler and thinner. The ring offers her protection from being killed but not from suffering.
Throughout it all, she holds onto something. She never tells him what, just offers him a small smile, and quietly says that they have more work to do.
The office treats her like a muggle detector, and she becomes quite close with Umrbidge.
Always offering a quick smile and asking the Under Secretary about wedding advice, under the guise of making sure she did not disgrace her pureblood fiance by inviting any muggleness into the wedding. Umrbidge doesn’t even seem to notice when Percy slips in and steals the files of those muggleborns she is attempting to prosecute.
They become a team.
Percy finds himself less lonely and wonders if it's selfish to feel relieved at something like that when so many others are suffering.
He stays quiet and tries to forge as many documents as he can in one sitting.
Despite all his efforts, there are a lot of muggleborns he cannot save.
He throws up the first time he realizes one of his schoolmates is on trial. And then he works even harder, trying to find ways to connect any muggleborn who is below the age of 17 to a pureblood family.
He personally connects the Creevy’s as a long distant relative of the Weasley’s.
He saves a lot of kids like that.
There are those he can’t.
Hermione Granger’s name is thrown around the Ministry often, as if she is a boogeyman of muggleborn deviance. Oftentimes, Umbridge will compare her glowing, bridal, Calypso to Hermione. He pretends not to see the way Calypso wilts.
They cannot save Hermione.
If she gets caught- and Percy prays she never does, because if she does it will destroy Ron and Ginny and his mum- she is going to be sent to Azkaban. Or disappeared.
That’s what the office has taken to calling the use of the Killing Curse on particularly troublesome muggleborns.
Percy tries not to think about it too hard.
He also tries not to think about the way that if they are caught, they are both dead.
Percy keeps tabs on Fred and George.
Many of his peers had thought, back when they were all in school, that Fred and George hated him. And to their credit, technically, towards the end of it all, Fred and George did hate him. Do hate him.
But that's not really the whole truth.
The reality of growing up with the twins is that he was, in a lot of ways, their third. They always wanted to pull off bigger and better stunts and pranks, and Percy was usually the one to help them with it, much to the rest of their sibling's distress. Even as they got older and Percy started drifting away because two years was a large age gap when it came to school, Fred and George would include him in their plans.
Not many people know that if the prank really wasn't too bad, he’d encourage it.
That’d changed when he’d made prefect and was made worse when he became head boy. That’s when things really started falling apart.
Now, though, he watched the shop from afar. Peering in the windows and hoping his brothers don't get a glimpse of him.
They had to take down their products mocking Voldemort. It probably killed them to do. None of the rest of the family ever seem to stop by the shop. That probably kills them too.
For all their flaws, the Weasleys really had been tight-knit.
Now, he stares in the windows and hopes the twins know what they’re doing with that radio show of theirs.
Calypso and him work harder than ever.
They are dedicated to it. Covering it up. Burning files. Forging documents. It’s going well.
And then, there is an intruder in the registry office.
So many are freed by- what Percy and Calypso think are Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and the rest of the wizards think are a crazy blood traitor. A good fifty or so.
But it comes at a cost.
Umbridge was lax before. She hadn’t thought anyone would be brave enough to dare attack her or her policies. Now though, now, she kept a much better eye on things.
It makes his and Calypso’s job difficult.
Calypso is like him in many ways. Together, the two of them are strategists. Never good at playing the game, not with the brute force it took, but always good at orchestrating it. Controlling it. Analyzing it.
The two of them scheme so many ways to get the files away from her, to limit the registry.
It means sacrificing some.
They play god.
Those without children or any immediate family are downgraded. They are no longer as large of a priority as those with children. Kids are upgraded. Teenagers. Mothers. Women. Men. Elderly. It feels wrong to rank them but they can no longer save everyone.
So they try to save those with the most to lose.
Calypso goes missing the same night Ron is spotted on the back of a Dragon with Harry and Hermione.
He does not let himself cry.
She is probably dead. The thought hollows him out and eats him away. Percy had known for a long time that her engagement to Apollo Carrow had been nothing more than her stringing him on, but it had kept her safe. Safe enough that they could continue what they were doing. Even when she came into work with fist-shaped bruises barely hidden by concealer magic, she had always given him a wane smile and promised that when this was over she’d give back as good as she got.
Calypso Smith is probably dead.
All Percy can think is that he is so grateful she never had to become Calypso Carrow.
They find out what he’s doing without Calypso there.
She was the planner, after all, and even with all his meticulous detail, she was the reason it kept going over so smoothly.
He is taken into a cell in the chamber under the department of mysteries.
The only thoughts he can think of are about his mother and father.
He doesn’t remember much of Kingsley Shacklebolt rescuing him.
He doesn't remember much about the moments after.
The funny thing is, and he won’t ever actually tell any of his family this after the fact, is that he has no idea how he reconciles with them.
One moment he’s in that haze where he’s seeing things but not actually seeing them, and the next, his face is tucked against Fred’s shoulder and he can feel George pressing against his side, and quietly he wonders when his little brothers became taller than him.
Suddenly, very acutely, he wants to tell them about what he’s been doing.
He pulls back, “I- Fred-”
His brother just shakes his head, offering a lopsided smile. It’s one of the only ways to tell Fred and George apart. They smile on different sides. “Save it, Perce. We’ll talk after the war.”
“We have much to catch up on,” George grins, a mirror of Fred's. “Don’t think we didn’t see you standing outside the shop.”
Percy can feel himself flush straight to his ears, and he wants to respond with more but he’d been getting tortured for a week now, and really, he just wanted this to be over. The war was raging in the background and his family needed help.
Like a mirror of when they were younger, the three of them cling to each other throughout the battle. Ron runs off with Harry and Hermione, Ginny is (hopefully, though Percy doubts) on her way home, Bill and Charlie have teamed up with Fleur and mom and Dad are with the other order members. They end it all like they had begun it in their family.
Together.
“Hello, Minister,” He says, sending a ‘
petrificus totalus’
the minister's way, “Have I mentioned I’m resigning?”
Fred lets out a laugh, loud and barking, “You’re joking, Perce, you’re actually joking-”
And just like that, an explosion rocks the hall. It throws him back. Throws Fred back. He thinks Harry and Ron must’ve been in there somewhere because he can hear them shout.
For a moment, briefly, his life flashes before his eyes. He’s not sure he’s proud of it.
Just as quickly as the explosion rocked them, a spell, gentle and like water, is breezed over them, catching him and Fred mid-air. He whirls around, landing on his feet as Fred staggers to his own feet, disoriented from the blast.
Calypso Smith stands, wand raised and green eyes sparkling. There is a gathering of forty or so wizards behind her. Percy recognizes each and every one of their faces.
“Percy,” She begins, grin cracking, “I brought you your army.”
“Calypso,” He heaves. “Tell me we didn’t smuggle all those muggleborns out of London for you to just bring them back.”
People are staring at him- Fred seemingly can’t decide where to look, him, or the Slytherin girl he’d gone to school with- but all he can do is stagger up and give Calypso a hug.
She hugs him back tightly.
The wizards behind her excitedly shake his hand, thanking him for something that should never have happened in the first place. It’s a brief moment of pure joy in an otherwise terrible battle.
They cannot stay together for long, and the fight rages on.
None of the Weasley family is lost that night.
None, except for Colin Creevy. The boy who Percy personally drew a connection to his family with some hopes it would save him. It didn’t.
After the battle, they are set to mourn.
But so many people come up to him.
Percy sits there as muggleborn after muggleborn comes to him. Telling him that it was his signature of approval that allowed them to flee. To live. To remain in London under the guise of a half-blood or the son of a squib and a muggle or anything.
His family stares at him through all of it. He tells each and every one of them that Calypso is the one they should thank.
Calypso herself is collapsed, asleep next to him with a head on his thigh. Fred and Goerge keep staring at her, trying to compare the girl they’d known who chewed them up in potions class to the thin, battle warn woman she’d become. He really wished the three of them could talk. Calypso was brilliantly clever, and probably could help them run the joke shop.
For now, he wonders how she’s alive and talks in hushed voices to Shacklebolt.
“You saved many.”
“Not as many as we would’ve liked,” He says, feeling empty. “Towards the end... towards the end… we played god more times than we liked.”
“You still saved more lives than anyone else in the Ministry,” Shacklebolt said quietly, leaning down to brush some hair off of Calypso’s face. “It’s a lot to ask. But would you be willing to-”
“Me and Calypso have already been working on a way to revamp the ministry,” Percy informs the new Minister of Magic. “One that, this time, actually allows for muggleborns to succeed without having to put aside their muggle culture.”
Shacklebolt grins.
His father stares at him like this is the proudest he’s ever been.
Percy moves back to the burrow for a while.
After the initial adrenaline rush of the battle, it became clear that Percy had some sort of nerve damage from the Cruciatus curse. It doesn’t actually hinder his work much after Fred gets him an enchanted quill that allows him to speak to the quill and have it written.
His shaking hands make it hard to eat or drink tea, and gripping a way seems hard to do. The healers tell him it's half mental and half physical. His nerves are damaged, but the way that when he panics he doesn’t shake at all…
His mom openly wonders why that is and he doesn’t have the heart to tell her how steady he forced himself to be when signing for people's lives.
Calypso comes to visit a lot.
Both of them are working together to rebuild the ministry, but it's slow and tedious. She has more physical damage than him. Her torture had started long before she disappeared, but she doesn’t show it.
She laughs a lot more than she did during the war. A lot more than she did during Hogwarts, according to Fred and George. Oftentimes, they find themselves debating political structures at length until one of the twins- who have been sticking to him like glue after the events of everything- forces them to break it up.
Calypso offers a steady way to transition back into his family.
It gets easier and easier to breathe.
One day, a little before a year has passed since the end of the war, he stops in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies. It was never really his thing, too much playing and not enough strategy, but Ginny has mentioned playing professionally and she needs a better broom if she’s going to do that.
Christmas is coming up, and it would be nice to get her something.
So he does. He steps into the store and buys her a broom. It’s not a racing broom, Ginny doesn’t really like to fly those. It’s thick and sturdy and she’ll love the feeling of flying something she can rely on. It’s a good gift.
He steps out of the shop, and life continues on.