Cyanide

Part 1: Call to Arms

Disclaimer: They aren't mine, although I've been borrowing them on a regular basis lately.

"Wonder if Percy knows all that stuff about Crouch?" Ron said as they walked up the drive to the castle. "But maybe he doesn't care . . . it'd probably make him admire Crouch even more. Yeah, Percy loves rules. He'd just say Crouch was refusing to break them for his own son."

"Percy would never throw any of his family to the dementors," said Hermione severely.

"I don't know," said Ron. "If he thought we were standing in the way of his career . . . Percy's really ambitious, you know . . ."

--- Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Percy Weasley would never have admitted it to anyone, least of all himself, but his office in the Ministry of Magic was really a rather boring place. At least, it was boring in the sense that it saw very little action; while he did believe that the work he did was important, he knew that it would never show up in the pages of the Daily Prophet. For example, people expected their cauldrons to be safe and of high quality, and gave little thought to the fact that someone had to maintain the regulations that kept them that way. No one was likely to contact him to commend him or even to complain to him.

Thus, he had not expected his fire to spring to life to reveal the face of Albus Dumbledore, the aged Hogwarts Headmaster. Dumbledore had actually spent the past several weeks working in many of the same Ministry buildings that Percy himself haunted, but Percy had seen very little of the man. Dumbledore had stuck close to Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, and had watched his every move. Now that things had settled down after a period of intense, frightening Dark activity, Dumbledore had returned to his beloved school.

Almost as soon as he had left the Ministry, though, he had contacted Percy and expressed the desire to see him personally. Percy, having little to do and a stock of vacation time, had Apparated to Hogsmeade and was now walking along the well-trod path to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The path, as simple a thing as it was, awoke an odd array of emotions in Percy. Foremost in his mind was a sense of déjà vu. He had walked on this path twice a day on every Hogsmeade Saturday that the school had held between his third and seventh years. At first he, like all the students, had been eager to explore the fascinating village. In later years, he had gone because as a prefect he had had a duty to be available to the younger students who might get into unpleasant situations and require his help.

But as familiar as he was with this path, and as much as he belonged on it, he also did not belong on it. He was no longer a Hogwarts student, and had not been such for well over a year. In many ways he had thrived at the school, and he had certainly adored it, but now it was a place only for younger brothers and sister. He had done his time.

When he had first graduated, his feelings had been positive but surreal. Yes, he had been Head Boy, and yes, he had been at the top of his class, and yes, he had scored near-perfect marks on the NEWTs, and yes, he had gotten a job with the Ministry, as he had long wanted. Still, though, he had caught himself thinking more than once When I get back to Hogwarts, I will before remembering that he would never go back. Then he had begun to think of the things he hadn't done while he was there, most notably the social opportunities he had lost because he had been busy cultivating his air of perfection and auditioning for the role of prefect and later Head Boy. He had dated, certainly, and had been accepted as a part of the prefects' exclusive social circle, but he had forged no lasting, loyalty-oath-inspiring relationships like that which existed between his brother Ron and his friends Harry and Hermione, or even like that which existed between the twins and their friend Lee-- not that the twins had ever exactly needed anyone but each other.

Now that he was on the subject of Hogwarts friendships, Percy tried to recall the social situations of his elder brothers, Bill and Charlie. They had been a Head Boy and a Quidditch captain, and as such had been popular, but were they still friends with the people they had met at school? He did not really think so, but Bill and Charlie were nine and seven years Percy's seniors, and he had never been old enough to be entirely up-to-date on their lives. Even now, when he had completed his education and so had they, they were off having exotic adventures in Egypt and Romania and he had returned to the Burrow and gone to work with their father. As much as his younger siblings had liked to call him "Percy, the Perfect Prefect," he could not quite claim that he was as successful as Charlie or Bill. He was nearly twenty years old, but he had not exactly taken over the world. Instead, he had strained to be accepted by the older members of the Ministry, but had remained an unimportant fish in the most important pond of all.

He had spent some time at Hogwarts the previous year, his first after graduation, because of a disastrous event known as the Triwizard Tournament. At the time, he had thought it a fantastic idea and had even regretted that he was no longer enrolled at Hogwarts and eligible to be a champion. It had been practically required (socially if not officially), from what he had gathered, for the students who were old enough to place their names in the Goblet of Fire and attempt to compete. Every prefect, he was sure, who was of age would have attempted to represent Hogwarts.

Instead, though, he had attended some events as a Ministry representative. The worst had been a task which had involved Ron being held as bait beneath the danger-filled lake so that his friend Harry could rescue him. Dumbledore would never have let Ron drown, and Harry was nothing if not determined, but, really, Harry had been too young to be taking part in the Tournament and he didn't even know how to swim properly! It wasn't his fault, of course, that no one had ever taught him, but Percy's worry for Ron had increased to the point that when the friends finally did surface, with another "hostage" in tow, he had run out into the lake to see for himself that Ron had survived the ordeal. Ron had been mortally embarrassed, naturally, but Ron was often mortally embarrassed by Percy and Percy had grown used to it.

In retrospect, perhaps he had made himself look a bit childish and immature by dashing out after Ron when there were safety precautions all around. The twins and Ginny, their younger sister, had been present as well and none of them had made public displays of themselves.

He quickened his pace along the road. That won't be Hogwarts' last image of me for long! He had a reputation and he was bound and determined to protect it. He had taken great steps toward that goal a month earlier, when Death Eaters had lured almost half the student body of Hogwarts into danger in the village that housed the Ministry offices and little more. Percy had been able to come to the aid of his brother's class and he had peeked at the report of the incident. It claimed that he had been calm, cool, collected, and of considerable help.

The road became a path and then a drive. He had no trouble entering the castle, and he turned promptly toward the staircase that led to Dumbledore's office. He had no desire to wander about and find someone else to talk with; no, he wanted to see no one but the man he had come to see. His single-mindedness sprang from a variety of reasons, not least of wish was the fact that he had absolutely no idea why Dumbledore wanted to talk to him in person, and here.

For a second, and no more, he put his head down, and when he glanced up Dumbledore was standing at the foot of the stairs. As anyone who had ever read Hogwarts, A History, knew, one could not Apparate or Disapparate within the castle, so Percy had no idea how Dumbledore had managed to appear. He had long ago learned, though, that there was no point to inquiring about such things. Dumbledore was a genius, and one of the most powerful wizards in history. Certainly he was a hero-figure in Percy's life; but he was also a bit mad, and Percy knew it. A question about his sudden appearance would be answered with an entirely unconnected and most likely inconsequential bit of information.

"Percy! Thank you for coming so promptly. Did you know that the Muggles in London are having a festival of some sort this week?"

"No, Sir," answered Percy, sensing that even without asking questions he was going to be treated to a display of the Headmaster's quirks. Entering the office, he sat in a chair and listened half-heartedly, although with the appearance of politeness. Ordinarily, his politeness would not be feigned, but his former school was for some reason making him nervous and he was growing more curious by the moment to learn the reason for his visit.

" . . . .Interesting, the Muggles," Dumbledore finally completed, and Percy brought himself to full attention. "But we have more serious matters to discuss. I would like to commend you once more on your behavior during our recent field trip crisis." Dumbledore looked truly disgusted. From what Percy understood, Dumbledore had attempted to stop that crisis before it had started, but Ministry regulations had prevented him from reaching his goal.

"Thank you."

"You must have been frightened knowing that Ron was likely to be right next to the primary target."

"Ron always seems to be in the middle of things. But he handled himself as well as anyone could have hoped."

"It was truly heroic behavior. That seems to run in his family." Percy nodded at the compliment. "It was a major blow to the cause of light magic, though, that such a thing could happen at all. The Death Eaters have become quite confident. I shudder to think how many people they may have in the Ministry."

Percy paled slightly beneath his freckles. He knew that he was not being accused personally-- Dumbledore knew him too well for that-- but he still felt that he should defend the Ministry. "Sir, we did attempt--"

Dumbledore waved him off. "Yes, yes, I know what happened. I spent weeks there as a result, as you'll recall."

"Of course."

"The situation is not as grim as it may sound, and it is certainly not unexpected. In any conflict, there will be spies. There are even spies in operation during the Inter-House Quidditch Championship. I believe your brothers Fred and George have been known to dabble in that pursuit. And the Ministry, and I, have always had spies within the Death Eaters' circle."

"Yes, I remember Father discussing the spies after the first fall of You-Know-Who, when the Ministry was just sorting through who was acting of their own free will and who had done what."

"You would have been a very young child at the time."

"I was five, almost six, when the war ended. I had gotten into the habit of paying attention to every conversation I heard about Death Eaters, and You-Know-Who, and attacks, because I liked to know before my parents told me if I was going to be sent to a safe house or a hideout."

"Wars are difficult for children." Dumbledore sighed, and Percy was tempted to explain that, really, it hadn't been so bad growing up in semi-hiding, and that his memories of suddenly being allowed to play in the sun whenever he liked and living constantly in one place that was his family's own far outshone the memories of attic rooms and lectures that ended with be quiet, or else the Death Eaters will come for you and your brothers! He did not resent that he had lived the life of a Ministry Brat during the war. It had been a necessity, and he knew well that his situation could have been much, much worse.

Many children of his age and younger had been murdered because they had not been directly threatened or carefully protected, as Ministry Brats were. He had not always been in hiding, or hunted down especially, because his father had not been a top-ranking Ministry official.

But he did not need to speak, because Dumbledore was forging ahead. "As I was saying, we have a number of useful spies. Our most useful of all, though, we fear is suspected. That makes the others all the more vital. Once a spy passes a certain quantity of information he simply admits that he is a spy, and needs our protection. He is no longer useful. In some cases, it is most useful if a spy announces publicly that he is a spy, so that the population at large can trust in the facts they have been given."

"That makes sense," Percy replied, but he did not think that it made sense at all. It did not make sense for Dumbledore to be speaking to him this way, and about this subject. Dumbledore had made his needs obvious, but surely Percy could not fulfill them. He came from a family that worked incessantly against the Dark Lord. Lucius Malfoy had a personal, long-term vendetta against Father.

"Well, then. Would you be willing to help?"

"I'll do anything you ask me to do," he answered sincerely. "Tell me what."

"I would think that it would be obvious by now. I would like you to become a Death Eater."

Bells began to clang in Percy's head. He had known for what the Headmaster was asking, but it sounded different now that the request had been voiced aloud. A Death Eater? A spy? Espionage was the absolute last choice of Percy's list of potential careers. He would sooner work with Fred and George in their joke shop, which was looking like a reality now that the twins had come into a large amount of gold by means that Percy could only hope were legal.

In addition to helping him develop a lifelong fear of breaking rules except in the most dire of circumstances, Percy's time spent tucked away from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his comrades had convinced him that he wanted to be a part of the Ministry. He wanted to be one of those smart, protective people who kept the Dark Lord away. He wanted to make sure everyone was safe. He wanted to be like his father. As he grew, he had learned that accomplishing these goals meant being good, the best. He had, then, consciously set himself to being good, the best, at a frighteningly young age. When he had seen Mother's reactions to his high marks and impeccable behavior, he had pushed himself even harder. Being good became not just a means to a goal but an end in itself.

Percy disliked the power-hungry House of Slytherin as much as the next Gryffindor did, but he was ambitious. He enjoyed being good. He enjoyed being publicly acknowledged as good. He had never denied that.

No spy had ever been made Minister of Magic. Never. He would be forfeiting the dream that had carried him through most of his life if he answered Professor Dumbledore in the affirmative.

His own goals, though, were not his primary reason for hating the very concept of this assignment. He had watched for years as Mother worried over Charlie, off fighting dragons, and Bill, breaking curses and dealing with goblins. Percy had taken great pride in his role as the son Mother never had to worry about. Aside from loving his mother and wanting to spare her trouble, Percy felt that this was something that made him stand out in a family of exceptional Quidditich players, students, and generally well-known well-liked figures. Mother would certainly worry, though, if he suddenly began to hide his whereabouts, or if he was caught and killed by one side or the other.

Mother was special to him. When Bill and Charlie had already been off at Hogwarts and the twins and Ron had been mere babies, when the first war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had severely limited the options for the amusement of a young child, Mother had always given him as much time as he needed. She had taught him to read at a very young age and had procured children's books for him. She had taught him games, too, chess and gobstones (without the liquid-- squealing upon getting a wet face when one was in hiding was taboo), and had told him stories and sung him songs. She had been the center of his first years, and he would never forget that. Of course, should this mission have the worst possible outcome, Father and his siblings would be upset as well, and the younger ones might become targets for harassment at school. Percy knew very well that teasing could make time at Hogwarts pass unbearably slowly.

Of course, the people who had teased him had been his aforementioned younger siblings.

Brats.

Brats that he loved with all his heart. In his earliest memories, the memories of the hidden rooms and cottages, the constant hisses of "be quiet!" had affected him most not when he was threatened but when Fred and George, and later Ron, had been threatened. He had tried to protect them even then.

He had a responsibility to look out for them now; and what better way to do so them than to fight the force of evil that might before long shove them into a safe room-- or a grave?

Each of his siblings, from Bill, who was already running who-knew-what errands for Dumbledore, to Ginny, who had been born just two months before the first fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and was not yet halfway through her education, was willing to fight to the death for the cause of light magic. It was Mother's cause, and Father's, and Bill's and Charlie's and Fred's and George's and Ron's and Ginny's. And his. Percy's.

He knew that he could not refuse Dumbledore's offer no matter how much he might wish he could.

"With all due respect, Sir," Percy said courteously, speaking aloud to avoid the masses of thoughts that were swimming through his brain, "I don't know how to become a Death Eater."

Dumbledore laughed, far too merrily for someone who had just sentenced his companion to a probable physical death and a certain career death.

"When you were a student here, you knew what went on, did you not? The answer, if you'd like a hint, is 'yes.' You did. Everyone does. You knew who was practicing dark magic in his dorm room and whose father was a Death Eater. I refuse to believe that you cannot find someone to approach."

Percy thought, quickly. "I can."

"Then do. I would give you a name, but I'd rather you did this on your own. You must live this role, Percy. You need to convince yourself that you want to become a Death Eater. This is what you want from your life."

"I want to be a Death Eater."

"Then, you're in the wrong place. We try rather hard to keep your kind out of here."

Percy rose. "I'll be in touch."

"Do. I imagine you'll want to come see Gryffindor's first Quidditch match, now that you have a third brother on the team."

"Yes. I have to see him try out his new broom."

"I suppose I'll see you then."

Thus dismissed, Percy left the room, the castle, the Hogwarts Grounds. He Apparated back to his office as soon as he could. He suspected that he would miss its regularity and paperwork very, very soon.

Note: This story has a prequel called Innocence Lost and Found. You don't have to read it to read this, and the stories focus on entirely different sets of characters. But some events referenced here are explained in full there.