Giftee: The Pinch Hitters
Word Count: ~ 1500
Author/Artist's Notes: Thank you to both fiona_fawkes and my beta ??? for their comments which helped save this story from becoming a genfic!
Summary: "To save the world, he must first unmake it."
It happens like this:
Revelations and insanity all coalesce into one bright pinpoint of clarity and suddenly, Percy knows what to do.
It’s all so simple.
To save the world, he must first unmake it.
Five year old Percy doesn’t understand how Muggles don’t have magic. “It’s everywhere,” he insists as Molly just pats his arm. “Why can’t they see it?”
“You’ll understand when you’re older,” she tells him.
Percy frowns and thinks, those stupid Muggles.
Percy’s always been careful. He’s always been the sane one. Not like Fred and George with their crazy jokes and pranks. Not like Ron, who always got into tangles that almost cost him his life more than once. Not even like Bill, who’s always been the unique one.
That’s why Harry stares at him with such horror when he realises that his lover is a Death Eater. Has been for years.
“Our world’s rotting,” Percy explains, calmly and slowly as if he’s explaining a particularly difficult Arithmancy problem. “The Ministry’s corrupt. You said that yourself, Harry. I’m not saying the Death Eaters are the only solution, but right now, politically, they’re my best option.”
Harry stares at him, his expression a mixture of anger and betrayal. His fingers creep towards his wand, but Percy already has his out.
“I wouldn’t do that,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to hurt you, Harry.”
Nine year old Percy has a Muggle friend from the local village. Little Ricky is bright eyed and curious.
One day, Ricky tells him a secret. His father plays games with him at night. Private games. Interesting games. He’s not supposed to talk about it, but Percy’s his best friend and Percy would never tell. Right? Right?
Ricky moves away when Percy is ten. The image of Ricky, with his mop of messy black hair waving madly as the car drives away, haunts Percy later. Especially when he realises just exactly what Ricky’s father was doing with the games.
It’s then that Percy begins to hate Muggles, Ricky’s father in particular, but the whole dirty corrupt system that allowed his friend to be abused.
“I’m glad that you’ve chosen to join our cause,” Lucius says smoothly. He claps a hand on Percy’s back. “I had almost given up on your family. You surprise me, Weasley.”
Percy smiles faintly and is surprised at the civility of it all. He imagined gore and blood and knives and death, but Narcissa Malfoy’s dinner party is all white lace perfection.
“Cup of tea?” she offers and Percy accepts.
Seventeen year old Percy feels his heart beat faster when he’s in the locker room. All those half-naked boys around him. Especially one messy-haired, green-eyed boy who just happens to be his younger brother’s best friend.
To his surprise, the green eyes stare back at him, with just the briefest glimmer of lust in them.
Later that night, Percy envelops Harry in his arms and kisses him like there’s no tomorrow.
Harry turns to him with a grin. “Ron would have never guessed that you’re so… passionate in bed.”
It comes as a surprise to Percy the first time he’s called upon to torture a Muggle-born. Not using the Cruciatus Curse, which Percy has easily mastered, but with a knife.
“Mudblood,” Lucius tells him impatiently. “It’s a Mudblood.” There's a gleam in his eyes as Percy hesitantly draws out the blade.
Prove yourself, is the unspoken command. Prove yourself by getting the most number of Owls. Prove yourself by being the only Weasley to be successful. Prove yourself by joining the Dark Side. Prove yourself by killing an innocent man.
No wait. An innocent Mudblood.
Percy knows that there’s no such thing as an innocent Mudblood. The sins of the father. How ironic it is that a Mudblood would be killed with a Muggle method. Avada Kedavra is too good for Mudbloods.
He suddenly sniffs. “Do you…?’
Lucius raises one eyebrow. “Did you imagine that it would be clean?”
The Mudblood struggles against the ropes but in vain. The knife is sharp, the blood is red and Percy discovers that blood and vomit are difficult to wash out of silk robes.
Twenty-three year old Percy realises that he has no other choice but to join the Death Eaters.
It’s the only option, however distasteful.
The evidence says so. Percy's weighed up all the pros and cons. It all points to one irretrievable conclusion. If Percy Weasley (perfect, prefect Percy) joins the Dark Lord, it’ll fix everything.
Percy finds this almost funny.
The first time that Percy casts the Killing Curse, he finds himself drenched with sweat. Not because it’s difficult or anything, but rather because it was so easy. He had expected to feel different afterwards, to feel like he had lost a piece of his soul or heart or something, but as he stood with Bellatrix and Lucius in celebration, he realises he feels exactly the same.
“Don’t worry,” Bellatrix says, with a wild laugh, correctly interpreting the expression on his face. “It’s even easier the second time around.”
Percy wonders if he should find this worrying.
Twenty-five year old Percy juggles working at the Ministry (writing about cauldron bottoms and other fascinating things), having a relationship with the famous Harry Potter, and being a Death Eater. It's surprising to Percy how his relationship with Harry has changed his life. Men, who previously would never have given him a second glance, now flirt with him and ask him if he would want to try a threesome.
Percy always politely declines and says he dislikes sharing.
At night, Harry sits up in bed, propped up on pillows, reading a novel, while Percy reads the daily newspapers. Harry looks over and sees the lead article about the Death Eaters. His eyes gleam and his fists clench as he tells Percy all about his plans to take down the Death Eaters. "We're inserting a spy into their ranks. They'll never know until it's too late."
Percy suppresses a shiver at how similar that is to his own situation. He leans over, strokes Harry's hair lovingly and presses a kiss to his scar. "We will prevail," he says quietly and stares at his own covered left arm.
Lucius finds his relationship with Harry amusing. “Staying close to the enemy, eh?”
Percy nods stiffly.
Percy encourages the Muggle attacks and even participates in some of them. He’s careful not to draw the suspicion of his fellow Death Eaters when he deliberately trips over and mutters a spell in full view of the Muggle security cameras.
“Watch it,” Lucius snaps, not even looking in the direction of the cameras. Percy wonders if the other man even knows the Muggles have such technology.
The next day, Percy scours every Muggle newspaper but fails to find any reference to the event.
Twenty-seven year old Percy waits. It’s all coming together now like the perfect equation. The sides are balancing and all it needs is time.
Time for the equation to be applied to reality.
The Muggles declare war on the wizarding world one sunny afternoon in November. It comes to a surprise to everyone except Percy.
The words “Muggle threat” are muttered everywhere.
Percy sees his former lover's face looking out from the front cover of the Daily Prophet. It's been several years since they've broken up. Several years since Percy's been in hiding within Malfoy Manor. Not a day has gone by where Percy hasn't missed Harry's smile, the crooked one that was saved only for him. He sees Harry's face staring out of the Daily Prophet every other day and feels his heart twist. He's careful to hide his weakness from Lucius, who takes pleasure in providing Percy with handsome young men to play with. Yet, as Percy watches one particularly gorgeous specimen take off his clothes with practiced ease, he wishes it was Harry. Harry Potter, the man he still loves with all his heart.
But Percy knows has to go through with this. He knows this with absolute, white hot certainty.
They're on the brink.
He must not fail them now.
Thirty year old Percy watches as the wizarding world unites against the Muggles.
“We must weed out the seeds of corruption within our own Ministry. We must unite! Witches and wizards, together! We must become one strong front against the Muggle menace!” Kingsley Shacklebolt shouts and the crowd cheers.
Percy reads about the Muggle Prime Minister urging for peace. “I have known about the wizarding world for years. They are a peaceful world. We need to take a step back and be rational. The BBC should be ashamed of their warmongering.”
The next day, the Prime Minister is found murdered at 10 Downing Street.
The Dark Lord signs a peace treaty with Minister Shacklebolt and Percy is present, as a witness.
“We must put aside our differences,” Shacklebolt says softly. “The wizarding world must stand united.”
A camera flashes and the next day, every Muggle newspaper is sporting the image next to words like racism and xenophobia and conspiracy.
Percy is surprised when Hermione turns up at his doorstep. She pushes in past him without a word.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asks, polite as always.
She turns on him with accusing eyes. “You did this,” she spits out. “You turned this whole thing into us against them.”
Percy shrugs but does not say anything.
To his surprise, Hermione laughs, a high and cold sound. “You miscalculated, Percy Weasley. Nuclear weapons. Check it up. Not everything fits into your perfect equations. I learned that, why didn’t you?”
Thirty-one year old Percy is terrified that he might have just destroyed the world with his miscalculation.