Dinner in the Great Hall was not pleasant: Word about his shouting match with Umbridge, along with the ensuing punishment had traveled like lightning around the school, breaking the set record for gossip and rumor-mongering. The record for "blown out of all proportion" was also shattered for the first time in over a century. What made it worse still was that all of Slytherin were shouting about it, clearly trying to provoke a reaction that would get Harry into even more trouble and hopefully reveal the whole story.
"He says he saw Cedric murdered…"
"…dueled You-Know-Who to a draw…"
"…killed them rather than saw them killed is more like it…."
"Says that Voldemort is reborn…"
"not safe to be his friend… look at Colin Creevey…"
The hall descended into silence when Harry stormed to his feet and stalked out. His hands were shaking too much to be held steady. His friends gave him a few minutes head start and then went down to the residence where he was taking full advantage of the training facilities, reducing training dummies into matchsticks and kindling. He barely worked up a sweat as he maintained a wandless shield with his left hand while casting a string of cutting and blasting and bombardment curses.
They left him to it and when he joined them he had taken a shower and looked calmer than he had appeared all day, "What I don't get is why they all believed what Dumbledore said two months ago and now," he shrugged, "They think we're both round the bend."
"It's simple Harry," said Luna, "they just don't know what to believe, and are not sure who they want to believe. If they believe Dumbledore, then everything they have worked for over the past fifteen years is threatened."
"If they believe the ministry," said Neville "then everything is just business as usual."
Fred stared at George, and his twin nodded back, "Harry, we believe you. We, like everyone here, saw you come back with Cedric's Wand, and Hermione…"
"But you have to try and look at it from the outside," said George, "You arrived back in the middle of the grounds, holding Hermione's body, Cedric's wand, and nothing else. Nobody saw what happened in the maze. All anyone has to go on is Dumbledore's word."
"Viktor still won't share his memories of the maze," said Luna quietly, "Your memories are considered fabrications."
"We know they are true," added Colin, "I know you're telling the truth. But nobody had time to process, or comprehend that truth," he was bitter, "My parents… my brother didn't believe it, even though I kept trying to tell them it was true."
Colin was looking at Harry, his voice even, but he was not seeing any of them, "I went out to dinner that night at a muggle friend's house to get away from my own family. We'd just fought again, them not believing me, even my brother wouldn't believe me." He blinked, wrenching himself back to the present, "Everyone goes home for the summer, spends two months reading and hearing what? You're a nutcase, Dumbledore's just as crazy." He finished, "You wonder why no one believes you?"
"My family, Harry," he continued quietly, "Are the first casualties in the coming war. It's a war most are not prepared to fight and are only ready to lose." Crookshanks meowed and leapt up into Colin's lap, and the seated friends gazed into the fire for a long moment. Barely a day back and already Hogwarts was not the place, the sanctuary he used to think it was. Harry gazed into the flames, feeling drained and exhausted.
"And we've met the latest defense professor," said Neville, "we're supposed to fail our OWL with her idea of teaching, and refusal to let us do magic."
"Not to mention that she said the same thing to every class," added Luna, "She wants us to come and tell her if we hear anyone saying You-Know, Voldemort is back."
"Looking for spies and informants she is," said Colin contemptuously, "Does she think we're that stupid or something? I mean, we're teenagers, not five years old."
"That's obvious," snapped Harry, "Why else would Fudge want her here?"
"Harry," said Neville, "I know this might not be the best time, but you remember what I mentioned this morning? About a study group?" Harry nodded cautiously, "I think it's time we set one up for Defense at least. I think right now, we're the best in the year. But there has got to be others who'd like an OWL in that subject with what's coming."
"I'd say," Fred remarked, "we've got the beginnings of a good study group right here,"
"Even though we only got six OWLs between us," continued George,
"We both got OWLs in Defense," concluded Fred, "and all jokes aside; practical jokes draw heavily on Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology, not to mention a fair bit of basic potions."
"Let's get to it," agreed Harry. They dived into their bags for their various homework assignments, "Snape's first," said Harry, "Get the worst done first and the rest doesn't look so bad."
The Twins made ready to leave, promising they would be back in about two hours, "Can't help with potions, and we've got our own… homework to do." It was Knuts to Galleons that the Twins were off to conduct product testing or market research. Like a pack of termites, they bored their way through the assignments, putting together the information for each and then writing up their own to avoid anyone accidentally copying each other. When the twins returned, there was just enough time for them to get a "course overview" of what Barty Crouch, posing as Alastor Moody had taught the OWLs students the previous year.
The following day was double Charms followed by double Transfiguration where both professors hammered on about the importance of the upcoming OWL exam and assigned a small mountain of homework. By the time they reached Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon, the day had become cool and breezy, and as they walked down the sloping lawn, feeling the occasional drop of rain on their faces. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with twigs.
As Harry and Neville reached them, there was a loud shout of laughter. They both turned to find Draco Malfoy surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherin cronies. Harry stared for a moment at Ron, sniggering along with Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and the rest continued to snigger heartily as they gathered around the trestle table.
"Everyone here?" barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. "Let's crack on then. Who can tell me what these are called?"
"Bowtruckles," said Neville, "They're tree-guardians, usually live in wand-trees." That explained how Neville knew about them. If it had something to do with a plant, he would know.
"Five points for Gryffindor," said Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Yes, these are Bowtruckles, and they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. Anybody know what they eat?"
"Woodlice," said Neville, "Or fairy eggs if they can get them."
"Take another five points. So, whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a Bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of woodlice ready to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will try to gouge at human eyes with their fingers, which, as you can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So if you'd like to gather closer, take a few woodlice and a Bowtruckle - I have enough here for one between three - you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body parts labeled by the end of the lesson."
Surprisingly, Malfoy did nothing to provoke Harry for the entire class, keeping himself and his cronies as far from Harry as possible and departing reasonably quickly at the end of class. With Herbology next on the agenda, they made their way to the nearest greenhouse, in time to catch a number of fourth-years spilling out including Ginny and Luna.
But before he could devote much more thought to the matter, Ernie Macmillan had stepped up to him, "I want you to know," he said in a loud, carrying voice, "I personally believe you one hundred percent. My family has always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I."
"Thanks very much, Ernie,'" said Harry, taken aback but pleased. Ernie might be pompous on occasions like this, but Harry was deeply appreciative of a vote of confidence from somebody outside his own circle. Now if only he could publically get out from under Dumbledore's shadow…
To nobody's surprise, Professor Sprout started their lesson by lecturing them about the importance of OWLs. Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Professor Sprout's preferred type of fertilizer, the Gryffindors trooped back up to the castle an hour and a half later, none of them talking very much; it had been another long day.
The day was only going to get longer as Harry faced his first detention with Umbridge that afternoon at five o'clock. He didn't even bother dropping off his bag first as he made his way direct to the Great Hall to grab something to eat before facing whatever the toad had in store for him. He had barely reached the entrance of the Great Hall when a loud angry voice yelled for him, "Oi! Potter!"
"The fuck now?" he thought to himself as he turned to face Quidditch Captain Angelina Johnson, in the middle of towering temper, "What?" he asked.
"I'll tell you "what," she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger, "How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?"
"Wha… Keeper tryouts," said Harry.
"Now you remember!" snarled Angelina, "Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fits in with everyone! Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch especially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!'"
He was tired, he was sore, he was irritated, and this was not helping any of it, "I didn't decide not to be there!'" he growled. The sheer stupidity of the accusation set his blood boiling. "I get detention from Umbridge for telling the truth…"
"Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off on Friday," snapped Angelina, "I don't care how you do it! Tell her You-Know-Who's has not returned, is a figment of your imagina…." Neville's silencing charm was too little too late.
Harry took a single step forward and flexed his wrist. Angelina had built up a full head of steam and continued to rant, even though she was not making any sound until suddenly, she found her staring down the length of Harry's wand.
"Sonorus," he said, restoring her ability to speak before returning his wand to its resting place, "Captain Angelina Johnson," he said coldly, handshaking with barely suppressed rage, "of Gryffindor House," his voice was colder than the smoke off dry ice, chilling even. Ron could attest to that, as he watched the unfolding tableau with Draco, "You just crossed a line with me."
"I am not going to waste my time with the likes of you," he said, "You did not, and obviously do not believe that Voldemort has returned." He ignored the reflexive shudder at the name, "You obviously do not understand, how hard it would be, for me to fly, on that pitch, where I held my girlfriend after she died." His voice rose, not in volume, but in intensity and in anger, "But I see now, and see clearly, I'm the youngest house seeker in about a century. But I'm not a person to you. I'm just a thing. I'm just something to catch the Snitch."
He put his hand on his chest, fingered the clasp, and removed the badge he had worn there for virtually every day he had been at Hogwarts. The badge was a stylized hand holding a golden snitch. It was what marked him as a member of the Quidditch team, as the Seeker, "The most important and most alone player in a team game," he whispered to Angelina. He held it in his hand for a moment, "Fuck you," he said quietly, "Fuck Quidditch." The badge slapped the floor like a rifle shot. "And fuck your tryouts." He pushed past her and made his way to the Gryffindor table to get something to eat.
"Oh yeah," he added without turning, "This time, I'll let the insult slide. Next time, you pay for it."
At the appointed hour, he knocked on the door of the office located on the third floor, "Come in," a sugary voice answered. He entered cautiously, looking around the redecorated office. In his second year, it had been plastered with idiotic beaming portraits. In his third, it had housed some fascinating creature or other in a cage or tank. Last year, it had been packed cheek by jowl with instruments and artifacts related to the detection of the dark arts.
This was a horrendous change from even Lockhart. Lacy covers and cloths covered virtually every surface, accompanied by vases full of dried flowers. The far wall was decorated with a Technicolor assortment of ornamental plates, each featuring a kitten with a bow wrapped around its neck. Taking his eyes off his surroundings, he eyed the toad-like professor sitting behind the desk, "Good evening Mr. Potter."
He stood mute before her, not trusting himself to speak, "Well, sit down," she said pointing towards a small lace draped table beside a straight-backed chair. He took his seat and studied the blank piece of parchment and its accompanying quill.
"Now then," she said smiling widely, "You will be writing lines for spreading evil, nasty attention-seeking stories." Harry felt the blood surge to his head and heard a thumping noise in his ears but maintained a level stare, "You are going to use a rather special quill of mine, and you will write, "I must not tell lies," until the message has sunk in.
She moved over to her desk, sat down, and bent over a stack of parchment that
looked like essays for marking. Harry raised the sharp black quill, and then paused, "You have not given me any ink," he said.
"Oh, you won't need ink," her voice had the merest suggestion of a laugh, "you will find that you have more than enough ink to ensure that the message sinks in."
Harry placed the point of the quill on the paper began to write. He let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel - yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.
Harry looked around at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toad-like mouth stretched in a smile, "yes?"
"You think I'm going to give you the satisfaction do you?" he thought as he flexed his left hand, "Nothing." He said quietly. He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill on it once more, wrote "I must not tell lies," and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; once again, the words had been cut into his skin; once again, they healed over seconds later.
He had gained a fair amount of control using wandless magic, but that was mostly in part due to the shards of his actual wand embedded in his flesh. The fragments served as both amplifiers and focusers, allowing him to channel magic without the apparent need for a wand.
He paused for a moment, casting a regeneration charm upon his hand and a numbing charm to block the pain. He knew she was watching him for any sign of weakness, of pain but he was not going to show either. "I've been tortured by Voldemort," he thought, "This doesn't even come close!"
Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window, "Come here," she said after two hundred and forty-seven lines, "Hand." She instructed. He extended it and she took in her own. He repressed a shudder as she touched him with thick stubby ring encrusted fingers, "Doesn't seem to have made much of an impression, yet."
"Oh please," said Harry, suddenly, "You're just annoyed that it's not even chaffed the skin!" she stared at him, mouth open in surprise, "You forget Professor Umbridge," he said casually, "I have been tortured by Voldemort, poisoned by a Basilisk, and the repeated victim of the Cruciatus Curse. Your little quill is a cute toy, and not much more!"
"My, my, mouthy aren't we?" said Umbridge with the same honey-sugar voice "We will just have to see how long your attitude lasts," she said smiling, "I did ensure that this particular blood quill works slowly, but perhaps it is not slow enough."
He left her office without another word, but with another week of detention. He returned to the residence and unsealed the fireplace. A wave of his wand, he had a fire blazing, another wave of his wand and he was in disguise, "Gringotts London, Diagon Alley!"
Given the lateness of the hour, the bank was devoid of wizards but unsurprisingly, there were a number of other customers present including a number of vampires and even a few Werewolves. That brought him up short, but he joined the queue and waited his turn, "Blahgrast Diedom," he said, lifting the battery of glamour charms, "I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but this is a matter of urgency. I require an immediate meeting with Griphook and Marinashka Thaz-Dom."
Unbeknownst to Harry, standing instructions had been made regarding an unexpected appearance. He was directed to Griphook's office where both of them joined him fifteen minutes later, "Mr. Potter," said Griphook, "I presume this is not a social call?"
"I wish that it were merely that. Unfortunately, I find myself in need of expert advice, legal and otherwise," he said, "What do you know of Blood Quills?"
It was early morning when Harry returned to Hogwarts, just in time to miss his morning workout routine – for the first time in months – as he ascended for breakfast by himself. He had debated whether or not to push things this far, this fast. He had wanted to keep his emancipation out of the public record as long as possible and he had succeeded in doing that thus far. Now he might not have a choice in the matter.
"Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore, "might I speak to you for a moment?"
"Come from on high to mingle with the commoners," he mused, "Something I can help you with headmaster?" he helped himself to a stack of toast, scrambled eggs, sausages, and bacon.
"Yes I received this from a mutual acquaintance, is this authentic?" Harry poured himself a cup of coffee and nodded. The conversation had stopped at this stretch of the Gryffindor table, as not even Harry's friends had a clue what was being discussed, "I see" he said mildly "We will have to address this with the Minister,"
"Not good enough headmaster," said Harry, "She goes, or I will share my memory of that detention with this school, the wizarding press, and everyone who graduated from Hogwarts!"
"Sadly, it is not that simple, Harry" Dumbledore replied, "She was appointed by the Minister. I did not hire, therefore I cannot fire.
Harry shrugged, "Not my problem. She goes," he met the headmaster's gaze for the first time, "Or I go."
This was something the headmaster was having a great deal of trouble processing, "Harry, you would… leave Hogwarts?"
"I've heard a lot of nice things about Beuaxbattons en France," he replied, "Mon Francais est pas tres bien mais les femme cette magnifique, et le Veela aussi…" he shrugged and turned his attention back to his breakfast, "My French is terrible but I'd have great incentives to learn it. It should be easier than trying to teach myself the Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL."
Suddenly aware of virtually everyone trying to surreptitiously listen in on the conversation, Dumbledore hesitated about continuing the doublespeak, "Perhaps, we can adjourn to my office Mr. Potter, to continue our discussion in private?"
Standing, Harry took his coffee cup with him and let the headmaster lead the way back to the gargoyle, both of them maintaining a stony silence until they were ensconced in the office. Dumbledore was quick to realize that Harry had not threatened him directly, merely threatened to expose Delores Umbridge, "I realize that you have me over the proverbial barrel." Harry sat and waited as Dumbledore summoned a tea platter and some biscuits, "But have you considered the long-range implications of your actions? You have the power to make decisions, but you must also have the courage to accept the consequences of those decisions."
Harry shook his head politely at the offered beverage, and took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, "I have and frankly, you don't get caught in the fall out of whatever I'm up to does not go according to whatever I've planned."
"Har…Mr. Potter, have you considered the old saying "the enemy of my enemy is my friend?" he asked. Harry nodded carefully, "While our methods and ways are completely different, we both want the same thing: The end of Voldemort and his Death Eaters."
"I can… agree to that much, but what's your point?" Harry asked, resisting the urge to take another sip of coffee. He should have refilled the cup before leaving the table.
"Have you heard of the other saying, "Better the devil you know, than the devil you don't?" asked Dumbledore. When Harry stayed silent, he continued, "We may be at odds, but at least we… know where we stand with one another. If I am removed as headmaster, Fudge will push hard to get Delores Umbridge in as Headmistress."
Harry stalled for time, taking a long, slow sip on the dregs of his morning coffee. He wouldn't admit it, but this was something that he had not considered at all, "Point," he replied, almost amicably, "But as I said, either she goes or I go."
"Beauxbattons?" said the headmaster lightly, "I take it that your… association with Fleur is going well?"
"That is none of your concern," snapped Harry, "I assume that you would like me to stay to fight this war for you? Kill and win it for you as well? Spare me the sanctimonious bullshit about victory for the Light," Dumbledore opened his mouth to protest.
"I have no interest in listening to anything you have to say off the topic of discussion about me and what I'm up to!" he snarled, "And don't feed me some crap about going dark! You have no right to talk!"
"Mr. Potter-"
"Hermione Jane Granger," Harry said, "is proof enough that you are going dark! And keep your hands where I can see them!" Harry had the headmaster silenced, "So I am hoping you've got a compromise in mind, otherwise I might just, like another old saying, "roll the dice and let the chips fall where they may."
Less than an hour later, the two wizards had hammered out an arrangement that was in essence the compromise that leaves nobody happy, everyone irritated and partially satisfied. The presence was unexpected but welcome nonetheless, "Less than what Dumbledore wanted, Less than what you demanded, but the best compromises with an enemy tend to be of this nature."
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend after all," thought Harry, "It is a pleasure to hear from you once again, Lady Hogwarts,"
"The pleasure is mine, Champion Potter," she replied, "But I believe it is time that we move beyond such formality."
"Um… do you have a first name?" asked Harry as he slowed his progress towards his first class of the day. Fortunately, he had a note from the headmaster to excuse his lateness and he planned to make a slight detour, casting an array of charms, he created a dead zone around him where none would intrude.
"Rowena," she replied, "like the founder of Ravenclaw. It was her idea, along with Salazar's to give me… life."
"Slytherin?" he asked suspiciously, "He… created you?"
"Not precisely, no," she replied, "If Rowena could be considered my mother, Salazar could be considered my father. Both of them gave time, magic, their memories, and knowledge to create me so that I could aid the worthy and protect the students of Hogwarts."
"Salazar…. Then you knew of the Chamber of Secrets!" he exclaimed.
"I did and do," she confirmed, "and I also know of Fifi's demise."
"Fifi? Who's… Fifi the Basilisk?" he asked, "What was she, a pet?"
"Yes. She was actually," confirmed Rowena, "Salazar created the chamber to be her home and crafted the artifice to ensure she would be fed no matter what happened to him. She was charged to protect Hogwarts from all those who would wish to do… me and its occupants' harm."
"And I killed one of the… your protectors?" he asked warily.
"You did," she confirmed. For an instant, Harry was convinced that he could feel her sad smile, "But you also freed her from Riddle's control, something that had driven her near-insane for half a century. She was a magical creature, of intelligence but she had no choice but to obey the Heir of Slytherin, our father, such as it is."
"I never, ever considered…" He could have talked to her, perhaps convinced her not to act as she had done, to stop, not to fight.
"You could have talked to her, but her will was bound to Salazar's and to his heir. She would have fought you to the death, yours or hers. Do not feel guilt over her death as she fell in battle to a worthy adversary."
"So, Rowena," he asked, "Where do we go from here?"
"I promised you my aid, and you shall have it," she said, "For now, there is little that I can do, but I tell you this: Hogwarts a history is correct in that it is impossible to portkey or apparate through the wards of Hogwarts, it is possible to apparate within the castle." He could feel her hesitation, "The Chamber of Secret lies far enough beneath the Castle that it is actually not within the boundaries of the Castle Wards."
"I always did wonder why that Floo worked in the Chamber," he thought. With a start, he checked his Occulemency shields, worried for a moment that the secrets he carried had been compromised, but found his shields intact, as she brushed every so lightly against them, "Reading my thoughts Rowena?"
"No," she said easily, "Though your paranoia does you credit. To your friends and allies, I open Hogwarts to them as a safe haven and sanctuary, should they ever require it."
"My thanks, Rowena," Harry honestly did not know what else he could say and said as much.
She laughed, "Get to class and soon! That note from the headmaster covers lateness, not absence!"
She departed and Harry glanced at his watch. Reaching into his bag, he pulled a length of parchment and quill and wrote up an account of his most recent encounter with the headmaster, outlining in detail that events had not gone according to plan but that they had reached a compromise.
"… Umbridge is still here but her power to assign punishment has been limited to removing house points. She can't give detentions without the approval of the student's head of house and all of her detentions are to be monitored by another staff member. Her currently assigned detentions have also been revoked. It should keep her in line for the moment. But a more permanent solution will be required eventually. Memories are in the vials. You know what to do with them."
He called his elves to him and sent them on their way. Dobby apparated to Gringotts, while Winky deposited memories in the apartment within his trunk, secure within the Residence and its wards. "Hopefully," muttered Harry to himself, "The devil I know is better than the other devil I know." Harry set off to class.
That evening in London, Percy Weasely was sick and tired of dealing with Fudge and his incompetence. His career seemed to have come to a dead stop after an incredibly promising start. He knew he was intelligent, and knew that his career had stalled. He was convinced that he was underappreciated, first at the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and now as the Junior Minister to the Minister of Magic, he spent his days fetching and carrying for a minister who would have a hard time tying his own shoelaces if it were not for Umbridge and a few others who advised him. What frustrated Percy the most was that they were using the minister and he was in no position to take advantage of that!
Not only had his career stalled but also his family and he was as estranged as ever. He had no doubt that they would never even try to understand his position so long as Potter was around them! That teenage brat had put two of his brothers and baby sister in harms' way! They had not even bothered to write or even try to stay in touch! Even Ron had sent him a birthday card! "With family like them, I don't need enemies," he thought savagely.
He unlocked his front door, pushing it open to find that he had guests, making themselves at home on his sofa and easy chair, drinking tea and snacking on his cookies. The trio eyed each other cautiously for a long moment before his old pet rat smiled at him, "Evening Percy," said Pettigrew, "Sorry to come in uninvited and unannounced, but you weren't home." Percy had achieved an "O" in both his Defense OWL and NEWT and had his wand in his hand, "I would ask you to have a seat, but we are in your home. So, my apologies for our unexpected presence."
That flummoxed him for a moment, but it was long enough for him to ask the obvious, "What are you two doing here?"
"Our Master, Lord Voldemort, wished for us to touch base, see if we could reach an agreement and some sort of understanding about the services that you can provide." Percy was surprised that it had taken this long for an approach, not that he was ready and willing to join the Dark Lord, but it was nice to know that somebody out there wanted him.
He hesitated, "What exactly do you want from me? Become a Death Eater?"
"Bluntly put, yes. But, not officially. Your position in the Minister's office can be of great value to us. Lord Voldemort has high expectations of what you can bring to our organization."
Percy lowered his wand, "So it would seem that you know a great deal about what happens at the ministry."
"We know everything that is worth knowing, and a lot that is not worth knowing," said Peter, almost amicably, "I am here to offer you a place at the table on the winning side. Loyalty and hard work can see you rise to the ranks of the Inner Circle, once you have proven yourself worthy. And I'm confident you will measure up."
"What makes you so sure you're going to win?" challenged Percy.
"Because we know what we're doing, and we have our Master, the greatest mind and leader our world has ever known, versus a fool of a Minister, a senile headmaster…and yes, an admittedly powerful sixteen-year-old." Percy took that in for a minute. Peter and the rest had clear orders: Get Percy's agreement to join him….or kill him. Pettigrew hoped that Percy was smart enough to realize this.
"What happens if I say no?"
"You really need to ask?" For the first time, Peter drew his wand and twirled it between his fingers. "Face it Percy. If you were going to say no, you would have said so by now. The ministry does not understand or appreciate you. We know your family does not understand or appreciate you. But Lord Voldemort knows. He understands. All you have to do is say you are with us."
"What happens, if I do?"
Peter smiled. If there was one thing the Death Eaters needed, it was more members "Are you saying yes?"
Percy Weasely nodded firmly, "Yes."
"Good. We'll be in touch in a few days with your first assignment," said Peter with a smile, "In a few months' time your brothers and sister will be begging you for forgiveness." Percy smiled, that was a good image. The Death Eaters apparated away and left Percy alone with his dreams of money, power, and prestige, seated at the right hand of You-know… Lord Voldemort. He smiled.