This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
Title: A Marked man
Author: Cheshyre
Date: June 26, 2006
Characters: Percy Weasley
Length: about 2750 words (incomplete)
Permanent URL: http://www.osmond-riba.org/lis/fanfic/MarkdManUpdt2.htm
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
"Home alone on a Friday night?
Our exclusive organization offers companionship for well-bred..."
Percy Weasley crumpled the letter, but not before it managed to spray his kitchen with confetti. With a sigh, he wondered what lists the twins had signed him up for now. At least this time, they were sending them to his flat instead of trying to wreak havoc on his office. Maybe they were easing up in anticipation of Bill's wedding?
Percy snorted. That'd be the day. If anything, they'd stepped up their attacks as the big day approached. The only question that remained was what kind of humiliation they planned to inflict at the event itself. Family was worth any sacrifice, but that didn't make him look forward to facing the terrible twins again.
With a quick wave of his wand, Percy dismissed the paper shreds littering his table. A few soggy scraps still floated in his soup. Scowling, he banished that as well. Fortunately, the rest of his meal remained safely sealed. He opened the container and attacked the noodles with his chopsticks.
Fred and George had some nerve! Percy had a solid career with good prospects, was well-liked and respected, and living quite comfortably. Nothing to sneer about. Even if he were alone on Friday night, so what? He relished his peace and quiet, particularly in contrast to the zoo they grew up in.
Percy permitted himself to fume like this only in private. He knew the price of appearing a poor sport. Still, no sense dwelling on what can't be changed. And it wasn't like anyone else would bear the brunt in his stead.
Percy plucked a plum from the fruitbowl when something shiny caught his eye. A small key, about the size of his pinky, must've fallen out of the envelope. Some kind of wave motif had been engraved in the blade.
Percy wiped his hands, fruit forgotten, and picked it up for a closer look. By the time he recognized the design as a snake emerging from a human skull, the portkey's pull made his decision to ignore the invitation moot.
The key dropped from fingers numbed with shock. His wand was still on the table.
Heart thudding somewhere under his adam's apple, Percy tried to take stock of his surroundings. Mold and mildew filled his nostrils and something slimy coated the cold stone walls.
The only light came from a cat flap near the door. But before Percy could bend down for a better look, in slithered the largest snake he'd ever seen.
Percy froze as it slowly circled his ankles, tongue sniffing for whatever might interest a snake.
It made two circuits in this manner before departing, and he could hear further hissing beyond the door, which then opened to a blinding brightness and two Death Eaters.
“Wand?” one of them asked, holding out his hand.
“Home,” he croaked. The hoods nodded as if this were expected.
They took Percy by the arms and escorted him into the light.
His eyes were still adjusting when they dropped him unceremoniously on his knees and each took a half-step back.
“Percy Ignatius Weasley...”
He looked up from where he sprawled, and then all strength left his legs.
You-Know-Who.
Lord Voldemort had spoken. And knew his name.
The Dark Lord sat upon a raised dais and chuckled at Percy's discomforture. “You may rise,” he said magnanimously.
Percy scrambled to his feet, the return of the giant snake... Nagini... speeding his efforts. He noticed other figures milling about the room, their masks presenting equally unnerving facades.
“Thank you for agreeing to join us on such short notice.”
Panic thickened Percy's tongue. “J-join you? I didn't agree... Portkey, just here... But, I'm not...”
“Not ready to swear eternal allegiance?” Voldemort spoke in a high nasal tone which seemed amused more than angry. “We shall discuss such matters later. For now, you have something we could use.” A smile curled where lips should have been. “Do you know what that is?”
Percy's mind raced, but came up as empty as his spartan flat. “No.”
“Access.” Voldemort said the word more lovingly than Percy thought possible, almost caressing the sibilants.
Percy stared in disbelief as cold sweat pricked the back of his neck. His office had connections to most of Wizarding Britain. Everything associated with Ministry — even the Minister himself — was vulnerable. He was running over the week ahead when cold fear coated his stomach: Bill's wedding.
With more bravery than he thought possible, “A-And, if I refuse?”
“Your cooperation isn't necessary.” Unbidden, a memory of Mr Crouch surfaced, barely coherent and suffering from what Percy thought mere overwork. “Polyjuice Potion will serve our needs well enough until you come around.”
He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as Voldemort continued, “You won't even be missed.”
Of course, Polyjuice only alters appearance, not mannerisms. And nobody could maintain that good a charade — not while working closely with friends and family. It would be exposed by Monday lunch, tops.
The Dark Lord gave him a speculative look. “You're taking this quite calmly. Could you possibly believe my plan is flawed?”
The background noises faded, and Percy felt every eye in the room turn to him. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince them to find someone else. He licked his lips and clasped his hands to contain their quaking.
“B-begging your pardon, but...” Percy tried to marshall his thoughts... and nerve. “Mad-Eye Moody was an eccentric recluse. Most people only knew him by reputation, but not his habits... not him. Not like people know me.” The last bit came out in a rapid blurt. “Please let me go, and I won't tell anyone about this. Honest!”
He looked wildly around the room, trying to gauge the reactions his words had. Somebody in the corner snorted. A titter came from behind. Then the room exploded in laughter, a cacaphony of cackles and shrieks. Even Voldemort himself had a slight shake to his shoulders.
Percy frowned; a familiar sinking feeling implied the joke was on him.
“Oh, we know you better than you think.” Voldemort wheezed. He beckoned one of his Death Eaters closer and plucked off the man's hood. “Though I'm not sure you and Wormtail have ever been properly introduced.”
Percy faced a vision straight out of Ron's overblown imagination and saw red.
“Rat bastard!” Percy lunged for the animagus, but death grips on his arms held him in place. “I should've left you to the twins!” he screamed.
“Crucio!”
Agony engulfed every inch of his body, worse than he ever thought imaginable. Percy crumpled to the floor, but couldn't escape the onslaught. The pain radiated out from his bones, burning his skin until he felt certain it would burst. And all he could hear was the sound of screams ripped from his own throat.
Percy regained consciousness in a puddle of his own vomit. Panting for breath, it soon became obvious he'd soiled himself as well. He couldn't feel ashamed, though. In fact, he couldn't feel much of anything. It was as if the spell had drained all the emotions from his body, leaving him too exhausted to continue his rage.
The Dark Lord, on the other hand, paced furiously back and forth, twitching his wand. “NO ONE raises their voice in my presence unless I give them cause! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” Percy heard murmurred assents from around the room. He nodded his agreement, not trusting himself to speak, and then swallowed back another wave of nausea.
“Take him away to clean up.” His voice dripped contempt. “We'll deal with him tomorrow.”
The two Death Eaters pulled Percy to his feet. He still felt too shaky to stand, so they half-dragged him down the halls before throwing him into an empty room. The door slammed behind him, and he listened to locks clicking and felt the air vibrate with a sealing spell.
Percy rolled onto his back, and tried not to think. Because thinking meant ackowledging how badly fucked he was. And he really didn't want to dwell on that. So instead, he concentrated on his breathing like Professor Trelawney once taught, and watched a spider crawling along the ceiling.
He didn't know how long he'd been laying there, still in the spot the Death Eaters left him. The spider was trying to expand its web along the corner molding. Ron hated spiders. Percy remembered the twins trying to sneak bugs in from the garden when they were little, and Ron would scream...
Percy bolted upright. He couldn't let them hurt his family. And he felt quite certain that they were a target. He had to stop Pettigrew! Or at least find some way to warn people.
The room they'd put him in was a small one: just a bed and dressing table with an adjoining lavatory. No other doors or windows.
He rummaged through the drawers looking for anything that he could use as a weapon. Nothing but some writing supplies and linens for the bath. And on that note, he thought, wrinkling his nose, he was in definite need of a wash.
The lavatory was equally barren. Some soap and a comb, toothbrush and toothpaste, several loo rolls. His reflection shocked him. Percy still felt slightly greenish, but otherwise his appearance was unchanged. Shouldn't such an experience age him somehow? He thought there ought to be circles under his eyes or a gaunt cast to his cheeks. New lines, perhaps. Oh, he looked slightly the worse for wear, but no more than he ever suffered from a sleepless night.
‘Vain, much?’ With a brisk shake of his head, Percy quickly pulled off his robe and, for lack of a better place, left it on the floor. He turned on the spray and stepped into the bath, pulling the curtain closed behind him.
Percy got some of his best thinking done in the shower, something he only truly realized after getting his own flat. Showers were the perfect place for clearing out the cobwebs and brainstorming, or the occasional pep talk as necessary to start the day.
So, what did he need right now?
One thing was crystal clear.
He wanted his mother.
Isn't that a pitiful thought for someone his age? Still, he had to admit, she'd always been remarkably resourceful. And dauntingly fierce when any of them were threatened. She could find some way out of this mess.
If only he had some way to contact her.
He'd rarely needed to before; she always kept track of them — sometimes closer than they liked.
Of course! The family clock!
Then he recalled that last disastrous visit at Christmas. Every hand was firmly fixed at "mortal peril." Probably the only way to make them budge would be offing You-Know-Who... or snuffing it himself.
Percy braced himself against the tiles, as the weight of that struck him. Not the most desirable outcome, by any means, but it would be effective. If a "Percy Weasley" were walking around while Mum's clock said he was dead, they'd know it for an imposter.
Still, for now he'd try to find a better solution, saving suicide for a last resort.
Percy shut off the tap and wrapped a towel around his waist. He stared back at the mirror, trying to imagine somebody else inhabiting his skin.
To distract himself, Percy decided a quick refresher in Polyjuice might be in order. The properties and procedures were fairly well-known, but maybe something there would provide a crucial clue.
Polyjuice Potion perfectly replicates all physical features of a human subject, but only for a one hour dose. The potion can be taken repeatedly for prolonged effect.
The body is reproduced in the state when the final ingredient was harvested. Injuries and maladies can be passed to the drinker, and heal at their normal rate. Physical impairments revert with cessation of the potion; infectious diseases may persist. Percy began to pace.
Polyjuice only acts within the skin. Clothing or other adornments are not duplicated by the potion — unfortunately, the Portkey probably gave You-Know-Who access to his flat so wardrobe wouldn't be a problem. Percy continued his recitation. Clothing or other bodily adornments are not duplicated, nor are prosthetics and artificial implants. Piercings are preserved, but not the jewelry worn in them.
Primary ingredients included... bicorn and boomslang, leeches and lacewing, fluxweed and... he always forgot that one. And finally, some portion of the subject, most often hair or nails.
Percy stopped in his tracks.
The Death Eaters hadn't touched him! They haven't finished the potion yet!
He leapt on the bed, which groaned in protest.
All he had to do was alter his appearance in some conspicuous way before they took the sample, and everyone would know it wasn't him!
He plucked a quill from the drawer and brushed it over his cheek.
Even without tools, his nails could scratch pretty deep. Maybe give himself a romantic duelling scar across his chin? Nobody would overlook something like that!
Not. Even. Death Eaters.
Percy fell back against the mattress.
If the Death Eaters saw any obvious disfigurements — say, to his hands or face — they could just fix him right up. Or maybe leave him with the injury, and heal Pettigrew after the transformation.
He padded back to the mirror to speak with his reflection.
“Pettigrew will be wearing my skin. That rules out hiding something under my robes.” Percy rested his forehead against the cool glass. “He can see everything I can.”
“So how can I make a sign visible to everybody except me?”
A loud bang on the door gave Percy barely enough time to pull the sheets above his waist. As he scrambled for his glasses, he saw three Death Eaters enter, but couldn't tell whether any were the same men as last night.
One remained at the entrance, his wand trained on the bed, while the other two advanced. Percy scooted higher up against the wall when he saw what they were carrying: a wide shallow bowl and a wicked-looking knife.
“Now, Weasley,” the knife-wielder said, “We just need a small donation, that's all.”
His partner set the bowl atop the table. “Yer not plannin' on givin' us any trouble, are you?”
Percy shook his head, his eyes transfixed by the oversized blade.
“Jes' give us yer 'and, then, nice an' easy.”
Percy readjusted his grip on the sheets, and held out his left arm.
The Death Eater held him with a surprisingly gentle touch. “Won't take but a minute.” He centered Percy's arm over the bowl, then ran his wand over it while murmurring a spell.
When he finished, Percy realized the man had totally immobilized his arm. He couldn't even wiggle his fingers, much less pull away like every instinct screamed.
After one last adjustment to the bowl, the Death Eater stepped out of the way. “Now for th' messy part.”
His partner moved in and began to stroke Percy's forearm, from wrist to elbow. Percy could feel the man's hands, ruffling his hair like a caress.
The paralytic spell held him perfectly still — even suppressed goosebumps in the affected area — but, much to his horror, did nothing to dull the senses.
The Death Eater checked his blade against his thumb, nodded, then raised it for the cut.
Percy closed his eyes as the knife came down.
A momentary chill swept over his arm, but no pain.
Risking a glance, he didn't see any of the blood he expected. Instead, a sprinkling of fine red hairs dotted the bowl, and a stripe of arm had been shaved clean.
He watched as the blade grazed his skin again, cutting another swath of hair for the potion. The Death Eater worked deftly, and Percy's arm was quickly bared.
The first man returned with a small brush, conscientiously collecting any stray hairs from Percy or the knife.
Then he leaned in and tugged off Percy's glasses and dropped them in the bowl. “Can't be forgettin' these!”
“Hey!”
He ignored Percy's protest, picked up his things, and followed his companions out of Percy's focus to the door. They couldn't just leave him like this.
“What about the spell?” Percy called out.
“Give it a while. It'll wear off.”
Percy sighed, tipping his head back and accidentally cracking it against the wall.
“Oh, and yeh might want to dress once it does. You've got a private audience with You-Know-Who today.”
“I don't have any clean clothes.”
“Right, then, I'll have some sent. Ta!”
Percy listened to the door close and latch. With one arm stuck outstretched, a budding headache, and apparently impending doom, comfort proved elusive.
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