The night was deadly silent. The stars, the moon and the canopy of black sky pushed down on Percy’s head. The night was warning him that day would not come until he had completed his task: his duty to the Ministry. Standing on the wet grass he looked upwards; Percy couldn’t believe just how lifeless the place appeared. Ironically, he knew it still had life, a family of fiery spirits who each fought in unison with passion of the heart. It was this unity that he had been expelled from. The bitterness returned to him.

The saying goes that there is always one black sheep in the family. Percy had never before believed his heart to be black. Before, however, he had fought for a noble cause for the government of his country. It had turned black, though, the day that government had been overthrown and his beloved Minister, Scrimgeour, had been assassinated. The idea of serving the new government sickened Percy at first. Certain members were persuasive and helpful; eventually luring the naïve young man around to their way of thinking. Percy wanted to be duteous to his country; and the only way he knew how was to serve the leader.

As he gazed ahead of him, he reflected on the defiance of his family. How despite his father working for the Ministry they had turned their allegiance to Dumbledore, who had become tyrannical in his later years toward the enforcements given by the Ministry. He had recklessly given power to an adolescent, Harry Potter, who according to myths and gossip held the key to England’s future. Percy had always known better, but kept it to himself at first, so not to offend his youngest brother. Once of age he turned to the Ministry, whose cynicism matched his own and whose goals for the country were far more practical. Now, despite the country being ruled by the Dark Lord, Percy still believed in serving the government.

He was the bad apple. He wasn’t at first; he had been the most fruitful and large apple of the Weasley family tree. He had been first awarded as Prefect, then as Head Boy and then with a respectable job. His family had been proud. Our Percy, they said. Always a good boy at school, he never broke the rules, not like his brothers. Percy thought he could do no wrong, that he had gained ultimate approval. But sometimes, unfortunately, an apple will decay. Unseeingly to the fruit itself the peel began to discolour and the flesh inside went sour. Soon it attracted worms; they ate huge chunks of the body until they reached the heart. Once the heart became contaminated there was no redeeming it. Death Eater is the name of this particular worm. It is an appropriate metaphor, considering Percy’s situation, as they had manipulated him into believing he should kill his own family.

The house in front of him gave ambivalent emotions: the laughs he had shared and the arguments that had plagued his departure. The Burrow stood with multiple tiers, each drooping further over to the right, like a melting wedding cake scorched by the sun. In the delicate moonlight Percy could occasionally glimpse the glisten of liquid, draped over the house. His fellows had already saturated the wooden home with petrol; all Percy had to do was strike the match. At this point in the plan Percy had little choice, yet his conscience was screaming at him to disobey the command.

“I must obey the rules,� he reminded himself, for he was now completely alone. “I must burn the house down. They openly objected to the Ministry and have violated state laws. They are a liability to the country; we must get rid of the Blood Traitors in order for the Pure Bloods to live better lives. It is a sacrifice of few for the benefit of many.�

His mouth spoke these words unfeelingly. They were not Percy’s words; they were the words of his new allies and had been implanted into him as a virus of his morals. The fight between good and evil had already been fought in Percy’s mind, with the latter gaining victory. They are your family, Percy! his conscience cried in futile anguish. Do you not feel duty toward them? If not duty, then surely love? The regime he now lived and worked for valued duty over love wholly, and duty solely for the Dark Lord, so Percy had almost forgotten that the power of love existed. Now, as he stood with the matches in his hand, the only salvaging feeling that formed in his gut was guilt. It was an ugly feeling, one that he had tried to purge away before arriving here. You shouldn’t have hesitated. Hesitation leaves room for doubt and duty cannot function among doubt, he chastised himself.

The idea occurred to him at that moment. The most noble of men remembered throughout history were the martyr’s willing to die for their beliefs. Percy knew his beliefs were strong; he felt his heart beating with obedience towards them. He knew, also, that after doing this tonight his life was over. It was over whether he physically survived it or not.

"Kill 'em all. Burn the house down while we’re still in it,� he instructed himself. This time, however, the voice was truly Percy’s. Every syllable was spoken with the pain of neglection. The wounded pride of the fallen son; the only Weasley to betray the family in countless generations. He stood on one side of the decrepit fence; a small physical barrier from his old home that contained the strong force of inner-magic, symbolising his alienation.

He rid himself of nerves as he struck the match. He watched the small, harmless flame. It gave negligible light in the overpowering darkness. Determined to do the job, he barged through the fence, which splintered and cracked at the strength of his force. His face glowed red with frustration; frustration because he wanted to be angry but didn’t know to whom; and frustration because his conscience was objecting to something he now believed to be right. Finally the frustration became physical as he thrust the small match, with its minute flame, through the window of the Burrow.

The power of just the smallest thing; acting as a catalyst; can create the world’s biggest evil. The match was quickly lost in the eruption it caused. The violent disease spread throughout the local area within a matter of seconds. Percy stumbled into the house after it; enthralled by the giant monster he had created. It surrounded him, smothering him with its incense and seducing him deeper.

The heat aroused something in him. His heart had remained stale cold in recent months but now it was boiling over. What had he just done? He had unleashed this savage animal that is ransacking his home, destroying everything he once held dear to him. Realisation hit him, as he watched the enchanted grandfather clock tumble over into the burning mesh. He realised that what he had done was wrong. Worst of all, however, was he knew that it was too late to change what he did. With speed he ran up the stairs, in a race to beat the angry beast that slowly inhabited his old home.

As he reached the first landing his heart fell down into his guilty stomach. The smoke had stealthily filled the whole area. He felt his lungs scream out for air but didn’t respond to their demands. He didn’t matter anymore; only his innocent family did. The door to Ginny’s room opened and Percy looked over to see a head of dazzling red hair that became mingled with the flames that were creeping up in the background.

“Percy, what’s happening? What are you doing here?� she asked, emulating panic and fear. She didn’t wait for an answer, instead she ran upstairs to the twins’ room.

“Wait! No, Ginny, come back here. I will go and get them…�

But Percy was too late. Ginny had already moved up the stairs, willing to risk her own life for the sake of her siblings, true to the house she was sorted in. Percy reflected on that fact, as he stood helplessly on the landing. Did the hat sort him into Gryffindor because all Weasley’s were? Not because he was brave. I will show you bravery, he told himself with confidence. He turned to the other side of the corridor. The wallpaper had turned a glowing orange, lashing out from both sides, leaving only a narrow pathway in the middle. At the end of this walk of terror stood the door to his parent’s bedroom. He shut his eyes tightly and walked directly forward, the flames burning his eyelids as swirls of red and orange filled his mind. Judging the distance to the room correctly, he opened his eyes again. The metal door handle was already luke-warm; a warning to Percy that he had limited time to rescue them.

The atmosphere inside was as thick as the smoke out in the corridor. Molly Weasley was jumping up and down frantically, her dressing gown twisted around her at an odd angle, whilst Mr. Weasley sat frozen on the bed, too shocked to know what to do. By opening the door Percy accidentally let the evil inside. It rushed in so rapidly, engulfing the wardrobe, the dressing table and then poised itself in a prominent position for taking the bed. Mr. Weasley gazed over at Percy, his mouth open with shock. He pointed accusingly.

“Dad I am so sorry!� Percy cried with anguish, letting tears as hot as the room drown his face.

“Sorry, son? You mean you knew about this?� Mr. Weasley asked in a concerned voice.

The look of bewilderment on his father’s face was too much for Percy to handle. He fell to his knees, his hands over his head. He wanted to shut out all existence.

The conflicting voices returned to him:
Stay here, like this, it will soon be over.
How dare you just sit on the floor, letting your family die?
You had no choice Percy, sometimes these things have to be done. For the Greater Good, remember?
A person always has a choice.
Only from the choices that comply with the laws of the land.
Save your family, now Percy! Be courageous, you weren’t sorted into Gryffindor incorrectly.

Percy lifted his head up and through the shield of tears that had formed, blocking most of his vision, he saw two smears of colour. His parents.

“Forgive me, please,� he begged and grabbed hold of the bottom of his mother’s skirt, clutching it tightly and sobbing into it.

“Please don’t say it Percy, please don’t. I don’t think I can bear it,� his mother wailed. She could barely stand the sorrow. “What did I do to you that was so bad? What made me such a bad mother?�

Percy let out a horrific scream; his face contorted with the hatred he now felt only for himself. “Nothing mum, you were the best. It’s my fault. All of it is my fault.�

“It can’t all be your fault, Percy. If I had only spent more time with you when you were little; I shouldn’t have been running about after those two mischief-makers. I should have spread my time fairly between all my boys. I’m so sorry Percy; you were such a quiet and good boy. I should have taken more notice.�

“It’s not your fault Molly, don’t you dare believe that, not for one minute. Percy is the one who has destroyed us all,� his father said, having awakened from his frozen state. He now approached his son with more power than any Death Eater -- the power of shattered love.

“Forgive me father,� Percy said with all the energy he could muster. “I have sinned.�

His father raised his hand; he was poised ready to strike his son.

“No!� screamed Mrs. Weasley. “I won’t have it. I won’t have any of this.� She ran over to the window, judging the distance needed to escape. Furiously she broke the windowpane.

“It’s too far mum, it’s too far. Please let me guide you down the stairs.� Percy stretched out his arm as an offering. Mr. Weasley was in a fury, he snatched at it, yanking it away from his wife. “Please dad, I want to help you. Please trust me.�

“Trust you? How dare you think we would award you with our trust?�

Despite her husband’s fury, Mrs. Weasley turned around and gently placed her hand in Percy’s. She gave him a half-hearted smile that was enough for Percy to stir up feelings he had long since lost: the feeling of love; the desire to protect and care for someone; and the courage to find a way.

For the first time in this whole ordeal Percy felt a ray of hope.


It was in this moment of enlightenment that the explosion took place. The fourth floor of the Burrow collapsed in on itself, creating a suction force that drove downwards and destroying the third floor with it. The terrible thunder roared above overhead. All three glanced upwards, dreading the worst.

First a trickle of sawdust began to seep through the ceiling and then the wooden supports started to splinter, ever so slowly. These small warning gave them very little chance. Like a fire-breathing dragon, the ceiling opened up and spewed out all the contents of the floor above. The flames fled towards its new prey, grasping hold of the different parts of furniture, bed sheets and magical defence devices. The mixture of magic with fire created a catastrophic array of colours. The flames were no longer refrained to the laws of physics as they vibrated violet and performed cartwheels. No one knew where to go now; the place was too chaotic to see further than two feet ahead.

Then Percy noticed it. A small blistered foot underneath the rubble that had fallen down from upstairs. His heart sank once again but he only allowed himself ten seconds of frozen shock. He then ransacked the rubble, digging his hands deeper and deeper until he took firm hold of the body. Once he had lifted it up, he wished he hadn’t, the grotesque burns and bloody scars were too much for him to handle. He dropped her down and collapsed on top of her.

“Oh Ginny,� he cried. “What have I done to you?�

“What have you done to her?� repeated a voice, in a much more vicious tone. Percy looked up to see the maddening expression on George’s face. “You’re a murderer!�

Murderer… murderer… murderer. The word spun through Percy’s mind, flying faster than the cartwheel-flames around him.

“I am not a murderer!� he screamed out loud. “This is lawful.�

“You are a killer,� his brother shouted back. “Don’t you feel any remorse?�

The remorse he felt was too unbearable to express. George didn’t realise this. With vengeance for his sister’s death he punched Percy across the face. Percy fell with a thud, feeling his lungs tighten up with lack of oxygen. He kept his face low to the ground, grasping the occasional molecules of the life-saving element. He could hear violent coughing nearby. Someone else was falling. The coughing at first grew worse, it wrapped around the voice, making it shout out even louder. But as the suffocating effect took hold the coughing became weaker and weaker, until it was barely a splutter. Percy opened his eyes to see George breathe his last breath as he lay beside him.

He reached out his hand and placed it into his brother’s. For around ten minutes he just lay there, moving ever closer to death, his head nestled under his brother’s chin. “I’m so sorry, so terribly sorry.�

Another heart-piercing scream brought Percy out of his lament. He raised his head and realised that someone had done an adequate job at keeping the fire at bay. He could see out of the bedroom, through into the corridor. The smoke was twirling around, looming in the air, but there were only trickles of fire, spotted around in different corners. A smoky silhouette stood on the landing, screaming and pointing down to the bottom of the stairs.

Percy ran towards it, praying and wishing it was just an illusion and that everyone had made it out of the house safely. His wish was destroyed instantly, as he saw the horror in his father’s face, it was sweating and pulsing red, like freshly flowing blood.

“She fell!� he screamed, still pointing downstairs. “The banister collapsed and she tumbled straight down!�

Percy leaned over. He wanted to scream but he couldn’t, like all the angst and drama of previous events was not appropriate for this tragedy. His mother lay on the stone floor, like a broken doll, only a small smear of blood confirmed she wasn’t sleeping. Percy ran down to her side, wiping the sweat and blood off her face and kissing her on her cheek. When she didn’t respond he grew frustrated, shaking her and performing revival charms, anything and everything he thought might work.

“Don’t die mum, please! You don’t deserve this; you above everyone do not deserve this. Oh mum – I love you. Wake up and realise I love you.�

He received a little twitch. She shuddered and then remained still. After a few seconds she opened her eyes and looked at him with melancholy. “I know you love me, son. I just wish you would love yourself.�

Percy again was forced to experience that feeling of being useless, as he watched the grim came for his mother. He clung so tightly to her hand and repeated at least a hundred times or more that he loved her.

“Molly? Molly, my darling, please wake up. Mollywobbles?� Mr. Weasley shrunk down onto the floor next to his wife. Percy stood back a few feet, giving his father space to mourn, whilst wanting to urgently do so himself. After an eternity in Percy’s mind, probably only a few minutes in reality, Mr. Weasley picked himself up and acknowledged his son’s existence.

He acknowledged his son’s existence with the pointing of his wand. Percy looked in terror, the disappointment that was in his eyes earlier had now turned to uncontrollable anger. “You are not my son!� he bellowed. “You are Voldemort’s son!�

The fear that filled Percy was not due to the use of the Dark Lord’s name; but at the wizard who used it. Percy knew that his father had to be beyond all reproach in his anger to use the name. He also knew, as his father advanced further towards him, that vengeance was all that mattered. Arthur Weasley was not thinking clearly, if he had he’d have realised his son’s repentance and forgiven him like his wife had. But due to the death of the one dearest to him his soul was far from feeling mercy. He had always been a merciful man but his capability had been corrupted.

“Please dad…�

“TRAITOR!�

As Mr. Weasley spoke the spell most suited for revenge, instinct took over in Percy’s mind. The training he had received recently as a Death Eater forced him to lift up his wand. Percy didn’t say any spell, in his heart he only wanted to protect himself. The power of neglect, sorrow and self-hatred combined together and created a deadly recipe. As the deadly hex emulated from the father’s wand, so it did also from the son’s. Two dazzling green lights combined together in the middle, mixing and swirling until they became one, then they thrust out in all directions. The force blasted both of them off their feet; they hovered up in the air for a while and then crashed down.


~*~


“We may need further assistance here, the fire is out but we have a lot of burnt debris, does anyone copy?� The young policeman waited for a reply. “Casualties, did you ask? We have discovered five casualties up to this moment and a young man who managed to escape unscathed.�

The policeman flashed a warm smile to Fred Weasley, who sipped his cocoa with uncertainty. He still didn’t know what had happened. He had been in the broom shed when the fire started, setting a jinx on Ginny’s new Nimbus 2000. He knew not how it had started or by whom. All he knew was that he was now parentless and had lost his twin brother, his elder brother and younger sister. He was thankful that Ron had left with Harry a few days ago, on an unknown adventure in search of You-Know-Who. He remembered telling the pair that they would have been safer at the Burrow and to not go looking for trouble in these dangerous times. Looking back, he was glad they’d disobeyed him. He was also glad that Bill was on his delayed honeymoon and Charlie in Norway, flushing out more dragons. He had just been in contact with them; thankfully they were on their way home. He hadn’t been able to say why he needed them; he wasn’t able to write the tragic news down in a letter. Writing it down meant it was true. It isn’t true, he assured himself. It is just a very bad nightmare.

“Sir, I know this is a troubling time for you, but do you know what caused the fire?� Fred looked at the young policemen, only a few years senior to himself. He knew that such youth didn’t need to be harassed by the truth. He didn’t need to know about a Dark Lord that was threatening to ruin the whole of Britain. Fred shook his head in a slow but genuine manner.

Looking up at the sky; a great orange fire spread across the canopy; illuminating the wasteland. Fred watched as the sun peeped up from under the heavy clouds, radiating harsh light into his eyes that resembled the harshness of the truth. Whoever it was who did this, Fred thought, controlling his anger. Is only a puppet in the Dark Lord’s scheme. They were only caught up in his web of power that has entombed the whole nation. But I am leaving here and joining Ron in the battle. Together, we will make a difference; we will help Harry and we will defeat our enemy.