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.