"Dad, don't!" Percy shouted.
Percy lunged at his father, seizing his wrist as Arthur hurled himself towards the unresponsive girl propped up in her hospital bed. She didn't stir, not even when the two men grappled at the foot of her bed, her eyes fixed on something on some far-off point that only she could see, which only served to infuriate Arthur all the more.
"Let go of me, Percy!" Arthur roared. "She cut off my little girl's hand!"
The Healer had asked the Weasleys to visit a patient admitted alongside Ron, a fellow Hogwarts student, who had been muttering Arthur's name over and over. Reasoning that perhaps meeting the person she sought might bring about some improvement, he had suggested they pay her a visit, if their schedules permitted. And so, after bidding their son goodbye, the three Weasleys had made their way up to the fourth floor to see the girl in question, only to find a rather familiar yet hateful face…
"And she saved my life!" Percy roared back. "Calm down, Dad, before you get us into trouble!"
Molly stood frozen in the doorway of the Janus Thickey Ward, staring in shock at the girl.
"Fine!" Arthur said in a huff, shaking off his son's hand. "I'll see what she has to say, and then we're leaving."
Arthur Weasley walked stiffly up to the side of the girl's bed and crossed his arms in front of her, staring pointedly. He waited a few seconds, but when she did not respond, he began to lose his patience, his face twitching as he summoned every ounce of willpower at his disposal to refrain from strangling her where she sat.
"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" Arthur snarled. "You wanted to see me, didn't you, Oleandra Greengrass? Well, out with it!"
"Mmmph!" Muffled cries rang out from a few beds away. The Weasleys ignored them.
Easy-going as Arthur Weasley was, even he could turn into a hard man when his family was concerned. First there had been the matter of Oleandra attacking Bill's wedding party and taking his daughter's hand, and now she had been admitted at the same time as his son, who had been purposefully infected with Spattergroit.
"Her chart says she was tortured," Percy said, examining the placard hung at the foot of Oleandra's bed. "I don't think Ron and his friends could have been responsible for this…"
Percy's voice trailed off, and he glanced meaningfully at his father. The situation was perhaps more complicated than Arthur wanted to believe.
"Oleandra, it's me, Percy," Percy said softly, sitting at her bedside. "Do you remember me?"
"MMMPH!"
Once again, muffled cries rang out, followed by a dull thud as the moaning patient a few beds away rolled over and fell to the ground, wrapped in their bedsheets. Distracted, Percy looked away from Oleandra as a Healer hurried into the ward to help the patient back into bed. Curtain dividers separated the beds, so he quickly lost sight of her.
To his surprise, Percy found Oleandra staring at his face when he revolved to face her again.
"Percival," she said, a faint frown appearing on her brow. No, that couldn't be right. Percival was an idiot amongst idiots, but the person sitting on her bed was rather clever. "Sir," she added, "…Kay?"
"Yes, s'okay!" Percy said encouragingly. "Percy, that's my name! You saved my life, remember? You saved me from the Basilisk and that awful Mafalda Prewett, the Heir of Slytherin!"
Percy had always been rather fond of the Greengrass sisters. He quite literally owed them his life, since they had saved him from certain doom during the Chamber of Secrets affair.
"No…" Oleandra groaned.
Everything was a blur… thinking was difficult… remembering was painful… something was wrong, but she could not put her finger on what… better to retreat inside, where it was warm and cosy and safe…
"I owe you my life," Percy said quietly. "I just wish there was a way I could repay you…"
"For a gift is always rewarded," Oleandra said absent-mindedly. The brief spark of intelligence Percy had seen in her eyes had gone out. "And a boon always demands a return."
Percy waited for Oleandra to say more, but she had fallen silent once again, her gaze fixed on empty space. He wanted to speak to her further, but he had piles of paperwork to complete at the Ministry, and his father needed to return to work as well.
"Poor thing," Molly said as the three Weasleys stepped into the corridor outside. There was a hint of sympathy in her voice. "I can't imagine what she must have gone through…"
Percy clenched his fists.
"Mum, dad," Percy said in a small voice. "I-I-I just wanted to tell you I was a damned fool… and that I'm sorry. About everything."
Arthur's expression softened, and Molly's eyes began brimming with tears.
"Oh, come here, Son," Arthur said, hugging his son as his wife started bawling. "Look at what you've done… you've made your mother cry…"
"I'm sorry," Percy choked out as his mother joined the hug. "I'm so, so, sorry."
After an uncomfortably long time, they broke apart. Percy cast one last glance over his shoulder as the three of them walked away from the Permanent Spell Damage Ward.
Something terrible had happened to Oleandra, and worse would continue as long as the Death Eaters controlled the country. Sticking his head out would only get it cut all the faster, this Percy knew— and yet he was filled with an irresistible urge to do something.
Anything.
There were rumours at the Ministry of a sanctuary for Muggle-Born Witches and Wizards. Someone out there was hiding them, for they certainly weren't leaving the country: international travel was on complete lockdown, and nobody was coming in or out of the British Isles except You-Know-Who sympathisers… and yet the daily number of Muggle-Born captured continued to dwindle, and not because there were fewer of them.
Percy clenched his fists. As long as there were still people to save, it was not too late to act. There was only so much mysterious saviours and anonymous benefactors could do. If he wanted his country saved, someone had to step up— someone like him.
Before it was too late.
In just a few months, the Muggle population had already fallen by around fifteen per cent, though most of the casualties were in England and Greater London, where the Death Eaters had entrenched themselves, leaving displaced Muggles to perish from exposure or famine, with neither food nor money to their names.
The populations of Wales, Scotland, and the entirety of Ireland remained relatively untouched, albeit directionless due to Project Heliopaths' decapitation tactics… but this relative peace would not last. Death was coming for all Muggles, sooner rather than later…