The Leaky Cauldron buzzed with its usual hum—clinking mugs, low chatter, occasional bursts of laughter—but Percy Weasley barely noticed. He sat at a small table in the back, cradling a steaming cup of tea, the warmth doing little to settle his nerves.
The chaos of the pub felt like a distant hum as Percy stared into the swirling brown liquid, trying to make sense of the mess in his head. He couldn't remember the last time his mind had been so restless. The offer from Cornelius Fudge—the one he had dreamed about for so long—should have filled him with pride, with excitement, but all it did now was make him feel like a tightrope walker teetering over a pit of uncertainty.
Junior Assistant to the Minister. It was exactly what he had worked for, and yet… it could ruin him if he misstepped. One wrong word, one miscalculation, one mistake—and his entire future could crumble.
Percy sipped his tea, grimacing at the bitterness. It didn't taste right, like the world was too complicated for something so simple to feel like it mattered. He looked around the pub again, eyes scanning the faces of witches and wizards who were chatting and laughing, lost in their own lives. Everyone seemed… normal. Oblivious.