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.
Percy couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't belong here, that he was a stranger in his own life. His thoughts drifted back to the Burrow. To the soft chaos of home. His family, his brothers… even Ginny with her quiet but unyielding strength. The Burrow wasn't perfect, but it was real. Here, in the polished, pristine halls of the Ministry, everything felt so fragile. Every glance, every word, every decision could be a trap. He'd worked so hard to get this far, but now, standing on the edge, he couldn't help but wonder if he was about to fall.