aperfectthird | → o1. [video]

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[The feed opens quite abruptly on a young man looking into the device with a combination of consternation and confusion. A finger appears and taps on the screen, then the view promptly swings around to a pair of perfectly polished dress shoes. The view shakes for a moment before coming back to Percy's face, brow still furrowed.]

Oh, I think it's one of those communication devices - felly - no - telly - telephones? Is it on?

[He speaks loudly now.]

Hello?! Can anyone hear me?

[Beat. He looks worried, biting his lip, then squares his jaw, thinks for a moment, and continues. His tone is firm and authoritative, though those who know him well might be able to spot a very fine thread of fear running through it.]

If anyone can hear me, then I demand safe passage back to England immediately. I am employed by the British government and I guarantee that the Minister will not be pleased to find I have been taken.

I await your response.

Now how do I turn this off?

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[A moment of shock as the girl appears on his screen, then he squints and peers at it, looking to either side of the phone as though looking for a secret fireplace before looking at the keypad.]

A red - yes, I see it now.

What do you mean, no one can help with the rest? That's absurd.

[ There's a slight smile as he looks at either side of the phone; yes, definitely someone who isn't used to this sort of technology. ]

Let me rephrase that. None of the people who are likely to answer this can help, anyway. We've all been brought here -- this place is called the City, by the way -- by some beings who call themselves deities. They don't seem to have any intentions toward letting us go; instead, we get to deal with strange happenings everyone calls 'curses' every few days. No one outside the City can hear us on these, and there are barriers preventing anyone from leaving.

[ There's a pause, and then she gives him a slightly rueful smile. ]

I'm Ariadne. I've been here for about a month and a half now, though apparently I've been here before, which I don't remember at all. I can send you a guide, if you'd like. It's a bit outdated, but it's a good reference tool.

[There's a moment as the information sinks in, and his brow furrows.]

Hello, Ariadne, it's good to meet you. You're absolutely sure there's no way out at all? I'm sorry, but that's impossible.

You too -- though I didn't catch your name.

[ And here's that guide. ]

Oh, no, people get out. We just don't know how. [ There's a slight shrug. ] One of my roommates was told that you can feel it coming, before you're about to leave. Not everyone does, though. I know at least one person who's been here for three years. [ His sister, as a matter of fact. ]

Oh - my apologies. Percy Weasley.

People have been here for years?

I thought you might be a Weasley. I know some of your brothers, and your sister. I'm sure they'll get in contact with you soon, if they haven't already; last I saw, Fred and George were having a... body-swapping issue.

[ Guess who doesn't know Fred is dead. ]

Yeah. Apparently it's not common, but it does happen.

...did you say Fred?

[ ... Well. That's an interesting reaction. ]

Yes?

Fred Weasley?

[ She is getting the feeling that she's been Missing Something. ]

Yes, Fred Weasley. Co-runs a joke shop, likes orange, looks exactly like George but with both ears.

[He presses his lips together, clearly trying to keep his temper under control. When he speaks again, his voice is tight with barely controlled anger.]

Is this a joke, Miss Ariadne? If so, it not funny and in extremely poor taste.

[ Wow, okay, now she definitely knows something is up. She's immediately on the defensive, though, her own temper flaring -- she didn't do anything other than trying and be helpful. ]

It's not a joke.

Then I've no idea what you're playing at, because my younger brother Fred who co-runs a joke shop, likes orange, and looks just like George but with both ears -

[His breath catches.]

- died last week.

[ And just like that, her temper's gone, eyes wide. Her first reaction, kneejerk, is denial -- no, that's wrong, you're wrong, I just saw talked to him yesterday. It's fading quickly, though, something sinking in her gut. She knows they have secrets, all of them have secrets, but this...

But she remembers grabbing him, kissing him in a moment of anger just a week ago, and she'd thought it had been winter's chill but maybe the cold hadn't been from the snow and ice but had been from something else (like the hand of the boy in the graveyard in Harry's memory, and it's frightening, how she knows what corpses feel like now thanks to some of her closest friends in this place). She remembers glances, the way certain subjects are always quickly changed or skirted along, looks in eyes that imply there's more. She's been trying to behave herself, trying not to push -- it doesn't work on Ginny, and Harry relived one of her own memories, so it's too dangerous to push in case he pushes back. George has told her things accidentally, without thinking, but not a lot; that they know magic, that there was a war, and mentioned "You-Know-Who", whoever that is. But this...

She doesn't think Fred is a shade. She knows Lily is dead, now, having seen her come out of the red-eyed man's wand in Harry's memory, and she never once thought of her as a shade. This place is too real to her compared to the dreams, the dead too lifelike, and she knows Arthur tried to kill himself to get out only to have to make a deal so his heart would beat again. It's possible to do so, here. But she didn't know, and Percy has only had a week to deal with his loss and here she is, trying to be helpful and instead digging into wounds. ]

I...

[ What does she do? ]

I didn't know-- Really, I-- But he is here, I was just talking to him yesterday. I know you don't know me, but I wouldn't lie about something like this.

[ That much should be written all over her face. ]

[The hand that isn't clutching his device is curled tightly into a fist, perfectly trimmed nails digging into his palm, and his face is white, with two spots of color at his cheeks. He's practically trembling with the effort it's taking to keep from breaking down, to keep calm and not cry.

This has to be a trick. It has to be a cruel, horrible, heartless trick that someone is playing on him, for whatever reason, and this isn't real this isn't real this isn't real Fred is dead and Percy killed him and whoever says otherwise is lying.]

I don't believe you. I believe that you believe it happened, but it didn't. It's impossible.

[ Impossible. She's seen a lot of impossible things become reality, especially here. This, though... she wishes she didn't know how impossible this should be, that Fred Weasley should be dead and in the ground. She likes knowing, she always has, but just like when she had found out Harry had been tortured and nearly killed when he was fourteen, she wishes she didn't know this.

One hand raises to her face, trembling slightly as she tucks some hair behind her ear, despite the fact that it's already there before moving to her pocket, curling around the bishop she continues to carry with her. ]

It's possible here.

No it's not. The dead don't return to life.

[Because God knows if they did, if they could through wishes and prayers alone, Fred would be alive and would probably never die, not with how much Percy has begged and pleaded and bargained with whoever was listening, trying to get them to see that they made a mistake, they should take him and bring Fred back.

But no one is listening and the dead are still dead, and everyone else just has to pick up the pieces.]

I don't know what you think happened but it is not. Possible.

[ She's upset, visibly so, and so is he -- but she doesn't know him, and while she can be kind and sensitive and thoughtful, everyone has an uglier side. At the moment, the part of her that hates being wrong, especially when she knows she's right, is rearing its ugly head. ]

You don't know how this place works. Where I come from, a lot of things aren't possible, but they are here -- from the talking pterosaur to Canary Creams.

[ The head of the bishop presses into her palm, her shaking getting worse. ]

He's here, Percy. Don't disregard him as a figment of someone's imagination. He deserves more than that. All of you do.

No.

This is all some kind of prank, some horrible joke; it's not real.

[His composure is visibly cracking now, though he's clearly fighting it down, compressing it into a tiny ball and pushing it away, swallowing down the tears and fist clenching tighter.]

He's not back, and it's sick that someone is pretending otherwise.

[ That denial is just making her angrier. Okay, so she didn't know he was dead. But that doesn't matter as much as the fact that he's here, here with his little sister and his twin brother and Harry and now one of his older brothers, an older brother who refuses to understand, who could end up hurting all of them with it. She isn't going to try and make Percy understand for himself, but she is going to try and make him understand for them. ]

This place doesn't make sense like you want it to, fine, I'm not going to argue that. But you are not going to hurt people I care about because you're too... too... obtuse to accept the fact that he's here, whether it's possible or not.

[you aren't going to hurt people i care about

hurt people i care about

i care about

For a moment, Percy looks like he's been punched in the face, shocked and hurt and angry, because this is his family, he knows them better than anyone, he just buried Fred, and how dare she -

- and then the moment of vulnerability is gone, snapped back behind a cold, professional facade, lips pressing together and chin lifting slightly.]

I suppose I shall find out for myself, given time. Thank you for the guide, Miss Ariadne.

[ There's a vicious, vindictive part of her that thinks good at the look on his face. Maybe he'll get it -- though to be honest, she doesn't hold out much hope. He seems to be as stubborn as she is, if not more (and isn't that a terrifying thought).

Later, when the anger and protectiveness have faded, she'll feel bad. Probably. Maybe. ]

You're welcome.

[There's a moment, and then he does what he's been instructed and simply clicks the red button on the front of the device, ending the connection.]

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