Percy Weasley

They walked in a single line, a shuffle of small feet and hushed whispers as the grand doors to the Great Hall parted, every set of eyes wide as they stepped in through the threshold. Like the boat ride up to the castle, the imagery before him stole Percy’s breath away, snatched it out from his chest and left warmth and awe in its wake. The ceiling was dotted with stars, a broad giddy smile plastered over his face as Percy silently pointed out the constellations to himself, marveled in the beauty that felt just at his reach. Even the Ministry of Magic didn’t hold such an effect on him when he first stepped inside the grand building. It was beautiful, inspiring but not in the same magnitude he was seeing now. Hogwarts captivated him in a way the Ministry couldn’t.

How many great witches and wizards stood where he was now? How many waited in silly anticipation to be sorted, hoping to be placed in the house they had already picked for themselves? How many knew in those first moments they were destined for greatness? Vast adroitness that all began in one singular place. It was staggering.

Percy waited patiently beside his peers, hands clasped neatly behind his back as the list of first years dwindled, once empty seats at the house tables filled. His thoughts scatted in the quick count of heads, a simple calculation of when it would be his turn. Only three remained to be sorted, one of them, a young boy, running up to the stool in pure, undiluted excitement as his name was called. Filled with sudden nervous awareness, Percy rolled on the balls of his feet, an awkward smile sent to the remaining student beside him. He didn’t know what to expect, and carefully Percy shifted his focus to the boy that squirmed on the stool and the hat on top his head. He had tried to get all the information he could prior to Hogwarts. He didn’t like surprises, never liked the unknown, and if Percy had his way everything would have been explained thoroughly until he felt satisfied. In his quest, Bill was useless with his far off gaze, reminiscing about his first year. Charlie only shrugged at his pestering questions, simply stating that he had been sorted within seconds. The only thing his brothers agreed upon was that the hat always knew.

“Weasley, Percy!”

Thoughts danced in infinite directions as the previous applause from the Hufflepuff house faded back into respectable silence. Each step was met with new uncertainty, unease as the stern gaze of the hat grew closer. Every line and crevice of the hat came into defined focus under the lenses of his glasses, gave the hat a much more terrifying appearance than it had from the safety below. Shoulders back, Percy puffed his chest out slightly, his chin tilted up. He wasn’t afraid, he would be sorted just as quickly as Charlie had been, would soon find himself sitting beside his brothers even if it annoyed them that their pest of a little brother latched himself to them, ruined their status amongst friends. Palms slick with sweat, Percy felt his heart pick up speed as he pulled himself up onto the stool. He searched instantly for Bill and Charlie, their faces obscured as the thick leather came down on his head.

The hat was much lighter than he expected and slowly he straightened up in his seat. Nothing was called out, seconds slowly passing. He had seen it earlier, watched with his other peers as the hat took a minute to come to a final decision but with each second that passed the weight from the hat pressed down into his neck, made Percy hunch in on himself as every set of eyes stared at him. Ninety-seven. Ninety-eight. He counted every second, a panic igniting deep within that sent a flare of red patches up his arms, an unbearable itch to the idea that he had done something wrong. That there was something wrong with him. One hundred three. One hundred four.

What to do with you.

Color drained from Percy’s face, the soft fluid voice that caressed every corner of his mind and left ice in its wake. The words puzzled him, the insinuation that he had stumped the hat. It was simple. It should have been simple. He was a Weasley and Weasley’s were Gryffindor’s. He belonged in Gryffindor, just like Bill and Charlie. Just like his parents and grandparents.

You do not belong there.

Small fingers gripped onto the stool, splinters of wood puncturing into his skin. Of course he belonged to the house of lions. He believed everything they did, was raised by their core beliefs. It should have been enough to make him one. It had to be enough.

Believing in something taught to you doesn’t make it a part of you. You have the power to grow and change, to alter those beliefs and choose to not follow them. It’s what’s inside you, the deep nature within you that counts.

The words slithered around him, wormed into his thoughts until it claimed them for its own. He could feel the hats reach, the way it skimmed his mind, grazed his very being until it found what it sought after. Everything that made Percy tick was laid out for the hat to absorb.

One hundred fifty-five. One hundred fifty-six.

Oh, you would be a remarkable Ravenclaw, you certainly have the thirst for knowledge and the independence to excel there. You are by far the most logical Weasley I’ve come across. Headstrong but with a curious flare inside, always hungry to learn.

He should have felt pride in what was being said about him, wanted to feel the joy that someone saw the traits in him as something good and not a thing to mock him with. But it meant he was different. Proved that he didn’t belong in the family he felt so out of place in already. Percy was the puzzle piece that looked like it fit, but upon closer inspection, the edges were too sharp for the rounded corners, forced into place until the points gave way and curved. But even then, it didn’t quite fit. He didn’t fit.

And yet . . . you are so much more. Resourceful, determined to be better. Boundless ambition deep within you, high intelligence in a mind so dark and alone.

Tension crept over his face, white noise in his ears that drowned out everything but the hat. He knew what the hat was saying but he refused to believe it. Gryffindor. He was a Gryffindor. Just like his brothers. Just like his parents. If he said it enough, if he believed hard enough, it would be true.

You are interesting. The first Weasley to be a Sly-

'No.'

The word screamed out in his mind, refusal to let the hat finish the thought, fear that it would shout out the dreaded house in unison to what Percy heard in his own mind. Panic set in, deeply rooted with fear of what his family would think of him. How much of a disappointment he would be to his parents, the shame he would bring in his family. He could already hear Fred and George mocking him, calling him evil and a snake. Marking him with a fake dark mark with ink while he slept. 

Two hundred. Two hundred one.

No?

The hat challenged him, a tone he often heard his mother use when she was giving them a chance to correct themselves, to think and retract whatever they had said or apologized for what they had done. Percy refused to withdraw, to take back the refusal. He was a good person, he wasn't evil or cruel. He didn't find beauty in pain and dark magic.

Slytherin is a great house, not one of evil as you are thinking. You’ve been conditioned to believe they are by the very people you feel secluded from. You will be brilliant no matter where I place you, but make no mistake Percy Weasley, it is your ambition, your leadership and determination that will make you great. These are traits of the Slytherin house, a place where you will easily find your greatness. What shall it be?

It was his turn to stall, the option placed before an eleven-year old that would seal his fate within his own family. Percy mauled over hats words, the lure to a house he had only heard horror stories of. Timidly, his gaze shifted to the house of green and silver, the curious faces that stared up at him as time ached on. Eyes closed, Percy drew in three breaths. He had to make a decision, had to give the hat his answer. It wasn’t a decision he wanted, half tempted to tell the hat to place him where it thought best, even if it was where Percy feared to go.

Two hundred forty-six. Two hundred forty-seven.

His eyes opened to see Charlie rise slightly from his seat at the Gryffindor table, Bill’s hand just catching him enough to pull him back down as they remained staring up at their little brother in stunned silence. Loneliness consumed Percy like a void, devoured him in knowing just how far this would place him away from his family, how the little love he felt from them now would be gone in a wisp of smoke the moment the hat called out Slytherin.

He didn’t belong there, the hat was wrong. It had to be wrong.

I am never wrong.

He was a Gryffindor.

Are you certain?

He was brave and confident. He was a lion. He was tired of being different. He wasn’t a Slytherin, he couldn’t be.

Different is good.

Percy repeated it again in his mind, an almost plea to the hat to give him this, to let him feel like a part of his own family for a little bit. He didn't want them to hate him. 'I have to be a Gryffindor. Please.'

There was a small noise of annoyance, the hats reach on his mind retracting like a set of claws. Percy felt something that was like an inhale above, his eyes scrunched as his entire body seized with fear, screaming in his mind for the hat to hear him and put him anywhere else. Anywhere but Slytherin.

Two hundred eighty-six. Two hundred eighty-seven.

"G R Y F F I N D O R!"

Percy remained unnaturally still where he sat, eyes slowly opening as he waited for Professor McGonagall to come and remove the hat from his head. The soft hum of its voice lingered, pulled at him as gently it was lifted away, the neatness of his hair ruffled as Percy lept from the stool the moment he felt its grasp no more. His knees wobbled as the applause broke out, the final name called. Eyes trailed after him as Percy scurried to his brother’s. They each wore the same look of curiosity and suspicion as Percy quietly took his seat between them. There was no mass greetings, no shaking of hands as the table regarded him with the same perplexed stares. 

“What in bloody hell was that?” It was Charlie’s voice that made Percy look up at them, both ginger’s leaning into him. “You were up there for nearly five minutes.”

“You had us worried you weren’t going to be Gryffindor,” Bill added, his eyes a little larger than usual.

Color flushed to Percy’s cheeks, shame curdling his stomach as food appeared. “I would have been a remarkable Ravenclaw,” Percy mumbled, his attention shifting to the front of the room. His gaze lingered on the hat, the near judging gaze it held on him enough to make Percy squirm.

“Leave it to the bookworm to ruin family tradition by confusing the hat.”

Curiosity peaked, Percy mustered the courage to look up at Charlie. “Is that not common?”

Charlie and Bill shared a look that told Percy all that he needed to know. He was odd. He was different. Something was wrong with him.

“Really, you’re not even a full Gryffindor since you would make a remarkable Ravenclaw.” Mockery laced through the words, a way to poke fun at him even after his small and tainted win.

“Charlie, leave him be.” Bill chided before he smiled warmly at Percy. “Ignore him, you’ve been sorted here and that’s all that matters. It’s no surprise you have some Ravenclaw in that brain of yours. Look on the bright side, it could have been Slytherin.”

Charlie made a rude noise between a mouthful of food, a crude hand gesture that once again had Bill chiding him. Percy swallowed hard, all color to his face lost.

“Mum and dad are going to be so chuffed when you tell them.”

Percy returned the smile, more forced than with happiness. They would be proud, they had to be.

_______________________________________

According to good ol' JKR and Pottermore, there are two types of hatstalls. One, a true hatstall which is extremely rare and happens once every 50 or so years. The only true Hatstalls known to Harry were Minerva McGonagall and Peter Pettigrew. And then there are the near hatstalls, which is where for me personally, Percy would have fallen. Other known near hatstalls were Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. The difference is, to be a true hatstall and a near one is that the hat must take 5 or more minutes to decide. The complex nature of Percy and his intense desire to be in a house where he didn't exactly belong put him at four minutes and forty-six seconds.

For my own personal views on Percy's sorting and why he's not just a near hatstall but also not a Gryffindor 
 -> Hatstall Musings