Percy Weasley

08/08/2021 10:52 PM  The Devil Within AU 1998 Darkness had taken the Ministry by storm, swept though the building in a deadly smog, burned and consumed all good that was left. Unmasked evil that walked the halls with their heads high, no need to cover their face. No shame in their beliefs now that they held the power. The proof was in the monument that replaced the fountain of magical brethren; the faces etched into the stone, their terror and anguish forever on display. Muggles and anyone who dared fight. Whispers followed him, eyes that flicked in his direction but never met his gaze as Percy walked the halls, his chin high, gaze stern. Always undeterred by what was happening around him, people thought of him as courageous. Valient even in his effort to ignore the targets on his back and persist. A Weasley, a blood traitor by baring the last name alone even after he cut all ties with his family. He could have ran, hide away like others that knew their time was coming to an end.  A true Gryffindor. Percy’s hands trembled as he reached for the door, the once steady beating of his heart increased in folds. He should have been terrified of what laid in wait for him beyond the door, he should have felt something but it had been a long time since he felt anything. The coup broke him but everything after had killed him. His soul had been shredded, anger and agony a deadly mix, a poison that singed his heart and pulsed hatred through his entire body.  Footfalls echoed through the darkened chamber, each step that brought him closer to that indescribable feeling. Percy scanned the room, brushed over the lone figure in the center of the room chained to the chair in search of something else entirely. He had only been summoned once before, brought down to the very chamber he stood in, believing he was about to die. Ready to die and fade out of existence. After the hell he had been left it, killing him would have been a mercy. Noise came from the chair, a struggle against the gag in his mouth, and slowly Percy turned. The sight should have sickened him, a lot of the things he witnessed should have, but Percy merely cocked his head to the side in study. Sweaty red hair plastered to his bloodied face, George’s wide terrified eyes met his, the missing appendage that told him which twin it was. With great gentleness, Percy pulled the gag down his brother’s face. “Perce? Bloody hell Perce, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.” George gasped, his voice ragged. “You have to help me out of here.” Percy’s brows rose in question. Even now, in the chamber where people went to die, his own flesh and blood had little regard for him. He was the one they expected to fix their problems, the one to come to the rescue only to abandon him when he needed them the most. It never crossed his mind that Percy was brought as a means of torture. Family was a tool, an extension to break even the strongest.  The air became heavier, George’s eyes orbed as he looked around. He could sense it as well, felt the presence join the room before a foot was even set in the chamber. “Percy . . . Perce hurry up.” Crouched down before him, Percy examined his brother. It had been so long since he had seen George, the faint memory of Christmas and parsnips alive. Every moment, every name they had called him, the way they always beat him down, belittled everything about him. It festered inside him, years of thinking he was less because he wasn’t like them, made to believe it by their actions.  “Per-Percy?”  The presence of Voldemort filled the room, stole all the oxygen with his power. Percy didn’t need to turn to know he was there, didn’t need confirmation. He could see it in his brother’s face, the undiluted terror was written across his pale face as the thing he feared advanced. “As promised.” George’s eyes darted, each time landing on Percy with a new level of shock, a deeper fear. His head shook, repeated his older brother’s name as if it would help him see sense. The whimper sent a chill of excitement through him. To be on the other end of their little game, the one to break them and make them suffer . . . it was sensational.  “Oh Georgie,” Percy began, a look of disappointment that didn’t match the sinister smile he bore. “You actually thought I was here to help you?”  “We’re brothers,” George whispered, tears welled behind his bruised eyes. The truth settled in that Percy had turned into the thing they called him since he left all those years ago; a traitor. “C’mon Perce . . . please. I’m your brother, we take care of each other.” Voldemort glided, barely caught in Percy’s peripheral vision as he took a seat. He held true to his promise, the words that lured a broken and beaten Weasley on the brink of death to the side of darkness. He saw Percy’s potential, saw the mistreatment as early as his school years, and promised better. Percy only wished he listened to the young Professor Riddle, it would have saved him years of pain and heartbreak.   He was the face people trusted, the only remaining face of the old Ministry - the true Ministry. They saw death eaters haul him away for questioning, assumed the worst. They confided in him, the blood of those who trusted him over his hands. All the information Remus had given him . . . a trail of red that followed him as the Order crumbled. Brought George to him.  Nothing was ever easy with Voldemort, nothing ever given without a test. That was exactly what this was. A test of his loyalty. Words meant nothing, action did. All of Percy’s promises put to the test. “I’m not your brother. The last bit of Weasley in me died after the coup; when you all left me to die.” The sweet sound of the blade as it snapped from its hold was like music to his ears, but it was nothing compared to George. “Percy . . . Percy please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Plea-” “After years of the hell you put me through, I want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way.” George’s shriek filled the room, a slow rise of red between the split flesh under his eye down to his chin. With the blade, Percy kept George's focus on him. He wanted to see every ounce of fear. “I wonder how deep your twin bond goes, do you think Fred will feel you die?” The entire Weasley family would learn one by one. Prompt: I want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way; ft. ❝Megalomaniac;   0 Comments

08/04/2021 01:40 PM  Forgotten 18 December 1995 “Weasley, take a seat.” In the shuffle of his papers, Percy paused in confusion, eyes unblinking as he nervously looked up. Fudge sat behind the oak desk, those beady eyes set on Percy in a way that unnerved the calmest parts of his mind. Palpitations soared, an increase of beats against his chest that helped create the sheen of sweat across his forehead. For a moment he second-guessed himself, searched in vain for any error that had slipped past him, though there never was any. He had read over every bit of paperwork, rewrote things thrice over if his penmanship wasn’t crisp enough. There were no mistakes, no reason that Fudge would want to talk to him on such a serious level. Everything came down on him; every misplaced document, every word scribed and letter sent out that didn’t get the response that Fudge wanted. It all fell on Percy’s head. He only wished that his father had been right, that Fudge wanted him as a spy and nothing more, because if he was a spy, Fudge wouldn’t have been so vile towards him. He would remain professional to get what he wanted instead of screaming and throwing whatever was closest in Percy’s general direction. One couldn’t bully the person they needed most, and Fudge didn’t need him, not really.  Cautiously, Percy set the files on the desk before he sat awkwardly in the much too small chair. It was nothing but a power play, a pitiful attempt to show dominance over those Fudge had deemed below him by forcing them into a seat that was made for first years at Hogwarts. Smile twisted, Percy sat unquestioningly, waited for Fudge to move past the puzzle in the Daily Prophet and speak to him regarding what he needed. Time ticked on, allowed for warped thoughts to circulate and panic swell to what the problem was without knowing if there even was a problem.  Glasses slipped down his nose, Percy’s hand shaking slightly as he pushed them back up. The possibility of being fired barreled through an already chaotic mind. Percy knew the ploy but fell victim to it all the same. Each task he ran through he found new faults in it, things he completely manifested in his own mind, conversations that he could have handled better, although they were nothing short of perfect professionalism. Promises formed, words about how he’d be better; ready to beg if he needed to.  He had nowhere to go. He would lose the disgusting flat and left with nothing. “Sir?” Percy began timidly, the apology already at the tip of his tongue. He always believed he was above groveling, but in the moment Percy saw himself in the way his siblings did and hated himself. Beady eyes narrowed on the paper, Fudge’s tongue poked out from his lips in what appeared to be concentration. A single finger help up for Percy to wait. There was a small, satisfied ‘ah-hah’ before the paper singed from existence, the pile of ash brushed away in the swoop of Fudge’s hand. “Has your family contacted you at all recently?” Percy’s chest caved slightly, a spark of annoyance lit under the dying panic. In the few short months he had joined the Minister’s team, not once had Fudge asked about his family or Percy’s estrangement. It gave Percy a small sense of ignorant pride that his father had been wrong and that Fudge wanted him on his team because Percy was a ‘valuable asset’. Not because he was the weak link in his family, the one everyone assumed would turn. Now it was clear he had just been biding his time, a great patience to call the bluff to the Weasley scandal. Teeth gritted, Percy forced the smile to remain in place. “No, Sir.” A look crossed Fudge’s face, a look of slight disbelief that was covered by the same haughty look as before. “So you are unaware that your father was admitted to Mungo’s last night?” The world stopped for a moment, Percy’s breath stunted in his chest. It was a test, a sick way to see if he was lying. “I’m sorry . . . What?” Fudge watched him closely, monitored his reaction before he handed over a paper. “Yes, he apparently had a nasty encounter with a . . .” The rest of the words were lost to the oceanic noise of blood rushing to his head. It was all there in black and white, signed off by multiple healers that Arthur Weasley would be off from work and at Mungo’s healing from a creature attack.  Fudge’s satisfied smile turned Cheshire as Percy sunk back in the chair. “Awful situation. I do apologize that I had to be the one to tell you, that’s a family matter. But that’s what we do here, we look out for each other.” Percy tried not to listen. He knew exactly what Fudge was doing, the wedge forced deeper between him and his family in the fact he didn’t know, that not a single member of his family contacted him in the twelve hours since Arthur had been admitted. “I would understand if you wanted to take the rest of the day off.” Percy looked up for the first time since he took the paper, his chin jutted out a little further than normal. “Thank you, but I’m fine. If it’s alright, I have a lot of paperwork to finish.” With a wave of dismissal, Percy rose from the seat and walked with calm precision. Each step counted brought a tide of emotions; fury, pain, panic . . . Loneliness. Emotions masked with pleasant smiles to those he passed on his way to his office, the same questions asked.  Why didn’t they -anyone- tell him? Did they think that poorly of him? Did they hate him that much that wasn’t alerted to something so important?    5 hours later “Percy?” The tip of the quill raced over the parchment, ink fluid as the words poured from him. It was simple work. Simple work he just couldn’t get right.  “Hey . . .” The parchment tore under the pressure of the quill, muttered curses under his breath as he searched for a clean sheet. His usual pristine desk sat in disarray; parchment, new and old tossed carelessly around. Empty jars of ink tipped over, feathers to snapped quills just visible under the discarded parchment. He began again, hyper-focused on the task he needed to finish with perfection. A task that anyone with half a brain could complete faster and more efficiently than Percy was. He would be fired by morning, the owl waiting for him come morning. He was sure of it. “Percy?” Zoshia’s voice cut through the noise in his mind, a look of resentment on Percy’s face as she pried the quill from him. “Are you alright?” “Give me back my quill.” His voice was gritty even to his own ears, a disturbance to his usual calmness noticed by Zoshia as she stepped back. “I have work to finish, papers that need transferring and clearance.” “It’s time to go home, you can finish it tomorrow.”  She was the sensible one, the only one who could pull his head out of his work and breathe in life, take a break. But at the moment she was a nuisance. An aggravation he didn’t need. “My f***ing quill. Now,” he snarled, a violent tremble in his hand as he held it out for his quill. Zoshia’s features turned dangerous, a dare for him to speak again. “You clearly need to step away from your work. Have you even left the office today?” She eyed the mug stained with coffee rings. “It’s late, let’s get you home.” Home. The word caused something inside to snap. He didn’t have a home, not anymore. She tried again, voice soft and careful; as if were a child on the verge of a tantrum. A flurry of parchment hit the ground as he snatched up his satchel, incoherent snarls not even he could decipher. Fistfuls of paper crammed violently in, he felt his chest seize, a sudden inability to breathe. He couldn’t stop himself, felt out of his own body as paper after paper crumpled in his hands. “Percy! Percy stop - ” Zoshia’s hands clasped around his, forced him to come back. “Stop, please. This isn’t like you.” He fought to regain control, tried holding in deeper breaths, counting. Anything that would end the angered panic inside. “I have work to do,” he said robotically, face turned down so she couldn’t see he was shattering. “Please give me my quill.” “It’s time to -” “Then go, I don’t f***ing want you here!” Hands ripped from her grip, instant regret spread through his chest, seized him by the heart as Zoshia’s eyes narrowed on him. He was doing what he did best, driving away those that mattered, forcing the people he cared for to hate him. Percy waited for her to leave, for the barrage of insults to leave her and layer over him, make home in his mind. Zoshia’s hands gripped the edge of his desk, her features schooled in a way that made her terrifying. Face inches from his, she observed him, kept her eyes on him and only him long after Percy sheepishly broke the contact. “Talk to me like that again, and I’ll do more than shove your quill where the sun doesn’t shine.” Teeth clenched, Percy nodded carefully. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I’ve just had a horrific day and I know it’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.” Her gaze fell to his desk, danced quickly over the mess of his work before she grabbed a piece. The blush was instantaneous, muscles tensed as brown eyes peered over the parchment at him. Her anger became confusion before it melted into something different entirely, a look he despised. Pity. Is dad really at Mungo’s?  A question he had written and re-written a hundred times, each variation crossed out on the scraps of parchment that littered his desk.  “Percy . . .” Zoshia began as she rifled through his pleas to his family to know what was happening. Why they didn’t tell him. “It’s fine.” A lie that she saw through easily, a brown arched in questions Percy was thankful she didn’t ask. His vision blurred, focus turned to sorting his papers into pointless piles. His mind needed the distraction, anything but the problem. “I’m sure . . . Listen, I know what it’s like to rush a loved one to the hospital, the hours after are chaotic. I don’t think it’s intentional.” He scoffed sharply, felt his nose drip as the first signs of the breakdown surfaced. “Except, according to Fudge, he was taken there last night for a creature bite. It’s now . . . Eight at night and nothing. Not a bloody damn word from anyone. I didn’t meet you for lunch because I went to my flat to see if I had an owl, or any kind of message. Any of my siblings could have owled me, said he was injured and I would have dropped everything to be there . . . Instead, I found out from Fudge.” His voice broke under the pressure to keep it level.  “Percy, your family-” “I'm not a part of their family.” He willed himself to stop, felt the hot tears pool as Zoshia stared at him helplessly. “I’m not one of them anymore, they made that really f***ing clear.” He ran his hand through his hair, the pain to the words felt deep in his heart. It was the ultimate way to show him, tell him that he wasn’t considered a Weasley anymore. Their father was in Mungo’s and not a single word was sent to him. Fingers laced with his, three gentle squeezes of reassurance from Zoshia as the storm within died, the rush of emotions that left him feeling empty.  Prompt: 'This isn't like you' ft. 𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢 HC1: Fudge didn't believe the story he was given by Kingsley and Tonks. He utilized Percy not being alerted to create a bigger divide and keep Percy isolated. He hoped it would be what made Percy turn against his family but even in all his anger and grief, Percy never spoke about his family to Fudge. HC2: Percy rarely swears in front of others, let alone repeatedly. Profanity lacks to serve a purpose when used all the time, and when he does swear Percy's completely snapped.  0 Comments

07/25/2021 03:40 PM  Home 14 April 1998 Something was amiss, a heaviness that amplified in his gut the moment his feet hit the ground just beyond the burrows gate. Percy’s world abruptly halted in familiarity, a skim of normalcy and memories that caught him off guard to the sight before him. In everything he knew, every bit of wrongness to the warmly lit windows, Percy moved with deft determination for the place that once felt like home. His pace quickened with every step, a frantic hurdle for the door with ignorant hope.  Instinct said that it was a trap. Death eaters knew he returned to the burrow, that in the days since the news hit of his family going missing, Percy had retreated back to the place he called home. It was why they were after him now, why the torture had become more frequent and boarded on deadly. His return to the burrow solidified their proof that he was a blood traitor. Still, he returned, day after day to the place he had been run out from, to the family that had abandoned him to death eaters in hopes they would notice he was there and come back for him. Shadows danced along the walls within, a single form that brought to life the thrill of no longer being alone, propelled him through the doors without a wand in hand, wishfully believing a shock of red hair would be what greeted him on the other side, any familiar face of his family. “Mum!” His voice broke, cracked as he stumbled through the door, eyes wide in search of the only person who would have come for him, the only one who ever showed signs of wanting him. “Mum . . . ?” Pink hair rounded the corner, a moment in time suspended. The pair stood transfixed on the other, Dora’s wand steady on Percy’s chest. His eyes flickered to the round belly, shock that showed on his face to the sight of her, a sign of how long it had been since they last saw each other. One that glowed with life while the other had withered was proof of the darkness of the surrounding war. Her expression softened, crumpled as the weight of what she was seeing came down on her. “Percy . . . bloody hell.” Ears strained, he waited to hear them, the telltall footfalls of a sibling, his mother’s crushing hug to blindside him. His dad’s voice, the glint of his glasses as he came for him. He could feel it, the truth he refused to believe in the surrounding heaviness. She was alone, there was no one, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t there for him. The light that they hadn’t forgotten him, that they found a way to get him out was all he had left to hold onto.  “They sent you, right?” Dora blinked, a steady hand on her round belly. “Percy, I’m here on routine. We discovered someone's been breaking in and . . . it’s been you, hasn’t it?” “They sent you to get me . . . Right?” The words were on a loop inside him. He didn’t take in her words, a refusal to listen because the moment he did the truth would destroy the little hope he had left. “You came to get me, take me to where they are? Somewhere safe, right?” Each time he repeated it the plea became louder, desperation for her to reassure him. A cry for her lie. “I’m sorry, I . . .” Tentatively, Dora stepped forward, her features twisted in distress. “The Order didn’t - I’m not even supposed to be here really, being this far along. I just wanted to make sure whoever was here wasn’t . . . Percy, come back!” Fingers grappled for him as he made a move for the door, a deep need to get as far away as he could. The last crack set in; splintered everything inside him and the small fight he had left burned out. Dora caught his hand, tried to lure him back from the edge she had no idea he was on, her voice soft as she asked him again not to go. “You told me they cared,” he said quietly, referencing the last time they had spoken, the promise that it would all be okay. “You told me they wanted me to come home.” Dora’s head shook, slight confusion in her wide eyes. “Perce, I wasn’t lying, they do.” He scoffed coldly, felt the sting at the lie that came from her, one that was close enough to be family. “Don’t do that.” She tried to reach him, get his attention fixed on her words and not the emotions, the anger that rooted in him. In the parallels against her mother, it was in these moments that she reminded Percy so much of his aunt, Andromeda's ability to bring calm to the room, quiet the negative emotions that pulled them. “I didn’t li-” “Explain it then, Dora. Break it down for me because I am clearly missing something.” Percy’s arms stretched out, a swirl of mania behind his eyes, the ghost of everything he never let anyone see manifest.  She stood speechless, her face paled. "I didn't lie." “THEY LEFT ME!” His voice carried through the room, echoed through the surrounding emptiness. The snarl was clear, the anger that bled from him as he glared at Tonks. “They left me to die, and you knew they were going into hiding. You knew everything, how I’ve been helping, that I’ve wanted to go home and you let them leave me.” It hit his cheek before Percy knew what was happening, the single tear that broke his control and made him vulnerable. Always the emotionless one. The one in control. Dora had never seen him this far gone before, no one but Lukas Burnley the day before when the news came. Percy’s chest rose rapidly, desperation to regain control as Dora tried to find words, create a lie within a lie that Percy longed to believe. People he put faith in, believed for a moment Remus and Tonks saw him as something but they viewed him just as everyone else did. The traitor who was getting his justice. The pompous prat who didn’t have the decency to die with the ministry, the cockroach. “Perce…. I know you’re upset and hurt, but you got it all wrong. We can fix this, I’ll talk to Remus and the order we’ll figure something out.” Half tempted by the offer, Percy stood straighter, held his breath until the ache was no longer and the emotions faded from existence. The smile came naturally, unsettling enough for Tonks to retreat. Aside from the red eyes, nothing showed of his outburst. Hand on the door, Percy shook his head. “I served my purpose and I know when I’m no longer needed or wanted.” ft. 𝐞𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 Prompt: revelation 0 Comments

07/24/2021 03:18 PM  Head Boy 1 September 1993 Fingers grazed the cool metal, beautifully carved lettering in gold set against the deep red of the badge. A thing of pride, an accomplishment he had worked so hard for.               Head Boy Percy angled it up slightly, tilted to the left and his heart dropped.               Humongous Bighead To the right brought the rise of shame.               Head Prat “I didn’t tell you . . .” Feigned interest lingered behind the dully lit eyes, Percy’s head tilted in a way that gave the impression he was actually listening. Oliver’s voice trailed after him, animated hands thrown in every direction as they ascended the staircase up to their room, Percy’s attention locked on his hands. Sharp edges dug into the pads of his fingers, a feeling that he let linger as he shifted the badge under the passing firelight. Stifled laughter, wide amused eyes that followed, his name whispered along the Gryffindor table as they sat for supper hours ago. Every mockery layered over him, beat him apart as the thing he dreamed of, the goal of a lifetime was ripped apart time and time again. Back straight, Percy had ignored the glances, buried himself in his book as a means to distract himself. Pretend nothing was wrong. He knew they had tampered with his badge again. Knew why every smirk and snicker came in his direction and he allowed it. It was his duty as Head Boy to be the example, even if it meant letting it destroy him on the inside. It didn’t bother him, not anymore. Two years of the twins altering his Prefect badge prepared Percy for the same treatment when he made Head Boy. He tried everything to keep his badge from them, but they found ways of obtaining it; they always did. Weeks of non-magical tricks finally branched into their charms talent when at last they could unleash their full potential. Twice he had altered the badge back to its original state. Penelope on the train, in her own fit of laughter corrected it, and again in the short span between the train and the castle they had managed it again. It was impossible, but the devilish grins Percy loathed watched him.  “So basically, I finally mastered the starfish and stick!” Oliver fell back onto his bed with delight, giddy with his achievement. “It took me all summer but I finally . . . everything alright, mate?” Mate? Percy’s face scrunched back as if repulsed by the word. In the years they had been dorm mates Oliver never once called him ‘mate’. It was something that Percy never really had, found himself for once baffled at the idea of someone calling him their mate or finding him to be one. He was always the annoying little brother that followed Bill and Charlie around. He was the brown noser that always came out on top in all of their classes to his peers. He was the prat of an older brother. The target. Oliver’s eyes narrowed, surveyed him in a way that Percy had only ever seen him do to Quidditch tactics that bothered him. Moves that eluded him, plays that had something out of place and took a keen eye to find. "Perce?" Smile forced, Percy put up an air of arrogance he always held as he tossed his belongings on the floor without care. It was nothing but a cover used to mask his real self, the person he was so ashamed of, the authentic version of himself that was even more different from his family that would never have survived their attacks. A protective layer formed, took the brunt of the blows and cuts from everyone around him to shield the real him. “I’m fine.” “You sure?” Oliver’s hands lifted to the glare shot at him. “I’m just asking because this time in our fifth year you were already buried in books in preparation for O.W.Ls, you even made me a study schedule. And you practically slept with your prefect badge on.” At once their eyes fell on the Head Boy badge unceremoniously discarded on his trunk, and Percy’s chest caved at the sight. He never would have tossed it down, thrown it on his trunk when it had its own box. Something that should have been his pride and joy, a time when he should have been scouring books to absorb all the information he could need for their N.E.W.Ts and yet he stood numbly.  When did he stop caring? Had he really lost himself, lost his light? He waited for the concern over himself to rise, to bubble to life but there was nothing. He knew he should have felt something in regards to his off behavior, behavior that was so off that even Oliver noticed. He was vacant, a creeping numbness that crashed over him in waves, the person he knew gone. Percy watched Oliver tentatively pick up his badge as he pretended to busy himself with his books, create the illusion everything was fine. Oliver made it all but three steps to the little red box on Percy’s dresser before he stopped, line creased over his forehead. The embarrassment had died a long time ago in Percy, a moment where before his face would have matched his hair, his freckled complex sat unblemished. “You know you can be upset about this?” “Thanks for the permission,” Percy replied thickly. “Or angry,” Oliver added without missing a beat. “Why aren’t you angry?” Percy said nothing, let the words of what would have been normal reactions settle in him in hopes it would bring them to life. He was upset and he was angry. Past tense. Moments that felt so long ago were now gone in the repeated attack. Emotions got him nowhere, only led to a bigger target on his back.  “Percy!” There was a hint of anger in the way Oliver said his name, a notion that almost seemed like he cared. Oliver’s hands stretched out in search of an answer that Percy didn’t have. Glasses lifted up his face, Percy’s fingers dug into his eyes as he sighed. “I’m used to it,” he said at last, an answer that didn't suffice. Oliver was like a dog with a bone, and he knew it wasn’t going to go away. “I’m used to all of my accomplishments being made into a joke, belittled and broken down into nothing. I know it’s no something you’re used to but for me . . . I just don’t have the energy to care anymore.” “This had been your dream since . . . damn't for as long as we’ve known each other. I was going to be captain and you were going to be head boy. You’re head boy.” “I know.” It was all he could muster, lips curved into a thinly forced smile. Hair curled around his fingers, Percy’s mind in search of an escape from Oliver’s worried stare. “Look, I’m just . . . I’m really tired so . . .” There was a look, something mingled between agitation over the original concern. He could feel the eyes still on him as he curled in on himself in his bed, his glasses skewed as they dug into his ear. He refused to move, held his breath until the steps shuffled from the room.  Darkness enveloped him, allowed his thoughts to jump from one ledge to the next, left him unbalanced in his own mind. He was tired, a mind run into the ground with a heart that was dying, it had to be because there was no other logical explanation to why he felt nothing. Being accustomed to the pain didn’t make it hurt any less and times in the past where he had felt melancholy were nothing like this, never left him feeling depthless.  Maybe Penelope was right, maybe there was something wrong with him. HC: Oliver is the reason the twins stopped messing with Percy's badge. Oliver put them under the threat that they would be benched if they kept it up.  0 Comments

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07/14/2021 08:11 PM  23 questions (C.S) 23 Questions Head Prat 1) What does their bedroom look like? Percy’s bedroom is pristine. He takes great pride in not just how he looks, but how his surroundings look as well. Clutter, dust, things on the floor and an unkept bed are poor reflections, but also give insight into the inner turmoil to his own mind. There have been very few instances where his room was 'untidy' and it was noticed by people who weren’t particularly close with him and they knew something was wrong.    2) Do they have daily rituals? Percy is very much a creature of habit. While he has little control of what happens throughout the day, his morning and evening routines are always the same. He is always up two hours before he actually needs to be to enjoy his [many] cup[s] of coffee while reviewing the list of things he needs to get done that he made the night before.    3) Do they exercise? If yes, what do they do and how often? As shocking as it may be, he does. While he never considered it to be ‘exercise’ Percy walks - a lot. The more stressed, the longer the walks. Later in life, he started up kickboxing with Zoshia at the recommendation of his psychologist to help him cope with things beyond his means of control. He does this 3 times a week minimum.    4) What would they do if they needed to make dinner and the kitchen was busy? If he needed to make himself dinner and couldn’t, he would probably go without. Cooking isn’t something Percy is very good at anyways, and it wouldn’t really bother him.   5) Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace)? Percy is an extremely clean and organized person. His personal space is a lot like his workspace. He doesn’t function well in a mess and truly struggled when he became Junior Assistant to Fudge who was the polar opposite.   6) Eating habits (what do they eat in a day)? Varies, but mostly Percy has very poor eating habits especially when he wasn’t under the watchful eye of his mother. He was never a breakfast person and provided he has his coffee he can go until dinner without eating. He only began taking lunches at work because he enjoyed spending time around Zoshia.  What he eats in a day: Coffee. More coffee. Lunch is usually a small sandwich. Coffee. Dinner. Tea.    7) Favorite way to waste time? How do they feel about wasting time? Percy hates wasting time. To him, there is always something you could be doing that is productive. While he tries not to waste his time, if he has time to pass it is always with a book, though he doesn’t consider it as wasting time.    8) Favorite way to indulge? How do they feel about indulging? He doesn’t like it, Percy is a bit of a penny pincher and likes to save rather than spend. When he does indulge, it is often on books or quills.    9) Make-up? He doesn’t actively wear it. Though, when Molly and Lucy would play dress up, Percy would let them put make-up on him and do his hair.    10) Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such? Anxiety. Depression. CPTSD. It took him some time to recognize depression and his CPTSD as such and learn to cope with them. He has high functioning anxiety that he doesn’t acknowledge as a problem.   11) Intellectual persuits? Percy has many. He doesn’t like not knowing things and when confronted with a subject he doesn’t know or understand, he will immerse himself in it until he does. Persuits that are ever expanding; history, legal systems and laws, and muggle science (he takes very much after his father in this).   12) Favorite book genre? While he seems like someone who really sticks to non-fiction books, Percy’s favorite genre’s are sci-fi books as well as mysteries. He’s ultimate favorites are the two combined.    13) Sexual orientation? Thoughts on sexual orientation? On the outside, Percy is purely hetrosexual. Deeper; he is demisexual. He falls heavily under the asexual spectrum, where he doesn’t desire or feel sexual attraction or desires often, only when a strong bond has been formed. The only person he ever bonded with in such a way was Zoshia.  Thoughts on it; he doesn't care who someone loves, it's not his business. Provided they are happy and are treated right, what does it matter?   14) Physical abnormalities (both visible and non-visible)?  None   15) Biggest and smallest short term goals? These are very dependent on the age but in general: Biggest: Become head boy Smallest: Get an owl   16) Biggest and smallest long-term goals? Again, very dependent on his age but: Biggest: Become Minister of Magic Smallest: Get perfect N.E.W.Ts   17) Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress? Percy is always dressed professionally (aside from obvious situations like sleep extc.). He may not always be in a full suit, but button down shirt and a tie are part of his daily attire. When he’s relaxing on the weekend, he still is very smartly dressed in a nice shirt (or sweater) and jeans.    18) Favorite beverage? Black coffee.    19) What do they think about before falling asleep at night? Everything? It is very difficult for him to switch off. His thoughts bounce between what he accomplished, didn’t accomplish, what he needs to get done or if he remembered to do something.    20) Childhood illness?  None.    21) Turn-ons and turn-offs? Turn-ons: Intelligence and not afraid to show it. Passion. Loyalty.  Turn-offs: Pushing intimacy. Talking down to him. Treating him as less. Comparing him to others.    22) Given a blank piece of paper, a quill, and nothing to do what would happen? He would write out whatever was on his mind. Percy isn’t very good at conveying how he feels in spoken word but he will write it out, so; letters, rants, diary-like thoughts.    23) How organized are they? How does this manifest in their everyday life? Percy has some slight OCD here, everything has a place to him and the place is always the same no matter where he’s at; work or home. Books belong on the shelf alphabetically and by genre, papers are filed away, quills are nearly put away and the ink is sorted. Clothes don’t belong on the floor and the bed should always be made and desk always clear and workable. When things are moved or not put back correctly (as he often experienced growing up from his siblings) he becomes very passive aggressive about it.  0 Comments

06/30/2021 12:45 PM  In regards to Zoshia 19 November 2005 “Your wife, she’s . . .” “Zoshia.” Percy interjected swiftly, sharp politeness to the otherwise rude behavior. Percy always allowed the question to be asked in full, even when the questions were rude or intrusive, he allowed them. It was the agitation to the treatment of Zoshia that splintered under his skin, the way they constantly referred to her as his wife, even when they were speaking directly to her. The interview she had just given over the changes to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes where her name had only been cited once and beyond was quoted as his wife and nothing more, something she took with grace for the sake of his campaign. “I’m sorry?” “Her name is Zoshia and I would prefer if you and everyone else called her by her name. She may be my wife, but that does not define her, it is not all that she is. She is one of our top obilivators, runs the reversal squad and more. Trust me when I say, getting someone as great as Zoshia to marry me was the accomplishment; not the other way around and yet no one refers to me as her husband.” A few chuckles escaped the crowd, and Percy’s smile remained. “If you are not comfortable using her given name, feel free to call her Mrs. Weasley but please, do not refer to her only as my wife.” The journalist stood abashed, a tint that steadily rose to the sharp correction. “Your - Mrs. Weasley has been admitted frequently to Mungo’s, a record of three times in the past two weeks. Our readers, and I’m sure the public, want to know if it’s anything serious and if so, how will that affect you and your abilities as Minister, should you win.” It had been the question he dreaded, knew from the moment that he walked away from the speech weeks prior it was bound to come up. Percy did his best to shield Zoshia from the press, relied heavily on his mother and Andromeda to help them secure privacy while she was at Mungo’s, but best efforts weren’t nearly enough. The press always had a way, were like leeches when it came to a story.  Percy looked out at the small group of faces, the collective journalists that lingered after the debates and speeches were given to press their questions, things that had nothing to do with being Minister or what they planned to do; just idle gossip. Nervously, he twisted the band around his finger. They had discussed it in-depth, both Percy and Zoshia knowing there was no way around it as the matter was pressed more frequently. Her frequent trips into Mungo’s caused a stir, created the very question of his ability to do the job when his wife was seen as unwell. Chin tilted up, Percy maintained the professional smile. “Thank you for the question and the concern. To put minds at ease, she is perfectly fine. We didn’t have any intentions of speaking on the matter, but it has become impossible. Zoshia is approximately nine weeks pregnant and is suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum which is why she had been in and out of Mungo’s.” Quills scratched madly, a flurry of lights that flashed in a blinding wave. With an inaudible sigh, he continued, raised his voice to speak over the rush of questions that followed. “It is still extremely early in the pregnancy and we ask that you respect her and her privacy. Thank you.” Prompt for 𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢 Prompt: My muse defends your muse HC: Zoshia became pregnant before Percy announced running, though neither knew until she began suffering from severe morning sickness that landed her in Mungo's. It wasn't exactly planned, the two at that point following the mindset that 'if it happens, it happens' until they agreed on him running. Molly was born in early July 2006. 0 Comments

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