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All the other first years were gaping up in awe at Hogwarts on the horizon as the fleet of boats bobbed across the lake.
Percy was just glad he wouldn't have to hear another word about Quidditch.
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Quidditch—in fact he was looking quite forward to watching Charlie in action this year. It was simply that the school term hadn't even begun and already everyone—well, by everyone, Percy meant his brother Charlie, and his mates—were discussing strategies about how to make sure Slytherin didn't repeat their reign as Quidditch Cup champions. There was a time and a place for such conversation, Percy had thought, and it certainly wasn't on the Hogwarts Express when some people were trying to absorb the text of Magical Theory, which was required knowledge if one wished to become a distinguished student (which Percy, unquestionably, did).
“What do you lot make of us not being allowed to bring our own broomsticks?” piped up the boy sitting in the boat next to Percy.
Drawn out of what had been the first bit of contentment he'd experienced all day, Percy meant to frown at him—or more so, the anticipation that he would have to, again, hear incessant talk of Quidditch. But the boy, with his sandy brown hair and eager smile, had a friendly sort of look that suggested he was asking more in earnest and not out of discontent. Could he be a Muggle-born?
Or perhaps he just came across as friendly because the two girls sitting in front of them seemed rather uninterested in being here. They, like Percy, did not appear impressed by the approaching castle—but then again, they weren't even looking at the castle. Instead, their heads were together and they were whispering to each other in a conspirational manner.
“It's complete rubbish!” the boy went on, mistaking Percy's silence for confusion. “How am I supposed to make the Quidditch team if I can't even bring my own broomstick?”
“Well, it's in the rules,” Percy replied, a touch annoyed, both at his own misjudgment and such a senseless question. The boy had clearly read his Hogwarts letter. It explicitly stated that first years were not to bring their own broomstick. What more was there to say?
“That's where I tried to get around it. My cousin is on Hufflepuff's team, right good Chaser she is! And I was hoping she could pack an extra Cleansweep. Smuggle it over to me when the time comes for tryouts.” The boy's grin widened; he was quite pleased with himself. “What do you think?”
Percy thought he might have been conked by a Bludger, for how his head started throbbing at the boy's scheme.
“I wouldn't advise doing that. Both you and her could find yourselves in deep trouble. You would cost your House—or Houses—a lot of points and even—”
“Who?”
The two girls had broke from their conversation, whipping around to interrupt. Percy guessed the girl who'd asked was the one with the large expectant eyes bugging up into her fringe. The one beside her was considerably less interested, but sat watching the boy—both of them, Percy noted—all the same.
The boy blinked, silent.
“Who is your cousin?” she repeated, enunciating slowly as if he might have a hearing disability. “The one on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team?”
“Elspeth Wood,” he said. “Why?”
“Just wondering.” The girl shrugged. “But you know my brothers, Terence and Alex, are on Slytherin's Quidditch team—well, Terence was a reserve but he'll make the team this year, I know it.”
“Alex... wait, you don't mean Alexander Higgs, do you? He's the one who laid a dirty foul on Elspeth last year! She told me all about it!”
“It wasn't dirty,” Higgs emphasized, as if she had any sort of officiating experience and had been present for the match. “We're the reigning champions, you know, and it's thanks to Alex.”
“We?” the boy asked. “What are you going on about 'we'? You aren't a Slytherin. None of us are anything yet!” He swung a hand out, implying all of them in the boat, and narrowly missed swatting Percy in the chest.
“Well, no, but I will be. Being Sorted into Slytherin runs in my family. Both of ours,” Higgs said, motioning to the other girl, who'd been wordlessly observing the whole exchange. She had a look about her, one corner of her mouth lifted in slight amusement. It was as if she were committing the scene to memory, something she might look back on for a laugh—though Percy didn't find any of this terribly funny.
That, and regardless of the bickering between Elspeth's cousin and the Higgs girl about their respective relations, Percy knew that no one could best Charlie when it came to Quidditch.
The boy opened his mouth to retort, but Percy intervened. “Obviously, Higgs, no one here is disputing that you demonstrate the... qualities... of Slytherin House.”
Higgs made an affronted noise, sounding similar to Ron when Mother would tell him to make his bed, and turned back around, guiding her friend with her.
“Don't mind them,” Percy said to the boy, keeping an eye on the girls in case they made to retaliate.
“Thanks, but I really don't. Elspeth's already warned me they're all bluster; none of them are really that talented, just sneaky, you know? I hope I'm in Hufflepuff, with her.” His tone, which had been low and private, climbed in volume as he went on, “Or even Gryffindor—they have the best Quidditch team, she says, no matter what some rotten Slytherins might do to cheat their way to victory!”
Higgs spun around—or tried to; her friend put a hand to her back, discouraging her. It worked, and no further squabbles ensued.
“I'd have to agree with her,” Percy said, warm with pride over his brothers, over the House that was his family's, and would one day be his, legacy.
Now at ease, the boy kept on about Quidditch, about some matches he'd attended over the summer. Percy would have preferred a silent remainder of the ride, but all the Quidditch talk didn't bother him half as much as it bothered the Higgs girl, who sat rigidly in front of them, no longer trying to make conversation with her friend.
Nor was her friend trying to make conversation with her.
Higgs's friend was still watching Percy and the Quiddich fanatic, though wasn't too conspicuous in doing so. Her head was turned to the side, that it could appear she was simply staring out at what was on that end of the horizon. But Percy could see her gaze slanted towards them—towards him specifically.
Though he could only see her profile, he bet the side of her mouth that he couldn't see was hooked up in that same smirk it'd been before. She let out a laugh through her nose then turned back around, and that's when tickly ropes of ivy dragged across Percy's face, as their boat was swallowed into a pitch black tunnel.
Percy had never imagined Hogwarts to be this grand. He'd eaten up every word from Bill and Charlie when they'd described just how marvelous the school was, but seeing it himself—it defied any explanation that could have been given him. This was where it would all happen; where he would show off just how exceptional he could truly be, in every subject—and in turn, show what was awaiting Wizarding Britain when he, one day, became the Minister for Magic.
Professor McGonagall introduced herself, and Percy found her equally impressive. She was no-nonsense, just as Bill had told him. When Elspeth's cousin, who stayed close to Percy the whole time, whispered that she seemed a rather tetchy sort, Percy whispered back, “Perhaps, but I've also heard she was one of the best Chasers in Gryffindor's history.”
The boy's mood improved significantly after that revelation, and then Percy and all the other first years were ushered into Great Hall. They were instructed to wait their turn, which Percy thought to be quite obvious, but then again, some of his fellow first years appeared ready to race each other up to the Sorting Hat.
The Hat launched into a whimsical song extolling Hogwarts and its Houses, which Percy regarded with curiosity that steeply nosedived into annoyance. There didn't seem to be anything of note to be gleaned from its tune, except that it simply loved to hear itself talk.
"Bainbridge, Geoffrey!” was called first. He was about as tall as Percy with closely-shorn hair and a long gait. Almost immediately, the Hat cried out, “SLYTHERIN!” The cheers that went up from their table sounded sinister, akin to their House's mascot, a serpent.
Next was “Clearwater, Penelope!" Visibly jumpy, she flinched when the Hat was placed upon her mass of curly blonde hair. “RAVENCLAW!” the Hat shouted, and Penelope looked surprised that it had Sorted her at all, as she hurried off to her new House.
“Sweet Salazar,” breathed the Higgs girl from behind him. “You sure can tell which ones are Mudbl-ow!”
Percy didn't know who'd stopped her, but he did know what Higgs was going to say. And a first year, at that. Unspeakable.
Then, it happened: Garrett Edgecombe plunked down on the stool, and not but a few seconds after the Hat touched his head...
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Percy wanted to cheer with them, as Edgecombe was swarmed by Gryffindors including—there was Bill! And Charlie beside him! If that was how they greeted a stranger, he could hardly wait for how they would react when he joined them.
After “Gaines, Dorinda” was Sorted into Slytherin, so too was the Higgs girl, Bethany, without any fuss. She practically skipped to her table, where other Slytherins, including a taller boy with similar features—one of her brothers, presumably—hugged her.
On and on the ceremony went. Percy tried to stay as still and attentive as he could, but it all seemed to stretch on even longer than the ride on the Hogwarts Express.
Beside him, the Quidditch boy must have been equally as restless and showed it by sighing loudly. Luckily it was drowned out by Declan McAvoy being Sorted into “HUFFLEPUFF!”
“I wish for once they'd let us blokes at the end of the alphabet go first—this is torture!” he whispered to Percy. “Plus, when you're last, everyone's waiting on you and only you. What if I Hatstall?”
Percy inwardly agreed with the sentiment of this waiting being torturous, albeit it for what was likely different reasons; he really just wanted to get this evening over with, so he could get a good night's rest and focus on his classes. He hoped there'd be a pop quiz in at least a couple of the classes tomorrow; he'd have a platform to, already, show off his potential.
“I doubt you'll Hatstall—that's highly uncommon,” said a voice from behind them. Percy glanced to see that it was Higgs's friend. “And I'm sure you won't be last, either. That'll be me, most likely.”
“You're after 'Wood', then?” said the boy—Wood, just like his cousin, apparently—as “Miah, Shriya” joined Ravenclaw.
“No. Wilfork,” the girl conceded. “Alright then, budge over, Weasley. It'll be us, all in a row, the last three.” She checked Percy with her hip, trying to wedge in between him and Wood.
“Pardon me!” Percy stumbled forward as Wilfork slipped in to stand where he'd been, beside Wood. Had Professor McGonagall seen this? No, she was too busy soothing a distraught Lloyd Nightmoor, who'd screeched when the Hat had been placed on his head.
But if she had, could she dock points before a student was even Sorted? Percy supposed this ought to be something he should know, and resolved to research it at the first opportunity. He only hoped this Wilfork girl wasn't in Gryffindor, in case it was a possibility.
Smoothing his robe, he blinked over at her, making his displeasure known. In a quiet voice—because he did not carry on like she seemed to enjoy doing—he asked, “And how do you know who I am?” Normally he'd find this to be a good thing—Bill and Charlie were respectable, after all, and to be associated with them was an honor.
But there was that slow smirk again, tugging at Wilfork's lips, that Percy couldn't say he cared for. “You're not a Weasley?” She pulled at a lock of her own brown shoulder-length hair, indicating Percy's. Which surely, now, matched his cheeks.
He didn't say anything, only huffed through his nose, and took his place on Wilfork's other side. How disagreeable she was! He didn't know who he hoped he might avoid more during his tenure at Hogwarts: her with her impertinence or Wood with his Quidditch fixation.
For as miffed as he'd initially been at being piled together with Wood and Wilfork, it came as something of a relief as the crowd of first years dwindled. Several strides away, as nervous as Percy had seen anyone, Alvin St. James stood alone and biting his nails until he was called up and Sorted into Ravenclaw. Eugenia Stonecroft, who'd also been by herself, almost stepped on Professor McGonagall's foot, in such a rush to get to the Sorting Hat, before she was confirmed to be “SLYTHERIN!” And over to Wood's right, arms crossed with her hands jammed under her armpits, was Prudence Twickham, who shuffled when she walked up to the Sorting Hat, where she was emphatically declared a “HUFFLEPUFF!”
Prudence was far more confident as she sprinted over to join her new House. “There's Elspeth!” Wood whispered as an athletic-looking girl with dicey hair welcomed Prudence to sit down beside her.
Percy was about to tell him to shush when “Weasley, Percy!” was called in Professor McGonagall's strident tone.
Finally!
Percy could have ran to the Sorting Hat, but that would have been incredibly undignified. Keeping both his pace and posture as proper as he could, Percy strode up to the Sorting Hat. Professor McGonagall set it upon his head, and he waited calmly for it to exclaim...
“Oh.”
Oh?! No, no no no. In as polite an internal tone he could manage after receiving such a shock, he asked, Would you mind getting on with it?
Wood was right; being last—or nearly last—was a nightmare.
“Hold your thestrals, young Weasley. You're not quite as simple as the rest of your family.”
Well, no, he wasn't, that much was true. No slight on them of course—he loved each and every one of them dearly—but he wanted more than what life at the Burrow offered. He wanted to make a difference in the Wizarding World, and there was no more fundamental way of accomplishing that than to one day become Minister for Magic. Such a pursuit took, he knew, a great deal of courage and nerve, ready to face all types of seen and unforeseen obstacles.
And it was his family, ultimately, who would benefit from his success, in ways they hadn't quite yet taken to imagining. They were what kept him motivated more than anything else, knowing what awaited them when he reached his goal.
“Ambitious, aren't we? Hm, I could sense it from the second I touched that red head of yours. You'd fare splendidly in Slytherin, you know.”
I beg your pardon, but I belong in Gryffindor, Percy kindly countered. Although Ravenclaw is suitable. He did value learning to a great degree. And come to think of it, he was a hard worker. Hufflepuff, even.
“Rather cunning of you, eh? Trying to outwit the ratty ol' Sorting Hat. A sense of self-preservation, I might even say...”
Percy glanced in the direction of the Gryffindor table, his worried gaze finding Bill's immediately. Bill didn't seem even half as concerned, and flashed Percy an encouraging smile.
Please. I need to be with Bill. He reminded himself to never get upset with Charlie's Quidditch talk again, if it meant that it was talk about their House team. Gryffindor's. And Charlie. My mother and father would disown me if I went to Slytherin... and I don't ever want that.
The very thought... what reasons would he have to work for anything, towards any particular aim, if he didn't even have his family's support?
“I'm never wrong, Weasley.”
You are. I won't be mixed in with that lot who... he let his plea to the Sorting Hat end. They'd killed his uncles, robbed him of so many potential memories. He used to remember Uncles Fabian's and Gideon's faces so vividly, but the older he got, the more their faces faded and all he could recall anymore was his mother's sobs. And the Sorting Hat wanted to lump him with those villains?
“I know who did what.” Oh, Merlin, of course the Hat had heard his thoughts, even if he hadn't directed them towards it.
Then you'll know I'm nothing like them.
“That doesn't mean you don't possess some mighty similar traits, boy. A fat lot of guts you have, standing up to me.”
And I'll keep doing it, to get what I want. What I know is right! Percy argued. I'm a Gryffindor, through and through.
How long had it been? He must have been up here the longest, out of all the first years. What if Wood and Wilfork had jinxed him with all their talk of Hatstalls? Percy glanced out towards them, the final two. They were too far from him to distinguish any certain expressions but Wilfork had her arms crossed and Wood was anxiously shifting from one foot to another. Both of them were staring at Percy.
“Listen here, Weasley: you have the potential to be courageous, I'll give you that. There are different kinds of bravery, you know. You're going against the grain and sticking up for yourself—which might be ambitious, but could prove right reckless. Could get you in a spot of trouble if you're not careful, eh? So if really want it your way...”
I do! Percy practically shouted.
“GRYFFINDOR!” the Hat shouted even louder.
He wanted to fling that atrocious hat to the ground. But he hurriedly (though adroitly) removed it and rushed to join the House he was meant for. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but the cheers sounded far more subdued than the previous first years—because he'd taken so long?
But everyone else's cheers didn't matter to him, Gryffindor or otherwise. What mattered was Bill and Charlie—his brothers, his Housemates!—clamoring up for him. Bill put an arm around him, clapping him on the shoulder. Charlie, on the other side, ruffled Percy's neatly-combed hair. Percy couldn't even be (too) angry about it, as he patted it down while, somewhere in the distance, he caught Professor McGonagall calling “Wilfork, Audrey!” to the Sorting Hat.
Still reeling from his own experience, Percy watched blankly, unaware of the passage of time, as Wilfork sat gripping either end of the stool and peering up to the brim before the Hat yelled out, “SLYTHERIN!” Then she darted off to join her friend, Bethany Higgs and all those others who were of a troublesome ilk.
Who were so terribly unlike him, he knew, better than the Sorting Hat ever would.
Finally, Wood (Oliver) took ten whole seconds to be declared “GRYFFINDOR!”and virtually flew down to the table. He threw a wave in the direction of the Hufflepuff table, then promptly squeezed himself in next to Charlie. While everyone else welcomed him with thumps on the back and handshakes, all Percy could muster was a tight smile.
At the front of the hall, Professor Dumbledore introduced himself and gave a speech that Percy didn't process a word of. When the Start-of-Term Feast materialized on the table, filling the Hall with delicious aromas, Percy could barely bring himself to scoop a pile of roast potatoes on his plate.
Bill noticed. “You alright, Perce?”
“You're not gonna tell Mother that it took me so long to be Sorted into Gryffindor, are you?” Bill was the only one with an owl, of the three of them. Any messages to home would have to go through him.
“Unless you would want me to. Don't take it to heart, Perce, it doesn't make you any less of a Gryffindor.” Bill helped himself to a slice of roast beef so large it was flopping off his plate. “It's really a good thing, if you think about it, taking so long to be Sorted. Means you possess a lot of commendable traits, you know? Heard it happened to Professor McGonagall, actually, that she had to sit up there for more than five minutes.”
He suspected Bill might be embellishing the truth—that it was neither good nor bad to Hatstall, or come close to it. But what if Bill knew which House Percy had been considered for...?
“It almost put me in Ravenclaw.” Percy blurted out the lie before he could stop himself, a bit louder than anything else he'd said, hoping Charlie and Wood and anyone else might hear.
“Of course.” Bill laughed lightly. “You could probably sit the O.W.L.'s by the end of this term, with all the fifth years.”
Excellent. Percy trusted Bill's word more than that of some daft moth-eaten hat. His appetite resurfaced, and he selected a lamb chop from the spread—he'd never eaten one before and discovered it was quite delicious—while listening to Charlie and his teammate, captain Angelica Cole, tell Oliver Wood the very same Quidditch strategies they'd been discussing on the Hogwarts Express.
Throughout dinner, and into dessert, Percy enjoyed the company of his fellow Gryffindors, the prospect that he'd come dangerously close to being Sorted into Slytherin the last thing on his mind.
Yes, Percy thought obsessively as he dug into some treacle tart. The very last thing on my mind.
After everyone was quantifiably stuffed, the first years were led by a prefect through the Portrait of the Fat Lady and into the Gryffindor Common Room. Usually, it was a fifth year who did this, but Bill had volunteered this term, and Percy was ecstatic, keeping to Bill's side instead of following behind like Edgecombe and Wood. Once they reached their dormitory, Percy bid his dormmates a good night and changed for bed.
They, however, wanted to stay up, and invited Percy to join them over on Edgecombe's bed, where he'd broken out a binder nearly splitting in half from all the Chocolate Frog cards inside. Percy declined, and they proceeded to tell him it was his loss. Soon, the binder was resting between the laps of Edgecombe and Wood, where they chatted and gushed about all the different witches and wizards Edgecombe had collected cards of. Wood, predictably, showed the most excitement over the Quidditch players.
Turning so his back was to them, Percy peered up at the rat cage stationed on the stone window sill of the wall his bed was pushed up against. Scabbers was asleep—he typically was.
“I don't suppose you'd understand, Scabbers. You're just a rat.” He paused, hoping Edgecombe and Wood hadn't heard him; they hadn't, as he could make out Wood asking if Edgecombe had an extra card of Joscelind Wadcock to give him. “It's only... well, I guess I feel a bit of a rat myself. Lying to Bill like that. But it's for the best, isn't it?”
Scabbers expelled a wheezy snore—or what passed for one, coming from a rat—as if to confirm that, yes, it was.
Satisfied, Percy pulled the bedcovers up to his chin, tucking them in close. “Good night, Scabbers,” he muttered, shutting his eyes and vowing to himself that tomorrow would be better—tomorrow would be the beginning of him proving Gryffindor was his rightful House.
Because he was a Gryffindor, just like he was a Weasley. They went hand in hand.
If he didn't belong to either of them, he didn't belong anywhere at all.