Archive of Our Own ^beta

(“I know about the Prince line. Are you a Pureblood, then?”
“Half – blood. My father’s a muggle.”
The boy tilted his head to the side and smirked.
“I suppose that makes you a half – blood Prince.”)
…

Severus’ first impression of Percival Ignatius Weasley is that he was nothing like his siblings.

He’s seen his older brothers, taught them for five years (he wouldn’t actually say ‘taught’, he was pretty sure both of them couldn’t brew a simple Wiggenweld potion without consulting the book once).

William Weasley, he supposed, could be considered a moderate student, though he couldn’t pass a class without feeling the urge to blow something up (It was an accident, Professor, I swear!), be it his cauldron or that of the Hufflepuff way across the room (he still isn’t sure how that happened, but he suspects that dreadful Fillibuster and his fireworks are behind it), was part of the so – called ‘Cursed Crew’, and was always filled with burning, unquenchable enthusiasm.

Charlie Weasley, who was also part of the said ‘Cursed Crew’, was mediocre at the least, kept questioning him about how he considered the use of dragon scales acceptable in his class, whether he knew which dragon the said scales came from, and quite often gave him headaches with his incessant questions that he docked more than fifty points from Gryffindor almost every week (and put him on edge with Minerva, but what could he do?).

So when he looked at the register of new students and saw another Weasley (Merlin, weren’t these two kids enough?), he sighed and went to Minerva, who poured him a glass of Gillywater, waited for him to calm down, and told him (with a smirk) that there were four more left.

(“With all their creativeness, you’d think they’d invent better names. I mean, if that prat Potter calls me ‘Little splendens’ one more time, I’m going to hex myself out of boredom. Or better yet, hex him.”
“I’m pretty sure that counts as showing emotion in public, you know,” he taunted.
A smirk formed on the other boy’s lips.
“It’s not if no one sees you,” he said, twirling his wand in his hand.)
...

Percy Weasley was nothing at all like his siblings.

Severus remembers the time he took Draco to Diagon Alley when he was seven. He stopped at the apothecary for a minute, and when he turned back, Draco was gone. He still remembers the panic (Salazar Cissa was going to murder him how could he have been so careless), which only ceased when he spotted a mop of neatly combed blond hair next to the Quidditch store, which could only belong to his godson.

“Merlin, Draco,” he sighed in relief, walking over to him, only to see him talking amiably with another, very familiar redhead.

“Severus!” Draco exclaimed, and ran up to him, launching himself into his outstretched arms. He held on to Severus with one hand and beckoned the other boy closer with the other, saying, “This is Percival! He stopped the other boys from teasing me.”

“Good afternoon, Professor,” said Mr. Weasley. “I apologise for my brothers, they -”

“There’s no need for you to apologise, Mr. Weasley,” he interrupted. “Now, come along, Draco, your mother will be worried.”

“Bye, Percival! See you at Hogwarts!” Draco called out, waving, as Severus apparated them away, smiling to himself. A Malfoy friends with a Weasley, perhaps there wouldn’t be another war, after all.

But he forgot that Percival Ignatius Weasley was nothing like his siblings.

His theory was confirmed when the other Weasley children started Hogwarts. No number of detentions could stop the twins’ antics, the girl preferred chatting with the Lovegood girl more than studying, and does he really need to mention Potter’s sidekick? The less said about them, the better.

Percy Weasley, on the other hand, sat next to the (only) other Gryffindor boy, did not open his mouth unless asked (unlike a certain bushy – haired girl who took every second of his silence as an opportunity to prove her skills in memorisation), and when asked, proceeded to relay the instructions for the Cure for Boils without a single error, or glance at the book, and on his first day nevertheless.

Percy Weasley wasn’t like his parents, either.

(“My father’s always busy, so I don’t really see him much. But -”, the boy glanced around to see if anyone was listening. “When I do, it’s always with the whip.”
“Mine’s the same way,” he replied, at which the other boy smiled softly.
“Perhaps we’ll get along well enough, Half – blood Prince.”)
…

Severus couldn’t say he knew Arthur Weasley, only saw him occasionally while walking to Transfiguration, a bespectacled seventh - year best friends with pranksters Gideon and Fabian Prewett. He was relieved they didn’t target him like the Marauders did, didn’t seem to notice him, in fact, which was good; he had enough on his plate as it was.

He knew Prefect Molly Prewett, though, since she’d caught Potter and Black tormenting him back in his second year. She went on to give them such a telling off that he took a step back in fear when she was done with them, but her voice went from a hundred thousand to zero in only a second and politely asked him ‘if he was hurt’, and that she’d keep a ‘close eye’ on them.

(“Molly Prewett, you say? She’s been helping me with Charms, absolute tops, unless you get on her bad side.”
“She saved me from Potter and Black earlier today. Guess they’ll stay put for a week at least, after that shouting.”
“I sure hope so. Goodness knows what they get out of it,” she huffed, and he chuckled.)
…

At a usual late - night, grading fourth – year homework assignments on Antivenoms with Minerva (Contrary to popular belief, they thought each other pleasant company), he brought up the topic of the middle Weasley, and Minerva sighed.

“It’s the same in my class, he could turn a match into a needle on the very first day, and was surprisingly modest about it. Seems he’s been reading his brother’s school books since William moved to second - year, so that he could get top marks and get into the Ministry.”

“Wants to follow his father’s footsteps, then?”

“It’s ... a bit more complicated than that. From what I can tell, he just wants to make Arthur proud, and bring back honour to the Weasley name. I know some Cleaning Wizards in the Ministry who get paid more than Arthur does, in fact, but he’s always had this obsession with muggles. It mustn’t be easy, being the middle child, different from all the others.”

“That’s, well, unusual for an eleven – year old,” said Severus, thinking about Draco, who only seemed to care about the new broom he’d got him for Christmas. Salazar, when that kid finally came here, he was going to spoil him rotten.

All further talks about the Weasleys ended there and Quidditch predictions began (“Gryffindor’s been practicing for a month, we’ll flatten Filius, wait and see”), and didn’t end till midnight, when they finally decided to get some sleep – there were Gryffindor – Slytherin classes tomorrow, and they needed the rest.

He had just finished stirring Lucius’ currently – brewing batch of Veritaserum and retired for bed when the resemblance suddenly struck him.

“- just wants to make Arthur proud -”

“- different from everyone else -”

(He remembered another boy, a best friend, a brother, his laterna, with eyes of glass and a tongue of sharpened silver, with whom true smiles were rare and laughter almost unheard of, his light in the darkness, until one day his light was gone, gone forever. And he'd be damned if he let anyone go the same way.)

From then on, he kept a watchful eye over the boy, showing his care in simple ways - nodding at him when he greeted him in the corridors, filling his potion kit when he ran out of beetle eyes, and when Albus asked him his opinion on Gryffindor Prefect (there wasn’t much of a choice there, all Wood cared about was Quidditch), Percy Weasley’s name fell from his lips without hesitation. He was allowed to play favourites, after all. Percy Weasley was a lone snake in a house of lions, and as a rule, snakes look after their own.

So, when the Chamber of Secrets was rumoured to have opened (Some of the Gryffindors had the gall to blame him for it, and no, it wasn’t Draco either), he kept an eye on Mr. Weasley more than ever, and found himself noticing things he wouldn’t have otherwise.

Severus watched as the Prefect shouted at his brothers for exploring uninhabited corridors, watched him scold his youngest brother for venturing into Myrtle’s bathroom, only to be rebuffed with ‘You don’t care about Ginny, just about being Head Boy’, watched him bring his sister a plate of dinner in the library, watched as the said sister pushed him off with What part of ‘I’m fine’ don’t you understand, Percy? Leave me alone!, watched as the girl stormed off, leaving him staring at her back with a familiar lost expression on his face.

(“- please just listen -”
“Oh, so now you care? Slither back to your den, snake. You don’t belong here,” came a snarl, and the boy was left behind, looking forlorn.)

So when he spotted Wood comforting the other boy near the kitchens after curfew, instead of turning them in, he turned around and let it pass.

And when Dumbledore asked him who he thought was suitable for Head Boy, Percy Weasley’s name fell from his lips again, much to the shock of all the staff (Despite his supposed  favouritism of his house, he had to agree that the current Slytherins were just a bunch of dunderheads, nothing like who they were in his day).
…

(“All I’m saying is that Sirius Black is the most idiotic, deranged person I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting,” he muttered, stirring his cauldron almost frantically.
“You’re forgetting Trixie,” said his brother, chopping ingredients swiftly with practiced ease, and looking at him questioningly. Severus nodded, and he dropped them into the cauldron, and he continued to stir away.
“Trixie’s evil,” he replied, “There’s a difference.”)
...

He’d always thought Black was stupid, but he realised he’d underestimated him.

Black was really stupid. As stupid as stupid could possibly get. You could compare a small, babbling baby to Black and Black would still be stupider. How the hell he got out of Azkaban, he’d never know. Running around the school on Halloween, slashing the Fat Lady’s portrait, putting the whole school on high alert, sneaking into Gryffindor Tower with a knife, and indirectly signing him up for more nightly patrols than there were portraits at Hogwarts, it was a miracle he hadn’t been caught yet. Walburga would be proud.

Correction: Black may be stupid, but he wasn’t as stupid as Potter.

When Severus heard that Potter was roaming around Hogsmeade without permission, and that too with the Marauders’ Map (yes, he knew what it was, he wasn’t stupid, or blind), he was beyond furious, and would’ve wrung the boy’s neck if he didn’t call in Lupin, giving him time to control his temper. If he had any idea of the lengths to which others went to keep him safe, he’d stay put in his common room with his nose in a book rather than in other people’s business, for a change.

(Then again, this was James Potter’s son and Sirius Black’s godson, so he couldn’t expect much.)

A few nights later, Severus was patrolling the corridor when he thought he heard Minerva’s voice. He turned sharply around the corner to see her berating Head Boy Weasley about his duties, and ‘how in the name of Merlin did he expect to keep the school safe from Sirius Black when he couldn’t even stop his brothers from taking a midnight stroll in the Forbidden Forest?’

He could tell that the boy was trembling slightly, and his voice wavered a bit as he said, ever polite, “I thoroughly apologise, Professor, I’ll keep a better eye on them, I promise you,” to which Minerva replied, “See that you do,” and walked away, clearly frustrated.

Severus waited for Minerva to pass, and with only a second’s hesitation, walked up to the boy, and put a hand on his shoulder.

“My chambers, Mr. Weasley, you could use a cup of tea.”

Weasley - Percival hesitated for a second before nodding, and Severus led him to his personal quarters without another word. The room, as always, was dark and dingy, which very few students (not even his Slytherins, much less a Gryffindor) got to see, but Percival didn’t say anything as he was led to the small table (on which he usually spent Sunday afternoons with Draco) and made to sit down. Severus lit the fireplace with a flick of his wand, wordlessly summoned two teacups and a kettle, magically heated, then poured a cup for himself and one for the boy sitting opposite him, who took it gratefully.

After a brief silence, he spoke.

“Don’t take McGonagall to heart, Mr. Weasley, she’s had a rough day with the first – years, what with Black roaming the castle, and all.”

Percival put down his cup, and looked down.

“No, she – she was absolutely right, Professor. After what almost happened to Ronald, I – I was supposed to keep a better watch on them, but between watching Potter’s back and NEWT’s, I suppose I trusted them to stay inside the castle, at the very least.”

(“How in Salazar was that your fault?”
“I should’ve done something, should’ve shouted for her, or – or – Salazar, I just stood there. He’s gone, and it’s all my fault, Sev.”)

“Not your fault,” whispered Severus, caught up in old memories.

Percival merely nodded, and took another sip of his tea, seemingly still not convinced. Severus did the same. After he was done, he stood up.

“Thank you for the tea and sympathy, Professor,” he said, standing up and bowing slightly. The boy would’ve made an excellent Slytherin. Severus merely nodded, and led him out of the room.

He was halfway along the corridor when Severus remembered.

(‘Dead,’ she whispered.
The words hit him like a thunderbolt, but he merely laughed.
‘Dying for years,’ he replied.)

“Mr. Weasley?” he called. Percival paused and turned back.

Severus’ hand gripped the door handle so tightly he thought it would come apart.

“There was someone, once. Someone I used to know, who went to great lengths to make other people proud of him, and ended up dying for it. I would hate it if I had to see someone else go the same way. If there is anything you need, be it practice for your NEWT’s, or just tea and sympathy, my door is always open.”

Percival stood in shock for a second, then regained himself and replied, smiling softly now, “I’ll consider it, Professor. Good night.”

And the door swung shut.

(“I don’t have a choice, Sev, I have to, or else he’ll kill us all. Father's dead, and as head of the family, I don't exactly have a choice. I - I don't want to get you hurt. ”
“That’s awfully Hufflepuff of you,” he smirked. “But I’m not leaving you alone.”)
….

When Severus was informed that Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London was to be the new Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, he almost laughed at the irony. Even more ironic was the way the heroic new Order worked, nothing like it used to back in the times of the First War.

Tonks delivered reports, Kingsley delivered reports, others gave suggestions, Albus supervised plans, Moody growled Constant Vigilance, Molly cooked and warded the rooms, Black sneered at him and he sneered back.

When Voldemort was mentioned, they’d gasp, Tonks would make faces to lighten the mood, Moody would growl Constant Vigilance, Black would sneer, Severus would stay silent and listen. To whoever was talking. Black’s immature comments meant nothing, and were ignored.

When Percy Weasley was mentioned, they’d growl, Molly would cry, Arthur would shake with rage, Lupin would be comforting, Albus would frown behind those ridiculous glasses, Black would stay silent, and he … he would sigh with relief.

(“It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone, you know,” he said, holding the other boy close.
“How would I know, unless someone tells me?”
“What if I told you? Or better yet, what if you told yourself?”)
…

They were living in dark times, the Dark Lord was growing impatient, Draco was scared out of his mind (I’m so sorry I don’t know what to do he’ll kill mum kill me I can’t do it), Cissa’s eyes were constantly filled with tears (Severus please he’s just a child please I’ll do anything), Albus held secret meetings with Potter (I deserve to know I almost died for you countless times thought you trusted me you know what fine you’re just like everyone else), Order meetings were drier than ever, not a single Death Eater meeting passed without a Crucio, and he still had to correct papers. Honestly, he just felt like packing up and running away, but he promised he’d do it for Lily.

(“- just wish I could disappear, sometimes.”
His brother snorted.
“Don’t we all, sometimes?”)
…

When Severus returned to his quarters after another Death Eater meeting, wanting nothing but a pain – relieving potion and a good night’s rest, he found a black quill on the table. He examined it, and remembering the same from the Cursed Vault situation years ago, he swiftly undid the transfiguration to find, as expected, a note, which read:

‘The house of Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood can be found at Number ten, Canterbury lane, London.
If you ever need tea, or sympathy, Professor, my door is always open.’

(He sat by the fire at midnight, trying to soak up what little warmth it could offer (whoever decided the dungeons was a good place for a common room I will murder them), trying to clear his mind of all thoughts of his nightmares (which mostly consisted of feral werewolves), when he felt something press into his hands. A mug of hot chocolate.

Severus looked up to see his brother standing in his pyjamas, with another mug and a blanket, giving him a soft, apologetic smile. Wordlessly he wrapped the blanked around him and sat down, and they spent the rest of the night in each other’s comforting presence.)

Perhaps there was still some hope in the world, after all.