Chapter Text
Percy Weasley knew when to break the rules.
He didn’t like to, because most rules were put in place for a bloody good reason, and also he didn’t like to get in trouble. It was an uncomfortable feeling.
But he was a Weasley. And that meant that if it came down to it, a little rule wasn’t going to slow him for long.
He knew that politics was his future. There were so many things that made him angry, that made him ache to fix them.
He knew how to play the long game. He was a pureblood, which gave him a large advantage, but he was also a Weasley, which meant if he wasn’t careful he would never go far. A lot of his classmates, especially the Slytherins, would become his coworkers and superiors (at first, that is; he had ambitions), so he had to start early. And that meant no mistakes.
“You are an asshole,” Oliver muttered as they made their way back to the Tower. “I can’t decide if I love it or hate it.”
One of the Ravenclaw upper years had called Oliver a derogatory name that made Percy’s clenched fists whiten just to remember it. They had tracked him down and made him eat his words. Literally.
McGonagall had shown up just in time to see Percy round the corner, see the unconscious ‘Claw and smug Oliver, and launch straight into a blistering lecture. When Oliver argued that the sixth year deserved it, Percy had a brilliant rebuttal of violence not being the answer and to let the system do its job. Gryffindor lost ten points and gained fifteen in the next five minutes, and the Ravenclaw was docked thirty and gained two weeks of detention. And Percy got off scot-free.
“You only just realized?” Percy asked, amused. Oliver was a good friend. And an excellent decoy. “You make it very easy.”
“Okay, I definitely hate it. Merlin, I can’t believe we got away with it. How’d you know she was there, anyway?”
“Undetectable proximity charms,” Percy waved away the question. “And I’m her favorite.” It was a privilege he happily abused when the occasion called for it.
“For some reason,” Oliver shook his head. “But hey, teach me that hex you used? It was bloody wicked.”
“You mean the one you used?” Percy raised his eyebrow superciliously. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re implying. I never raised a wand against the fellow.” Oliver sputtered, and he relented. “I’ll show you tonight, after dinner.”
Percy knew when to break the rules: when someone else was there to take the fall. He was a Weasley. He was also a little bit of an asshole.