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Percy likes power. It's something he's coveted since he was small and saw his mum dole out responsibilities to Bill and Charlie. Since he grew older and was given those same responsibilities, to watch Fred and George. Help Ron clean up. Tuck Ginny in for her nap. He was given the power to watch over them because Mum knew only he could do it. While Bill was busy with his homework, or Charlie with the chores, Percy wielded his duty with such finesse, that he knew Mum would never hand it to anyone else.
It's why he was confused when he arrived at Hogwarts, and no one else saw the same thing his mum did. Oh sure, they called him 'a pleasure to teach' and 'darling and polite', but if that's true, then why didn't they grant him the same authority that Mum did? It doesn't make any sense. He memorized the rules within the first week and was scolding third-years! Why didn't anyone trust him?
"You have to be a prefect, you silly gnome." Charlie had laughed, reminding his brother (with a ruffle to the head) about the coveted position.
"Oh." He had flushed, feeling like an absolute idiot for forgetting (it's not his fault! He was so excited for Hogwarts! It must have slipped his mind!)
It makes sense, of course, that they would have to grow to trust Percy with such authority...And alright, fine. He'd spend the next four years proving himself. Watching his fellow classmates like a hawk for mistakes that need correcting and discipline that needs doling out. The prefects couldn't catch everything , could they? He'd have to help.
So now, he has the Prefect badge in his letter. Watches it gleam in the sun as he pins it on his moth-eaten robe, looking at himself in the mirror. He has it. He did it.
What now?
He sets to writing out a list of rules to propose to the other prefects. He gets to ride in the special prefect car with them this year, right? He's giddy at the thought. To be among like-minded individuals who wield this control and influence with what was undoubtedly an equal amount of grace and dignity—just like he has been, all his life.
Of course, disappointment follows him everywhere: when he steps into the carriage, the other prefects aren't regal and discussing how to better implement the rules, they're laughing and throwing Chocolate Frogs at each other. Gossiping with one another. Sharing Muggle booklets with non-moving photographs of smiling, fashionable women. What a mess! What utter chaos! It's just as it is back home! They needed him more than he thought!
Well it's a good thing he's here to help, isn't it?
His suggestions do not go well.
He doesn't understand! They're perfectly reasonable! He practiced them at home with the twins, Ron, and Ginny all the time! If prefects aren't there for total control over the student body, then what else are they for?
Percy isn't wrong...He can't be, can he? Prefects are there for the greater good of the student body. They know better. They know best. That's why he was promoted to a prefect. He fit the bill perfectly. And he's going to make sure that McGonagall knows she made the right choice.
He starts with assigning ten detentions his first day.
People aren't appreciative of this (Fred and George are relentless in their name-calling), but it's for their own good. They don't know any better, and Percy does. He's always known better! That's why he yells at people to stop running on the moving staircases and to stop crowding in the halls. To keep the PDA out of sight of the first-years and petty fights in the dueling hall. He is Order. He is Law. What don't people understand?
"You, there!" He calls, approaching a small form. "What are you doing out of the common rooms so late?" It's eleven at night, and his round is about to end.
"I'm lost." The first-year cries (wibbles, really), and Merlin, she couldn't have been any older than Ginny, she's so small. Why is she here? She's not even wearing the right robes; they're two inches shorter than the required ankle-length, and there are wooden buttons on the left side of her torso instead of no buttons or black buttons going down the center. Who dressed this child? He'll be having a stern talk with her elder sibling or parent later—In a letter, of course. Proper uniform guidelines must be followed!
Percy frowns at her words, looking at the younger student and remembering Ron, waking up from nightmares about the ghoul in the attic. "Well, come then, no sense crying about it." He can't put a name to her face, so they must be from another house, "What's your name and house?"
The little blonde sniffles again, and instead of answering him, she reaches out and tugs at his hand, wanting to hold it. His first instinct is to say 'It's alright, Fred, You-Know-Who can't reach you when you're under the covers' and he has to bite his lip to keep it from spilling out. He opens his mouth to ask again, not yanking his hand back, but he's interrupted, "You're a...a prefect?"
She's looking up in an obvious, but quiet wonder at his badge, which he keeps meticulously polished (he might have brought a special polish for it with his birthday money). Pride blooms in his chest as he stands up a little straighter. " That's right. "
The little first-year looks more reassured at this news, drying up her eyes, "That's good. You're good." And it was much more respect than what he had been given by other first-years, so Percy counts that as a sign of this girl's sense of respect. Probably a middle child, just as he is. He'd pat her on the head if it was appropriate.
He tries again, gentler this time, "What's your name?" He could narrow down houses with a name.
"Briar."
Well, not with just a first name. Still, he doesn't press, as he usually would (especially now with his prefect status), and simply nods. "Alright, then what house are you in?" Usually, he can narrow it down by the color of accessories on a student's hat or robe, but she has none. No scarves or pins or brooches—It's very unusual, actually. To see a plain black uniform like this. Maybe she has themed socks? She looks like an unsorted first-year.
Briar blinks, "I'm not in a house."
Now wait just a minute— "You're unsorted?"
"I'm ten."
He knew she shouldn't have been older than Ginny—What on earth is she doing here, then? Going a week without being noticed or alerting someone is miraculous (then again, everyone is focused on Harry Potter coming to Hogwarts, so perhaps it's almost excusable for those who do not have his keen eyes during patrols.) It's a good thing he found her and not someone else. Who knows how disastrously they would have handled it? Sure, his job isn't babysitting, but he can't just leave her out here to fend for herself, can he?
"Um." She mumbles, tugging again at his hand, "What's your name?"
Oh. "Oh right—" He's caught off guard; he hadn't introduced himself because he has previously been under the assumption that she was just a very small first-year. And all students should know the names of their prefects! He knew all of them the past four years, after all. "Percy Weasley, fifth-year prefect for Gryffindor."
He almost preens when she looks impressed at his introduction (as she should be! Being a prefect is a very important job!)
"That's a good age, ten." Percy remembers being ten. Feeling helpless and persevering through it with his chin held high.
She looks like she wants to disagree with him, but stops and considers his words instead, "Yeah?"
"Of course. You're double digits. You have more responsibilities than before. More grown-up."
This sort of talk never reassured the twins, Ron, or even Ginny of anything, but the girl nods once, a subtle determination on her face, and Percy feels proud of it.
It doesn't look as if she'll say much else, at least, not without gaining some trust. As he walks her to Dumbledore's office, he offers up different questions to her. Not crucial ones, such as what she's doing here, because authority drips into his voice too easily and it makes her nervous, but simple ones, like which house she wishes to be in next year, what her favorite subject to learn will be, and what her favorite book is.
He wonders if maybe she had snuck onto the train with her older sibling, as his own younger siblings had wanted to do before Hogwarts (that's another rule he wants to implement: a charm to prevent witches ten and under from boarding the train!) Or if perhaps she was simply part of the visiting family of a professor (shouldn't he have heard of visiting family?)
She doesn't look like any of the professors he knows, and he knows most of them (barring the ones from specialized subjects or NEWT-only classes). Maybe not a daughter or sister, but a niece? Mayhaps a godchild?
Briar starts off his line of questions with one-worded answers, meek and quiet. She ends up in a much more comfortable place, almost skipping next to him rather than just walking, and humming tunes to songs he's never heard (when he asks, she says she made them up herself). It's not at all like other escorting he's done in the short time he's been given the authority to do so. The escort in question isn't angry or peeved at him, nor are they calling him unsavory things under their breath. Moreover, Briar isn't in trouble, at least not in the same sense that she would have been had she been up to no good in the corridor where he found her.
A shame that a ten-year-old is leagues more mature than his fellow students at Hogwarts. It's not like he's the only common denominator in all those scenarios.
"Do you like being a prefect?" The question pops up suddenly, and he has to stop in his steps to really process it. Does he like being a prefect? Of course.
"Naturally."
"Why?"
Well, that's another silly question (Ron is the same way, asking silly questions). Because he's in charge of others. He can protect others. Make sure they're doing the right thing. Bringing pride to their school. Doing their work. That's his job. It's always been his job. Since he was made a big brother—when the twins were born. Before that, really, when Mum was expecting. She had sat him down and told him he was going to need to be strong. Responsible. An example. Being a big brother was a power often mishandled.
He blinks, blanking on the question when a voice rips through his thoughts. " Briar! Oh my goodness, child. Where have you been?"
He's seen the speaker before, in passing. An electives professor on fae folk or glamor magic, he can't remember. The woman is coming out of Dumbledore's office, definitely too old to be her mother, but Briar runs up to her and embraces her anyways as if she were the safest place in all the world. In the back of his head, his brain processes the conversation: Briar pointing back at him (' It's not polite to point, stop that!' ) and explaining that he had been the one to find her and keep her company. Lead her back here where she belongs. That he's safe and good and all the things he's been wanting to be called since donning the badge on his chest.
Dumbledore rests by his portal, eyes twinkling at him. Saying or confirming something Percy has yet to really understand. He likes to think, maybe, it's pride.
His second week of being a prefect, Percy only hands out one detention. For the twins. They spend it together writing lines (they make fun of his fanciful handwriting), and his brothers ask him if the power's left his head.
"Why only one detention this week, Perce?"
He blinks, and tells them honestly, "I just wanted to spend some time with my brothers."
There's a beat and then cackles. They go on and on about how Percy's finally using his prefect badge as he should be. For his own agenda. His own petty revenge. They're both proud of him, and then they try to convince him to give Ron a detention for being funny looking.
That's absurd, of course, but Percy only smiles, telling him that he'll assign them ten more lines for being funnier looking than Ron.