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‘No. Absolutely not.’
The Sorting Hat went quiet before it could even speak at Percy’s sudden declaration. He knew it was about to speak—he knew by the way it shifted on his head—he knew it was about to say Slytherin.
‘ …Percival Weasley, aren’t you?’ the Sorting Hat spoke back, its grave but amused voice ringing through the hollows of his skull. Involuntarily, he shivered. ‘I’ve handled a few of your kind. I have to say, I haven’t been wrong about the Weasleys yet.’
‘Be wrong now, just this once,’ he pleaded with the hat. His face was starting to grow pale and clammy, much to the confusion of everyone watching. He tilted his head down to avoid the stare of his older brothers. He couldn’t meet their eyes now. ‘Look—I know, OK? I know. Just spare me this once. Gryffindor, please .’
The Sorting Hat went silent, seemingly considering something. ‘And so you know?’ it asked, its voice strangely quiet. ‘You will never belong.’
That stung. He had to admit, it stung. He spared one glance towards the Gryffindor table, looking how jovial and merry they seemed to be. He supposed the only exceptions to this were Bill and Charlie, who were looking at him like he was something strange. Not their brother. Not anymore, if he ended up in Slytherin.
He swallowed. ‘Please,’ he pleaded again, hands trembling underneath his oversized robes. ‘My brothers are there. Fred and George are going to be there—Ron and Ginny too. I can’t be with them if I’m in Slytherin. They won’t look at me again. Please .’
Much to his frustration, the Sorting Hat seemed to be amused. It curled up on his head, shifting, and for a terrible moment, Percy thought it would declare his house, his real house: Slytherin. Instead, it seemed to be laughing. ‘You will never find a brother there, nor a sister,’ it whispered. ‘Does family help at all, Percival? Does it?’
“Merlin, just shut up ,” he said hotly, and after a moment, he realized he said it out loud. Blushing at the smattering of laughter coming upon the student body, he looked down again. ‘Stop messing with me. Put me in Gryffindor now, you annoying little thing.’
Again, the Sorting Hat went silent. Percy felt dread hollow a pit in his stomach—had he angered it? Surely it would put him in Slytherin now, if only for revenge. Just before he was sure it would open its mouth, it whispered into his ear: ‘I’ll give you this: that was incredibly brave of you.’
Percy flushed, lowering his head despite himself. ‘Gryffindor, then,’ he forged on, taking his chance on intimidation. ‘Gryffindor or nothing.’
Then the Sorting Hat really did laugh—to everyone in the Great Hall, to his professors and the houses and Bill and Charlie. It was a mirthless sort of laugh, someone who was impressed by the sheer daring of the boy it was upon. ‘Gryffindor or nothing?’ it murmured in his ear again, clearly amused. ‘Do you order me around, Percival?’
Percy felt a hot shame overwhelm him. Merlin, what was he doing? The Sorting Hat was something way beyond his own comprehension, something ancient and powerful and who-knows-what-else. Lowering his head even further, he replied: ‘No.’
People were staring at him now, he was sure of it. It had been over five minutes since he’d put on the damned hat and it seemed no closer to making a decision. Rather, Percy thought to himself, it has made a decision, I’m just shutting it up whenever it tries.
The Sorting Hat went silent. It seemed to do that a lot. ‘Good,’ it said with some satisfaction. ‘Some humility. Bravery—or audacity, but I’m afraid the Gryffindors haven’t quite drawn a line yet. And that brain… yes, I’m sure you’ll fit into the Ravenclaws just fine, too.’ It went quiet, and for one, amazing moment, Percy let himself hope that it would put him in Gryffindor. Or Ravenclaw. At this point, he would take either. Just not Slytherin.
Perhaps he should’ve learned that it was foolish to hope, foolish to think there was anything looking out for him. Perhaps he should’ve learned that begging only went so far til there was something he couldn’t change, something that he could only watch with all the dread in the world and with all the anger in the world and it would still not change. Only, he didn’t learn—not now, at least—and it seemed the only thing he could do was watch.
“SLYTHERIN!”
Tumultuous applause came from the Slytherin table—or he assumed it did, because he didn’t look. Percy instead looked at Bill and Charlie, Bill and Charlie who’d patted his back on the Hogwarts Express and told them it would be all okay, that he was their little brother all the same. Perhaps they’d take it back now, by the shocked expressions on their faces.
He no longer belonged.
He took the Sorting Hat off with perhaps too much force and trudged off to the Slytherin table, and he found he didn’t hate a group of people more than then. They were all grinning at him, clapping his back, surely happy to get one over on the Weasley family, to have him as one of their own. He hated it. He turned away forcefully from the group, taking a seat at the far, far end. Even the first-years he was with wouldn’t be able to touch him now.
He just wanted to go home.
Percy dared not glance over at the Gryffindor table, instead looking stubbornly down at his own lap. He didn’t want to face Bill and Charlie. Perhaps he was a coward like that—perhaps that was exactly the reason he wasn’t a Gryffindor.
Fruitlessly, he attempted to stifle the tears that pricked his eyes. All the more reason he didn’t belong. It always felt like he had to fight for his place in the Weasley family—this was futile, too, just like the silent tears running down his cheeks.
A Weasley, only in name. It wasn’t the first time he’d had that thought, though it seemed to fit especially now. The next time he would see his brothers, he would be isolated at best, their enemy at worst. And most times, he knew he would have to be their enemy.
The next twenty sortings came without a turn.