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Percy’s desk felt wrong. Horrible. Terrible. Atrocious. He was missing a quill and now his perfectly organized space in his tiny room was practically naked. A name popped into his head—two names at that—so, in an appropriately sized huff, he stomped down the stairs. “Fred! George!” He found them in the living room covered in soot, sharing a similarly sized missing patch in their hair and bald faces. “Where is my—What happened to you two?” Percy stared at where their eyebrows were supposed to be.
Before either could come out with what would have surely been some wildly embellished story, Ginny answered on her way outside, “They blew up a blanket in their room and now mum is airing it out from the smell of burnt hair.”
“Again?” Percy pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up from the force.
“No! This time it was truly an accident.” George strongly gestured at a ruined blanket on the floor. “We were working on some inventions—”
“Great inventions,” Fred quickly shot in with a proud grin and nod.
“—when a small spark just so happened to catch the edge of this…blanket.”
Seeing Percy’s face steadily grow redder and redder, Fred stood, rounding the room to throw an arm around his older brother. “It was just a small spark.”
“Tiny really.”
“Some would even call it insignificant.”
“An insignificant spark caught your blanket on fire?” Percy allowed himself a moment to gaze blindly at the Burrow’s ceiling and wonder what he did to deserve arsonist brothers. Did he anger a hag? Had he accidentally mistreated Scabbers and pissed off a rat deity? Maybe he was merely unlucky. Whatever the reason was, he was stuck for the unforeseeable future in a house where one could very easily have hair one moment and the next be completely missing it. He shook off his inner bemoaning before ducking under Fred’s arm and whipping around to glare at the twins. “Never mind all this nonsense! Where is my quill?”
George and Fred shared a look. “You say, ‘never mind all this nonsense’ and then you follow it up with nonsense?” asked one. George, Percy was quick to deduce.
The other, Fred, followed up with, “We lost our beautiful hair and our brother is more concerned about a quill.”
“Such a shame. Tisk, tisk. Brother of ours is more concerned about an inanimate object over his little brothers.” George shook his head and wiped at his completely dry eyes that were sparkling with mirth. His twin echoed a mournful ‘for shame, for shame, for shame.’
“I’m sorry but can I write with your blasted hair?”
“Well—” George started with a mischievous twist of his mouth.
Percy held out a hand and loudly shushed his brother. “No. No, that’s not going to happen. I want my quill. Now where have you miscreants hidden it?” He gave them both the most unimpressed look he could give. Given that he was a Prefect, he felt it was a rather strong look. Having had been required to do much the same with rule-breaking Hogwarts students, he knew he certainly had more than enough practice with the specific narrowing of the eyes, the slight downturn of his mouth, and tilt of the head that encouraged the truth but didn’t quite promise leniency. That he had learned this particular move from their mum would remain a strict secret only known to him and said mum.
It didn’t seem to be working on the twins.
George rolled his eyes.
Fred snorted.
And one of Percy’s actually there eyebrows—which was more than the twins could say at the moment—twitched. “I’m serious—”
“Oh! Did you hear that, Fred? Serious Percy is serious about his quill.”
“A quill that we did not take.”
“Yes, exactly. A quill we did not take.”
In as quick a switch as when they joke or prank, Fred straightened up and asked, “When did you last see it? Because we’re serious, Perce. We really have no clue where your quill is.” Percy’s tense back relaxed. When one was dropping their childish act, the other would tend to quickly follow, and they would never give up the possibility to ‘subtly’ tease any given sibling over a missing item they had actually taken for whatever harebrained prank. Like when they took Ron’s things and stuck them to his room's ceiling. For this straightforward question, they were…
“You didn’t take my quill.” Percy sighed. Over a chorus of a disgruntled ‘told you we didn’t!’, he said thoughtfully, “The last time I can recall seeing it was on my desk.”
“In your room?”
Percy squinted, a headache beginning to form. “Yes, George. In my room. I don’t have any other desk now do I?” Was it too late to beg his mum not to have any more children after him? Throw in some waterworks? He glared at the stocky twins; he supposed it was too late. More the pity. The twins had somehow managed to manifest deerstalker hats and two muggle magnifying glasses. He was far too tired to even begin lecturing them on underage magic. He just wanted to find his misplaced quill, shut himself in his room, and write a reply to dear Penny.
Fred tilted his hat in Percy’s direction. “Don’t you worry, good sir! Us detectives will find your precious quill.”
“Quickly we will.”
“Swiftly.”
“With all the haste in the world.”
“Just in time for you to write your girlfriend,” Fred finished their little game of back and forth, winking ridiculously.
“Just find my quill!”
While Percy went back to his room to search the floorboards, George searched the living room where Percy sometimes wrote his summer notes when it was quiet and Fred wandered into the dining room on a supposed hunch. Percy suspected he was in there to rob their poor kitchen's biscuit jar.
Percy was sprawled on his floor and reaching a gangly arm under his bed to pat under it when something kicked at his foot rudely. His glasses skewed and cheek squished, he glared the best he was able to. “Ronald, I’m busy right now as you can see.” He could see his little brother from the poor position furrowing his brow.
“I guess? What are you doing?”
“Searching for my quill,” Percy replied with a sniff.
Ron sat with a bouncing motion on his bed. “What does it look like?” the younger continued questioning.
Percy’s sigh came out more like a frustrated groan. “Like a quill.” Despite not being to see his brother anymore, he was sure Ron was either nodding or tilting his head like a confused dog. Or, if he was feeling particularly mischievous, he was grinning impishly.
For several lovely moments, it was quiet beyond the soft movement of fabric while Percy patted uselessly at the floorboards under his bed. Legs began to swing above his head and he flinched.
“When’s mum starting lunch?”
“Soon I presume. She’s busy airing out the twins’ room.”
It was quiet for another beat. “Don’t you have other quills? What’s so special ‘bout this one?”
Percy turned his face to the floor and rested his forehead on the ground, pushing his glasses down on his nose. His arm laid limply. “Yes, Ron. I have other quills but this one is not where it’s supposed to be.” He wasn’t fully sure why he was continuing with this mindless game. Why he didn’t just demand the younger boy leave him alone.
Quiet for another beat, but Percy wasn’t fooled for a second. Expectedly now, he heard Ron suck in a breath and ask, “Where is it supposed to be? That’s vague, innit?”
“On my desk,” Percy answered shortly, annoyance becoming more obvious by the minute. When was his little brother going to leave? He had things to do, a blasted quill to find, and having a redheaded youth buzzing around his head like a mosquito was not helping him keep any focus on his quest.
Ron sniffled, sounding strangely wet. “In your room?” he asked.
“Yes. Does everyone think I have a desk hidden somewhere? I have one desk and it’s in my room.” Percy wasn’t sure why everyone kept asking that. It was ridiculous. He’d always had the singular desk. It had been bought for him shortly before he started first year at Hogwarts; he had practically begged for the scrappy thing.
“Do you reckon Harry's going to write back this summer?”
“Most likely will,” Percy intoned—barely skipping a beat at the non sequitur—and couldn’t help but snidely add, “Unless he lost his quill, of course.”
It was quiet longer this time. Only the swinging legs right above his hair—the breeze of the action—letting him know his little brother was still very much there. An unwelcome figure shadowing his room. He hesitantly turned his head and resumed his search with squinted eyes, using one of his shoulders to push his glasses back up in its mostly correct place on his face.
“What’s mum making again? I hope it’s not corned beef.”
Percy stopped, fighting the desire to slam his head against the suddenly alluring floor. “Is that all you think about? Food?” he asked with a tone of giving up. Because he was giving up. It was obvious now; his little brother had successfully worn him down faster than the twins ever have.
“Oi!” Ron squawked. “I’m a growing boy!”
Growing in the middle perhaps, Percy rudely thought. Outwardly, he said, “If you want to know, why don’t you just ask mum herself?” He grabbed the side of his bed and pulled himself off the floor, some of his bones cracking as he carefully stood up while avoiding the still swinging legs of his brother. Cringing, he rubbed his stiff neck and rolled his shoulders. It was pointless to search anymore; Ron seemed content to pester and his quill was certainly not underneath his bed. He dusted off his hands, making a mental note to clean under there more often—perhaps with an actual note at that least he forget with his summer homework, studying, and letters with Penny.
Whatever frustration he felt with Ron vanished as soon as he could properly see the boy. Ron was red-faced and, as Percy sat down next to him on the bed, swiped at his dripping nose. “You’re sick.” Before the younger was able to pull away, Percy put the back of a hand on his forehead. “You have a fever,” Percy said accusingly with narrowed eyes.
“No, I’m not! And I do not!”
Percy wasn’t sure how he missed the signs. A Ron fumbling into his room of all places, talking in non sequiturs, wanting to know what mum was making from a source that was not mum. The very obvious stuffy voice. Not wanting to be alone. “You are sick.” Percy’s voice was strongly certain now and he grabbed his little brother’s arm, pulled him up, and marched him out of the room. Ron dug his heels into the floor like a man being sent to his execution, loudly lying about his innocence.
It was quick. As soon as he entered the twins’ room and mum took one look at Ron, she swept into action. Percy gladly handed over the sick boy. Ron glared at him, muttering a sadly hoarse, “Traitor,” before he was bodily carried back to his own room. Their mum tutted sternly and was muttering something about potions and oils and magical garden slug stew which had Ron turning green. He turned teary, begging eyes towards Percy who silently crept away, feeling only slightly bad for his little brother’s plight. But it was not himself and, for that, he felt mostly fine turning around and leaving.
He wandered back downstairs to the living room, having successfully exhausted his search in his room, and the first thing he saw was a twin’s arse in the air. He blinked at it and then squinted as though it were a puzzle. A particularly disgusting one, at that. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing?”
George startled, jerking up and smacking his head on the coffee table with a dull thump. The deerstalker and magnifying glass jostled on its surface where they rested abandoned. Gingerly, he rubbed his head while he crawled back out into the open. “I was searching the floor! Why did you have to do that for? I’ve already lost hair, now I’ll have a bump!” He sat against the sofa, legs spread out before him, glaring up at Percy with crossed arms. Percy accidentally mirrored the motioned with his own unimpressed glare.
“You didn’t find my quill I assume.”
“Well, maybe the thing simply grew legs and walked off?”
Percy's mouth tightened. “If it did that then I know who most likely caused it.”
His younger brother obviously did not take the accusing tone well, even though he hadn’t meant for it to be taken that way. He cringed but held firm while George struggled to stand up, his face turning as red as what was left of his hair. “I’m not the one that lost the thing! And I don’t have to help you find what you lost!” He pointed violently at Percy, his mouth twisted as it tended to do when he was genuinely angry. Fred, when angered, furrowed his nose to the point he looked like a wrinkled newborn. George, in comparison, just looked like a highly disgruntled Aunt Muriel.
Percy wisely chose not to mention either of that to the twins. “It’s typically your or Fred’s fault. Or both. I merely acted accordingly to what I know.” He glanced off to the side, eyes wide. That wasn’t what he should have said if he wished to keep the peace. He clenched his jaw, however, and stubbornly refused to apologize. It wasn’t particularly fair. It actually wasn’t either twin’s fault for his quill to be missing. When he looked back, George was scowling and resembling Aunt Muriel further. Percy cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting on his legs. He was going to be pranked mercilessly over the rest of the summer, wasn’t he? It was looking more and more likely. He silently mourned the peace that was soon to be disturbed.
“You’re a git.” George made to sweep out of the room in a huff.
“Sorry,” Percy forced himself to say from between tightly clenched teeth. It was for the greater good, he told himself, if only in an attempt to save himself from the wrath of the twins.
George stopped, turned, and appeared to be raising his eyebrows but it was difficult to tell without any hair there. “What was that, oh, Percywercy?” he asked, leaning closer and cupping a hand over an ear. “I do think I heard a shite poor apology for you being a giant arse.” He then beckoned his brother with an expecting grin. “Come on. You know what you have to say.”
Percy pressed his lips.
Turned red up to his ears.
Steeled himself.
“I said I apologize for blaming you and Fred for my missing quill. Obviously, neither of you have taken it. It appears I…misplaced it and I—” he took a deep breath, shoulders slumping briefly, “—I was—Do I really need to say this?”
“Yes. Gimmie that delectable Percy branded sorry. Fred will hear all about it, don’t you worry.”
With clenched eyes, Percy bit out in a strangled voice, “I was wrong.” He opened his eyes to see his brother jumping and having a strange mini celebration. This was a ridiculous thing that his siblings decided to do whenever he was forced to admit to being wrong about anything. As though they genuinely thought he was adverse to admitting to that or even apologizing for it; in reality, he simply didn’t like to do either towards his siblings. It was embarrassing because they always made it embarrassing. Percy subtly rolled his eyes, put his hands on his hips, and waited for his brother to calm down.
“That was acceptable, I’d say,” George finally said after a short little jig. “Oh! I did find a quill under the sofa.”
“Why didn’t you say that first? You little—” Percy cut himself off and forced himself to focus on breathing. It would not do to get angry again and then make George angry which would then make Fred angry. Calm. Breathe. Happy place.
His brother shrugged, looking now completely unaffected by his foul mood. “I’m not sure if it is.” George then—suspiciously carefully with a napkin—handed him a quill with a thin light blue brand near the tip.
Percy then made one of the stupidest decisions of his life. He trusted George and grabbed the quill.
“I label my quills with my name so it should be easy to—”
A puff of smoke covered the room with him in the very center of it. Light blue and thick, it rolled over his body with swift precision. One second, two seconds, three seconds; it was quick and in those seconds he knew he had been played. Of course, George wouldn’t forgive him that easily. What was he even thinking? He grew up with the twins! He should know better than most just how vindictive they could be, especially George. As the concentrated magical smoke gradually escaped through an open window, he frantically hoped it hadn’t taken his hair or—like one uncharacteristically terrible prank that the twins hadn’t intended to be that horrible—taken the skin, muscles, and nerves from his hand. That one had hurt. A lot. Understandably so. He had been left with a bony hand before St. Mungos had healed him. He had a small tremor for nearly three weeks before that eventually faded. Fred and George had fallen over themselves to make up for that mistake.
The smoke was gone.
He looked down at his hands. The skin was still there and he exhaled, but…they were wrong. Smaller. Chubbier. Attached to short arms.
“Never fear for your hero is here! I have found the quill!” Fred burst into the room, the missing quill dangling teasingly from his fingers, a peek of a recognizable label between his grip. He froze. “What—Why—George! Why is our brother small?” The excited tone in his voice abruptly changed into a shrill panic. He grabbed at what remained of his hair.
The twins were both pale. Almost as pale as when they realized they accidentally maimed Percy. “I didn’t mean to do this! It was just supposed to be a joke because he was being a git,” George said defensively.
“A joke!” Fred shouted back, wide eyes not leaving Percy who was now shifting and trying to see the rest of himself. “What did you even use? We don’t have anything that can do—do this.”
“One of the joke quills.”
“Joke quills?” Fred looked confused for a moment before he snapped his fingers. “Which color?”
Which color? Percy stumbled over to the floor length mirror behind the shoe stand placed next to the front door of the Burrow. Dread was now in his stomach. Which color? It was catching in his mind—that strange, seemingly unrelated question—and he realized with sudden clarity that something had gone terribly wrong with the intended prank. Something akin to the hand thing, but not just as bad because he wasn’t actually in pain. He was shorter, though. His limbs were short. He was unbalanced, teetering like a drunk. The mirror was now in reach. Before he could get a look, Fred quickly swooped him up into his arms with ease that didn’t make sense.
It suddenly made sense.
Percy stared at just how far away the floor was from his unwanted perch in his brother’s arms. He was—
“You turned Percy back into a kid. Mum’s gonna kill us.”
He was proud of his ability in not showing the full scale of his emotions, in not being as overemotional as his siblings. It was a skill he had been honing, even though he couldn’t cover up his annoyance and anger when he was properly pressed, but he still thought he had control over himself. Control being the keyword. Percy liked having control over himself. But in the moment he wasn’t able to do much of anything. It started as a slow burning in his throat and it spread into an ache in his chest.
Then he was crying. And he couldn’t stop.
Fred panicked. “Perce, it’ll be alright. We’ll tell mum and we’ll get you to St. Mungos where they’ll fix everything!” He rocked Percy back and forth; Percy hid his face in Fred’s shoulder, face red, snotty, and leaking. None of them—Fred, George, Percy—knew what to do about the tears.
So, Percy did the one thing he felt he could easily do; he kicked George in the chest who bent over, wheezing, and promptly bit Fred who yelped and released him. Percy fell to the ground with a grunt but he scurried back into standing, reared back his leg, and kicked George again. This time he aimed at his brother’s leg. He gleefully noticed that the twins’ joke quill had also shrunken his clothing, including his shoes. George grabbed at his leg, hoping on the other. It filled Percy with vindictive excitement.
Fred quickly met the same fate as his twin.
It served them right! Percy was a child again. He felt it was right that he, at the very least, kick his brothers for this great injustice. With his glasses slipping down his nose from the drop, he glared at one and then the other. “Fix this!” he screeched.
“Okay. We know Perce is still in there so there’s that,” Fred said, rubbing at his shoulder where Percy had bit down.
“And he’s angry. Very angry.”
“Angier than we’ve ever seen him which would otherwise be very impressive.”
“If it wasn’t aimed at us.”
The twins shared a nod and Percy growled. He stomped his foot before he could stop himself. Flushing now in embarrassment, he looked down at his own legs like they weren’t his own. Blinking, he physically shook himself, and tried to think clearly. To focus. Had he actually kicked George and bit Fred? Did he actually stomp like a…
Like a child.
He wanted to do those things, yes. If he was in his right body, however, he never would have done anything so violent and uncouth. It was all so childish, so juvenile. None of that was Percy. He was going to work in the Ministry—hopefully—and he strived to not have a reputation for bad behavior like all his siblings had. “I’m going to go get mum,” George said before dashing up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Fred eyed Percy warily like he was a wounded animal they found in a field.
Percy sniffled and climbed up the sofa to wait. He wiped at his eyes. Fred hesitated for a moment before sitting next to him.
“I know George didn’t mean for this to happen.” Fred fiddled with his own hands. “You’re not hurting or anything?”
“No. Just…overemotional and violent.”
“The joke quill—the light blue one you got—it’s temporary.”
Percy’s face snapped to him. “How long?”
His brother hesitated and Percy’s lip wobbled uncontrollably. “A week.” Quickly, he added, “But that was with animal testing! Not human. We weren’t at that stage yet.”
“Animal testing?”
Fred raised his hands. “It was all ethical! I swear.”
“Testing on animals is not ethical.”
“They’re magic, very tough, and we went through an official company thing.”
Percy stared blankly at Fred, at the missing patch of hair and his missing eyebrows. “Okay, we—we won’t do that anymore,” Fred promised with a grimace, likely realizing now just how badly all he said sounded without his twin to bounce off in justifying their actions. “Think mum is really going to kill us for this?”
“If she doesn’t, I just might.” Percy smiled. Fred paled.
Mum entered the room, looking frazzled and vastly unamused. “Fred, George, what did you two do now?” Her tone was pure exhaustion after needing to wrangle a sick Ron. It also sounded like it came from a veteran who saw the full horrors of war on the front line. That she was looking at the twins with such a haunted look spoke of situations Percy wasn’t even aware of. He felt tempted to interrogate them, to find out what exactly they put their mother through to deserve that look from her, but first he would much rather be in his own properly aged body.
“It wasn’t my fault! This is all George.”
“Oi! Betrayed by own twin.”
With a long-suffering sigh, mum knelt down in front of the sofa and gently took Percy’s hand, which he begrudgingly allowed. “Percy, dear, how are you doing? Can you tell me what happened here?”
Percy nodded sharply. “I lost one of my quills and the twins were helping me search for it. George gave me one of their joke quills which, obviously, led to my current predicament. I do believe Fred told me that the quill I had been given will wear off in one week,” he answered. Short and to the point without unnecessary padding. He almost wanted to pat himself on the back; it had been something he’s been trying to practice after years of lengthy Hogwart’s assignments.
In the corner of the room, George leaned close to Fred and said, “It’s odd to hear his words coming out of a kid.” Fred was quick to agree and Percy scowled at them.
“No more comments out of you two.” Mum wagged a finger in the twins’ direction which made them both hold their hands up in surrender. Ginny chose this most inopportune time to come home. She stared at them all and wordlessly gestured at Percy. “The twins thought it would be funny to give your brother a de-aging quill. Of all the harebrained ideas…Your poor older brother is going to be stuck like this for at least a week,” mum answered the silent question. Ginny’s eyebrows rose, she blinked once, turned on her heel, and left. Percy wished he could do the same; just leave the room and the situation entirely. Mum wasn’t finished. She gave the twins a steely look. “You two will be taking care of your brother until he is back to normal.”
“He bit—”
“He kicked—”
“Not another word!” mum cut them off, standing and patting Percy’s head. She gave him a sneaky wink without the twins noticing. “Now, I need to go and make Ron some magical slug stew for his cold.” Her piece said, she turned on her heel—Percy was struck by how Ginny must have learned this from their mum as it was eerily similar—and marched to the kitchen.
Fred and George shared an equally disgusted look with each other. “Reckon mum is ever going to realize that disgusting stew doesn’t actually do anything?” George asked.
Percy grumbled to himself. He quickly tuned the twins’ conversation out, glaring at a spot on the floor. Their mum had just given him an opportunity. Free reign to enact revenge against the twins for this slight. One week. He had at most seven days to make Fred and George’s lives a living nightmare and he wouldn’t be punished for doing it. And! He could always blame it on the joke quill making him overemotional, unstable, muddied brained even. Which wouldn’t even really be a lie. It was blame free for the most part. His mind whirling, Percy began to plan.
He had the rest of the day and then, presumably, six days afterwards to make the twins pay and more.
The twins didn’t notice the impish grin that would give Ron a run for his money or the way his eyes shone with mischievous intent behind his horn-rimmed glasses. It was very un-Percy-like, but he could always blame the quill. He decided, almost sadly, to let his brothers have a sense of false comfort; he wouldn’t do anything today beyond what he had already done. Tomorrow, however, was a different tale.
It would begin.
In earnest.
Percy started the plan in a more characteristic manner when the time came. Meticulously and in the morning, right before mum would call the others down for breakfast. He scurried up the cabinets under her watchful eyes and then crawled further up to a higher vantage point after promising he’d be careful up there. Then, he simply waited.
When Fred wandered into the kitchen to grab a supposed forgotten serving platter, Percy pounced. Perhaps, he would later realize, it wasn’t actually in character or all that meticulous. But in the moment, he truly believed this was a well thought through plan that was perfectly in line with who he was as a person. As it was, he latched himself on Fred’s back with his small legs wrapping around his brother’s stocky form the best he could—feeling a bit bad since he wasn’t the one who gave him the joke quill—and smeared Fred’s hair with sticky chocolate pudding. He quickly, thoroughly, ran his hands he had previously coated in the sweet food once on his perch high above through those red locks. Fred shouted, wheeling backwards with his arm at the sudden weight. He attempted to dislodge Percy but his now small big brother tightened his hold.
Fred left the kitchen sticky and covered in pudding.
“What happened to you?” Ron demanded, still a bit sick but better enough to eat meals with them.
“Percy pranked me.” Fred didn’t sound like he believed himself.
George glanced at Percy who had already cleaned his hands in the kitchen and was now sitting at the table. “Percy? Our Percy? I mean, even with him like this, I don’t see him ever doing something like that. He doesn’t have a sense of humor! Sure it wasn’t Ginny?”
Before Fred could respond, Ginny punched George in the arm. “If it was me, dumbarse, he would know it.”
“Ginny!”
“He deserved that, mum! He was questioning my skills.”
“Oh, I was not!”
“It was implied and I will not have my honor besmirched like this.”
Breakfast quickly devolved into a brief section of chaos and Fred quickly disappeared to take a shower. Percy grinned and waited. It was calm now when Fred came back. George looked up, looked back down to his plate, and then quickly looked back up. “You’re blue!”
“What?” Fred scrambled to the mirror next to the front door. He was a light blue, his hair—despite having just been washed—was spiky and drenched in chocolate pudding. Percy was pretty proud about the plan to use a delayed enchanted chocolate pudding; it wasn’t noticeable until a person was outside of the shower and away from the humid heat of hotter water temperatures. Fred came back with wide eyes that soon narrowed suspiciously at Percy.
Fred took a second shower and this time came back clean. With his normal colors, without chocolate pudding, and was able to eat breakfast undisturbed. He spend the rest of the morning wary of Percy and trying to convince his twin that their older brother had purposefully pranked him.
Percy then left Fred alone for the rest of the day. He wasn’t cruel, after all. He wasn’t going to continuously prank someone without giving them breaks. The rest of the morning passed uneventfully, the afternoon passed uneventfully; it was nighttime when he struck at George. While his little brother was de-gnoming the garden with Fred as part of their punishment from mum, Percy stuck an enchanted bucket over George’s bed, a string to a side table fan, and a sack of feathers next to the bucket on the ceiling.
He waited.
George collapsed on his bed. The enchanted bucket tilted automatically, pelting him with eggs as he squawked and tried to cover his face from the onslaught. Percy pulled the sting which turned on the fan and triggered the sack of feathers. His brother sputtered and spit out feathers that landed in his mouth. George was covered in them and he stared at Percy with an open mouth as he crawled out from under George’s bed.
“I told you!” Fred shouted victoriously from his own bed.
The targeted twin would take a shower and go to sleep normal. He woke up with a beak, real feathers, and clucking. Percy smiled openly at George who was back to normal after an hour.
With the loss of the first day, Percy originally had about six days left. The first day passed and now he had five. He bit his lip as he sat up in his bed with a notebook and a muggle pen. He wasn’t sure if he could up the same amount of steam for a total of five more days. Five days straight of pranking seemed…cruel, he thought, so perhaps he should give the twins a few breaks between? It would up the tension. He decided to give them that break for tomorrow and went to sleep satisfied.
Now, both twins were wary of Percy who merely smiled up at them and blinked innocently.
The day passed normally.
At midnight, Percy grabbed a few nailbrushes, some nail polish he stole from Ginny’s room with a silent apology, and a potion that made items glimmer for 25 hours which he had politely requested from his mum. It was an inexpensive potion. Made cheap and then sold cheap, in small bundles; it was popular for painting skin which gave a temporary shine and children’s projects which were permanent due to the parchment or paper. He snuck into the twins’ room and went to work.
Fred and George stumbled downstairs looking like the sun had vomited on them. They looked at each other. “What was in that joke quill?” George asked. “We’ve turned our brother into a tiny monster!”
Mum merely sipped at her morning tea, reading a magical cozy mystery about a witch and her talking cat. “You two did this and now you must face the consequences,” she said easily with a slow and purposeful blink at the twins.
Percy continued with much the same—an onslaught with one day breaks between—until he was back to normal. He felt…embarrassed rather than proud once he was himself. Instead of claiming he couldn’t remember doing what he had done to get out of blame for acting out, he claimed it was true because he genuinely hadn’t been as in control as he recalled him thinking he was. His so-called lie of blaming the joke quill for loss of control was not actually a lie it would seem. It was frustrating in the end; he couldn’t even gain satisfaction for finally getting the upper hand on the twins. It wasn’t really him that had. It was their ridiculous quill invention that had influenced him, changed him into a small gremlin who was most unbecoming of a future Ministry employee.
Privately, and rather deep down, he thought it had been fun to be set free from all things.
Fred had looked at him suspiciously, sure his older brother was lying even as their siblings easily accepted and then teased Percy with stories. The twins kept their joke quills—especially the light blue one—hidden away. Not like Percy would ever accept something as seemingly normal as a quill from the twins ever again.
And to think all of that had happened because Percy had lost a quill.
Glancing down at his quill, Percy couldn’t help but smile, drip it into ink, and write his reply for Penny. It was rather late! And he had much to tell her about his week. He paused. Perhaps he should leave out his jump back into childhood? He was more or less ashamed of it now, but already he felt it belonged more to his family—a silly story to tell over meals—than one to tell others most likely not meant to stay. With more time and in the future, he would admit freely to having done all of those things with a sense of Weasley pride.
Now, however, Percy was almost sixteen and was still embarrassed. He would much rather die than let it be known he remembered everything.