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My name is Percy Weasley, and I am afraid.
I am pressed shoulder to shoulder amidst the crowd of us first-years, dwarfed by the vast and impressive Hall we’ve been led into. Around us are our future peers, potential friends and perhaps even adversaries, and somewhere in the crowd are my elder brothers. I cannot see them, though I stand a few fingers taller than those surrounding me, and my heart flutters rapidly in my throat.
Before us sits a stool, and upon it, the Sorting Hat. It’s a ragged thing, tattered and patched and frayed around the edges, and it’s hard to believe that this single object will determine the course of my life. As we gaze upon it the others shift and murmur, anxious excitement thick in the air, and I feel as if I can’t breathe.
I want so desperately to be a Gryffindor.
I have always been different.
I am the third of my parents’ children, and where my brother Bill is steadfast and sure, I am hesitant and uncertain. Where Charlie is adventurous and carefree, I am timid and cautious. The twins, my next younger brothers, are mischievous and scheming— I, however, am serious and meticulous, planning each moment of my day with care.
I am waiting for my name to be called, and I am worried.
I am different, and I am afraid, and I am terrified for my Sorting.
(I don’t want to be a disappointment.)
I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, and then—
“Weasley, Percival.”
And the world tilts—
And I’ve made it to the stool, and the Hat is on my head, and I am Sorted.
•
My name is Percy Weasley, and I am unsure.
My OWLs have come and gone, my grades the family’s highest yet, and I am anxious. I have been a school Prefect for a year and a semester, working hard and consistently to create the best possible outcome for my future. My younger siblings are now all in Gryffindor House, Ginny having been Sorted just this year, and I am expending every effort to be the role mode they deserve. Fred and George are as yet still careless about their schooling, but I am optimistic— perhaps time and example will sway them, just as Bill’s lead did Charlie. Both my elder brothers are now working successfully in their respective fields, and I am determined to do the same. Balancing my sibling’s shenanigans and my own life, however, is proving difficult— Ron is often lost to one plot or another, and Ginny is somehow more anxious and withdrawn in her first year than even I was. Keeping track of her, my schedule, and my secret relationship with Miss Clearwater is quite a daunting task.
I am concerned that I am missing something.
(I don’t want to be a disappointment.
I am worried I already am.)
I am doing my best. Perhaps it will be enough.
•
My name is Percy Weasley, and I am determined.
I am graduating top of my class as Head Boy of the school, with a promising internship at the Ministry beginning this summer. I have done my utmost to reach this— I have done everything I can to pave the way for my younger siblings, to be that shining example they need in their lives. I have pushed and stumbled and hauled myself as far as I could, and I have made it through.
(I don’t want to be a disappointment.
I am worried I already am.
I want the look in my father’s eyes to be one of pride.)
I will follow my my father’s footsteps to the Ministry of Magic, and I will make my parents proud— I will make something of myself. I allow myself to dream, today, that perhaps I will even help him bring the old respect to our name.
I cross the stage set up at the front of the Great Hall, my vision doubling as I remember my first moments here. The juxtaposition of eleven-year-old Percy tripping up to the Sorting Hat and myself as I am now, shaking hands with the Headmaster as he hands me my hard-earned diploma brings a wistfulness I’ve not felt before—
There is applause, and my eyes are searching, searching, and—
Front and center, amidst the crowd of my siblings, they are here. They are watching, my mother’s eyes filled with tears and my father beaming as he holds her close to his side, and for these fleeting moments I am on top of the world.
•
My name is Percy Weasley, and I am suspicious.
I am following on the Ministry path like my father and brother before me, and yet.
I cannot help but feel I am missing something.
I am working closely with the Minister— a feat I am modestly proud of, for a wizard of my age— and though it is a position I could only dream of in my youth, it seems to stir controversy within my family.
Perhaps even apprehension.
I cannot fathom as to why— I have offered my support and advice, as even my young eyes can see how dangerous it is in these times to align with Dumbledore (and, consequently, Harry Potter) and yet every quiet confrontation is met with ever-growing vexation. It worries me, how— no matter my tact or diplomacy— there is a wedge, driving slowly between us.
(I don’t want to be a disappointment.
I am worried I already am.
I want the look in my father’s eyes to be one of pride.
I cannot seem to bring anything but frustration.)
Home is tense, and it feels less like home, and the world around us is on a knife’s edge.
I am determined to forge this path, and it may cause growing pains— but all things change, and I will carve this spot out for myself. Once it is done, they will understand— they will see that it is all for them, for us; for the good of our family. What we could be, in this ever changing world.
Even if it feels like I am losing a part of myself to do it.
•
My name is Percy Weasley, and I am lost.
My toes push against the fronts of my boots as I walk through the cold Ministry halls. These days, no-one seems to look another in the eye, all my colleagues hastening from one place to the next with downcast eyes and hunched shoulders— warding off the invisible chill that no warming charm can fully expel. I am careful to place the blame fully on our new sentinels, the Dementors, and never to acknowledge the terrible black hole of fear that has opened in my gut.
I am overcome on all sides, and the world around me is drowning, flailing for a lifeline that may no longer exist. I cannot see an end to this tunnel— I cannot even reach out, find out where my family is. The raid on the Burrow, my childhood home, has left me grasping at straws; I spend endless hours at my desk, trying to find a way out. Not for me, but to help them. To save those desperate people down on Level Ten.
(I don’t want to be a disappointment.
I am worried I already am.
I want the look in my father’s eyes to be one of pride.
I cannot seem to bring anything but frustration.
I think of these past years, of my abandonment and silence, and I am ashamed.
I never thought it would be like this.)
The infiltration on the Ministry by the top 3 Undesirables has brought a spark of hope to my withering soul, and I now stand vigilant— ever ready, ever waiting, for that call I know will free me from this prison of my own making. I am in my office late— it is the only place I can hide from sight, within their sight and overlooked, and my Floo is dark.
I sip my tea, poring over accursed pages from the Registration Commission, my eyes watering from lack of sleep, and there is a flicker to my right.
The gold Galleon I found under George’s bed two summers ago gleams, numbers and letters morphing into a message that shall lead me home.
My heart leaps, and I am running.
I will be free, tonight.
Perhaps, now I finally will make them proud.
•
My name is Percy Weasley, and I, for once, dare to hope.
The bar in Hogsmeade is chaos, and I am breathless as I push through the throngs of people. It is with desperation and despair and anguish that I turn to the elderly barkeep, stuttering over the words I’ve ached to say for so long as I gaze into a face that is familiar and yet so different. I beg him to open the passage just once more before the madness descends upon us all— he’s hesitant, this brother of Dumbledore, but I can see in his soul a kindred spirit.
Perhaps he is another brother, once lost to his own pride.
Another family, torn by secrets and sorrows too long kept close.
He caves, and the passage cracks just wide enough for me to slip through— and I run, across dirt and pebble and uneven stone until I see the light of the Room reaching towards me.
(I don’t want to be a disappointment.
I am worried I already am.
I want the look in my father’s eyes to be one of pride.
I cannot seem to bring anything but frustration.
I think of these past years, of my abandonment and silence, and I am ashamed.
I never thought it would be like this.
I am different, but that does not mean I do not love them.)
I push through before I lose my nerve and suddenly they are there, every one of them after so long, and all at once I am overwhelmed.
I stumble over the feelings, the words that well up and they pour out of me, a dam burst and everything freed of the carefully constructed walls I built. My mother sobs, my father’s eyes are suspiciously wet, and my brothers are quick to welcome me home.
How did I manage without this?
It may be for only this moment but we are together, after too many months apart, and I— I am going to face the Dark, for this. For them, for my failings.
I look at my father with eyes that came from his own face, and in his gaze there is pride.
Tonight could be the end of all things, but my brothers will be by my side as we face it.
We race into the night, and it is exhilarating.