imagrindylow

He’d dedicated his all to doing everything right, avoiding anything that could hinder his possibility of doing anything or messing up his entire life schedule. Never lost house points, never faced a single detention. All his assignments were consistently submitted early, and he was at the top of every single class he took. People generally assumed it was to feed his ego, or build a reputation, and be treated differently than Weasleys were usually treated by purebloods or the elite. 

They couldn’t be more wrong, of course. Percy did everything he did purely for his parents. He’d watched them struggle. When Percy was as young as ten years old, he took it upon himself to help his father with taxes and bills. When he realized how much his father worked, how much they sacrificed and dealt with, he vowed that he’d be the one to lift his parents out of it. Thus why he dove into his academics, became the ideal teachers pet. He made sure he stepped on no toes, made no waves against authority. He did everything right to avoid hindering his future opportunities in any way—learned who to suck up to in order to further secure his future. 

He thrived on his capability to control every aspect of his life. In a family that was the epitome of chaos and disorder, he needed to be the thing that stood still. Needed to be what pulled his family out of it. The endless pressure he placed on himself to do better, do more, become more, go higher, higher, higher, higher. Never satisfied, not even with the highest score in class. He chased extra credit like a seeker to a snitch. He was like a never-ending burning star. 

Which is exactly why you were the bane of his existence.

You, one of the newly appointed Ravenclaw Prefects for the past year or so. Ever since you’d become prefect, you’d drive him crazy. Not because you did anything wrong, you were just… so carefree. 

You skipped through the halls during night rounds, you made your professors and classmates laugh. You were loud, charismatic, something people didn’t expect from a Ravenclaw. You did all duties, he couldn’t technically complain about you. But he couldn’t help but feel himself get on edge whenever you were near.

You were the epitome of I’ll figure it out eventually! Worst part? The majority of the time, you did. You almost always found a way to do anything with minimal planning. It irked him completely—the method to his success was relentless planning, and watching you wing it every single time drove him half mad.

What was even worse was that you kept finding ways to avoid getting in trouble. It was infuriating.

Told you no student may be out of bed past 11? You said the rule doesn’t apply to prefects and head students.

Told you your cat can’t roam the halls? You pulled out a technicality on the premise of the day of the week it was. 

He even tried to stop with the no running in the halls rule, and yet you simply yelled out ‘I’m skipping, not running!’

He was hopeless. He relentlessly thought of ways to teach you the importance of rules, the importance of acting in a proper, predictable manner. You’d been driving him half insane for nearly a year and a half, and he was the only one who seemed to be going crazy over you.

He’d sit with you in the library to try and tell you, but somehow the conversation turned into a debate on a theory being taught in Arithmacy. When he’d ask you to stay after prefect meetings to say you couldn’t ‘abuse the rules’, he’d wind up smiling at you as you very animatedly depicted giving a group of third years detention. It’d end with you ruffling his ginger hair and skipping away with a giggle he couldn’t seem to get out of his mind. 

Nevertheless, he still tried. He kept going up to you. Kept trying to talk to you. Kept having his hair ruffled. Kept pulling you aside, only for his mind to scramble and for his words to merge together, forming something horrifically unintelligible. He couldn’t help it—something about you was so incredibly disarming, he felt at a loss for words near you. Percy Weasley was never at a loss for words with absolutely anyone. That wasn’t who he was, nor how he usually acted. 

People noticed, of course, they noticed. The sharp-tongued, steady-handed, held-together Percy Weasley turned into a wordless, blubbering mess around the ink-smeared, soft-eyed Ravenclaw prefect. Fred and George, in particular, wouldn’t leave him alone over it.

“Who would’ve thought, ey? Our very own Perce having something interesting going on for once.” George snickered as Fred slapped an arm onto Percy’s shoulder, making the older boy scowl.

“Oh, bugger off! This doesn’t concern you in the slightest—“

“They grow up so fast.” Fred mooned, sleazily smirking down at his fuming brother. Percy pushed up his glasses just as George ruffled his loosely curly, fluffy ginger hair.

Percy practically hissed, swatting the touch of his younger twin brothers away, moving away. “Tuck in your shirts, fix your ties.” He hissed. His brothers merely groaned in response. “Oh, P, please. You’re finally interesting!”

 Percy could only glare at Fred as he snickered to George, sighing. “I know this is fun for you, but it’s not to me. This is my life, Frederick. Leave out of it.”

George pouted, hands on his hips. “Hey, now. No need to get all butt-hurt.” He huffed, making Percy’s scowl melt into a small frown. 

“She’s–It’s just not like that, okay? We talk. We’re not even friends. I don’t even like her. She gets on my nerves.” He mumbled, tugging at his own tie as if to compose himself. A nervous tic. George narrowed his eyes. “Really? Seems like she’s stuck to you every chance she gets, Perce.”

That made his head snap around, eyes widened in a most undignified way. “She—No, I’m the one constantly pulling her aside–” 

“Yeah, pretty easy to do when she’s always standing close to you.” Fred mused, incredibly amused by this whole thing, leaning on Percy’s shoulder.

George then whistled, nudging Percy slightly before turning and grabbing Fred’s wrist. “Speak of the devil. Seeya, Perce.” He snickered before the two boys sauntered off. Percy scowled at them in confusion before hearing a much too smooth voice, making him jerk upright. 

“Pepper!” Came your honey-dipped voice, he could hear your grin before he turned to face you. calling him pepper’s another thing that drove him mad—you’d overheard his siblings calling him pepper (because apparently he’s as spicy as one) and adopted the nickname for yourself. It didn’t sound nearly as horrible coming from you, though. 

“Hello.” He mumbled softly, fixing his glasses as you beamed up at him. He already noticed the small things about you, almost as if you’d customized your very being—your fingers were smeared with ink, your arms had small drawings on them, your tie had paint on it, and your wizarding robe had a few stickers on it. He’d tried chastising you for said customization, but you said there was nothing against stickers, drawings, ink, or paint in the rulebook, and therefore, your uniform was still technically being worn properly. 

God, he wanted to kiss that pretty mind.

He immediately stilled at his own thought, making you frown in confusion when he stiffened before you. “Erm, well, are we going to do rounds together again?” You said softly, walking closer to toy with the bangs of his loosely curled ginger hair. He simply flushed a bright pink and nodded slowly, unable to respond for a beat. “Y–Yeah, yes. Yes, we are. Two rounds of the whole school.” 

You nodded, grinning before you ruffled the boy’s hair, turning to fall into step with him, almost like you’d become a singular thing. Percy turned red, walking wordlessly beside. 

He should feel indifferent; he shouldn’t give you another thought—but what he felt was frustration. The way you spoke to him felt condescending, felt like a harsh joke. No one was ever nice to him like you were. His siblings made fun of him for his accomplishments, and his parents wrote off his intellect as a given. He’d never been properly appreciated whatsoever. He wasn’t Charlie who worked with dragons; he wasn’t Bill who turned into a cool rebel after he left, wasn’t Fred or George, worshipped for their jokes and comedic prowess; he wasn’t Ron—best friend of the Harry Potter; he wasn’t Ginny, the only daughter and youngest child of the Weasleys.

He was Percy: too serious, too strict, too uptight, too snobby. Percy, who desperately followed the rules, became the ideal child—got good grades, all to make his parents happy, to get some attention in a household of 9. Percy, who got nothing in return for everything he worked for. 

Then there was you. You, ruffling his hair in the hallways; batting your eyes at him and giggling at his dry jokes. You, brushing his fingers with your own, smiling at him in that earnest way you did. It killed him. Because he’d never had that attention. Appreciation. Open affection. Not the mandatory kind his parents had to give him. The kind that was more natural than anything.

To him, it felt fake. Felt like you were making fun of him; mocking him. He was used to that kind of thing. Not this.

You were oblivious to his inner turmoil, walking with your hands behind your back, chatting his ear off. “—It’s clear Italy is the perfect place to go. The paintings are beyond gorgeous, and I long to see them in person. I’ve always wanted to go to an art museum, y’know? I think you’d quite like it there as well. We should go together, maybe—”

“Stop.”

You turned to look at him, your steps faltering when you saw him standing still. Your eyes narrowed ever so slightly in confusion.

“Stop?” You echoed, your aporia noticeable in your tone of voice. 

“What–What is this, huh? What are you playing at? Doing? If you think this is funny, it’s not.” Percy muttered, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, the hallway dimly lit by lanterns, causing an amber hue to cast along the room. It made his hair look much more prominently orange. 

The sight of him like that, eyebrows furrowed, his nose scrunched up. It both made your heart flutter and clench. You’d never really seen him like this. You couldn’t discern what the expression on his face quite meant—what it was trying to say. You’d seen him angry, stressed, exhausted, exasperated, annoyed, amused, intrigued, and even happy. 

With aching realization, you began to see it, what it was: hurt.

His hands were clenched into fists, eyes unable to decide whether to look at you or the ground before they solely fixated on you.

“Percy, I’m– What do you mean? I’m not doing anything.” You mumbled, unsure of how exactly to act in this situation, the look in his eyes already turning your thinking capacity to mush. He just sighed, dragging a hand down his face, over his glasses. 

He pursed his lips, his hands moving to his robe pockets. “You-you’re doing everything! Touching my hair? Smiling at me? Poking me? Laughing with me? I don’t know if–if this is some bet to see how fast you can make me feel special or whatever but I’m sick of it. It isn’t funny. You can’t toy with me like this.” His voice was shaking at this point, his hands aimlessly motioning through the air.

You felt your heart twist at the accusation, eyes widening ever so slightly. “Percy.” You breathed, taking a step towards him. “I wouldn’t–I’m not joking around, P. I-I’m not pretending. I like spending time with you; truly. I promise, I promise. You’re cute, and interesting, and smart, and witty. I’ve never met someone quite as intelligent as you without them having a massive head about it.”

Percy just shook his head, frowning at you. His heart thumped hopelessly in his chest as he took nervous steps away from you, refusing to look at you. “No, this isn’t–I don’t get it.” He breathed. You tried reaching for him, but he merely moved further away, slippingv out of reach.

“Percival.” You pleaded, trying to explain, trying to reassure. He wouldn’t listen. Too scared, too cautious.

He turned and walked away.

You were too hurt to chase after.

Three weeks.

It’s been three weeks since that night Percy ran away from you. Three weeks of you chasing after him, begging to talk to him, searching for him, only for him to rush away from you like you had Dragon Pox. All four of his bloody siblings had to endure your frantic questioning as to where he is.

Turns out they’re not much help when it comes to the whereabouts of their brother; most times it seems Percy’s sudden absence hadn’t crossed their minds till you shone light on it. 

It annoyed you to no end, observing everyone’s apparent apathy over it. Had this always been the case? Had you simply missed it?

It fueled your will to find Percy even more, but even as Head Boy, he was impossibly difficult to locate. He was everywhere and nowhere. Everytime anyone had “seen him” anywhere, he’d already moved elsewhere by the time news got back to you. 

Supposedly, that sheer desperation is what led to you currently sitting on Percy’s bed. It took an embarrassing amount of bribing with George and Fred to let you in Gryffindor Tower, even more so to lead you up to Percy’s dorm.

But, here you were. Sitting in his room. In the dark. You felt completely ridiculous, you didn’t know why you were so desperate for him to talk to you again, but after months of you two meeting and talking everyday, you couldn’t bear the silence. 

It didn’t take long till Percy entered the room, returning from the weekly meeting the Head boy and Girl had with Dumbledore. As soon as the ginger flicked on the lights with a sigh, you practically pounced on him.

“Percival!” You hissed, making the poor, exhausted boy yelp, gasping. You frowned, shutting the door behind him, hands then moving to your hips. “You’ve been utterly dodging me for weeks! You haven’t so much as looked at me!” You hissed, heart now racing when your mind finally realised you were confronting him. “Some Head Boy you are! You—You can’t even talk it out?! Have a mature conversation?! Y-You just run? Escape? Are you kidding me?!”

Percy was absolutely shitting himself, unable to speak nor breathe in the face of your wrath, hands waving in front of him. “P-Please, wait a moment—“

“No!” You snapped, eliciting another yelp. “I’ve waited weeks! Weeks for you to just look at me, speak to me, acknowledge me! Is it so easy for you? To drop me just like that?! Am I that dispensable?!” You were positively fuming now, and it made his stomach twist.

“Please, it’s not like that, please just let me explain, there’s a reason—“

“To hell with your reasons!” You continued on, a fiery ball of bitter rage and hurt. You were truly more hurt by his absence than by the fact he was avoiding you, but everything was practically gushing out like word vomit. You were never one for filtering your words. “Did I mean anything to you at all? As a friend? A person? Someone who enjoyed your company?! I can’t believe you’d drop me without even letting me defend myself properly, without even listening and understanding what I was saying!”

You glared, gesturing wildly as you lectured him. “You, Percival, are a real piece of—mnff!!”

You were effectively silenced by the soft press of lips against yours, a warm hand cupping your cheeks, smushing them together. 

Your eyes went wide, looking at Percy’s nervous, shut-eyed expression before your stiff shoulders melted as you leaned into him, practically slumping.

He eventually, albeit hesitantly, pulled away, cheeks flushed, glasses askew, ears flaming red. He smiled softly, lopsided. “I’m truly sorry I did that. You.. you just wouldn’t stop.” He mumbled softly, caressing your cheek with his thumb. You were completely caught off guard, kissed completely stupid as you stared up at him like your brain had failed you.

You nodded, cheeks warming as your mind caught up. “You kissed me.” You breathed, in which he only nodded in response, looking away sheepishly. “I-If you didn’t like it, I truly understand. I just— It’s hard, y/n. Hard being with someone who likes.. this. I’ve yet to meet anyone. Well, until you. Please forgive me for my lack of understanding and my quite avoidant approach towards it.” 

The sincerity of the apology made your heart swell, your hands fiddling with his tie before you ruffled his hair, an action you’d most missed. 

“You’re quite dumb for a boy so brilliant. I adore it completely.” You mused, making him stuff his face into your neck with a groan. He hugged around your waist, tugging you close. “You’re incorrigible.” He whispered. You snorted, giggling softly. “You love it. Can’t live without it.” 

All he could do is nuzzle deeper into your neck and hum. “Youre right.” He breathed. “Peace and quiet are overrated anyway.”

You smiled into his hair, pressing a few soft kisses. You promised something to yourself, then and there. You’d care for this boy endlessly, shower him with love, and pour adoration till it was pouring out of every pore in his body. You’d show him everything he assumed he didn’t deserve.