Percy Weasley had spent most of his life viewing his siblings as a collective responsibility—loud, messy obstacles between him and order. But after the war, something changed. He began to see them—not as nuisances, but as people. And without even realizing it, he started treating them that way.
1. Ginny: The Strategist
Percy noticed things. It was his job. So when he spotted Ginny biting her lip during a Harpies match replay—pausing on a missed shot—he didn’t say anything. He just owled her a single page the next morning:
"Montrose’s Keeper shifts left 0.3 seconds faster on windy days. Aim right."
No lecture. No "I told you Quidditch was frivolous." Just data.
Ginny stared at the note, then promptly scored three goals in the next match using his tip. She didn’t thank him. Instead, she stormed into his office and dropped a Harpies jersey on his desk.
Ginny: "You’re coming to the next game. In this. No hiding in the back row."
Percy blinked. "I—"
Ginny (smirking): "Bring a quill. I want more notes."
2. Ron: The Instinctive Auror
Percy had always assumed Ron stumbled through life on luck and Harry’s coattails. Then he watched him interrogate a suspect.
Ron leaned back in his chair, tossing a Sugar Quill between his fingers. "Y’know, mate, if you really nicked those wands, you’d have sold ’em by now. But you didn’t. So who set you up?"
The suspect cracked instantly.
Percy, reviewing the report later, circled one line: "Suspect’s left eye twitched at mention of Lestrange." No formal phrasing—just sharp, human observation.
The next day, Percy slipped a file onto Ron’s desk: "Unwritten Auror Tricks: How to Leverage ‘Unprofessional’ Habits."
Ron (squinting): "Is this… a compliment?"
Percy (deadpan): "Don’t let it go to your head."
Ron grinned. For once, Percy didn’t correct him.
3. George: The Innovator
Percy found George elbow-deep in failed prototypes, muttering about "bloody combustion ratios." He didn’t offer help. He just:
Summoned a 1673 edition of Advanced Alchemical Combustion from the Ministry archives.
Highlighted Chapter 12: "Gaseous Expansion in Confined Spaces."
Left it on the workbench with a sticky note: "Page 43. Don’t blow yourself up."
George stared. Then laughed. Then used it.
Two weeks later, a package arrived on Percy’s desk: a screaming yo-yo (now silent) with a note.
"You’re still a prick. But you’re our prick. -G."
Percy hid a smile.
4. Charlie: The Diplomat
Dragons weren’t Percy’s area. But people were. So when Charlie mentioned Romanian officials were blocking a breeding program, Percy didn’t lecture. He asked:
Percy: "What do they actually care about?"
Charlie (grumbling): "Money. Tourism."
Percy vanished for three days. He returned with a proposal: "Dragon Tourism = Gold (Literally)."
Charlie (reading): "‘Guided tours’? ‘Souvenir scales’? Percy—"
Percy: "They’ll approve your program if it lines their pockets. Play the game."
Charlie gaped. "Since when are you this sneaky?"
Percy adjusted his glasses. "I learned from the best."
(And if Charlie hugged him? Well. No one needed to know.)
5. Bill: The Anchor
Percy had always envied Bill’s effortless steadiness. Until he saw him exhausted, juggling Gringotts and a newborn.
So Percy started:
Bringing takeout to Shell Cottage (no comments on the mess).
Memorizing Teddy’s nap schedule so Bill could sleep.
Not flinching when Victoire puked on his robes.
One night, Bill caught him washing bottles in silence.
Bill (softly): "You don’t have to do this."
Percy: "I know."
Bill hugged him. Percy didn’t stiffen. Progress.
The Unspoken Understanding:
No grand apologies. No dramatic reconciliations. Just:
Ginny leaving playbooks on his desk now.
Ron asking, "Oi, Percy, does this warrant sound legit?"
George testing pranks on him first ("You’re the best critic—harsh but fair").
And one night, at the Burrow, Percy realized:
He wasn’t the responsible brother anymore.
He was just their brother.
And that was better.