hogwarts years
Percy is a genius and an adult in a child’s body. Not literally, of course, but he soaks up knowledge and magic, and he has four younger siblings to watch over, to keep out of Mum’s hair. Of course that has an impact. How can co-parenting as a child not have an impact?
He sees when Bill and Charlie run away from home. Any other verb isn’t encompassing enough, because the Burrow is encompassing, smothering, all those things a home is and then some more that a home should never be. So they get the luxury of distance: in age, in location, first Hogwarts and then out the country. And Percy gets four kids, a rat, and jealously glittering expectations.
That’s not entirely fair to them. Bill and Charlie have always done their best to watch over each other and him, and to help out their parents with chores that Percy never could have at his age. It still means that Percy is the one who deals with his younger siblings the most, though. So in his first year, when Bill and Charlie are already bright-eyed and frothing at the bit to leave, Percy decides that he has to stay, for Ron and Ginny and maybe even the twins. He studies in earnest and glows with the bitter approval Snape offers and the unrestrained smiles McGonagall returns.
When Ron first comes to Hogwarts and Bill and Charlie have left, someone (it must have been Charlie, Percy thinks, because only Charlie knows the depth of his interest in Potions and Transfiguration) has left a brochure on soul magic postgraduate studies in Italy , of all places. It’s a very prestigious program, apparently — Vivia Greco, a foremost expert, supervises it. It’s a pipe dream.
The dream plants firmly in his mind. He’s already minimally familiar with soul magic, from studies in Patroni and becoming an Animagus and potions like Polyjuice; and, he’s heard, soul magic is not so different from a branch of mind magic — Occlumency, which Percy likes to think he’s quite decent at, actually.
So what if he starts reading soul magic instead of books revolving around the Ministry? It’s perfectly normal to have hobbies. It doesn’t distract him enough from his main goal — keeping Ron safe — so he goes down to the third-floor corridor just slightly before final exams come round. Being there… well, the traps are far too easy, but Percy imagines that it’s to try and trap whoever steals the Philosopher’s Stone, which is safely in his pocket when he calls for a Hogwarts house elf to help him get out. House elves are such a security risk.
That’s how he realises that Nicholas Flamel has tied his bloody soul, the entirety of it , to the Philosopher’s Stone, and it’s incredibly unlikely that the Stone offers much immortality. It does produce gold, though, which Percy finds out himself.
When he asks Snape about the stone, he gets a darkened glare and a muttered explanation — it turns out that Nicholas Flamel had published the potions he used for immortality and to extract gold. The immortality one is fake as fuck, but the gold one is perfectly reliable, and Snape asks him what he cares, anyway. As non-suspiciously as possible, Percy asks him if he thinks soul magic might have any part in the alchemy of the Philosopher’s Stone, and gets a slow, measured ten-minute conversation from it. A win is a win. Professor Snape is absolutely suspicious of him.
When he talks to McGonagall about anchoring one’s soul, and soul magic, she turns a little pale and asks him why, Merlin,do you need to know this with the air of someone who knows that they’ll regret the answer. Percy says that Charlie left him a brochure about a program in Italy, though, and that’s that. McGonagall trusts him, Percy realises after he leaves with a permission slip to browse the Restricted Section.
“Headmaster Dumbledore has removed some volumes on soul magic recently, but you understand that it is a rather dangerous and often dark branch of magic,” she’d said, Scottish inflection coming outright as she handed the slip to him. “But it’s better you do it with some supervision.”
Percy Weasley almost tells her about the Philosopher’s Stone.
Then he’s down the third-floor corridor anyway, because his goddamn brother and two friends have gone down the corridor on some ill-fated mission, and every day that passes he cares less for Dumbledore. A school is hardly the place for these sorts of shenanigans! He wakes up in the infirmary knowing that he has killed a teacher who had some part of the You-Know-Who’s soul in him. An anchor, because after Quirrell was gone, You-Know-Who had swirled off in a gust of black smoke which, worryingly, was not humanoid in any way.
His parents are understandably upset and Ron looks like he hasn’t properly left the hospital wing since the two days that Percy’s been out, dead to the world. When the time comes, he tunes Dumbledore out, laughs at the potions Snape has evidently supplied — I hope you trust your own brewing, Weasley , his acerbic handwriting says, and pretends that he doesn’t know that the tabby cat which comes prowling through is McGonagall. Oliver has apparently been consistently sneaking in, which is heartwarming but unnecessary — he’s still not quite sure what’s facilitated Oliver’s sudden change in temper towards him. They’ve never been particularly friendly; in fact, Percy had been mostly iced out for the better part of his first year at Hogwarts, until Oliver realised that he was related to Charlie Weasley, Gryffindor’s seeker.
Anyway, Percy doesn’t ask why. There’s a chance that he’s just checking up on Percy for Charlie, who he keeps correspondence with. He has bigger and scarier things to worry about, at least compared to Oliver’s sudden attempts to bring Percy gifts. (This is also unnecessary; Oliver has already secured Percy’s promise to attend all Gryffindor Quidditch matches, so there’s no reason for Oliver to curry favour like that.)
He learns about horcruxes that summer, mainly because he’s got the means now to buy all the books in the world if he wanted to. He makes sure that there’s always Floo powder and that Ron and Ginny have new robes. Ron needs his own wand, too. Everything is looking up and he might just make it out of this beautiful hellhole of a home and country, with his and his family’s lives, which might be selfish but Percy doesn’t want to stick around for a war. He knows that none of them — Ron and Ginny, and even Fred and George — remember the first go of it.
The hope crashes and burns the next year when the Chamber of Secrets is opened. Harry and Ron (and, Percy suspects, Hermione) are gallivanting off somewhere while Percy is getting information . It is perhaps the first time that Percy has appreciated the facts of his first month at Hogwarts for what it was — depressing, mainly, but crucial because he talked to so many ghosts. Percy goes directly to the Slytherin ghost. The Bloody Baron directs him to Nearly Headless Nick, who directs him to Moaning Myrtle of all ghosts. Moaning Myrtle, who was in the girl’s restrooms, who heard a hissing and opened the door and saw a large pair of yellow eyes right above the sink engraved with tiny snakes and promptly died. So, Percy supposes, the rumours of a basilisk are true. But he can’t find a single way into the Chamber — he’s done everything he could think of, blasting and begging, and then set some truly out-of-the-blue questions to Snape and McGonagall, and he’s certain now that whoever’s opening the Chamber is doing so with Parseltongue. There’s no other viable solution, unless Percy is being wilfully blind.
He’s so caught up in the Chamber issue that he barely notices Oliver’s increasingly nagging probes to eat, why don’t you come and have lunch with us, you’re working too hard, what’s all this extra work then —
As if Oliver doesn’t do the same bloody thing with Quidditch.
Then Ginny approaches him, nervous and fidgety, so unlike herself that Percy nearly does a double take. So maybe it was good that Oliver dragged him to lunch.
When her trembling tumbles her bag and she protectively, instinctively first grabs a slim leather journal that Percy easily recognizes for soul magic, he makes a note to send Oliver a big thank-you basket. Huge. He’ll drain the Philosopher’s Stone for it.
“Where’d you get that, Ginny?” he says, heart in his throat.
It doesn’t go well, but he gets the diary eventually. Doesn’t write in it, because the longer he holds it the less he trusts it, and the more he grips it the more it seems as if it’s gripping back. As if there’s a sentience — a soul piece in it.
He gives Oliver a large gift basket with restocks of Oliver’s favourite Quidditch supplies, chocolates, and a bouquet of flowers in thanks. Oliver’s eyes go wide when Percy shoves it into his hands — it is an extravagant gift, especially given how thrifty the Weasleys tend to be, and obviously Oliver doesn’t know what he’s prevented. Still, Percy shudders to think of what might have happened to Ginny, and even if Oliver never figures out where the gratitude has come from, it’s deserved.
The Chamber of Secrets stops. Percy inspects the diary very carefully, and sees that it’s the property of a Tom Marvolo Riddle, who was awarded some large trophy for… finding that Hagrid was responsible for the Chamber the first time it opened. Or framing. He talked to Hagrid during his getting information stage, right before he followed up on the lead to Moaning Myrtle, and Hagrid had been raising Acromantula. And also, last Percy checked, Hagrid can’t speak to snakes. Percy is loathe to trust Dumbledore after last year, so he goes to McGonagall — Snape still sets him on edge.
“Tom Riddle?” McGonagall says, eyes far away. “Yes, we went to school about the same time. He was Head Boy, I believe. The Headmaster — Professor Dumbledore, that is — wasn’t fond of him, if I recall.”
“Do you know what happened to him after Hogwarts?” Percy says, because he has Tom Riddle’s horcrux and hasn’t been able to find out what he did after all that .
McGonagall looks very briefly confused. “I believe he spent… some time as a shop clerk for magical artefacts,” she says, “and then went travelling to learn more magic. But I can’t say… why are you looking for him?”
Percy weighs the truth and the inconvenience, and the truth unfortunately wins out. He takes the diary out. “It was Tom Riddle’s. My sister was writing in it when the Chamber was open, and it was responding to her. It feels like soul magic.”
Her eyes narrow immediately. “Possession?”
“I haven’t written in it,” Percy says, expression clearly asking McGonagall just how dumb she thinks he is. He’s been studying soul magic, for Godric’s sake.
“No, I’d hope not. Tom Riddle…”
“I looked for his records after. He should be alive,” Percy says, pointing at the diary as evidence. “If it’s what I think it is.”
“You may as well just say it, Mr. Weasley.”
“I think it’s his first horcrux,” Percy says, and all of it starts coming out in a rush. “Myrtle Warren was killed the first time the chamber opened. She saw a large pair of yellow eyes above the bathroom, and then was immediately dead. Intentional or not, that enables the soul to split. And Ginny said that this Tom Riddle was in his sixth year, which is the same age Tom Riddle was when he saw Hagrid caring for an Acromantula, framed him, and was awarded. And, er —” he hesitated, just briefly, wondering how receptive McGonagall would be to hear the events of last year, “well, when I, uh, disposed of Quirrell, You-Know-Who was on the back of his head. A shade. He was using Quirrell as an anchor, and then flew away in dark smoke, but full souls are meant to manifest…”
“They are meant to be humanoid,” McGonagall supplies. She was there last year in the Pensieve swirling with his memories, after all, and probably had already been nursing her own suspicions. “Your familiarity with soul magic is impressive. Concerning, but impressive.”
Percy hesitates again. “Thanks.”
“So you mean to imply that Tom Riddle made his first horcrux while in Hogwarts, and went on to become He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” she says.
He winces. It sounds so far-fetched. “Yes?” he tries.
“And why haven’t you talked to the Headmaster about this?” she continues, eyebrow raised.
Percy wonders briefly if she doses the biscuits she hands him with a truth potion or something. “Er, well, after last year…”
And that’s enough of an answer, because she just nods. “I do suspect that the Headmaster knows of Tom Riddle. He returned after his travels once to apply for the Defence position, and Albus turned him down.”
“He must’ve known,” Percy says. “He must have needed an excuse to come back to Hogwarts — like reopening the Chamber, or leaving something —”
“It’s said that the Defence position is cursed,” McGonagall offers. “I will take this diary, and we can continue talking soul magic, say, on Saturday.”
Percy nods sharply. “I’ll look into how to destroy them.”
“ Or ,” McGonagall says, and then evidently waits for Percy to fill in the blank.
He stares. Blinks. “Or…” he starts slowly, feeling like this is a test. What’s there to do with a horcrux but destroy it? The soul is split, horrifically wrenched apart and contained — “Or, repair it.” Those are the rules — whatever is wrought can be unwrought, and even souls cannot be entirely exempt. Even if soul magic is entirely separate from wizarding magic.
McGonagall sighs. “No, Mr. Weasley. Or we talk about it on Saturday, and until then you complete your homework. Professor Sinistra tells me that you’re missing all your Astronomy homework from this week.”
“I’ve been occupied!” Percy protests, gesturing towards the diary in McGonagall’s hands.
“I see that. But this is a war we should have ended, and it shouldn’t impact your chances to study under Vivia Greco.”
Percy nods meekly. It’s entirely his problem, though, because they didn’t end the war and now instead of studying in preparation for the mastery program in Italy, he’s thinking about horcruxes and destroying Lord Voldemort for once and for all. And because they didn’t end the war, Percy is obsessed with soul magic and studying for the mastery program in Italy. It’s fine — he’ll copy Oliver’s Astronomy homework. For all that his friend is obsessive concerning Quidditch to the detriment of his studies, Oliver’s Astronomy grades are decent.
Anyway. Percy can’t speak to snakes and definitely can’t pick up Parseltongue by the end of the week, so he cautiously brings out the Philosopher’s Stone and buys a basilisk fang instead of running down the Chamber of Secrets and risking his life. Percy considers briefly the animal welfare of a basilisk trapped in the pipes of Hogwarts and whether it would be safe to move, and if Charlie (or his connections) would have use for a basilisk, and then decides that those are concerns for adult faculty and not him. McGonagall does the honours of stabbing the horcrux; the same dark wispy smoke that came from Quirrell wails out and dissipates.
“Huh,” Percy says.
The Grey Lady phases through the wall. Both he and McGonagall freeze.
“Erm… hi,” he tries.
“I’d appreciate that this doesn’t get back to Albus,” McGonagall says.
“Is that —” the ghost says, inspecting the diary closer, “ Tom ?”
“Er — yes, but not… well, yes,” Percy says. Mentally, he hits himself for not considering how the Hogwarts ghosts would be uniquely poised to recognise souls — and, more importantly, feel the effects of whatever he and Professor McGonagall do to horcruxes.
It turns out that this is a fortunate oversight; the Grey Lady all but leads them to the next horcrux, Ravenclaw’s diadem. Percy wonders if there’ll be one or five more. Seven is a magical number, a powerful prophecy in its own right, but it has no place in soul magic; soul magic is a world strengthened in trios. Surely the Dark Lord would know, being by all measures an insane genius, but the paper that drew a stark distinction between magic wizards wielded and soul magic had only come out five years ago.
And Percy would bet anything that if You-Know-Who had targeted the diadem of Ravenclaw, who he had no affiliation with, he definitely would’ve gone for something from each of the Founders. Which leaves them at five already, assuming he’d gotten all of them, and then two more.
He needs to be done by his seventh year. Near-insane with his self-imposed deadline, he and an army of house-elves scour periodicals and newspapers and gossip for any idea of what’s happened to the Founders’ artefacts: there’s a notable collector, Hepzibah Smith, who allegedly had both the Slytherin locket and cup of Hufflepuff before very oddly dying, poisoned, with/by an old, muddled house-elf.
“We is not being muddled at that age, Mr. Weasel!” the house-elf who brought the newspaper to him insists.
Percy has already given up on correcting their impression of his last name. He thinks they’re well aware and teasing, for the most part. Oliver had gotten offended for him at one point, and Percy had to talk him down. “I believe you. Do you know how we could find these?” he asks.
Two weeks later, during final exams, two house-elves come bearing the locket. He doesn’t recognize one of them. Percy figures that someone could take over the world, with enough house-elves. Maybe he could.
“This is Kreacher, from the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black,” Missy says, and Percy can practically hear the capitals.
“Blood-traitor thinks he can destroy the locket,” Kreacher mutters before he bows to Percy. “If you can help Kreacher finish Master Regulus’s last order, Kreacher will tell you about the cup,” he hisses.
Percy tries not to recoil at the mention of Regulus Black. How did that man end up with a horcrux of You-Know-Who? Was that why he was killed? He pulls the basilisk fang out of his robe pocket, to everyone else’s horror, and stabs the locket. “Done.”
Anyway, Percy’s furious fervour doesn’t die down. Not even when he has to face his mother and say his career aspirations have changed, apologies, but he’d like to be an Unspeakable and so he’s going to try and go to Italy to study soul magic for a while before he returns, and his mother nearly blows a fuse but Charlie slaps his back and steps in front of him to throw Bill (who has a new haircut and earrings) under the bus.
“How’s my favourite younger brother?” Charlie asks once they’re free. “Oliver’s said that you’ve been stressed this year.”
“Oliver’s a liar and a snitch,” Percy mutters. “I’ve been alright.”
There’s a sharp crack and suddenly Kreacher is standing in front of Percy. “Kreacher took the cup,” Kreacher says without preamble. “Silly goblins not even noticing.”
Charlie’s neck cracks with how quickly and viciously he turns to stare. “Perce?!”
“Long story,” Percy says. “Thanks, Kreacher.” He tries to ignore the fact that the house-elf has stolen something from Gringotts . Surely Gringotts had accounted for house-elves in their wards? The basilisk fang comes out again and he stabs it, watches the black wisp scream and leave, and pretends that he doesn’t hear Charlie’s screeching protest or see Kreacher’s viciously amused glint.
“Kreacher has paid Mr. Weasley back,” he says.
“You didn’t need to,” Percy says, feeling like he’s ascending to another plane of existence. “But I’m very grateful.”
“Perce!”
“It’s all soul magic, anyway,” Percy says by way of explanation. It doesn’t satisfy Charlie, but Percy refuses to say more.
That night, as they’re lying in bed, Bill says, “So… soul magic?”
Percy grunts. He’s in the middle of tracing the Slytherin family line through the Gaunts. It seems like the Gaunts get poorer and poorer, all the way until Marvolo Gaunt gets thrown into Azkaban and dies there for killing three Muggles. Three Riddles — one of which is named Thomas Charles Riddle, and apparently had a scandalous jaunt off with a Merope Gaunt before he came back crying, screaming about witches.
Huh.
“Do you want to come with me to Little Hangleton tomorrow?” he asks.
“Bloody hell, what for?”
“Sight seeing. Ghost hunting,” Percy says. Bill and Charlie look at him like he’s gone round the bend, but they agree. They’ve got nothing better to do, after all, and while distance makes the heart grow fonder, Bill and Charlie only need an hour at the Burrow before they remember why they ran out as soon as they could.
Little Hangleton is informative. Percy’s incredibly glad that he brought Bill and Charlie, because Bill is the best Curse-Breaker he knows and manages to not only de-ward the shack of a house, but also gets rid of the strong compulsion charm on the heavily-cursed horcrux ring.
Percy doesn’t bother dealing with the curses; he hurls the basilisk fang at it and watches black smoke rise up and away, wailing.
“So, Perce,” Bill says, eyeing him with no small amount of suspicion, “what’ve you been up to?”
“Soul magic,” Percy says.
“I wish I never left you that brochure,” Charlie moans.
Then the summer passes. Percy gets lugged to Egypt with the rest of his family, which is — interesting, actually, because the Egyptians have fascinating connections with soul magic, which he has no qualms writing at length about to Oliver — and upon returning, he confirms with McGonagall that nothing of Gryffindor’s is a horcrux, meaning that he’s destroyed five and Gryffindor never occurred. He hopes that You-Know-Who didn’t just settle for something else and make the other two, but he’s not sure that there’s any way to confirm that. Just as well, because after hurling it at the ring, the fang’s been embedded in the stone. He’s shrunken the fang and taken to wearing the ring around, just in case, but he doubts that he’ll ever be able to get the fang out.
When they return from Egypt, Percy gets a Head Boy badge and remembers that he has his bloody NEWTs the next year, and throws himself into his studies with a frantic vigour rivalling his frenzy when he searched for horcruxes. Charlie and Bill keep joking about it, but then Percy glares and points to the brochure Charlie left, just to let them know it’s all their fault.
His last school year begins with a bang of trouble — Sirius Black’s escaped. It gets worse for Ron and his friends, Percy knows vaguely, something about their pets not getting along; Percy’s too busy studying and studying more with Snape and McGonagall, and occasionally being distracted by Oliver dragging him out to brunch at Hogsmeade. Right before the holidays, Snape offers him the opportunity to brew the Video Animas potion — not a particularly creative name, “I see spirits”, but most higher-level newly-researched potions tend to not have the public appeal and creative force of centuries of mystery and folklore, or whatever — and Percy jumps at the chance.
The potion does not wear off.
“You imbecile, what did you do? ” Snape nearly shouts with all the concern of one of Percy’s favourite mentors.
“I think it’s actually kind of alright,” Percy says. “It can really only be an advantage.”
“Mr. Weasley,” Snape hisses.
Percy sighs. “I made an addition with runes and pine. I thought it would add longevity to the effects.”
“ And it certainly has! ”
“Your soul is really angry,” Percy says. It’s also cracked and seems to be bound to three different other souls — a vow, a really dark vow, and a life debt to a dead man — but Percy’s not dumb enough to bring that up. No wonder Snape’s always so depressed.
“ I’m furious!”
Anyway, that’s also how he finds out that Professor Lupin, their first competent DADA professor, is a werewolf. Dear Merlin.
To make matters worse, he sees Scabbers in the hallway and manages to pick him up — Ron will be thrilled! Then he takes a closer look and sees a human soul , and he goes running to McGonagall. She’s talking to another student, but she sees him panting and immediately excuses them.
“Mr. Weasley!”
“Can you turn into your Animagus form, just really quickly. For a second. I just need to check—”
McGonagall stares at him for a few seconds, judging, and then turns into a cat. Yep, that’s a human soul.
“Ok, so, run through this with me. A human in Animagus form has a human soul. An animal in their animal form barely has a soul, or doesn’t have a soul in any capacity.” The rat is struggling more fervently in his grip. He squeezes it, a warning. He’s not above strangling whoever this is. “If my pet rat which, now that I’m thinking on it, has lived triply past expectancy for a nonmagical rat, also has a human soul, what would that make it?”
McGonagall, who has clearly heard about the potions debacle already, shifts back quickly and doesn’t even question the soul portion. “Mr. Weasley, how are you always getting into these things?” She conjures a human-sized cage. “Put… Scabbers, is it? Put him in there.”
Wordlessly, Percy does. With a crack of McGonagall’s magic, the rat turns into a snivelling hunched rat-like man.
“ Peter Pettigrew ,” McGonagall hisses, looking very catlike.
“You don’t understand! He would’ve killed me,” the rat-man sobs.
“Should I get someone?” Percy hedges. McGonagall nods.
As he leaves, he hears them saying —
“You weren’t in it to save your life. You wanted to —”
“You all convinced Remus he was a monster! The Dark Lord would’ve let him work. He wouldn’t have to depend on all our goodwill. If only a toddler was standing in the way, then what was the harm! And you all just let Remus— let him risk his life convincing more of them that they didn’t deserve —”
Is Peter Pettigrew talking about Remus Lupin, their current werewolf Defence professor? Percy picks up his pace. Their voices fade.
Percy goes to get Snape and Veritaserum, and then also Dumbledore, and Pettigrew admits not only his guilt but also that he knows, from his Dark Mark, that You-Know-Who is gathering strength. And then the Minister and Mrs. Bones show up to take Pettigrew away with all the dementors. An hour after all that, Percy rushes to catch the Quidditch game — Oliver made him promise to attend, and Percy’s loathe to break a promise to Oliver. Gryffindor wins, of course, and Oliver rushes down. Kisses him . And, despite the insanity of everything, Percy kisses him back.
Within the month, Sirius Black is cleared of all charges, recompensed, and Pettigrew is Kissed. The first-years have stopped being so homesick — i.e. they’ve stopped coming to him crying, worried out of their little minds over the most trivial to the most heavy things. This also means that Oliver’s mother-hen jokes about Percy decrease, which is an additional benefit.
By the end of the year, there have been no other upsets except for one misunderstanding-turned-spat with Oliver which Fred and George took the initiative to clear up (to Percy’s surprise). Percy’s been accepted to go to Italy on a full-ride. His NEWTs go spectacularly, to no one’s surprise, and he graduates valedictorian with his Head Boy status.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a lead on a horcrux — that is, until he finally get a proper glance at Harry Potter’s soul and realises that the reason for the lack of horcrux-finding is because Ron’s friend is an unstable, accidental horcrux with the barest sliver of You-Know-Who’s soul. The only reason You-Know-Who is tied to life, and why his mark remained (and even strengthened) on Pettigrew. Percy tries and fails to hide a grimace, and half an hour after graduation he sends his Patronus to McGonagall and Snape, a forewarning that he’ll drop by.
“So,” he begins, “what do you guys know about living horcruxes?” He’s just entered the office. Dumbledore is also there. Whoops.
They don’t know anything.