I. Choose Your Prince
Percy loved his family, but he'd never fit in at home and he didn't understand them any better than they understood him. It was like they were always at cross purposes. His father had a reputation at the Ministry, which Percy wanted to run someday. He'd wanted to be his own person at Hogwarts, but he'd just been Bill and Charlie's little brother. He's been tasked with maintaining order at the school and the twins had made it their personal mission to cause constant chaos. Percy wanted perfect marks and it was a miracle Ron hadn't failed out or been expelled yet.
He didn't fit, and as they tried to make him more like what a Weasley should be, Percy just felt broken. The only thing he knew to do about it was double down and work harder, even if it just widened the gap between them.
*
Ginny had set her sights on Harry Potter back when she was young, but until the boy succumbed to her affections she wasn't about to stop looking entirely. Percy thought this was rather sensible of her, really. It was always good to have a backup plan and while Percy would have preferred Ginny's ambitions to lie in a more self-sustained direction, he didn't fault her for prioritizing money over entirely romantic notions. Percy himself would rather do a job that paid well than follow his passion to an underpaying job, and he saw no reason marriage should be any different.
Marcus Flint was a little old for Ginny, but he was a famous Quidditch star in addition to being old money. Professional Quidditch was played with quite dense helmets these days - compliments of a muggleborn Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sport replacing Ludo Bagman - and Flint wasn't in the papers the way Oliver Wood constantly was. (Flash bastard, Percy thought fondly.) As such, there were only the few official photos available through the Quidditch League's Press releases and information mailers, showing a huge and handsome man in a very flattering Quidditch robes brooding out at the pitch or staring intensely out from the page. (Quidditch robes, like dueling robes, were cut so that the legs were completely on display for optimal range of motion and Marcus Flint had very impressive legs.) The player profiles supplied most of the personal information that was known about him: height, weight, age, position, former school, favorite color, and patronus.
It made him mysterious, and the girls (and boys) who chased after the stars liked mystery. Perhaps they could be the ones to uncover all of whomever's secrets.
Ginny was rather jaded about that aspect of things, having grown up with a few famous people herself, but while the lure of discovering secrets was for star-chasers, there was a certain sense of prerogative that came from not being starstruck. Ginny was already part of the club so many others were waiting to get into, and Flint (or anyone else) simply needed to realize she was on the level.
As such, Ginny headed to the ball confident and unconcerned. She wasn't desperate, but obviously she would be given the chance to make a match.
*
Percy frowned as the family clock tipped Ginny's name from Out to Muddled. Ginny was no lightweight and she seldom got sloshed at one of these types of parties, but clearly she had overindulged tonight and would be needing an escort home. The clock would have tipped into Danger if anything untoward were responsible and she needed saving, but traveling while inebriated was never a good idea for wizards.
Percy had been tasked with watching the clock tonight since he was the only one without a scheduled conflict. Percy wouldn't call his evening spare time, exactly, but his work could be done in front of the clock. His mother hated to have one of the children - especially her baby girl - out alone with strangers without someone keeping watch. He didn't want anything to happen to Ginny either, of course, but he resented that her going to a party was deemed more important than his plans. Sure, this could make Ginny's future, but the quality of his work now could make or break Percy's own future. He would never be Minister of Magic if he dropped everything every time one of his siblings wanted to socialize.
Percy sighed and put his work away. He likely wouldn't finish it tonight due to this interruption, which would mean an even longer day tomorrow. He checked the coordinates for the party and apparated to the ball's location. Ginny likely wouldn't be leaving the party right away, but Percy would need to be there whenever she did.
*
Percy had never been fond of extravagant parties and had no intention of entering this one in his street clothes. He found a lovely little bench outside and wished he'd brought his paperwork as he looked out into the gardens.
"Escaping that disaster?" asked a man in the shadow of a building.
Percy jumped in surprise. "No, I need to catch my sister on her way out." He tried a small, self-deprecating smile and gestured down at himself, plain in his work robes. "I'm hardly dressed for a party."
There was a snort and the man approached. "Not a fan of Flint, then? After tonight neither are most of them, I'd reckon."
Percy frowned in worry. "It's nothing I need to worry about, is it? My sister's fairly formidable, but I'm afraid she may have overindulged a bit."
The man smiled comfortingly, even if it looked slightly sinister on his face. He was tall and thick, with arms like tree trunks and a face that would look most at home in one of Knockturn's dark alleys. "Nothing dangerous," he promised, "just a lot of shattered expectations. They all thought they'd meet some handsome prince who'd sweep them off their feet and instead they got the Troll."
"The what?" Percy asked, wondering if that was some new slang term he hadn't learned.
"That's his nickname in the League, the Troll. As in: 'Face like a troll and the personality to match.'"
"What a charming sport," Percy remarked dryly.
The man laughed. "Not a fan of Flint, not a fan of Quidditch, not a fan of parties," he peered at Percy who nodded his confirmation of the last. "What is it you do like, besides looking after your sister?"
Percy flushed, used to the accusation of being No-Fun-Percy. "Books," he said promptly. "Accomplishing things. Intelligent debate. Being taken seriously." He was waiting for the usual response of "Boring things" but it didn't come.
"Ah, an intellectual," the man nodded. "Smart and sweet."
Percy blushed furiously. "I would hardly say-"
"You're out here waiting on your sister to get done drowning her sorrows instead of dragging her out by the ear or leaving her to fend for herself. You've indulged me in conversation and you didn't even point out that my face had no room to talk about Marcus Flint's."
"I would never!" Percy exclaimed in horror at the sheer rudeness.
"Like I said," he grinned (leered), teeth jutting out of his mouth, "Sweet."
Percy didn't hate being a redhead, exactly, but he might had preferred a color that didn't immediately identify him as a Weasley to anyone who'd ever met one or a complexion that didn't display his every emotion in livid color along his face. The latter was this moment's burden and he was almost glad to see his charge leaving the ball. It wasn't often he got so much of someone's undivided attention and it was as unsettling as it was pleasant.
"Excuse me, I must be off," Percy excused himself abruptly. "It seems my sister is leaving." He nodded to the man and strode off quickly towards Ginny, who showed every intention of trying to get herself home. And to think, his sister was one of his more sensible siblings! Percy would never hear the end of it if she splinched herself or stumbled out of the wrong floo because he was talking to some stranger in a garden instead of watching out for her.
~~~