ofpercival-a

[ofpercival-a]

By popular demand, our first ✨ bi-weekly meme ✨

😀 - What is your muse’s favorite emoji? 🏋️ - Does your muse even lift? Do they work out at all? 🤔 - If your muse’s used the internet, what would their Google search history look like? 🐈 - How does your muse hold a cat? Do they hold it like a baby, or as far away from their person as possible? 🐕 - Would your muse try to lift a big dog to make them feel like a small dog? 👨‍🍳 - Would your muse make pudding at 3AM because they’ve lost control of their life? 🦉- How does your muse write? Do they use drawings, leave mistakes in, use shorthand or write everything out perfectly? 💔 - How often does your muse lose their wand? 👶 - Does your muse like babies, or do they have a strong urge yeet/kick/punch one? 🍍 - Does your muse like pineapple on pizza? If not, what’s the weirdest topping they like? 👔 - Does your muse know how to tie a tie? How did they learn? 👊 - Would your muse fight someone in a Denny’s parking lot?

[ofpercival-a]

tcnks​:

WHO: @ofpercival​ WHEN: The very early morning of 1st March, 2003. WHERE: Percy’s office, Wizengamot Administrative Offices, Level 2, The Ministry of Magic. 

The windows of the offices that dominated the wing of Level 2 that the Wizengamot staffers occupied were all, currently, dark — much like the rest of the building. It was far too early for the pencil-pushers of the world to have risen from their beds and far too late for even those given to burning the midnight oil to remain tucked up in their offices, which meant it was precisely the window Tonks had been looking for. Jerry hadn’t given them more than a passing wave as Tonks trudged through the atrium, not even looking up from his paper beyond determining a familiar face.

There were still some benefits to the badge clipped to their hip, she supposed.

Percy’s office was nice, spacious in a way the cramped cubicles of the Aurors Department would never be, expensive touches of rugs and furniture and a sea of books giving the interior levels of taste that made their nose wrinkle. Sinking into the supple leather of his office chair, she considered how obscene it felt, such a display of status and wealth from a kid who’d grown up with neither. Everything about this office was a statement, from the perfectly aligned spines of his book collection to the burnished wood and oiled leather of his chair, the carefully chosen light fittings and the perfectly maintained charms upon the ceiling. He even had a window. It spoke of importance and status.

Everything the odd Weasley out could have ever wanted. 

The soft thump of the soles of her boots settling upon his pretty desk was loud in the eerie silence of a deserted building, the rustle of the leather beneath her as she reclined backwards in his chair a whisper as she hummed, absently and stretched her arms up over her head and settled in to wait.

Charlie would still be fast asleep on the ratty couch for hours yet, if he hadn’t already made the jump to her bed. With all his carefully held illusions of going to work having collapsed beneath a strongly worded cease and desist from the Reserve in Gwynedd and a meeting with a brother she’d swiftly deduced had to be this one, Charlie hadn’t exactly been at his most motivated. Even under forced stand down, Tonks hadn’t quite managed to take to a similar life of leisure and unfortunately for Percy, Tonks had nothing but time lately. 

When the scrape of the door handle turning sounded, they were waiting for it, dark eyes and dark hair looming out of the dark (it was curious, how much they resembled their mother like this, how much they resembled their aunt. For all that they didn’t want her, Tonks still bore all the fruits of the Black family line.)  “Morning sunshine,” Tonks offered loudly from the dark once the figure had bustled through the door, closing it behind them and arms full of all the trappings of the morning, “Seems that you and I are in need of a chat?”

-

After his row discussion with Charlie, Percy had, foolishly, thought that to be the last of his interactions with his family. He’d willingly cut himself off from the Weasley family in everything but name nearly a decade ago, ignoring the small part of his heart that hurt when he saw the hurt and betrayal on his family’s faces in favor of his rapidly-growing success at the time. How could he truly feel bad for the situation they’d ended up in when they saw his success and threw it out the window? When they saw Percy’s first win in a case and, rather than celebrating at his side, cast him aside with accusations and venom?

Maybe the way they did so was overexaggerated over time. It didn’t matter, because that’s how it played in his mind now. 

No, he didn’t need his family, just as they clearly didn’t need him. Charlie had been a fool to think that being in Romania would change the fact that Percy didn’t associate with their family anymore, just as he was a fool to think that Percy would help him simply because, once upon a time, they got along like peaches and cream. 

He didn’t owe them anything. 

It was far too early for people to be entering the office and starting their day, but Percy was always nothing if not an overachiever. By the time his coworkers would arrive at the office, coffee in hand and yawning themselves awake, Percy would have files completed and letters ready to be sent to the next client on his list. That morning was no different, though for once he managed to make himself some coffee for an extra boost of energy. 

Morning sunshine.

“Merlin!” Percy shouted, the cup he’d taken time to prepare falling to the ground and splashing all over his nice, clean floor. He cursed rather vehemently, jumping back a step as liquid splashed onto his pants and burned his skin. He quickly grabbed for his wand and cleaned the mess up, head whipping up a moment later to see who, exactly, had the bright idea to --

“Ah. I shouldn’t be surprised you’d do this,” he grumbled, placing his briefcase onto a spare chair and staring mournfully at his now-empty cup as he picked it up off the floor. “What do you want, Tonks? I’ve got nothing to say to you, though you obviously have some words for me.”

[ofpercival-a]

ofgreengrcss​:

If there was one thing that Daphne was a little less than impressed about it would be Lockhart’s home. She understood everyone had their own tastes, and it must be hard for someone to be perfect in absolutely every way like her, but she had maybe expected a little more from an accomplished wizard such as Gilderoy Lockhart. It was all a bit flashy, no sort of subtleness that when she thought about it, actually did sound exactly like what Lockhart probably was going for. Not in her taste but Daphne could be persuaded to change her opinion on everything if what she’d heard about there being a room full of portraits of him were true. 

She really wanted to see that, but in her search of the house so far hadn’t found it yet. “Tragic,” she sighed, grabbing a glass from a server’s tray nearby and wandering through the room. Usually she’d be bouncing between those she knew, especially some of her parent’s friends she usually didn’t run into, but for now Daphne was giving herself a bit of a break period. Some time to appreciate Gilderoy Lockhart without her friends rolling their eyes at her. It was nice to be alone sometimes, though she’d rather give up Cupcake than admit that to any of her friends. They would only take advantage of the fact.

It was on her third circle around the room, Daphne knocking over some things to see if she could find a secret door to the portrait room, that her alone time was interrupted. Percy Wealsey, the dull one that she sometimes spotted around the Ministry. She’d long since given up on trying to find any rumors about him for the secretary gossip circle. “I like it, don’t you ever get curious as to what people keep inside their own homes?” 

She turned, facing Percy. Well, maybe not his home, but Daphne liked snooping around and a persons home could tell a lot about them. “I don’t think I ever considered that Lockhart would live in a place like this but you can certainly say it does fit him.”

-

She didn’t seem particularly keen on speaking with him, but Percy found that was ( unfortunately ) often the case with people who didn’t already know him... and sometimes with people who did know him. 

Not that that ever stopped him before.

He opened his mouth to say absolutely not, because Percy knew full well what it felt like to be snooped on ( courtesy of Fred and George, the asshats ), but something gave him pause before he could actually say the words. It was one thing for his brothers to go through his things while growing up, invading his privacy in an already un-private home, but another thing entirely to learn about someone so in the public light as Gilderoy Lockhart himself. The man, to put it frankly, always got on his nerves; he couldn’t stand when his mother fawned over him just as he couldn’t stand listening to Celestina Warbeck for the umpteenth time while Molly cooked. His classmates hadn’t been much better, many swooning over the man and feeding into his ego in ways that made him want to barf. 

A man like that... well, Percy could stand to snoop around on him. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he said slowly, eyes flickering toward where Daphne had been facing curiously. “What a person values in their homes is telling of their character, much like what type of home they live in.” And Lockhart’s home was... a character. “Have you found anything yet? Color me intrigued.”

[ofpercival-a]

georgeweasel​:

When: 20th of March Where: Ostara Festival, Catering Tent With: @ofpercival​

With Fred successfully reeling in a gaggle of children and Ron successfully monitoring the cash register, George felt he was in a good enough position to leave them be and finally track down something to eat. The twist in his stomach only knotted tighter as he passed tents full of smoked meats and pastel candies. But George was no sucker. He had a sister who was walking around with trays of free hors d'oeuvres, and he was determined to find her. Or anyone else who wore those silly white shirts and carried those silver trays.

After roaming around for what felt like hours unsuccessfully (were they avoiding him?) he finally decided to simply go to the source. Identifying the tent that would function as a good solution to his hunger and also his empty wallet, he ducked his head in through the back, noting a tray of deviled eggs that sat on a table, ready for taking. And George could do the taking for himself. Only, when he turned to make what he hoped to be a swift exit out of the tent, eggs in hand, he ran head first in to a colossus.

Red-head first, to be exact.

“Perce!” George exclaimed as he centered himself from the messy collision. “Didn’t see you there, although it looks like your head has grown about ten times since I’ve seen you last, so I reckon that one was really my fault.” Didn’t think it was humanly possible for it to get any bigger, but here we are.

Bold for anyone to assume that George Weasley wouldn’t eat a still-intact deviled egg off the tray that was now splattered all over Gilderoy Lockhart’s well-trimmed lawn. He got to his feet and wiped the grass remains from his pants, noting that Percy was going to have a bit of a harder time removing the stains left on his clothes. Incapable of holding back a snorted laugh, George muttered under his breath, “Hope you like eggs.”

-

Percy hadn’t planned on running into his siblings at the festival, but it was too late to leave now. There was no reason at all to leave an event just because some of his siblings would be there -- he didn’t think all of them would be, or he at the very least hoped they wouldn’t be. Bill and Charlie, he could handle well enough. Ron and Ginny would be tougher, but he’d manage. Fred and George, though... Percy shuddered as he recalled the countless pranks those twins pulled on him since they were able to do so, maneuvering through the crowd toward the food tent.

Yes, he could handle any other sibling, but if he came across one of the twins, Percy didn’t expect things to be pretty.

It was with that thought in mind that he picked up the pace, as if walking faster would put distance between himself and the potential of seeing Fred and George among the crowd of festival-goers, but of course, the effort was for naught. Right as he entered the tent, someone crashed into him coming out of it, smearing deviled egg all over his suit and drawing the attention of those around him. He was about to apologize ( through his teeth, mind -- this was his good suit ) when he caught sight of familiar red hair.

Oh.

Oh no.

It was like whatever gods existed were determined to smite him by having him run into George, and he immediately forced a clearly fake grin on his face. It wasn’t like his brother would expect a real one, anyway; at this point in their lives, they were beyond that. His eye twitched when he watched George eat one of the fallen eggs off the ground, and Percy cleared his throat. 

“I can assure you that my head is the same size,” he started, making his smile go wider. He was probably starting to look mad. “Not nearly as large as your ego, dear brother. That’s probably what caused you to crash in the first place -- you couldn’t see anywhere past it.” His eyes fell to his poor suit, and his smile finally fell, making way for annoyance instead. “This is my good suit too, you brat,” he grumbled, grabbing his wand so he could clean the mess up. Hopefully it wouldn’t stain.

[ofpercival-a]

thymelicus​:

The Ostara Festival  March 20th, 2003

open

There was no way that Walden would ever have passed up the opportunity to attend the Ostara festival. Not only was it a rare insight into the mind of a man whose veneer of pleasantry wasn’t quite shiny enough to fool Walden, but it was also a gathering of some of the most self-important people around. The things he could overhear, the silent suggestions he could place in people’s minds. It was a golden opportunity.

In that moment, however, he was simply standing at the bar and observing. He needed to pace himself after all. Identify those who would be most productive for him to spin his web around. Perhaps there would even be time for a little fun as well. 

The potential for fun seemed determined to come to him as he identified the person who had just arrived at the bar. He waited for them to make their order before shooting an easy smile at them and making a brief signal to the bartender. “Please, let me pay for that. Call it a random act of festival kindness.”

-

Percy was... tired.

As much as he enjoyed the festival for what it was -- connecting with those who would be useful in the future -- he had the unfortunate pleasure of reconnecting with his siblings as well. He spent years with as little contact with them as possible -- partially his own doing, partially the doing of his entire family -- but he could never quite get away from them like he wished he could.

The Ostara Festival didn’t offer the respite he’d been looking for from his family ( his spat with Charlie a few weeks earlier still ringing clear in his mind ), but at least it had food and drinks that he could help himself to. Percy all but dragged himself to the bar, making sure he at least looked more presentable than he felt in his posture and neutral facial expression until he saw who was next to him. Walden -- perhaps one of the few people he’d grant the title of friend, if he didn’t know any better.

“Feel free to keep them coming,” he said tiredly, offering him a tight smile and sitting himself firmly down in the barstool. “Though I’d like to think this is a little more than festival kindness. Bored of the party already?”

[ofpercival-a]

madnotmoody​:

where: the ostara festival  when: mid-afternoon who: open !! 

Merlin, Moody had almost forgotten how much he’d hated crowded public events. He usually made it a habit not to attend. If he did attend (he usually had to), he hid in a dark corner somewhere no one would find him. He hated conversing with those he didn’t know. Worse - he hated making polite small talk with those he did know but not well. If anyone knew him well enough, they’d know not to bother. Moody wasn’t one for pleasantries. He wasn’t a fan of public events. There were too many people to keep an eye out for. Too many things that could go wrong at the drop of a hat. His paranoia had only grown since the incident a few years ago. 

When he decided that he had enough, he found the shade of a big tree and stood on the outskirts of the party. There was absolutely no way he’d be ingesting whatever they were passing off as food. Too easily poisoned. Alastor considered their alcohol, but decided to stick to the flask hidden on his hip. Pulling it out, he took a long swig of the liquid hidden within it, his magical eye darting out to survey his surroundings. He sighed when he felt a pair of eyes upon him - his annoyance outweighing his paranoia.

“What?” He asked gruffly without so much as turning his head. “I came over here to get away from the small talk.” He paused, knowing he’d regret it. “Spit it out then.”

-

Percy would hardly say he got along with Alastor Moody, but he wasn’t one to pass up networking opportunities. The man was well-known throughout the Ministry for a reason; paranoid as he was, he was a damn good Auror in his hayday, and Percy wouldn’t put it past him to continue looking for and solving issues that caught his eye. Whether those issues would pertain to Percy, though, was another matter entirely. 

The Auror department... didn’t exactly like him or what he did. He’d be a fool not to know that, what with some of the people he ( rightfully ) got out of Azkaban. Even still, it never hurt to have someone either within or connected to the department on his side. How to talk to Moody was another matter entirely, though; he was the last person Percy would call approachable. Still, when Moody slipped out of the party, Percy waited all of a minute before following him outside, hands clasped behind his back and a polite smile on his face. 

Not that politeness stopped Moody’s gruffness. 

“This party was never going to be much more than small talk,” he said, taking a step closer but leaving enough space between them to not be claustrophobic. He was playing a delicate game here. “Makes me wonder why you’d come in the first place if you wanted to avoid that kind of thing.”

[ofpercival-a]

draggingon​:

who: @ofpercival​

when: 27 february 2003

where: percy’s office, ministry of magic

“It’s bloody ridiculous. Like I’m a fucking liability or some shit. I know what I’m doing, Perce. I’m not some green kid going there trying to get my first burn and my chance to ride a dragon.” Not counting that he had been that kid once upon a time. Charlie’s hands moved to pull a book off one of the shelves, scowling at the cover of The Intricacies of Rappaport’s Law for a moment as he caught his breath, the near non-stop rant he was on not having ceased since he entered Percy’s office. 

If he wasn’t so hot under the collar, a patented Weasley flush creeping up the back of his neck and to his ears, he might have taken a moment to notice just how large his younger brother was living at the moment. He had always wrongfully assumed that most offices here were like their dad’s, cramped and messy. Filled to the brim with flying memos and leaking ceilings of spell damage gone wrong. The charmed windows depicting the backyard of the Burrow when they were working properly. Or more like the Creatures Division, not this well organized and spacious. Large enough that Charlie had made his way to nearly every bookshelf lining the walls. When did Percy even get these many books anyway? Magical Misdemeanours and the Modern Law was the next tomb in his hand followed by Spell Casting in the Age of Rappaport’s Law. Who the fuck was Rappaport anyway? He ditched the Misdemanour hardcover on Percy’s desk, putting the other books in hand away with little care for where they were even supposed to be and continued looking for a title that seemed like it would be any help to him and his issues. If Percy didn’t know everything about creature law then he ought to have a book that did. 

There was something just utterly wrong about the absence of Percy in his life. The familial strain of a missing sibling, ignoring self-imposed distance and time spent away from the whole lot of ginger terrors created by their parents, didn’t lessen a bit in person. Charlie had questions (A list of them after getting biased tales from their family, the real story from Tonks, and picking up what he could from the papers), accusations to throw and insults to hurl, but it all evaporated at seeing his brother again. The few times he had tried in the past, to actually have a straight and frank word, had been crap. No resolutions. No answers. Letters hollow or too accusatory on his own part to ever open the doors to a conversation where he could finally understand why Percy had turned his back on everything they had been raised to know. There had to be a reason. There always was with Percy. You just had to unravel a whole spool of shite to get to it. 

He was fucked. He knew the second he had been escorted off the reserve and the owled temporary restraining order had been unnecessary confirmation of that fact. If he hadn’t totally cocked up his entire life he wouldn’t be here. There’d be no need for this horse and pony show of his career current standing to make Perce grasp how desperate he was for help. Legal help. Ministry help. It’s not like there was anyone left in this building with an ounce of moral standing except for their dad.

“All I want is to get back to work and they’re saying I’m not fit for the job. I’m fine. Better than fucking fine. So what’s the problem? It’s not like they’re not in need of help because those bloody poachers aren’t going to stop just because– They don’t give a rat’s fucking ass about us, Perce. And no one will listen to me. The dragons don’t deserve to wait around to get picked off one by one so some rich prick can get a new dragonhide jacket for the spring, alright? They need their fucking gloves and their heart-string for their wands for the September rush and they don’t care how they make their production quota. It’s fucking unethical, yeah? It’s illegal!” 

Books chucked with wild abandon, Charlie was ready to look until he found the stupid bound words that would make his brother actually listen to him. He could pretend it was like old times and strive not to think that the man sitting down and watching his little piss fit had changed that much. Like everything, people were blowing it out of proportion. Had to be one big misunderstanding on everyone’s part and if they just all sat down and talked (after the yelling and the crying that was natural to occur) they could get to the heart of the issue. People were too complicated, ready to muck up what should be a simple decision with extraneous choices, and Charlie didn’t have the patience to navigate a mediation. He needed a lawyer’s help. His brother was a damn good lawyer in the eyes of some. That’s all that should matter at the end of the day. “If I’m unfit, if that’s what they want to fucking claim, then why aren’t they doing shite about it? I know what I need. It’s to go back. How do we make that happen?”

Flushed and reeling, wielding the hardcover book on the legal intricacies of the unforgivable like a wand with no concept of exactly how much time had passed since he arrived, Charlie waited for an answer. After not even a beat, his mouth was open again as he revered up to continue the shaky case of how the hell he had ended up in Percy Weasley’s posh office in the first place.

-

Percy was having an... alright sort of day. It was one of those days where nothing of note was happening, but he was feeling productive regardless. Most of his meetings went smoothly, and those that didn’t were able to get patched over relatively quickly. His coworkers didn’t seem to have any particular problem with him ( not today at least ), and he had a packed lunch waiting in his office that he was ready to dig into. Just an alright day, and Percy was perfectly content with it.

He hardly expected to walk into his office, take his lunch out, and have his day disrupted by his wayward brother not five minutes into his break, ranting about dragons ( as he was wont to do ) and needing... legal aid? 

That... didn’t add up. 

Out of all of his siblings, Percy got along most with Charlie. It wasn’t that he was picking favorites -- though he wouldn’t hesitate to do so, if asked -- but more like Charlie was the brother that was there for him the most as they grew up. He could still remember Charlie coming back from Hogwarts in his first year, handing his textbooks off to little Percy to read and listen to knowledge he already had once Percy was done with the book. He knew now that it probably helped him write his essays sometimes, but Charlie still listened to Percy, and that meant more to him than he cared to admit. 

Even that history, though, couldn’t stop Percy from staring at his brother warily as he went on about restraining orders and the rights of dragons. Honestly, Percy was only half-paying attention; why was Charlie in his office of all places? When he cut himself off from his family ( and his family ultimately did the same in turn ), Percy never expected to hear from any of them again. Why would he come to him looking for help? Like he was crawling back on his knees with the Weasley name in tow, looking for help from the all-but-disowned brother when he had no other choice? Irritation flared in him at the thought; no, he refused to be a pawn in his family’s game, only being used when they needed him and sacrificing his place among them a moment later. Percy refused to play their game, whatever it was.

“... I don’t handle magical creatures cases,” he finally said once he realized Charlie was done spewing his nonsense, taking a bite from his sandwich and chewing slowly as he thought his words through carefully. “Nor is there much I can do for you. They make the rules for their establishment, do they not? What goes on there is under their watch and regulation. You’re no longer working there -- let it go.” 

Not that what was going on wasn’t unethical. The legality of it all... Percy really should step in. Maybe if it were anyone else but Charlie asking for help, he even would have, but there were plenty of attorneys who undertook magical creature cases, and he wasn’t one of them. That was the excuse he’d operate under if questioned -- he absolutely was not using his grudge against his family as a way to say no. 

“I can’t do anything for you, Charlie. You’re better off looking elsewhere to help your dragons get back to work. Now, if you’ll excuse me? I’m on my lunch break.”

[ofpercival-a]

Could you draw Ron and Percy pre-Hogwarts. In Percy's room. Thanks. Love you, your work is great. Wholesome as fuck.

Thank you I LOVE YOU TOO💗💗💗

Mini Ronnie actually enjoys mini Percys company

I like to think that Ron and Percy would play chess together💗

[ofpercival-a]

when: march 20, 2003 where: ostara festival who: open

Ten years ago, Percy Weasley never would have imagined himself standing in a crowd such as this. Lockhart, hairbrained as he could be, knew how to throw a party, and rather than feeling out of place, Percy felt like he belonged: he was respectable, for once, in a way his family couldn’t be, mingling among clients both old and ( potentially ) new and not once looking toward anyone who would be familiar from his past. 

Well. Almost not once. Could anyone blame him for occasionally peaking at the crowd in Lockhart’s home, looking for a glimpse of ginger hair so he could show his family just how well he was doing? Never did they seem proud of his accomplishments, but Percy now surrounded himself with people who saw his skills for what they were and thrived among their showered compliments. Once upon a time, his family’s opinion of him meant the world to him, but now it was nothing more than a reminder of who he once was. 

Not that such depressing thoughts belonged at a festival like this. 

He easily shook the thoughts out of his head and grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing server’s tray, grinning in farewell to his previous conversation partner and walking further into the crowd to mingle. These events were wonderful for networking, and Percy would be damned if he let the opportunity go to waste. He took a sip from his glass and glanced around the crowd again, eyes falling on someone who didn’t already have someone to speak with and sidling up to them. 

“Lockhart definitely knows how to throw a party, doesn’t he? I shouldn’t have expected anything less than him throwing it in his own home though -- he certainly knows how and when to show off.” 

[ofpercival-a]

GEORGE MACKAY The Guardian / 2020 › ph. Linda Brownlee

[ofpercival-a]

“Alright, just for future reference, my name is Joe.”

GEORGE MACKAY as JOE “BROMLEY” COOPER in Pride (2014) dir. Matthew Warchus

[ofpercival-a]

GEORGE MACKAY Zoo Magazine / 2020 › ph. Roger Rich