So I wrote this story from a Claim on ao3. I sorta just ran with it. The original prompt was:
Though Percy is third eldest, he's always been the one to suffer from "Middle Child Syndrome". Ginny and Ron were the babies of the family, Fred and George were so loud and outgoing that they just had to be noticed, and Bill and Charlie were the eldest sons that everyone looked up to.
I don't really care where you take this, I just really think there needs to be more Percy-centric work on here.
I really hope you enjoy, mainly because I love Percy.
Percy discovered the love of his life when he was seven years old. Not that anyone noticed, of course.
It was a typical summer day at the Weasley household. Bill was back from Hogwarts, of course, the first of them all to go. Charlie was about to go in the fall, and the two of them spent all their time together now. Percy watched from his window as they went up on their brooms and zoomed around the backyard. Every day they would come home with great exploits of their adventures.
Then there were the twins, who were only five yet they were already menaces. Just the other day the had managed to turn everything of Percy's a violent magenta, even his favorite blanket. Mum had defended them, saying it was only accidental magic, but he had seen the wicked little grins on their faces. They were out to get Percy, that was for sure.
There were little Ron and Ginny. Ron was three. He was sweet and gentle. All he seemed to want to do was eat or watch Bill and Dad play chess. There was always a bright light in his eyes as he did this, and he'd never picked up one of the chess pieces and put them in his mouth, not even once.
And Ginny. Two-year-old Ginny who had more fierceness than any of them. Mum's little girl, the only Weasley girl in several generations. She somehow managed to cause more mischief than all of them combined but whenever Mum looked at her she was as innocent as a doll.
But Percy..he wasn't like any of them. If he had a word to describe what he was missing he would say he was missing their fire.
His siblings were brilliant, each and every one of them. They commanded attention in one way or another. They were loud, so loud it hurt Percy's ears, and maybe that was why his parents never seemed to pay him any mind.
Whenever Percy was in the room his parent's eyes seem to jump over him, because to his left Fred and George were causing trouble and to his right Ginny was being absolutely adorable. But Percy knew, he knew he could be as good as any of them, better even. Not in the same ways of course, but maybe then his parents would pay attention to him. He would be something more than just Invisible Percy, who always made his bed and cleaned his room and ate his vegetables in the hopes someone would notice.
So he sought far and wide for something people would recognize him for. It seemed as though his siblings had already taken everything there was to offer, with that special brand of Weasley fire thrown on top.
He tried to cook with his mother, but after he burned half of the food she summarily kicked him out. He tried to be a gardener, but he managed to kill a flower within a day. He tried to make clothes, but somehow managed to almost cut all of the circulation out of his arm after he made a sleeve.
Yes, he knew, all considered womanly pursuits. But Percy here was not afraid to branch out.
His lucky break came in the form of an accident. Bill had managed to keep all of his books locked away out of the twins reach, but after a burst of "accidental" magic, they managed to unlock the cupboard they were kept in and sent them scattering all over the floor. In truth, the twins were only after the cauldron. They managed to get everything picked up but Percy spotted a book that had been left under the bed.
Percy picked it up, and because if anything he could say he had a strong moral compass, he fully intended to return the book to his brother. In fact, he was this close before he caught the title on the cover.
A History of Magic
A history of magic? Percy looked at it skeptically. Like, the whole history?
The Weasleys didn't have many books. None of them were really readers, and the only books his mother had were on house magic. Percy had never read any book that was longer than twenty pages long and didn't have something to say about maths or the basics of quill writing.
But besides being much thicker, this book just felt different to Percy. Different enough that he raced back to his violently magenta room and tucked it into bed under his large pile of fluffy pillows (Percy preferred comfort).
All through dinner at night he sat even more quietly than normal. Usually, he made some sort of half effort at joining the conversation, but that was usually shut down pretty quickly. His favorite memory was when for once his family actually looked interested in what he had to say about dragons and Ginny interrupted with her first word.
He cried that night.
But tonight he couldn't shove food in his stomach fast enough. He wouldn't wait for bedtime. By the time he got to get into bed he was practically vibrating. Percy didn't even mind when once again Mum forgot to come in and read him a bedtime story because she was too busy elsewhere.
He waited until the house went quiet, or as quiet as it would ever be, and he pulled the book out.
When Percy opened the book, it felt like magic. The way his stomach flipped and the blood in his veins buzzed and he knew, he knew he had found his calling.
If reading books could be called a calling, but whatever.
He stayed up until the sun broke the dawn, and did so for a week. When they went over to visit the Lovegoods, he went over to Mrs. Lovegood. She'd always been one of his favorite people, if not his absolute favorite. Her protruding grey eyes had always unsettled his brothers, but Mrs. Lovegood was, well, good. She had brilliance dancing in those eyes and she always had a kind word for him, Mrs. Lovegood always went out of her way to find him, be nice to him, smile at him. He figured out of anyone, she would understand.
"Mrs. Lovegood?" Percy asked, wringing his hands nervously. Mrs. Lovegood looked down at him before crouching down to his level. She ran a hand through his red curls and smiled.
"What do you need, Percy?" Because she always asked what he needed, not what he wanted. Percy didn't have many wants in her eyes, just deep, painful needs.
"Do you have any books I could borrow please, Mrs. Lovegood?" He asked as politely as he could. She rocked back on her heels to consider him and tilted he head to the side.
"What kind of books were you thinking of?" she asked.
Percy's eyes widened and began to glow. A smile crept across his face. "Oh, all the books Mrs. Lovegood."
She laughed. "Well, all the books it is."
When Percy went home he had an expandable pouch filled to the brim with books. Nonfiction, fiction. Books on history and magic and even muggle science. He had storybooks, tales that were familiar and old weird ones the Lovegoods kept in their house. Mrs. Lovegood had copied all of them for him then did some sort of fancy little charm she had invented themselves to make them permanent. Percy was delighted.
On his birthday near the end of the summer, he just asked for more books. Books, his family could do. Used books at least. So without much ceremony, because his birthday was close to the beginning of the school year and there never seemed to be any ceremony regardless, he was handed a huge pile of brand new used books.
So Percy read.
And he read.
And he read some more.
For the first time in a long time, Percy was truly happy. When he was reading books he didn't think about how his family ignored him. When he was reading books he could go to different worlds. When he was reading books he could learn.
His family, if it was possible, began to notice Percy even less. After all, he did nothing of note when compared to his siblings. If Percy had bothered to really look up from his books and take notice, he would have noticed that the same was beginning to happen to Ron.
It was July 23rd, the exact anniversary of when he read his first real book, that everything changed all over again.
Percy wasn't in his room reading for once. Instead, he was helping his now three-year-old sister Ginny clumsily pick flowers in the backyard for their Mum. Daffodils and dandelions, an explosion of yellow. They got into the house and Ginny handed Mum a grubby handful of flowers when-
Bang
Percy knew. He didn't want to know, but he knew. When he arrived at his room, panting and out of breath before even his Mum could arrive he saw it.
The door to his room was hanging open off the hinges. His bed was in total disarray, but his eyes were on his books
His books, his friends. They were all scattered about the room, their pages torn out and ripped to shreds. They were gone, they were destroyed.
For a moment, Percy stood stock still. Heat built in him, but he was frozen. Who would he have now? Who would comfort him at night? Who would tell him stories and be his friend?
There were tears running down his face before he even knew that he wanted to cry. They dripped onto his shirt and turned his face bright red. When he sniffled, Mum finally turned from where she was reprimanding the twins to take notice of him.
"Oh Percy, it's not so bad. The twins said it was just an accident." she tried to soothe him.
But the twins were smiling behind her, and Percy knew that it was no "accident". That's when the heat that had been building in Percy finally exploded.
Percy hadn't performed accidental magic since he was three years old. He had forgotten what it felt like.
When it was over, his room was in perfect order, his books were back together, and even the lingering remnants of magenta were gone.
But the twins were crying, loud choking sobs that Percy knew them well enough to know were faked, and his Mum was reprimanding him now with her hands on her hips.
When they were all gone, Percy curled up on his bed with his first and favorite book in his arms. Bill never knew where his textbook had gone off to.
Sure, Percy was the middle child. Sure, his family didn't seem to understand him, appreciate him, or even love him sometimes. But he had himself, and he had his books, and he had Mrs. Lovegood (though not for long, poor boy, not for long). As long as he had all that, he didn't need his family. He had all the love he needed.
And someday, he would rise above his stupid family anyway.
This should all ad up to about four chapters, about two thousand words each.