Chapter 1 - In which our tale begins

He plodded around his rather smallish bedroom. Once… Twice… Thrice.

Where. The. Hell. Was that damnable owl?

Percy Weasley, Gryffindor Prefect, Headboy Extraordinaire, began to mutter anxiously to himself, proving, once and for all, that it is indeed possible to talk and walk and the same time. "Hermes, where ARE you?"

"Y'know, talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity," piped up a voice from the doorway. A rather whining female voice, that belonged to the youngest sibling of the Headboy Extraordinaire in question.

"And barging in without knocking is rather rude." Percy replied without blinking. After all, growing up with five exuberant brothers and a nosey younger sister had rather desensitized him to this sort of thing.

"Humph. As if you have any dark, terrible secrets." Ginny glared down at him, a remarkable feet considering the fact that they were both standing, and he was still a foot taller than her.

Her newly visible nose hairs rather took away from the effect, though.

"And if you must know," the most annoying of all sisters continued upon seeing that her earlier declaration had had absolutely no effect upon Percy, Headboy Extraordinaire, "It's dinnertime."

Upon finishing, young Ginny Weasley promptly turned on her heel and strode away.

Percy would have blinked at her, but as he had lived with her for (most of) her entire life, he was used to it by now. Hell, he was used to all of his family by now.

First - there was his mother. Overprotective. Overbearing. She would wrap all her children up in woolen cloth and hide them away in a tall, tall tower if it was legal. And Percy was quite certain that in time, with England's cowardly and incompetent ministry, and with her brand of "persuasion," it would be.

But as that was yet to come, she settled for shoving her perfect little darlings into their studies, wanting them to be the spitting image of all her dreams. As Bill's newest job included cursebreaking for Gringotts, and Charlie babysat dragons in Romania, that wasn't working out too well.

It meant that, as the next eldest, all the Devil Woman's attention was focused solely on him. Which, considering his "true" personality, and the nature of some of his choices concerning his future, was a train wreck waiting to happen. And considering that he had just finished his seventh, and final year of schooling, it was going to be soon.

Second - his father. The pushover of all pushovers. A nice enough man, once you got over the muggle obsession, and his complete inability to move past his own version of reality, but he was really putty in his wife's hands, or in the hands of whoever was clever enough to manipulate their way into his affections.

Logic rarely had anything to do with his decisions. A reality that Percy found quite tiresome. It is a sad, sad, thing to be more mature than one's parents. Particularly since Percy came to realize that he had surpassed his own in that particular department upon reaching early adolescence.

But - oh, well.

"Percy! Dinner!" A magically enhanced voice shrieked from down the many flights of stairs, interrupting his carefully thought out and remarkably accurate description of his family members.

Coming, mother… The red-head thought sarcastically before descending upon the many, many, MANY, winding flights of tall, steep, and crooked stairs. Absentmindedly he ducked when one of the resident ghosts lobbed what appeared to be a portable swamp at his head.

Portable sw-!

It went off.

And the tall, suave, imposter-at-being-pompous, redhead was knee-deep in frightful muck that smelled as if it came from the manure pile at a hippogriff ranch.

"Aw, #u(&."

A dead branch, belonging to one of the newly made swamp trees, took that as a cue and promptly dropped on his head.

Percy was out like a light.

Darkness. And pain. It was all he knew. The world had ended, Ragnarok had come, and the Valkarie had already taken the souls of the valorous to Valhalla, where they would dine with Odin in the Hall of Warriors for all of eternity.

Percy, being judged unworthy of such a reward, was sentenced to spend his worthless existence in the dank remains of the mortal realm, where he would forever…

Poke.

What? There are to be no interruptions!

Poke.

WHO DARES DEFY ME!

Poke. Poke.

YOU HAVE TRIED MY PATIENCE, AND FOUND IT LACKING! NOW COWER BEFORE ME MORTAL-

Poke. Poke. Poke.

With a long groan, Percival Ignatius Weasley, born August 22, 1976, opened his eyes. Two nearly identical faces were staring down at him as he lay deathly still.

"You alive, Perce?" One of them asked.

"Mum wouldn't be too happy if you died on us, y'know." The other stated.

"T'would right depress her."

Percy responded with another groan. He had a quaffle-sized lump on the top of his head, and it was right painful, if he did say so himself.

"Gred!" The first face exclaimed.

"Forge!" The second face exclaimed in turn.

"He's alive!" The other face finished for him.

"It's a miracle!" They both mock-cheered at once.

"Go alert the press, why don't you." Ginny peered down at the trio. Or at least attempted to. It was difficult, seeing as how the young woman was several feet below the portable swamp.

Which, as Percival Ignatius (derived from the Latin for "fire") Weasley, quickly rediscovered, was composed mostly of muck that smelled as if it had come from the bottom of a hippogriff stall. (Fresher than the manure pile, and that much worse.)

In short, he was dizzy, in pain, and it STUNK. Badly.

"Could you get me out of this gunk?" Percy politely demanded. "I need to take a shower."

Sighing dramatically, the twins cast a quick cleansing charm, while activating the secret spell that no one else knew that automatically recalled the swamp into its container. Hey, being inventors had to have some perks, after all.

"You're welcome, by the way." Fred said merrily as he traipsed down the stairs.

"And, by the way, you're late for dinner, too." George finished with a grin before following.

Percy just groaned. It was one of those days.

Instead of plodding down the stairs with the three of his more trying siblings, Percival (named for King Author's Most Noble Knight) nobly decided to spare his family from his most horrible stench, and go take a shower.

Which he did.

When dear Sir Percival had completed his most arduous task, and was once again clear of both filth and stink, (and fully dressed, dried, and hair-do-ed) he, too, traipsed down the many, many, MANY, tall, steep, crooked stairs.

Only falling once or twice in the process.

Upon reaching the bottom of his tall, dark, tower (what else would you call it?) Sir Percival the (Not-So) Perfect, headed in the direction of the kitchen/dining hall.

It, quite thankfully, was empty.

Upon reaching the dinner table, sized for an army (of Weasleys, of course) Percy found a note.

----------

Percival Ignatius Weasley,

I do not know what exactly has made you miss dinner, but I'm sure it was probably the twin's fault. Now, I waited for you for about an hour, but as you had found something more important for you to do, I left without you.

Your father was understandably disappointed that you couldn't come with him, but after I reminded him of your job interview with dear Mr. Couch on the morrow, he quickly shut up about it. The poor dear, his memory is already going…

Anyways, dearie, your din-din is in the kitchen, and your father will be back from picking up Harry from those horrible Muggles in about a half-hour or so.

Bill and Charlie are picking up Ronald's friend Hermione from her house, and they should be here shortly. I've already gone to get groceries.

Love, Mum

-----------

"…" Percy gazed down at the note he held in his hands with a certain sense of horror. The Quidditch World Cup was in a mere matter of days, and his father had gotten the entire Weasley clan (including honorary family member Harry, of course) tickets to the damnable thing.

Percy had narrowly escaped it (having had more than his fill of Quidditch and all related nonsense all the years he had roomed with Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain, Oliver Wood,) by claiming to have a job interview with Barty Couch. His ticket had gone to Hermione.

Percy's mother had been trying to push him into a Ministry position for years, and Couch, she believed, was the best way in. Why she would believe that a befuddled old man, who constantly referred to her third-born son as "Weatherby," would be anything other than a ticket to a position at a nursing home, was beyond Percy's realm of comprehension.

His mother's controlling ways was one of the many things that Sir Percival was looking to escape.

But, this was a problem. Five additional people were coming to the Burrow. Five more individuals who would be in a perfect position to discover his secret. Five magic users who could potentially prevent him from making his getaway.

He quickly stuffed the note into his pocket, before snatching his plate of food from the stove. He would eat in his room.

As he scrambled towards the stairs, a loud 'POP' signified someone apparating in. Or, in this case, two someones and a third tagalong. Foolishly glancing backwards, Sir Percival the Not-So-Perfect saw his two elder brothers and his youngest brother's best female friend appear in the living room.

Before he could properly disappear, a loud shout of "Percy!" came from the mouth of Bill Weasley, Gringotts cursebreaker, firstborn of the Weasley clan. The first to defy the Matriarch's iron will. He was both tenacious and brave, two qualities that Percy both envied and resented him for.

Taking a deep breath to compose himself, the red-head turned around properly. "Yes?" Percy asked politely. Then, faking a double-take, "Oh, Bill! Hello." He turned his face to look directly at his next eldest brother and the family friend. "Hello, Charlie, Hermione."

He blinked at them, rapidly coming up with strategies to get back upstairs as quickly as possible without attracting undo attention. "I presume you are all here for the Quidditch Cup?"

It took three hours for Percy to sneak away from his family, and find his way up the stairs.

In that time, he had been, questioned, pranked, and questioned again. Not to mention, he had had to endure one of his mother's rants against that "poof" Seamus Finnegan, a fourth year student at Gryffindor, and one of Ron and Harry's roommates.

Her rabid intolerance of all things homosexual was another of the many things that Sir Percival Weasley was looking to escape.

At least I ate dinner… Percy mused thoughtfully as he climbed the many, many, MANY, tall, steep, crooked, stairs up to the tippy, top, of his tall, dark, tower. Without testing out any of Fred and George's products.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime achievement.

Upon finally reaching his room, Sir Percival discovered the terrible twosome sitting on his bed, snickering over a letter they had apparently gotten from Hermes. The only letter Percy was expecting was…

Penny!

With a speed previously unknown to him, Percy leapt the five feet six inches from his door to his bed, snatching the piece of paper from his brothers, and turning a perfect mid-air somersault to land on the other side of the bed, letter in hand, and a burning fury in his chest.

"WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Sir Percival the Furious roared. "THAT LETTER IS PRIVATE!"

The extremely surprised twins had grabbed each other and were now quaking in fear.

"GET OUT, NOW!" He pointed to the door, towering over his two still-terrified brothers, bearing a resemblance to an angry Molly Weasley (or a cornered wombat) that would have startled (and possibly offended) him.

"AND I MEAN, NOW!"

The twosome took off, tearing through the doorway, clipping a startled Harry Potter as he stood frozen in place, and disappearing down the stairs.

"Errmm… That was… I mean…" Harry Potter stuttered anxiously as he looked upon the terrifying visage of a Percy Weasley the world had never previously known. He wanted to run, he truly did, but for some reason his legs wouldn't cooperate.

"Oh." Percy said, looking across his bed at the under-grown and very nervous fourth-year, suddenly feeling very embarrassed at having someone witness his loss of control. He chuckled softly.

"Sorry about that." He offered. "They just make me so mad, at times."

"Yeah, I can understand." Harry said quietly, still in shock. "My cousin Duddly does that to me, too."

"Really?" Percy asked, feeling more than a tad bit bemused. Absentmindedly, he folded Penny's letter and slipped it into his pocket. "I've heard about him." He tilted his head, walking closer to the door.

"Fred and George aren't that bad, but they are a bit trying."

Harry came out of his shock at that. "Oh, umm…" He looked around, seeing nothing other than Percy's room and a large number of stairs. ""I think I'm lost…"

"Where are you supposed to be?" Percy asked nicely. He was feeling downright giddy after blowing up at the twins. "I'll take you there."

Harry blushed at that, running his fingers through his raven locks so that they fell more securely onto his forehead.

"I'm supposed to sleep in Ron's room." He said, his voice slightly shaky. "All my stuff is there, and I know that I stayed in there last time, but it…"

Percy nodded, understanding. "The house changes itself around from time to time," he explained. "It's changed a few times since you've last been here, so you probably remembered right."

"What…?" Harry asked, looking downright confused, and still a bit flushed.

"The Burrow is one of the stranger magical houses," Percy said, refining his explanation as he led Harry down the stairs. "It actually has a mind and will of its own. The house itself is kind of like its body, and it can change the location of the rooms as easily as you or I can change our body's positions."

"Oh, I see." Harry said, his blush growing. He was now steadily looking away from Percy, though Percy, as he was walking in front, couldn't tell. "How did it get like that?" Harry asked. As embarrassing this conversation was, it was still quite interesting, and he wanted to know the answer.

"I think it had something to do with Dad's messing around with magic and muggle artifacts," Percy offered after a moment or two of silent contemplation. "But it might have been something else, too.

"Oh."

Finally, they reached the bottom of the tall, steep, crooked stairs, and began heading towards what appeared to be a broom closet. As Harry blinked confusedly, Percy knocked three times and opened it. Saying, "Ronald Weasley's room!" in a loud and authorative voice, he stepped inside.

Harry followed him, a bit worried. He knew the Weasleys had been in a bit of a financial crisis, but Ron living in a broom closet… He started upon seeing the largish room with its twin beds.

Behind him, Percy shut the door.

"Here it is," Percy said. "But if you open the door, you won't find yourself in the kitchen. The door we went through is one of those one-way doors, and will take you to any room in the house if you ask right."

The red-head leaned forward, his voice lowered conspiratorially. "But don't tell Fred and George, they're impossible enough as it is."

"Th-thanks." Harry said, stuttering once. "But, Percy…" He stopped himself quickly. He didn't know why he was asking anyone this, let alone Percy. But it seemed like he might have judged Percy wrong before, and there wasn't exactly anyone else…

"Yes?" Percy asked, turning back to face the young Gryffindor as he stood with one hand on the doorknob. "Can I help you with something?"

"Err…" Abruptly, he made up his mind. "Is Mrs. Weasley always like that?" he asked quietly.

"Always like what?" Percy asked in turn. There were a lot of things Mrs. Weasley was always like, but he wasn't certain which one of them Harry was referring to.

"What she said about Seamus…" Harry said, squirming just a little.

"Oh. Like that." Percy's voice hardened. "Yes, unfortunately, she is."

"Oh." Harry said softly. "I… see."

"Don't let it get you down, though," Percy continued, speaking mostly to himself. "There are a lot of intolerant and narrow-minded people in the world, its just unlucky that she's one of them. She's a good enough person, though, in most other ways."

"Oh!" the raven-haired boy softly exclaimed. "You don't…?"

"Think the same?" Percy said with a laugh. "God, no!" He chuckled a bit more. "You are who you are, no sense in hating someone for something they can't change."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, much more cheerful that before. "That's true." He shyly exchanged a smile with Percy, before the red-head turned the knob and left, leaving Harry with the feeling that he had just met a kindred spirit.

Percy breathed a sigh of relief as he exited Ron's room. Harry was alright, it seemed, and not half as bad as the rumors made him out to be. Open-minded, polite, and remarkably settled. All in all, a good friend for Ron to have.

Remembering what had happened previous to Harry's request, Sir Percival pulled out Penny's letter. Anxiously, he read it, and finished with a grin.

It was Wednesday, tomorrow was Thursday. He was going to escape. He was finally going to escape! Mua-ha-ha-ha-ha! he laughed malevolently in his head as he made his way down the stairs and (eventually) towards his room.

He was going to escape.

Dearest Percy -

Don't worry, this letter has been carefully charmed, if anyone other than you reads it, all they'll see will be some sentimental flowery mush suitable only for soap operas or the girl porn commonly referred to as a "romance novel." (Ha! I know I've compared the two before, but it doesn't make it any less true.)

So, to get back to the subject at hand - sure, I'll help you! We've only been planning this, since, what? Our first year when we met on the train?

Humph. As if I would back out now. Seriously, Perce, I'm wounded here! You helped me win over my dear sugarpoo, and she and I have never been happier. You even supported me when my family disowned me for being such a 'disappointment.'

How could I do any less for you?

And, before you ask, all our plotting has already paid off. You, me, and She-who-shall-remain-nameless are all booked on a six-month world cruise - false passports so good you could rob Gringotts and be thrown into Azkaban under your new name without anyone knowing the difference! (Not sure whether I should be bragging about that, though. ;) )

Anyhow, meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at six o'clock on Thursday afternoon. Bring that money you've been saving, too. I've set you up with a Swiss bank account. (And you mocked my underworld connections. A pox on you, Percival! Knee-heh.)

Until then,
Penny "Wildcat" Clearwater,
Mobster Extraordinaire