This is the reason why you should not write fanfiction at 4 am. Sorry Percy, we love you! This started off as a parody, but then it turned a bit sad for Percy.

The Burping Percy Incident:

It was in the middle of the night when two people snuck into the deserted apartment in London. The resident was currently sleeping, dreaming of ways to reach his ultimate goal: Becoming Minster of Magic.

"Are you sure this is going to work, Fred?" One of the persons asked. "I mean, have you tested it properly?"

"Of course I am. Slipped some into Bill's tea before his date with Fleur. I swear I could hear it when he got back home. Got yelled at by mum for being so...immature." There was a short pause. "Are you actually worried, George?"

"Nah, not really. The prat deserves it for leaving us." George stifled a snort of laughter. "Was that why mum had Bill cleaning out the garden."

"Yep," Fred said and pulled out a small vial. "This is enough to keep Perce going for most of the day. I think he'll learn not to mess with the Weasleys anymore."

This was his day. The day he could possibly get the promotion he so desperately craved. If only he did not screw up, but how could he? He was Percy Weasley, the man who was known for his perfectionism and properness. He was the one who was least likely to screw anything up in the entire Ministry.

Only he did not count on the ingenuity of the Weasley twins.

He went into the meeting room, feeling more than self confident. At the table sat Fudge, Umbridge plus the heads of various departments. He smiled and nodded to several of them. He was ready to go. Ready to take a seat in a comfortable chair in one of the most prominent offices in the entire ministry. Soon, he would be sitting in one of those chairs while some other poor sod was standing up there, doing this.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Before I begin I would like to say I am pleased to see how many of you turned up for this evaluation. I hope you will enjoy this, as I can assure you the brightest people in this ministry, you excluded of course, have been working on this." He turned around and pulled out a blackboard. "Last year we-" a loud burp suddenly escaped his mouth. He covered his mouth and the famous Weasley blush came back. That did not just happen! It didn't happen!

"As I was saying, last year the average-" another burp. Okay something was wrong here. He did not dare turn around and face his superiors. He tried once again. "The average witch and wizard in the UK think we are doing a good job considering we have to-"Burp! "-we have to fight against some pretty hardheaded-" Double burp! "-hardheaded opponents." Burp! Burp! BURP! "Dumbledore's popularity-" Burp. "Dumbledore's..."

"Em, Mr. Weasley, are you all right?" Still completely red in the head, he ignored the question and tried to continue. "Dumbledore's popularity has dropped considerably." Another three burps followed. What was wrong with him.

"Weasley," Fudge said, "What on Earth are you doing?"

"T-trying to do my presentation Minister." Burp! "Fudge."

"But what's with all the...burping?"

"Burping?" Percy said. "What burping?"

"You have been burping for the last ten minutes, Weasley. Are you mocking us?" the head of the Auror Office, Auror Newman said.

"N-no sir. I-I have no idea what you are talking-" burp. "about."

"Weasley, maybe you should go home," Fudge said. "I am sure Mr. Bellingham can take over."

Percy gritted his teeth. Owen Bellingham was his rival, his archenemy at the office. He would not let him take this opportunity away from him. "No, sir, I can do this."

"Well, you obviously can't," Fudge practically yelled at him. "Pack your things and go home! That is an order."

Percy quickly gathered his things, his cheeks burning with humiliation. He practically ran out of the Ministry and apparated home. He threw himself down on the couch. His one big chance of getting a promotion, ruined. Torn to pieces. And he knew exactly who to blame for it: Fred and George. They were the only persons who were sneaky enough to get around his enchantments. They must have slipped him something.

He quickly got to his feet and punched the wall in frustration. He would never recover from this. His career was ruined. Soon, Bellingham would take what should have been his, what he had been working so hard for.

Maybe he should just go to bed and forget all of this. After all, it could only get better, couldn't it?

The end