1
Awakening
It was during his last year at Hogwarts when it happened, the memories. They had been coming for a while now: visions of friends and places that seemed familiar, but he was sure he'd never seen before. Sudden feelings of anxiety, anger, or more commonly, sorrow, that made no sense in the situation. Or sometimes simply a feeling of deja vu when eating ice cream or watching the sunset. That year, however, they reached their peak. He would get splitting headaches during all hours of the day and his sleep was plagued by relentless dreams of a blond-haired boy and a black haired girl. He managed to pass it off as stress from exams and finding a job, but the reality was, something was very wrong with Percy Weasley, and he didn't know what.
*Flashbacks*
_ Age 5 _
Mrs. Weasley bustled about the busy streets as she navigated through the throngs of people, sweating under the blistering sun. Shifting her son on her hip, she steered her way over to the ice cream stand nearby, thinking a cold treat would be nice for the both of them.
"Come on then, Percy, what do you say to a little ice cream? We did get all the shopping done early, and it's so very hot outside today."
"Ice cream, ice cream!" Was the responding cheer from the little toddler. As they made their way to the front of the line, Molly debated with her son on the best flavor to get for them to share. However, this soon proved difficult as Percy could be a very stubborn child when he wanted to, and he decided that right then would be the perfect time to be completely unreasonable.
"How about chocolate, you like chocolate don't you?" She bartered.
"Blue!" Came the stubborn response, as it had for the past ten minutes of suggestions.
"Blue? Sweetie, I'm not sure if they have any blue ice cream, and anyway, that's just a color, not a flavor. How about butterscotch instead?"
"Blue!" Was the adamant reply. Wanting to pull her hair out in frustration, Molly Weasley gave in to her son's demands.
"Alright, when we get to the front you can ask if they have and blue ice cream, but if they don't you'll have to settle for chocolate okay?"
"Yay! Blue ice cream!" Percy giggled from where he rested against his mother's hip. He didn't know why he had wanted the ice cream so much, only that he had blurry memories of eating blue ice cream and feeling happy, although even in his toddler mind he was quite certain he had never had that specific colored flavor before.
"Hello ma'am, what can I get for you?" Asked the young man behind the counter as they reached the front of the line.
"My son was wondering if you had any-"
"Blue!"
"Yes, blue ice cream?"
"Um, blue you said. We do have one, it's a new flavor, but I'm not sure if you'll like it. It's sea salt, not a common flavor for ice cream. Are you sure you want it?" The confused server responded.
"Yes, please. Anything to get him to stop screaming 'blue, blue, blue'. It's driving me crazy." A slightly frazzled Molly Weasley begged. It was unusual the way her son was acting, he wasn't normally so demanding about things like this and would never really mind what he was given, so long as he got it in the end. Today, however, he had been acting like a little demon since the moment he saw the ice cream shop, and he hadn't let up since.
Once they got their ice cream, Molly collapsed heavily into the first table they found. Wasting no time, Percy snatched the spoon a shoveled a huge bite into his mouth. The second the strangely familiar flavor hit his tongue, he was overcome with an immense feeling of loss and despair. His face had started to feel wet, but when he went to wipe it away, his mother noticed the movement.
"Honey, what's wrong? Did you get hurt? Is it a brain freeze?" As his mother continued to fret over him, Percy thought about the strange feelings that overcame him, and the images of a blonde and a blackette that went along with it.
_ Age 8 _
A young Percy Weasley sat in front of the fireplace feeling like he was forgetting something important as he became entranced by the dancing flames. Dancing flames, that means something to me, something important. However, he soon shook himself off as his mother called him for dinner, as what possible reason would he have for the visions of flame that burned through his mind when he slept, and how could he be forgetting something important when he had already finished all his chores the day?
_ Age 11 _
As the Sorting Hat was placed on his head, Percy Weasley's nerves were calmed by the thought that, hey I've been through much worse than this, which instantly confused him as, no he hadn't. This was the most important decision that was going to be made for the next seven years of his life, what could possibly have been more nerve-wracking than this? His thoughts were soon interrupted, however, by the sound of a voice in his head.
"Ahh what do we have here," the hat inquired. "Another Weasley? I've sorted quite a few of you in my time. So let's see shall we, where would you fit best?"
"G-Gryffindor obviously." Responded Percy having gotten over his shock at a hat who could read minds and his confusion over his strange thought earlier. "It's where all my family's been and it's where I should go too. The house of the brave, the house of the light; the good guys."
"Hmm, it is not so black and white as that I'm afraid, there is good and bad, light and dark in everything, and in everyone. This is something you, I think, should know well." The disapproval in the Hat's voice made Percy frown, but what really caught his attention was the "you should know well" part. Me, how should I know well? What is it talking about?
"What are you talking about? And why aren't you sorting me? Put me in Gryffindor so I can go."
"Quite right, I can't be slacking on my job now can I? Let's see here, you're loyal, but not especially so. Hmm, there's lots of knowledge, and a desire for more, but the desire stems from a want for power and control which is a more Slytherin trait than Ravenclaw. I think that may be the best place for you, especially considering your past."
"What are you talking about? I'm no snake! Put me in Gryffindor where I belong and stop talking about random things like my past. What past?" Percy was outraged, Slytherins were evil, and it just wasn't possible he was in any way, shape, or form like them.
"Oh, I see, you haven't awoken yet. Very well, Gryffindor it is. Just know when the time comes, that you are not alone. You are not the first of your kind I've sorted, and I doubt you will be the last. "
"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? Awoken? I'm not asleep, and what are you talking about 'my kind' and 'when the time comes'? STOP TALKING IN RIDDLES!" He was now physically restraining himself from ripping the hat off his head and setting it on fire, which he had a strange urge to do to random objects recently.
"Never you mind now, just remember this for later." And with that the Sorting Hat shouted out his house for the entire hall to hear, and Percy had no choice but to take the hat off, slam it down on the stool, and stalk over the Gryffindor table, muttering under his breath about "stupid, crazy old hat talking in stupid riddles that make no sense", and "probably gone senile" all the while.
_ Age 16 _
As he was watching the sorting, keeping an eye out for any new Gryffindors he should watch out for as a Prefect, he noticed a flash of blonde hair in the crowd of waiting first-years who had yet to be sorted. Instantly his thoughts were drawn to the blonde boy who kept appearing in his thoughts more and more often recently, always followed by feelings of loss, longing, and sorrow. He had a feeling that if these "memories" were real, the boy would have been someone special to him, someone that meant the world to him, but whom he had lost. The sound of applause from around him brought him back to reality as he quickly blinked away the moisture that had somehow accumulated in his eyes and clapped with the rest of his table as another first-year was sorted into Gryffindor.
*End of Flashbacks*
As he grew older, Percy soon forgot about his strange talk with the Sorting Hat and his weird obsession with fire, however, he could never get the image of the blonde haired boy out of his head, even as the black haired girl's memory soon became dim. As he started working at the Ministry, during the Battle of Hogwarts, and even when he eventually met someone and settled down, he would get random flashes of a smiling face, beaming brighter than the sun, just for him, and he would be overcome with a strange mixture of wistful longing and a sorrowful remembrance of something he couldn't quite grasp. Until the day he died, he would never understand why the number eight meant so much to him, or why the number thirteen always made him cry.
So I did intend for this to be it, but the idea kept niggling around in my brain and I couldn't quite get rid of it, so I think I'm going to continue. . . however, the updates will be very slow. I am notorious for slow updates, but I promise, I'm not abandoning this story. (Kudos to everyone who already favorited/bookmarked this story, you knew me better than I know myself apparently!)