The Fantasies of Children
Prompt: [Percy x Hermione]
for legioninabox (via Tumblr)
People that dismiss the fantasies of children often remain shortsighted to the potential futures they hint at. When Charlie Weasley was five, he got told off by his mum for terrorising the local cat. They hadn't been allowed pets when they were growing up for what the locals would have referred to as obvious reasons.
Charlie had been caught making a beeline to follow said cat for most of the afternoon. His exploits had taken him up a tree and into the gardens of several of their neighbours. During the distraction, he had managed to ruin a new pair of trousers and make a life long enemy of Mrs Tabitha Crake, the cat's owner and local battleaxe.
As the old woman had rambled on and on about her beloved pet being 'bullied', Molly had apologised and apologised and twisted her apron into her careworn hands. When Mrs Crake had finally finished, Molly had hastily shut the door and sagged into the back of it. She couldn't fathom what had happened. Charlie had always been so kind to animals.
No one had asked Charlie what he had been doing. By that time, he had been a child of many, and his parents were too busy trying to keep them all alive and fed to worry about something after it had past. If anyone had asked him, they would have found out that Charlie had been playing 'doctor'. He had watched the cat as it had limped through their garden and had then spent the whole day trailing after it, trying to get a better look at its paw.
No one had known about the true meaning of that incident, even Charlie himself had forgotten, and yet when he had grown up and decided that he was going to leave the UK and work on a dragon reserve, no one was surprised. That was just Charlie. Everyone had known how he would be for a very long time. He had never wanted to simply study wild things, he had wanted to be one, and so that was what he became.
-/-/-/-
When James Potter was seven, he had rounded up all of the children that came over for his mandatory 'pureblood playdates' and decided that they would play Aurors. When his father had found out that he had 'interrogated' the Lestrange brothers and then looked them in the pantry, Fleamont had been furious. James had received his first serious telling off that evening and had been summoned to his father's study to be reminded that his behaviour was not how Potter's treated their guests.
James had left the library in a quiet huff, fitting of his young years, seething that no one had asked him about his game. He'd been so desperate to tell his father how he had the current record for catching the bad guys.
No one had been surprised when James became an Auror, even considering he was so young when he did so. His mother fretted and tried to cover it by telling him she was proud, but he knew, he could see it in her eyes. But even though she was frightened, she was prepared, she had known the day was coming. That was just James. He believed in fairness, right and wrong, he was as brave as they came. He wanted to do his duty. So they gave him a badge that he wore with pride as he raced off into the world to do what was needed.
-/-/-/-
As a child, Percy Weasley didn't get shouted at. He was polite, mild-mannered, used his indoor voice when he was supposed to, put his clothes away and practised his reading. Unlike the other children that he met, he didn't know how to play dragons or Auror's or anything else that would ruin his clothing or rumple his hair.
When he was twelve, and he understood the world around him a bit better, Percy wondered if his calm outlook meant he had no imagination. He had dreams, but they were different than the ones his brothers shared. He wanted to make a difference just as much as the rest but his aspirations were more subtle.
When he was fifteen, Percy asked his father if he could get him a hierarchy chart from work. When Arthur had shrugged and said that his department 'didn't really go in for all that', Percy had replied that he wanted one for the entire ministry.
His father had eventually delivered, like he always did if it was in his power, and Percy had studied the intricately drawn-out matrix structure of the ministry of magic for a whole week straight.
The second week he started making a list of what he would improve if he were ever given a chance.
The summer of Bill and Fleur's wedding, the Burrow was fuller than ever, and despite the crossed words that had been growing and stagnating between himself and his father, Percy weathered the rebuke and came to the family home to join in with the festivities.
Typically, the noise was pouring out from the kitchen when he arrived and Percy braced himself as well as he could before drawing himself up and opening the door. He walked into madness. He had no idea what the original gathering plan had been, but now little pockets of people were all over the place, eating, drinking and in some cases singing to their heart's content.
A little way from all of the ongoing chaos was Hermione. While the others were working their way through the considerable stock of alcohol, she was bent over a piece of parchment thoughtfully. As Percy moved closer, he thought it might have been a list, but she saw him and seemed to panic a moment before she folded it all up and put it away.
Percy would not have characterised himself as a social person; however, drawn to her calming presence in the face of the alternative, he sat down next to her. He found he was content to observe the happy chatter and not really be part of it, Hermione must have too as barely a word was spoken between them as the night got more and more raucous.
As the drinks flowed, the discussions around them grew more whimsical. People exchanged memories of the past that brought forth much laughter. 'Do you remember when I broke my arm that time?' 'What was that game we used to play?' That sort of thing.
"What did you do?" he asked Hermione suddenly and she jumped, no doubt surprised as he had barely uttered a word since entering the room.
"I'm sorry?" she replied, clearly not having tracked the conversation going on around them.
"As a kid, what games did you play?" he pressed, already feeling stupid for saying anything. It was just that it had occurred to him as they were sitting together that if anyone could have understood him as a child, it would have been the witch sat next to him.
Hermione flushed, and Percy tilted his head to the side to regard her carefully.
"I… I used to play office. I went to my parent's dental practice and reorganised their filing system," she finished in a whisper.
Hermione twisted her fingers together, and Percy realised that she was nervous, as if she had just admitted a terrible secret. It made him lean forward, turning his back on what was going on in the room.
"When I was ten, I created a form for people to fill in when they wanted to request anything for the shopping list."
She laughed, and for the first time in a year, Percy relaxed. "What do you want to do when you grow up, Hermione?"
"I want to make a difference," she responded immediately.
It was a year before he was brave enough to tell her just how much of a difference she made. Battleworn and covered in soot Percy wrenched her from the chared grounds of the Great Hall and pressed his lips against her limp hair.
"You're safe, Hermione, you're safe," he soothed.
When the hall began to empty, and the story of what she had done to her parents came tumbling out of her lips, he offered his flat as a place for her to rest.
She agreed.
She never left.