i don't know how long this fanfiction is going to be but i can only imagine the answer would be "very, very long". this is probably not going to be a fanfic. this is going to need its own volumes. by the way, i'm not planning on keeping him eleven forever, but apparently, we're at chapter fourteen and he's just going to be sorted and God knows how long until we get to the "illness that bands him dangerous by Ministry standards" because technically, Percy's first seizure could be a 'one off'. though all the warnings still stand. i'm not even sure who the main characters are of this anymore since i keep on throwing random things. i'm sure to adjust the character information on the margin if i get a better idea about where i'm going with this.

i've an inkling but i'm not sure whether or not to go with it... fingers crossed.

to any inquiries:

Sakura Lisel: it's implied epilepsy. it's just not "confirmed" because Percy only had one (and it was related to his fever), and i've made this into a "three strikes and you're out" since two could be called coincidental but three subsequently happening to one person is a bit of a stretch and is branded as epilepsy by then. not sure if i've mentioned this, but i'm sure that i'll keep hammering it in at some point.

Chapter Fourteen

Oliver Wood smiled warmly as he was dropped off the train by one of his orphanage workers, Loretta.

A week ago, he found himself feeling sad and angry over the fact that the Arthur Weasley cancelled their meeting. He hated it when that happened! When people rejected him before they met him! He wanted to be adopted so badly that it made him physically sick at times. He hated waiting for Hogwarts Express and seeing all these families drop off their children.

He looked up at Loretta, wishing that she would give him a hug…

She didn't even look at him!

He looked down at his robes. He wanted to feel proud because he paid for these robes with his own money. He had been selling copies of The Quibbler in the street for the past two years. It was hard. Once, he had a man spit at home once, and tell him to go home to his parents!

When it was time to board, he was one of the last ones to board the train. There were so many people on the train, and he could barely find a compartment for himself. Then he saw this little freckled redhead that was sitting by himself and looking outside the window. He didn't think that the redhead would want Oliver to join him, so little Oliver darted his eye back and forth, trying to find somewhere else to sit. He had decided to trail backwards and hopefully find another spot…

He heard boisterous laughter from a bunch of second year Slytherins.

Oliver looked back at them and felt something solidify in his stomach. He had heard tales from the workers at the orphanage about how bad the Slytherin house was. They said that most of the Death Eaters came from that house! Oliver grew apprehensive at the thought. He didn't have any parents anymore, because those Death Eaters took them during the war. He didn't know if they were alive, but after two years of waiting, he thought that they had to be dead. Oliver had no connections to the rest of his family, and didn't know their names very well at the age of nine. He remembered one of the men from the Ministry (where that nasty Arthur Weasley that wouldn't give Oliver a chance worked at). His file only had 'Oliver'. He remembered begging and screaming for them to change it. His name was Oliver Wood. His name will always be Oliver Wood.

"Look!" a black-haired Slytherin called out zealously. "It's itty bitty little ickle ginger ale. He's not so pretty in real life as he is in the pictures that they put up in Diagon Alley! He's the one that ran away because they stole his bleeding sippy cup."

The redhead looked away from the boys, as if he was looking for someone to help him.

"Are you going to run off the train and plot your next big escape?" a tanned Slytherin just beside the black-haired one called out just as smoothly. "If you want, we can somehow jimmy those doors open with a few charms, and help you leave. Do you want to leave? Try again? Maybe you'll get away this time!"

"Go away," the redhead said in a stern voice. "Or I will call a prefect over to control you."

"Oh! A prefect! We're so scared!" they called out in unison, smirking towards him.

Another sound broke Oliver out of his concentration.

"You should be," the voice belonged to a built ginger and he didn't look very happy about it. The second year Slytherins disappeared immediately when he spoke.

The ginger prefect looked over at the little redhead and nodded his head before looking back at Oliver. "Sit down. It's unsafe to wander about the train when it is moving."

Oliver immediately went to sit beside the redhead. As time passed, Oliver kept on staring at the redhead and he knew he shouldn't. He revised what the Slytherin boys were saying in his head. Did the redhead really try to run away? The thought angered Oliver, as he would give anything for a home. He wanted to be taken care of so badly.

"Will you please stop looking at me?" the redhead immediately stated, looking back at Oliver with a dark expression on his face. "It's unnerving."

Oliver could tell when someone didn't like him off the bat. He didn't like the redhead and for some odd and probably idiotic reason, the redhead didn't like him. The ginger prefect returned shortly after and gave the little one a little bit of money (probably for food).

The young redhead slowly nodded his head, and had taken the money before very carefully placing it into the massive bag that he was carrying. "Thank you, Charlie."

The ginger prefect – Charlie? Where had Oliver heard this name before? – had nodded his head smoothly before offering a rather energetic grin. "If you need anything, Percy, then you know where the prefect compartment is," he said before he disappeared down the train to his compartment.

Oliver glanced back at the redhead – Percy – and found himself lost in a daze again.

"Stop staring at me," Percy announced smoothly after a few minutes. He didn't look like someone that would run away from home. He looked like someone that was scared of everything and anything. "It's rude, obnoxious and as I mentioned before, unnerving."

Percy used a lot of big words that Oliver didn't understand. It was very annoying. Oliver didn't stop staring. He couldn't help it. Where else was he supposed to look? Percy was hogging the window, and he didn't want to look down at his feet. "Did you really run away from your home?"

Percy's cheeks coloured in darkly, but then he nodded his head.

"You're really overdramatic and it's sort of babyish to run away from your home," was all that Oliver could say about it. It really was.

Percy just shifted uncomfortably over to the window. "Please stop bothering me, Oliver."

The young child was rather surprised. He hadn't told his name to anyone else on that train yet. Half the people in the orphanage didn't even know his name, so how could Percy know? It made little Oliver feel very uneasy.

"How did you know my name?" the brown-haired boy called out.

Percy just looked down at his lap, without saying another word. Oliver wouldn't lie – this entire situation was frightening… to have someone know his name without really knowing him was a terrifying thought.

All Oliver knew was in fifteen minutes; he had paid another student to sit with Percy instead.

BY the time that they'd reached Hogwarts, all of Oliver's worries were erased. He spent the train ride ignoring the jibes that the Slytherins continued to make over towards the redhead and talking to the girl that was next to him. She was interested in Quidditch too, so they got into a little fight over teams. It was very fun and Oliver couldn't wait to go to the castle and make for from himself.

When they were in the Great Hall, Oliver was very nervous.

He sat and watched the first years being sorted. He couldn't wait until he was sorted into his house. He hoped that he'd be sorted into Gryffindor. He'd like to think he was brave… he didn't cry many times when they took his parents away from him. He just woke up that morning and faced the uncertainty anyway. He also kept on selling copes of The Quibbler in Knockturn Alley sometimes when he was very desperate, even though he had heard all the rumours there about them sexually and physically abusing small boys there; that it wasn't safe.

The girl that he had been talking to had been sorted into Hufflepuff. She seemed happy.

Oliver got a glance of Charlie sitting by the Gryffindor table, and that was when he had made the conclusion: Charlie Weasley! He recognised him now that he had paid more attention to the ginger. He was a Seeker for the Gryffindor team. That was how Oliver knew him as he was absolutely obsessed with Quidditch and had memorised names and photos of every team imaginable. Oliver remembered lying in bed after being told that Arthur Weasley was going to contact him and take him home. He remembered how happy he felt like; thinking of someone bigger than him teaching him all sorts of cool, quirky things about Quidditch!

Oliver found himself fuming again. This was what he could've had and he didn't.

Wait… if it was Charlie Weasley, Oliver had started to conclude, then it was Percy Weasley.

Oliver felt himself growing queasier by the moment. Just the thought of the family that he had been hoping to hear from in weeks being the same family that Percy tried to run away from made him feel angrier by the second. He wished that Percy would've gotten hurt just so that he could realise how important having a family was, especially since many children lost their parents and siblings during the war! This was a bloody joke! Oliver wanted to do nothing more than walk up to the redhead and start a brawl over this because it infuriated him that badly.

Oliver felt nothing more than pure and utter hatred simmer in his bones towards the young redhead.

The Sorting seemed to take forever. All Oliver hoped for was to go to his bed and kick things. He didn't even care what house he was sorted in anymore! He might as well be in Slytherin for all anyone cared! He was also very hungry, and he wanted to get to his table and eat himself until he was sick. He sighed to himself. At least they were getting close to the W's now! This also meant that they would be calling Percy soon if his suspicions were right.

Oliver kept his gaze on Percy at all times, noticing how frightened he was. He should be. No Gryffindor would be enough of a coward to leave his home like he did. He should be stuck into an awful house, but Oliver knew that he wouldn't get what he deserved because he was a Weasley.

All Weasley's got into Gryffindor – it's been that way ever since the start, he remembered someone in the orphanage saying as they tucked Oliver into bed, because they were good people.

"Weasley, Percival!"

Oliver didn't want to watch. It was obvious that he was going to end up getting into the same house as the rest of his ancestors, but Oliver still kept his eyes on Percy. Usually, the Sorting Hat took no time at all to call out where they were supposed to be at but there was a delay here that made Oliver raise his eyebrow and smile maniacally to himself. The Sorting Hat probably knew how bad Percy was if it was taking so long!

Yes! Oliver thought to himself. He should've thought of this before he ran away from the home that I want!

Oliver kept his eyes on Percy's very pale face for some time, and then glanced towards Charlie, whom seemed to be furrowing his eyebrows.

"SLYTHERIN!"

It was loud and clear, and it made Oliver's heartbeat faster. Yes! Yes, yes, YES!

Percy seemed to be surprised and didn't say anything at all as he staggered off the stool and walked towards the Slytherin table. Oliver glanced over at Charlie, whom looked like he just wet himself (which was a little funny he had to admit). The whole hall was silent for a minute or so before they called the next name. It even took a while for Oliver to realise that they called out his name! There weren't any Gryffindors being sorted yet. Would he be the first? The only one? Would he be sorted in another house completely and there would be no Gryffindors this year at all?

Oliver couldn't stop smiling when the Sorting Hat proclaimed him as, "GRYFFINDOR!"

He was proud of himself because he deserved it after trying very hard to get to where he was right now. Oliver got off the stool and practically ran happily to the Gryffindor table, smiling to himself. He was the only Gryffindor in the year, so everyone was paying a lot of attention to him in the Gryffindor table which made him feel special. He had heard from some people in the orphanage that the reason he didn't get adopted as easily as other children was because he was special.

Oliver sighed to himself and ate a lot of good food. In the orphanage, they never let him eat what he wanted. It was always what was available and special treats were only saved for birthdays or special holidays. Here in Hogwarts, he was able to eat as much food as he wanted. It would be here tomorrow, and he didn't have to stuff himself to sickness with Christmas biscuits on the twenty-fifth because there weren't going to be any tomorrow. It made him feel very happy.

As he ate, his eyes flickered back to the little redhead that was sitting by the Slytherin table. He looked sad.

Oliver pushed away the bad feelings, and grabbed another bun. It wasn't Oliver's fault that he was a crybaby that ended up in Slytherin! It was his fault. Percy was meant to end up in Slytherin, because if he wasn't – he wouldn't have ended up in Slytherin, right?

That night, Oliver went to his dorm. He was the only one there and it made him feel sad. He tried to go to sleep, but he woke up very early in the morning and cried.

He missed his real family, and he wanted to go home.

THAT evening, Percy was staring down at the letter that Charlie had given him when they'd gotten on the Hogwarts Express. It was something that his mum and dad had written before they'd left the Burrow and Percy had been frightened to open it at first. When he had, he felt ill and wished he'd just thrown it out of the window. His parents were telling him that they were proud of him and that McGonagall was not that scary. If he needed any help or felt awful, he should go to the head of his house.

Percy felt like screaming. McGonagall wasn't the head of his house!

He felt tears rush to his eyes whenever he thought about the sorting. He fought with that hat about it, but the hat was so sure. He wished that he could've torn off that hat and ran off before it said that he was a Slytherin. Slytherin! He was the first Weasley in his bloodline to be sorted in anything that wasn't Gryffindor!

He kicked his bed, feeling close to screaming. He told his dad that this might happen, but his father was so certain that he would get into Gryffindor.

There was something wrong with him. It wasn't his family. It was him. Percy. There was something wrong with him, and that was why he got sorted in the worst house possible! He wasn't brave, courageous, humble and good. He was cunning, conniving and so blind with ambition he couldn't tell his head from his arse! Percy read it again, and felt sicker. He felt close to throwing up, and he didn't understand how considering that he hadn't eaten a thing since his two crumpets over at breakfast this morning. Percy grabbed the letter and chucked it into the fire in the Slytherin commons. He was going to end up in big trouble for being sorted into Slytherin! He just knew it. They were all going to hate him!

They were going to throw him outside of his own house, shouting things like: this was what you wanted, wasn't it, Percival? Well... get out of our bloody house, and Percy would be all alone and afraid. He had told them that he was sorry for leaving! And now, it didn't matter. He couldn't fix this, and it was all that stupid hat's fault! They should throw that stupid hat into that fire too! It was old, wrinkly and smelly anyway. It was wrong. It had to be. This wasn't his fate. He wasn't supposed to be bad.

Percy curled up in the corner of the room. The rest of the boys in his year were playing wizarding chess and getting to know each other. He saw a few of them introduce themselves as he went into his dorm. He wanted to join them, but he was scared. He was scared of being with children of Death Eaters, but he was also scared of being alone.

He didn't want to be here. He wanted to go home. He was sorry for ever leaving. He didn't mean to!

This is all your fault, he concluded. You cannot break another rule again. You see what happens when you break rules?

"STOP it!" eleven-year-old Percy called out in frustration, as he watched a few Slytherin first years using their wands to scribble obscenity onto the walls, as if they wouldn't be caught by Snape sooner or later. "That's against the rules! You shouldn't be doing that! Stop it, or you'll get into massive amounts of trouble!"

The Slytherin girls giggled, but then slowly ran off when they saw that Snape was walking towards them, grumbling to himself about something. Percy didn't know why they bothered running off. Snape had an astounding memory!

"You can go now, Mr Weasley," Snape said in drab tone of voice, rolling his eyes. "You do realise that we do have prefects, head girls and head boys for this sort of a thing, don't you?"

Percy slowly nodded his head, and looked down at his feet. "It just irks me to see people breaking rules that were set for their benefit!" he exclaimed, not meaning to sound so fervent about it, but this was the fifth time that day that he saw some form of a Slytherin breaking rules – and it was only four o'clock!

Snape didn't seem to have this sort of enthusiasm – at least; not visibly. "Yes, yes, Mr Weasley, I'm sure you're right… go to your dorm and stop disrupting the normal balance of things."

"If the prefects did do their jobs, then I wouldn't have to have to do it for them," Percy announced all of a sudden, flushing deeply.

He went back to his dorm room. He did have an essay for Charms that he should be focusing on.

On a crisp Tuesday afternoon, one of the Gryffindor boys stole his watch and had smashed it. It made Percy very angry as it was a very important watch. It was charmed for him to remember when he was supposed to hand over specific essays towards his professors.

It's just a watch; the Gryffindor Quidditch player had called out. It's not even a good one! Stop being such a girl!

Are you sure he isn't one? Another one chimed in, and they laughed at him for being the only Weasley in the lineage that didn't get into Slytherin.

It didn't get any less awkward since the sorting – in fact, it seemed to get worse. It had gotten to the point of Charlie ignoring him when he needed help with his assignments because he didn't want to be seen with the brother that was sorted in the house his entire family loathed so badly. Percy couldn't bring himself to answer any of his mum's letters. He read them and threw them into the fire. He tried to tell himself that his quills were better used for other things, but that obviously wasn't the reason for his lack of communication.

The Hogwarts castle was very big. Even when he was looking for someone, he couldn't find them.

He'd been looking for Penelope for weeks now. Percy recalled her being sorted into Ravenclaw and them sharing smiles towards each other. Perhaps, she was avoiding him because of where he was sorted at as well. Everyone but the Slytherins seemed to treat him like absolute dirt. The fact that the Gryffindors hated Percy so much made most Slytherins take a liking to the bespectacled ginger.

He remembered the day one of the Hufflepuffs said: I bet he didn't run away. I bet that they kicked him out of the house for being a pain in the arse. This was straight after Percy reported said Hufflepuff for loitering in the Quidditch pitch well past the time frames that the school allowed. He had done this out of the goodness of his heart and yet, they continued to call him names and hope that he'd rot in Azkaban.

That Saturday morning, at seven am, he had emerged from the showers, his hair dripping wet, his curls limp and his face seemingly paler than usual in lieu of the morning light. He had been wearing a very dark school robe over his Slytherin uniform. He was rubbing sleep from his eyes at the Slytherin table, as he tried to look for some form of bread for breakfast.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught the sight of Charlie talking in an angry and annoyed tone of voice to the Gryffindors. He looked like he was getting more and more frustrated by the second. When Charlie caught Percy looking at him, he flushed and looked away. That was when Percy's blood run cold as he realised Charlie was talking about him.

THAT evening after a long day at Gringott's, Bill returned home to find Errol standing by window. The way Errol was strutting round the window made Bill feel like the owl downed a barrel of firewhiskey before he arrived to Bill's room. Right about now, Bill was packing the things that he needed to take with him to Egypt. When he'd told Molly that he was leaving the country, chaos ensured. Mashed potato was thrown, and cries of "don't you love me at all? Then why are you leaving me?" ensured.

Arthur thought Bill should go. Of course, he'd never voice this to his wife, not when she was at this state.

That was all that Bill needed to go up to his room and start packing. He was going to leave in an hour, and he surely didn't need any more Hogwarts-related messes to attempt to clean up before he went. Still, Bill gingerly took the letter from Errol, whom offered him a scowl due to Bill's lack of owl treats.

Bill broke the Hogwarts Gryffindor seal, knowing that he was going to regret this dearly.

Dear Bill,

I am about to lose my mind. Last night, I ate a quill for breakfast and I hadn't even noticed until my mates told me. I haven't told mum or dad yet, but Percy's not in Gryffindor. He's in Slytherin. I don't know how to approach him, especially after all that happened in the summer. What the Merlin's blazes am I supposed to do?

Regards, Charlie

Bill stared back at the rest of his things, which were left unpacked. He loathed being the oldest. Everyone always assumed that he was Dumbledore. Had all the right answers.

Dear Charlie,

Deal with it.

Sincerely, Bill