i've recently re-written this. it was way more serious than i wanted, and there was a part in this chapter i written in the beginning that made me cringe so i had to eliminate it before it breeds and more ridiculousness would follow it. unfortunately, not the good kind of ridiculous where you're sat there, wondering "what on Earth is happening here" but keep on reading. no, this is the kind of ridiculous where you're sat there, rolling your eyes, thinking to yourself "of course, this author decided to use x plotline."

replies to any inquiries:

WolfSpirit1992: Charlie is going to get used to Percy after some point. it's just going to take a few chapters and a bit of him being a little awful. but he'll get used to it. i do have to note though that this chapter has some Slytherin interaction on a more friendly/civil basis, and it'll definitely be more accentuated in later chapters. funny thing is that i never thought of shaping the characters the way i did when i wrote them. they just shaped themselves, but it's definitely interesting... not sure where the characters are taking me with this to be honest.

Chapter Fifteen

Penelope Clearwater would be lying if she said she hadn't been intentionally avoiding seeing Percy Weasley.

She had seen him limp very badly, and she was always afraid that somehow, he would fall apart when she looked at him too hard. Her inquiring nature had led her to talking with Charlie on more than a few occasions about Percy's injury. When she heard the words doxy infection and febrile convulsion, she realised that she needed to investigate this. Thus, whenever she had a bit of time, she tended to spend it in the library. This was difficult as it seemed to her that when Percy had a bit of time, he also liked to spend it in the library.

She had gone to her head of house, Filius Flitwick, for answers about the things that she had seen.

Penelope started from the beginning – being abducted, her encounter with Alec Lestrange, Percy rescuing her and fleeting to safety, her stumble upon the manticore and her hearing about Percy's injury. The man seemed to be most interested in hearing about the manticore encounter and Percy comparing him with his cousin, the sphinx. He even chuckled at the riddle that the manticore made up. Penelope was more interested in knowing how badly the wound infection would harm Percy. Flitwick seemed to give her some of the answers she needed, or directed to where she could go to find the answers that she had needed. Penelope mentioned the possibility of Percy being epileptic, but wizarding epilepsy was so rare and uncommon that Flitwick hadn't seen a case of it in his life.

She read and read. She wanted to talk to him more than anything, but she couldn't stand looking at him! How could people even treat him like there was nothing wrong with him? He seemed to be staggering so badly half the time that she felt like dropping whatever she was holding and directing him to Pomfrey (even though Percy would absolutely loathe and protest it). A few hours ago, Penelope had caught sight of him walking down the corridor, limping so badly that he had to stop every few minutes to gather himself. He seemed to be in great pain. It shouldn't be like this.

He should be healed and content with his life. He was a hero, and nobody knew it!

That same day, Penelope found a very useful book that Flitwick had insisted she read. She had sat in the library along with the dictionary. She turned to the chapter in the book that she had been looking for, and felt her heart race a thousand times quicker.

An account of known and recorded cases of limb amputations due to doxy infections: 1955-1985.

IF SEVERUS Snape was told to pick what he hated most about the Slytherin household, it would be the rumpus they enjoyed crafting after midnight. At around one in the morning, he had been disturbed by Terence Higgs, whom had been staggering on about how Marcus had accidentally shoved in half his wand down his throat. A common spell had rid them of their 'problem' and Snape retired to his chambers, cursing the universe for offering him a job that was analogous to a prolonged Cruciatus curse.

He immediately slid back into his bed, having have not slept properly the previous nights. He pulled the sheets up against his frame. Snape had never bothered to change into anything other than the black robes that he often wore when he was in his classes because of nightly disturbances such as these. He knew that hoping that he would go to sleep without anymore interruption was like assuming that if he was in the Dark Lord's dungeons, he would not be tortured within every inch of his life.

It was around two o'clock when he had been disturbed in his chambers once more.

Snape immediately sat up from his bed, grumbling in joylessness as he wore his best impenetrable scowl. He opened the door to find little Percy Weasley leaning against the door frame.

Snape groaned, frustrated. For some reason, the young ginger-haired boy was not intimidated by Snape and seemed to run to him every time there was a problem. Snape merely assumed that the little child probably caught a bunch of Slytherins breaking the rules, and had come to Snape's chambers to tell them off as he had at three o'clock that afternoon and at eight o'clock that evening.

"Yes, Mr Weasley, what is it?" Snape drawled on discontentedly. "And can it wait until the morning? You see, I generally enjoy sleeping at this time of night."

Percy bit down his lower lip and looked up at Snape. "I'm sorry, professor."

The man ran his hand through his long, greasy black hair. There was a lapse in silence that lasted more than a few seconds. It left Snape incredibly irritated.

"Well?" Snape called out in annoyance. "Aren't you going to tell me what was so urgent that you had to interrupt my sleep for?"

The young redhead became flustered, and bit down his lower lip before shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, professor. It's…it's not important. I'm sorry for disturbing your sleep," he picked up himself off the floor and staggered off back to his dorms.

Snape immediately shut the door afterwards, and went back to his bed. Due to his incredible luck and a tendency for things to go wrong at night, the door was knocked on again that night. Snape was very surprised when that had happened. He rolled his eyes at the banging, and stood up from the bedside. He glanced back at the clock. Just seeing the time was enough to allow disdain to course through his veins—ah! Another visitor! And this time, it was at four in the morning!

Lividly, Snape moved from his beloved bed and walked to his room.

Upon cracking upon the door, he sighed again when he realised that it was none other than Percy Weasley leaning against the door frame yet again. For the fifth time that day, he had wondered why the Sorting Hat decided to give him the pain of dealing with a Weasley. Why couldn't he be sorted into Ravenclaw?

Everyone would be happy then! Flitwick didn't mind dealing with students after hours!

"Mr Weasley, if you think that this is funny, then I would like you to assess your idea of humour," Snape didn't even give the child a chance to speak. "Off to bed with you. I will throw you out of the Slytherin commons if you insist on bothering me yet again tonight."

He noticed that the boy was just staring at him, as if he did not comprehend basic spoken language.

"Answer me when I am talking to you, boy!" Snape suddenly exclaimed.

He grabbed the freckled child by his shoulder and guided him back down to the Slytherin commons. He would take him to the boy's dormitory himself if he had to. As he was stewing in annoyance, he hadn't even noticed that he was guiding air back to the dorms. Snape sighed in anger. Where in Merlin's name did that child disappear off to?

He looked back to see Percy Weasley standing by the fireplace.

Snape sighed to himself, and moved back towards the child that tried to walk away but had collapsed in front of the fireplace in an abrupt fashion. He didn't know what Percy was playing at. He leaned down to scoop up the child in his arms, when the freckled redhead started to convulse. It surprised Snape for a few moments.

Snape hadn't seen anyone have a seizure since... well; he'd never seen anyone have a seizure since he'd attained a post as a Potions professor.

Snape's eyes widened when he'd suddenly felt something breach his mind.

Quickly, he allowed himself to push out any kind of intrusion as he attempted to empty himself from his emotions and focus on the logic of the task at hand. How was it that an eleven-year-old that barely knew how to wave around a wand, much less know a ruddy thing about Legilimency, try to breach Snape's barriers? It was laughable. He heard the sound of something slowly becoming torn.

Snape turned to look down at himself and then project his eyesight towards one of the chairs, which though charmed to repel this kind of nonsense, was slowly coming apart at the seams. His attention was further divided when the Slytherin table broke (this too repelled all sorts of ruddy schoolchildren charms). Bits of parchment and books were suddenly flying all over the commons.

He found himself trying to recall the two minute talk he was given – what was it? Six years ago just before he'd got this ruddy job? – about what to do when a child was seizing. He could recall none of that rubbish.

A thundering bolt of lightning struck, and Snape found himself staring agape as the stony wall that enclosed the common room from the rest of the dungeons suddenly imploded on impact.

"That's enough now!" Snape called out, fuming, as he grabbed a convulsing Percy by his robes, who had coincidentally stopped convulsing right that second.

Snape could hear the indescribable chatter of Slytherins that were leaving their bedsides, wondering what that sound must've been and here he was sat, wondering whether to get Percy to be expelled by Dumbledore for somehow managing to damage school property, or if he should take him to Pomfrey. If not for the bluish tinge on the ginger's lips and hands, Snape would've chosen the former.

Of course, Snape had to tell Dumbledore about this on any accord, but first, he had to deal with the students that were already piling near the wall, inspecting the damage near the commons. Some of them were looking highly alert for someone that was up in the wee early mornings, others looked confused, and others were agitated at what the ruckus seemed to be.

"What's happened here?" a Slytherin third year with a thick Cockney accent called out, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Where's the wall? And what happened to that—?"

Marcus looked to be beaming, "This is brilliant. I always thought that wall was rubbish."

"Oi, now, we only have to find someone to break your thick head," Miles murmured, only for Marcus to glare over at him.

"Professor?" a frightened-looking Anne McKendrick emerged from the broken wall down to the common room. Her prefect badge was hastily pinned to her dressing gown, and she haphazardly wore a clock. She glanced back down at Percy Weasley, whom looked to be groggily staring at the ceiling. "What's happened? I might be mistaken but I think I've heard a bolt of lightning! All the way up from the girls' dormitories—"

"McKendrick, escort the Slytherins back to their dormitories at once," Snape cut her off with a sharp look.

He was absolutely brimming, seeing how McGonagall had made her way to the Slytherin dungeons along with Dumbledore by her side. Dumbledore looked amused whilst McGonagall was looking at the wall with a confused and surprised look on her face.

"What's happened, Severus?" McGonagall called out, moving into the commons now that the barrier between the commons and the rest of the dungeons. "Where in Godric's good name is the wall? And what happened to that table? Or those couches? I could've sworn on Merlin himself that I heard a lightning bolt."

"I assume that Godric Gryffindor was having a laugh," Snape murmured in annoyance, looking down at Percy, whom was fully curled against the carpet, asleep. "That foul hat decided to give me the displeasure of dealing with a Weasley, and suddenly, the Slytherin commons has been torn asunder."

McGonagall seemed affronted. "You're not implying that Mr Weasley did this, did you?"

"He had a convulsion, destroyed the common rooms in the process and then fell asleep," Snape explained in a disinterested tone. "Sounds like one of your lot, doesn't it?"

"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore announced, his voice soft as he looked over at Percy. "Minerva, I think it's best if you were to get him to the infirmary, don't you?"

McGonagall leaned down to nudge Percy slowly, but he didn't seem to be waking up after a few gentle ones. She made them a bit more forceful and Percy slowly opened his eyes, looking muzzy and weary. Snape supposed that knocking down the Slytherin commons really wrecked one's mental state then. He could barely believe that this reedy little thing could inflict harm on a glumbumble, much less be the cause of this tumult. Percy was trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, as McGonagall tried to gesture him to the infirmary. Percy could barely walk with his shaky legs, tumbling with every few steps he took.

"I want you to tell me precisely what happened," was Dumbledore's first order.

Snape reiterated the story from the start, not forgetting to mention his surprise. An eleven-year-old that happened to destroy Slytherin furniture with ease and shoot a lightning bolt out of nowhere? And that lightning bolt happened to snap an enchanted stony wall that repelled even archaic magic? Not to mention that this putrid child tried to break into Snape's mind and Merlin knew if he caught sight of anything before Snape put down the imaginary double doors. As Snape spoke, Dumbledore stroked his beard, an inquisitive look on his face and a small smile etching upon his features.

"I think I'll have you owl Molly and Arthur, don't you?" Dumbledore asked.

The only thing Snape did was scowl and roll his eyes. "I think we ought to owl St Mungo's instead," he huffed in annoyance. All Dumbledore did in response to this was raise an eyebrow.

After a few seconds of silence, Snape finally found himself muttering in sarcasm, "I'll gladly owl his parents."

TREKKING towards the infirmary, McGonagall found herself having to keep a firm hand on five-foot-six Percy Weasley's shoulder to keep him from tripping on air. It was rather irritating that Percy was acting like he'd been out drinking an extensive amount of firewhiskey from how uncoordinated he'd been rendered post-convulsion. Halfway through their path to the infirmary, McGonagall's agitation and doubt had gotten to the point where she herself had to check for any signs of alcohol ingestion (for it was not that unlikely that an eleven-year-old had a tipple and knowing that he was a Weasley was more reason than not to check for any signs of intoxication), but they'd all come up clean.

"Mr Weasley, you are testing my patience," McGonagall announced in an annoyed voice.

Percy tripped down onto the ground, placing his head into his hands. His shoulders shook and he bit down on his lower lip. "Professor Mic-Gone-Ah-Gale," at this point, McGonagall was trying to resist looking for signs of alcohol intoxication for the fifth time in the last two minutes. At least he remembered the Professor part. "Is Professor Snap made at me?"

"Nah, mate, Professor Snap is not mad at you," a sound came from behind, only for McGonagall to turn around and notice Miles Bletchley standing there in his grey-and-green striped pyjamas. Being nicely just an inch or so under McGonagall's height and carrying a sturdy amount of weight on, Miles had no problem tossing Percy over his shoulder like he was weighed less than the standard barn owl.

"I am not your mate," Percy hissed out, groggily. "Let me down."

Miles offered a sickly sweet smile to McGonagall. "Where am I to toss this tosser, Professor?"

"Firstly, you will abstain from such language. Secondly, you should be in your dormitories... However, I suppose I could use a little bit of help getting him to the infirmary, but it's back to bed when that it is over." McGonagall mentioned, but gestured for Miles to follow her anyway. This would certainly be quicker with a little aid, and she was not sure if she was allowed to use any spells post-convulsion, so she thought she best be safe. "Understand, Mr Bletchley?"

"Aye," Miles insisted, beaming at her.

McGonagall knew her hopes for a silent walk to the infirmary were crushed. Miles seemed to find it necessary to talk as they moved down the corridor.

Miles was brightly grinning as he spoke, "Did this twat really end up shooting a lightning bolt during a fit? Because that's what everyone else is saying—and is Potions cancelled for the week? Snape said that it was 'cause of the big breach in the commons. He was worried that your lot would take the time to besmirch our honour."

McGonagall huffed, as if it was absurd when she knew that it was more likely than not.

"My students will do no such thing," she insisted. "Not on my watch. I will talk to Professor Snape and I will ensure that all classes are continued despite this slight hiccup in the curriculum."

Miles frowned and sighed deeply. "This isn't any fun, Professor. What would it take for our classes to be postponed? I mean there's a giant gaping hole in the wall..."

McGonagall tried to ignore his tittering as they made their way into the infirmary where Miles seemed to slowly place Percy on the bed. He groaned and turned to the side, not bothering to wrap the white sheets over his frame or kicking off his black, tattered school loafers (Pomfrey would not be happy about that).

"Sleep well, mate," Miles called out towards Percy, grinning wildly. "I'll save you a few pumpkin pasties tomorrow morning. I like you better this way. You don't ignore me as much."

"I am not your mate," Percy mumbled half-asleep, groaning. "And make those Cornish pasties and I won't throw you out tomorrow morning."

"He's my mate," Miles said to McGonagall in a most serious tone.

"Is not," Percy insisted, burying his head into the pillow.

"Go to bed, Mr Bletchley," McGonagall muttered. She did find this slightly strange though. She thought that Percy was so alienated because the Slytherins didn't want to be friends with him, not the other way around. She did suppose, however, that having a family that looked down on Slytherins was the main cause of that. "And try not to break the castle overnight."

"I'll try my hardest not to," Miles responded in the same solemn tone before he left the room.

BY the time that Percy had regained some form of consciousness, a fleet of confusion rested on his shoulders. He had no idea what had happened. His mind was infiltrated by fuzzy greyness and instances of time that had passed without any true recollection of colour or images.

He looked down at the bed. Why was he here? In a hospital cot? No… this was the infirmary.

Percy's heart suddenly pounded in his chest as he stared at the time by the clock. What was today? He looked back at the calendar that Pomfrey kept in on the wall and his heart pounded into his chest. It was Friday for Merlin's sake! He had Double Potions this morning, followed by Double Transfiguration. He missed both! This afternoon, he had History of Magic, and he would definitely attend that even if he had to sell one of his kidneys. He had never missed a class before today!

This was… this was…

"Mr Weasley, please… breathe," the command was from Pomfrey, whom was standing there, looking at him with a concerned expression.

She offered him a potion that was in a shade of purple he did not quite recognise.

Percy looked down at his legs, and just quite blatantly refused to take a potion for something when he did not know why he was there in the first place. He pushed the potion aside, which left the grey-haired woman standing there, looking absolutely insulted.

"You must drink this," she insisted, pushing back the potion to him.

Percy shook his head again. "Why am I here? I wasn't ill last night… I'm not ill. I feel fine!"

"You are not fine, Percival. You had a seizure last night. You stumbled onto Snape's quarters. You managed to destroy the common room. They've arranged a few students to watch over the commons to prevent further disruption," she said all too easily before pushing back the potion to him. "And talking to your brother, Charlie, it seems like this was not a first time. I must assess you soon, and if this happens again, then you will be forced to be sent out to St Mungo's to be kept there until proven stable."

Percy did not recall going into Snape's quarters at all last night, but he must've? Was this a dream?

He placed his head into his hands. "I am stable! There's nothing wrong with me!"

They kept on telling him about these convulsions that he had, but he had no memory of them. The thought of not remembering something that had happened to him that everyone else seemed to recall was sickening and frightening….did he really go to Snape's quarters late at night, even though he knew how much his Potions professor despised being woken up after hours? The thought left him antsy. And what exactly did he do to the commons? Destroy it how?

He took the potion from Pomfrey's hand and gulped it down in record speed.

He knew that the first time he had the convulsion; it was because of the doxy infection.

Now…?

Now, he might genuinely be an epileptic and the thought was sickening. The whole Ministry thought that they were dysfunctional and highly unstable. There wasn't a record case in years. He had fuzzy, unclear memories of his father talking about it when he was young and recent ones of Charlie discussing it with Bill.

This was terrible! He ruined everything! An epileptic and a Slytherin? His family would hate him. His father would throw him out of the house! This was all his fault for leaving. If he hadn't left, then he wouldn't have gotten bit by doxies. He wouldn't be in this immense pain all the time from his leg! Maybe he wouldn't even be sorted into Slytherin...

His father should've gotten that boy, Oliver, that didn't like Percy. He would've fit in nicely. Oliver was a Gryffindor! Percy had shamed the whole family. He deserved the pain that was adamantly coursing through his veins, that was there every time he walked – it was there to remind him that this one mistake that he had made had changed all of his life and that he deserved every bit of anguish that came with it. He deserved the sleepless nights where he curled up against the pillow, wishing the pain away. He deserved the days where Charlie ignored him because he was not the same as the others. He deserved every joke and jibe every person had ever made of him.

Percy wanted to scream. Why did he run away if he could not face the consequences?

He was too weak. He was a coward, and everyone would know that his ambition was his downfall; his flaw. Everywhere he went, he was coloured in green and silver; never quite red and never quite gold. He was the snake that cowered in the face of a lion, and bit back weakly in hopes that the poison would be enough to slow it down. It never was. The poison was too weak, and his body was too slender. He would never truly be the king; always the prince. Always meant to be broken but never meant to mend. Pomfrey's voice was a dull note in Percy's brain. He listened, and drank his potions like he should be. He followed her instructions to the letter, and let himself be flood with nothing more but consequence.

He wanted to cry when he missed his History of Magic lesson.

"GOOD afternoon," Miles announced, walking in the infirmary with Marcus Flint just behind him. "I came this morning but you were knocked out so well, mate... I even decided to use your arm as a bit of parchment paper and tried to pass my time before Potions."

Percy was not in the mood for this. He looked down at his arm and noticed that Miles had somehow managed to ink the Falmouth Falcons logo on his arm.

"Don't worry, mate," Miles insisted with a sickly sweet smile. "It'll go away in twenty-four hours."

"Knowing Bletchley, that'll be more like a week," Marcus snorted, looking abnormally groggy for someone that should've been awake for Potions, but of course, when did Marcus Flint ever wake up for any class that started before two in the afternoon? "You're alright, Weasel. Especially since you tore down the commons' room wall with a lightning bolt."

Suddenly, Percy's eyes widened. "I did what to the commons room wall?"

This had to be a dream. In a few minutes, he'd wake up. It would be Friday, and he'd be going to his Double Potions class where Snape would be breathing down his neck as Percy tried to perfect his Cure for Common Poisons potion like he'd been trying to all week. Most importantly, Percy would not be sat there in the infirmary, near tears at the knowledge of having have destroyed the commons room wall. What would his mum say? She was going to kill him. His parents were going to gobble him up like a Sunday roast.

"And you split a table in half," Marcus decided to add on, because that knowledge was exactly what Percy was missing from his miraculous moment. "Tore another couch at the seams."

"I've entrusted a little flea with the act of bringing you over Cornish pasties this splendid afternoon," Miles said, as Percy tried to rub off the Falmouth Falcons logo off his freckled arm.

"Flea?" Percy reiterated before he saw a poke of long, black hair by the doorway.

"Aye, puce means flea in French. My mum told me when I was a wee lad," Miles expressed, raising an eyebrow. "And there's Pucey."

"I am not a flea," Adrian Pucey expressed, walking into the room with a plateful of Cornish pasties. Percy did not even like those. He thought they were too stodgy. Why did Miles get him Cornish pasties when nobody in all of Slytherin (sans Terence Higgs) ate them? "Here are your pasties, dear, dear heir of Salazar Slytherin's throne. We are just Kneazle droppings to your greatness."

Percy raised an eyebrow. "You referred to yourself as Kneazle droppings but you loathe being called a flea?"

"You've just been Incendio-ed, mate," Miles decided.

"That isn't very nice," Adrian said with a pout. "I've bought you Cornish pasties."

"Why did you get me Cornish pasties?" Percy cocked his head to the side. "I don't even like them."

Percy simply shook his head and then sighed deeply. What he wanted was to turn back time and not have that bloody fit. How was he going to explain to his mum that he'd accidentally demolished the Slytherin commons? How was he going to tell his parents that he was a Slytherin? It wasn't even three days yet, and he'd broken the rules! In fact, not only did he break the rules, he broke the common room! For shame...

"You told me you wanted Cornish pasties, mate," Miles insisted.

Percy swore he could feel his eyes melt out of their sockets, as he reiterated for what felt like the millionth time that week, "I am not your mate."