Pompous Gits and Slytherins - Harry Potter Series Percy Weasley Imagine
Author’s Note: Ok, so I know technically no one asked for this. But I really couldn’t get this idea out of my head AND there was a Harry Potter marathon on TV today. I’m really not responsible for my actions, honestly.
I’m open for requests! I’d love to hear anything you guys have to say :)
Masterlist
Word Count: 2k
The potion was turning brown.
“Pompous git,” you muttered, frantically trying to pierce a Sopophorous bean with a silver knife.
“You were supposed, 3, to already have the beans, 4, cut,” Percy Weasley insisted. He was holding the cauldron at an angle, counting out loud as he dropped wormwood essence into it. “5. Are you almost done? 6. 7.”
“It wouldn’t kill you to go slower.” You caught the bean as it tried to bounce off the cutting board.
“8. It might, actually. 9. If I get a poor grade on this, 10, I’ll--”
“You won’t have perfect NEWTs and then you’ll never become Minister of Magic.” Slamming the flat of the knife onto the bean, you crushed it, releasing a thick, green juice. “Everyone knows your plans, Percy.”
As Percy leveled the cauldron, you scraped the juice in, speeding up its slow crawl across the board.
“Everyone also makes fun of your plans,” you added as you picked up a beaker filled with water and chopped up Valerian roots. You handed it to Percy so he could measure out seven drops. Last Potions class he’d called you “heavy-handed,” so you had decided that adding drops was now his responsibility. While you would be angry if he messed it up, you couldn’t deny that you’d also feel smug.
He began pouring, the tips of his ears turning a red that rivaled his hair. “I don’t see why anyone would make fun of them.” His voice sounded far more confident than he seemed to feel.
“Because you act like you’re better than everyone. Don’t you know that’s a Slytherin thing?” You arched an eyebrow and adjusted your green tie.
Percy refused to look up as he set the beaker back down. He only scowled at the table.
You rolled your eyes, picking up the wooden spoon and beginning to stir the potion clockwise. Percy eyed your movements like a hawk. “That was a compliment,” you said.
“I don’t see how.”
You completed the tenth stir, now staring at a pale lilac mixture, and offered the spoon to Percy. He took it with his right hand and began to stir counterclockwise, quietly counting the seconds each stir took.
“There you go again, acting as though you’re better than everyone. There’s nothing wrong with being a Slytherin.”
Percy briefly peeked up from the potion, which was growing paler by the second, to shoot a pointed look at the table in front of yours. Kaden Shafiq, a Slytherin notorious for bullying anyone who wasn’t a pure-blood, was stirring his potion and sneering at the Hufflepuff girl beside him.
“He’s an anomaly,” you assured Percy.
Percy didn’t seem convinced.
You picked the silver knife back up and began cutting a Valerian root into square pieces. “Most of us don’t believe in his ideologies.” Feeling Percy’s heavy stare, you amended, “Well, some of us don’t.”
“I caught some third years making fun of Ron for being a Weasley just yesterday.”
You glanced up, but Percy was staring at the potion. His lips moved silently as he counted. You looked back down at the Valerian roots. “I take it he wasn’t being made fun of for having the red Weasley hair?”
Percy sniffed haughtily and pulled the spoon out. The potion was clear as water. “You know what they were saying.” Percy took one of the squares of Valerian root that you’d cut up and dropped it into the potion. “They were calling him a blood traitor.”
You dropped another square in. “That’s radical thinking. I don’t believe that and I don’t associate with those who do. My parents don’t even believe that, and you know how backwards old pure-bloods can be.”
Taking another square, Percy gave you a measured look, as though he was trying to see if you were lying. After a few seconds, he turned back to the cauldron and added the Valerian root, looking unsatisfied.
To be fair, that could have just been his normal face. His lips seemed to naturally form either a pout or a frown, and his eyes, hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses, always seemed judgmental.
You picked up more Valerian root and let it fall into the potion. “How many squares was that?”
Horrified, Percy whipped around to face you. “You weren’t counting?” His eyes were huge, his freckled skin pale.
You laughed. “I’m teasing, that was 5.” You added another square to the clear, bubbling potion. “Care to do the last piece?”
Percy shook his head, frowning as you dropped in the last square of Valerian root. As soon as you pulled back your hand, he began stirring the potion counterclockwise. He seemed so concentrated that you found yourself wracking your brain to come up with something to distract him. To your surprise, he spoke first, his voice formal. “What are your plans for after graduation?”
The smile you had at him speaking first died on your lips once you processed his question. Buying time, you waited until Percy completed the tenth stir, then handed him the beaker of Powdered Root of Asphodel, waited for him to finish pouring, took it back, set it down, and finally said, “My plans are spreading around the school like wildfire.”
Percy took the cauldron in his right hand and started to stir with his left. “I haven’t heard.”
Your lips quirked into a small smile. “Of course you haven’t.” You toyed with the silver knife, not wanting to see his face. “I’m betrothed.”
“Betrothed?” Percy nearly dropped the spoon. His cheeks flamed, only growing redder when you helped him steady the cauldron. “You’re 17.”
“Exactly. I’m finally old enough for my parents to act on the plans they made years ago. Keep stirring, Percy.”
He reluctantly complied. “Who is it?” Every word out of his mouth seemed to offend him. He wouldn’t stop staring at you.
Steeling yourself, you said, “Some pure-blood old enough to be my father.” You looked back down at the knife, ashamed to be admitting it, ashamed to be ashamed, ashamed to be doing any of this in front of Percy Weasley, of all people. Head Boy Percy. Going to be the Minister Percy. “He doesn’t even live in this country. He’s off in America. Have you been counting the stirs?”
“Counting the...damn!” Percy quickly pulled the spoon out and set the cauldron back on the desk. He ran a hand through his hair as he peered at the potion. When he finally pulled away, his face was bright red, his hair was a mess, and his glasses were askew.
You laughed.
He frowned. “If you’re going to America, where will you work? I guess you could Apparate or use the Floo Network to get to the Ministry, but you wouldn’t even be living here--”
“My work is done. I found a husband.” Your words were so bitter you could taste them. “Slytherins are ambitious, but for the girls that only means being ambitious with your marriage options.” You chuckled, devoid of humor. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Slytherins are awful.”
“But...but...you’re...smart,” Percy said, not even gloating over you saying he was right. His compliment came out stilted and awkward, like his lips weren’t used to forming the words. “How can you not work in the Ministry?”
The conversation was becoming painful. It felt like something was wrapped around your chest and squeezing, but you refused to cry, refused to show any sign of weakness. You needed the upper hand again. “Oh, Percy, you shouldn’t compliment a girl so much. Someone might think you’re in love.”
Percy spluttered and you decided you quite liked how a blush looked painted across his cheeks. “You can’t say that! Especially not when you’re--you’re--”
“Betrothed? I think it’s the perfect time to say something like that. Merlin knows I won’t have any fun after the wedding.” You pretended to mull over that thought, even though you’d spent the past week worrying about just that. “Probably not during the wedding, either. My mother will plan the whole thing, using the groom’s money, of course, which means it will manage to be simultaneously extravagant and dull. Maybe I’ll invite those twin brothers of yours to make things more exciting. Don’t worry, you can come, too.”
Percy shook his head. His cheeks were slowly returning to their normal shade of pale. You could see his freckles again. “I’ll have to decline.” Puffing his chest slightly, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll be working in the Ministry by then.”
He was looking for your approval, so you shook your head and sarcastically said, “Of course you will.” You checked your watch, eyed the cauldron, and dropped one last piece of Valerian root into it. The potion turned a pale pink.
You expected to hear a sigh of relief from Percy at the success, but instead, he said, “I will be in the Ministry.” He scowled as he ladled the potion into a flask to hand to Professor Snape.
The bell rang. You slid your textbook into your bag and stood. “And I’ll be the Minister of Magic.”
With that, you left the classroom, hoping Percy wasn’t as hurt as he’d looked. He started it. He didn’t have to rub his future in my face after I just admitted to having no future.
Even so, you felt off for the rest of the day. You bit back with more venom at your friends, you completed classes with a frown, and you snapped every time you heard someone gossiping about you. The mix of anger and guilt and anxiety only grew as the afternoon turned into evening, and it was time for you to do your duties as a prefect.
You knew who you would find waiting for you outside your common room.
Percy Weasley stuck out like a sore thumb in the dungeons. Sometimes you’d come out and make some teasing remark about that, but tonight you only nodded at him and began to walk.
Percy matched your pace. The air between you two was uncomfortable, the silence uneasy. You were climbing a set of stairs when Percy broke it. “Well,” he said, staring straight ahead, “are you going to apologize?”
“Why should I apologize? You’re the one who had to rub it in my face.”
Percy stopped in his tracks. “You’re not in the right here.”
You stopped too, crossing your arms and staring at him, fire brewing in your chest. Your fingers itched to grab your wand and hex him, to finally make him be quiet about his grand plans for the future. “Yes, I am. You’re not.”
Percy took a step forward. “All you Slytherins do is make fun of people for having goals. You’re supposed to be ambitious. You’re supposed to understand.”
You laughed. “We’re not the only ones making fun of you. Your brothers do it more than the rest of us combined.” He shifted his weight between his feet, but before he could speak, you said, “I don’t have a problem with your goals.”
He closed his mouth, watching curiously as you continued. Was that a glimmer of hope behind his glasses?
“I have a problem with your timing. You didn’t have to bring it up then. Not after...after I told you about what I’m doing.”
Any peace that might have been building was squashed.
Percy spun on his heel and began marching away. “I was hoping it would make you realize that you don’t have to settle for that.”
You glared and stormed after him. Grabbing his robes and pulling him back, you snarled, “You think I want to do this? I’d rather snap my wand!”
His eyes locked on yours. “So do something about it! You’re ambitious! You’re capable! You’re a Slytherin!”
And just like that, you were pulling him even closer, and your lips met in a clash of wills. His hands went to your waist. You didn’t realize you were backing up until you felt the stone wall behind you. Your heart beat furiously. One of your hands went to Percy’s face, felt the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, then moved into his hair, pulling on his red curls. He kissed you harder.
Maybe that git Percy Weasley had a point.
You were a Slytherin, after all. You could figure something out.
