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If you never saw me coming
His father was right. Of course his father was right. Percy had discovered early on that when his father took a stand, when his mother joined him, invariably they were right, and there was little nothing to be done but agree. Percy learned many things early on. He learned that Bill was, oh, everything his brothers aspired to. He learned that what Bill couldn't do, Charlie could. He learned that there was no room for a third person with Fred and George. He learned that he did not have easy smiles or skills at Quidditch or mischief to get his mother's notice, but he learned that he could keep learning, and gain approval that way. That he could be good, and quiet, and occupy himself with books and knowledge and when the afternoon was over and the babies put away for a nap, he and his mother would share a brief smile, and she'd tell her friends of an evenin, "thank heavens for Percy, at least, who minds when he's told to." He learned that he didn't mind obeying, sitting with a heavy tome on his lap and going over unfamiliar words until he could pronounce them correctly, not when it made his mother smile at him, or give his shoulder a squeeze. Which was well and good on weekends, when his father would heft Percy up on his shoulders and show him how Muggle machines went together, but eventually Percy discovered he liked the books, and by the time he realized his father'd started taking Ron out to the garden instead, well, then he had other worlds to keep him company, other thoughts and phrases and characters, and anyway, if he kept still and quiet and read his book, the twins were less likely to think of him, and do something horrid to make the family laugh. Mother never laughed, of course, not where Percy could hear her, but everybody else did, Ginny and Ron, Charlie and Bill when they were home, and Father. He learned quiet early what they thought of him, when they hid their snorts behind hands, or didn't, and laughed in the open air. He learned it wasn't much different at Hogwarts, but at least he could hide in the library and work where no one would tease him. He'd started a year early, because Percy was early to everything, and if he worked hard enough perhaps he could leave early too, and have his own house (his secret desire that he didn't tell anyone, not till he was 16 and Penelope pulled it from him) and if anyone laughed it would be him, because he'd be the only one there. He thought a lot about an empty house, when he was growing up. He got his wish. Bill sent him a nasty letter, after their father was hospitalized, the gist of which was, I hope you enjoy your empty flat and your empty life and your empty heart, you gormless speccy git. He did, too. He enjoyed going home and preparing dinner for one, the occasional dinner for two when Penny would come over. He enjoyed sleeping in his own bed without fear of prank on life and limb. He enjoyed the silence. He missed his family, of course, a dull ache in the back of his throat, but that was no different from how it had always been. His father had been right about Fudge, and every day at work his father walked slowly past his office, shooting him looks of disappointment, waiting for Percy to break down and say something, but what his father never knew, one of the many things about Percy his father never bothered to learn, is that Percy didn't care about Fudge. He never had. He didn't care about Fudge, and he didn't even really care about You-Know-Who, and he certainly didn't care that his family was throwing itself headlong into danger for the sake of a boy-wizard who had only led Ron into deadly situations for the past 5 years, and now seemed headbent on luring Ginny after him, too. He cared about this: that his father had never thought he might be wrong. That his mother had never said "good job, Percy." That no one had thought, even once, that he could have earned the position, that he could have ever worked hard and kept his head down and done what people asked of him and been noticed. His father was right from the first, and Percy knew it the moment his mother agreed. Just as he knew he would never go home.
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