A/N: Another entry for Cheeky Slytherin Lass' One Character Competition. This round, we had to write a story of a minimum of 100 words on our chosen character (mine is Percy) as a child aged 3-10, using a mininum of three prompts from the fifteen provided. I chose #4 - simple, #6 - explore, #7 - pretend, #12 - book and #13 - pillow. It's also for the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Competition, category Basic Blaze Box (write a drabble 100-500 words).
This is exactly 500 words.
"Yes?" His dad turned and smiled at his four-year-old son. "What is it?"
"Will you read me Babbity Rabbity?" Percy held up an old tattered copy of a children's book.
"So you had it," Arthur said with a twinkle in his eyes. "We were already wondering where it had disappeared to. Your mum wanted to read Fred and George a story but she couldn't find the book."
Percy looked a bit guilty, but only for a moment. He loved the Tales of Beedle the Bard and Babbity Rabbity was his favourite. He loved stories in general, since they let him explore other worlds.
"I'll give it back tomorrow," he promised. "But will you read it to me?"
"Not tonight Percy, I'm sorry. I've got a terrible throath ache."
"Oh." Percy's face fell. He had really hoped his dad would read him a bedtime story. "Shall I read you the story then?" he offered brightly.
"Hmm, since you already have the book, we might as well."
His dad sat down on the bed beside him and Percy propped up his pillow against the headboard of his bed. He opened the book with a weighty gesture and cleared his throat as his parents usually did.
"A long time ago, in a far-off land, there lived a foolish king who decided that he alone should have the power of magic," he quasi-read. Of course, Percy wasn't really reading, for he was too young to have learnt to read anything but his own name yet. But he had heard the story told many a time before and he knew it almost by heart. He pretended to closely follow the lines of squiggly writing in front of him with his fingers, like he had seen Bill and Charlie do, recalling the words from memory and making up what he couldn't remember as he went along.
"And no witch or wizard was ever persecuted in the kingdom again," he finished.
His dad applauded softly. "Now that was an excellent story. You are a great storyteller, mister Percy." He made a small bow.
Percy beamed at the compliment. "I am?"
"Definitely," his dad nodded.
"I want to be like Beedle The Bard when I grow up."
"Then you'd better go to sleep. Beedle the Bard didn't become a great writer by staying up late, he was always in bed early."
"He was. So put off your glasses, lie down and then I will tuck you in."
Percy did as he was told and snuggled under the simple cream-coloured blankets.
"Goodnight Percy," his dad said for the second time that night after he had tucked Percy in.
His dad turned of the light and left the room, closing the door behind him. Percy squeezed his eyes tight shut, willing himself to fall asleep quickly so that he could be like Beedle the Bard when he grew up. He drifted off to sleep, dreaming of cackling washerwomen and rabbits that carried wands.