Birthright

Summary: Percy Weasley was always the odd one out, the "black sheep" of the Weasley family. Or was he?

Chapter 1: The Losing Side

Rain battered upon the windows of the ramshackle building at the end of High Street. To most, the "Shrieking Shack" (as the locals dubbed it) was the most haunted building in the area, excluding Hogwarts Castle, and was not to be entered under any circumstances. However, for those in the know, it was the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix – a group of vigilantes from all walks of life who were untied by a single common thread: the protection of the public from the forces of Evil. And it was in this house, on this night that those same individuals had gathered to discuss the defense against a specific kind of evil: the evil of hate and ignorance; the evil of arrogance, of subjugation, of leadership through intimidation. On this night, the sixteenth of December in the year 1975, the Order of the Phoenix gathered to discuss the evil that was Lord Voldemort.

16 December 1975, Order of the Phoenix Headquarters, the Shrieking Shack, Hogsmeade

"Quiet down! Quiet! Enough!"

A loud bang! echoed throughout the room, gathering the attention of everyone present. All eyes turned to the imposing – and angry – wizard standing at the end of the badly gouged wooden table. "If you are all quite finished?"

A chorus of "yes, Albus" went around the room as those who'd become overexcited retook their seats with abashed expressions. They were all adults here, and yet at the mere mention of a spy had degraded the situation until they were squabbling like schoolchildren.

"Albus, do you really think there's a spy?" a woman wearing tartan robes and a rather severe bun asked worriedly.

"I should certainly hope not Minerva, but there is no other explanation for Voldemort's recent successes. He must have someone inside the Ministry feeding him information – how else would he know such classified information?"

"I say it's Malfoy," a red haired man stated stubbornly. "He seems like the type – slimy and as ambitious as they come. And let's not forget his father's sudden decline in health. Dragonpox my foot."

"Oh come off it Gideon! You always think it's Malfoy!" a man who could have been the first's mirror image countered.

"Well it always is him!"

"You don't have any proof that it's true!"

"You don't have any proof that it isn't!"

"Why don't we get proof, one way or the other?" a man with a vivid blue glass eye and a ghastly scar running across his nose asked before the familiar argument could escalate.

"And how would we do that, exactly? It's not like he'll tell us if we just ask nicely. Since his father kicked it the crafty bastard's become nearly as paranoid as you are, Alastor. Getting the jump on him will be nigh impossible."

"I never said it would be easy, now did I Charlus? It'll be tricky, but the benefits outweigh the risks. We need that information."

"I agree, but how do we get it? That's the real question."

"Anyone'll talk if you know how to persuade them."

All eyes turned to the husky, graying man seated next to Albus Dumbledore. Sturgis Podmore was a good friend of the Headmaster, but what exactly he did for a living was unclear – and the rumors that he refused to either confirm or deny made them hesitant to ask.

"You're not suggesting we torture him are you?" Minerva cried, aghast.

"Heavens no, woman," he replied, "nothing so drastic as that. However a little Veritaserum certainly wouldn't be amiss."

"And just how do you expect to get him to take it?" she rejoined.

"I expect for one of the pretty lasses in this room to talk him into it, one way or another." he said. "Even a paranoid bugger like him will let his guard down for a pretty face and a low neckline. After that it's just a matter of getting him alone for the questioning - and for that a little Imperius will work wonders. He'll be at the Zabini's Solstice Ball on the twenty-second; we can get him then."

"It's a good plan Sturgis," Dumbledore agreed, stroking his long silver beard, "the best we have, at the moment. Ladies, is there anyone willing to take on this mission?"

Several minutes of murmuring and furtive glances passed. Everyone agreed on the necessity of the plan, but none of them it seemed wanted to be the one to get their hands dirty. Just as Albus was ready to discard the plan, a woman sitting between the bickering twins (to whom she bore a striking resemblance) and a ginger haired man stood.

"I'll do it, Albus" she said.

"Molly, are you certain?"

"I am."

"Very well."

And with that the planning began in earnest.

22 December 1975, Formal Gardens, Zabini Chateau, France

"There's the signal; are you ready? There's no undoing it once it's done you know."

"I know that Arthur. Stop hassling me and just give me the bloody Polyjuice already!"

"Okay, okay…" a vial of potion passed between them. "I'm just worried that something might go wrong is all. Listen, don't forget to Obliviate him alright? We don't need him catching on; it'll ruin everything."

"I know!"

"I love you Molly."

"I love you too Arthur. I'll see you at home." The man apparated away with a crack and once she was sure she was alone the woman downed the murky contents of the vial, shuddering at the taste. 'It's like drinking half a bottle of perfume!' she thought, wishing for something to wash the taste out of her mouth with. After a moment, the woman slowly began to change. Her long, vibrant red hair was replaced by short, curly golden ones; her somewhat muscular limbs changed into longer, daintier ones; and her plump, curvy body (the result of birthing two children) was swapped for a younger, more willowy figure. The woman who had previously stood in that spot - a humble, middle-aged Molly Weasley – was now the vivacious, young Rita Skeeter. And she was on a mission.

"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy!" someone called, causing the man in question to pause. He swore internally as his ex sauntered up to him in a nearly indecent blue dress. Just like Rita to peddle her wares like a common whore. "Lucius! Darling!" the woman simpered as she caught up to him, "Why, I haven't seen you in years!"

"Yes," the statuesque blonde drawled, "pity, that."

"Oh but it is a pity!" she declared, looping her arm through his and manhandling (not that he'd ever admit it) him down a seemingly random garden path. "Are you still seeing that Black girl? Some 'N' name, I keep forgetting. Nancy perhaps. Anyway, you're not still seeing her are you? I hear her family's on the brink of bankruptcy! And you don't want to be tying yourself to that."

Lucius took several deep breaths in an effort to keep his composure, then replied "Narcissa, and yes we are together – married now in fact – and the rumors of the Black's financial hardship is greatly exaggerated. Though I suppose you would know all about the dangers of tying oneself to a money sink, now wouldn't you? Seeing as how you are one?"

A breathy laugh echoed around him. "Why Lucius, you do say the most flattering things!"

"What can I say? I'm a Malfoy – flattery is my bread and butter."

"Oh! You are just too much!" she tittered.

"Hardly. I assure you madam, that it looks more imposing than it is."

Lucius watched as her eyes widened and her cheeks turned a rather endearing shade of pink. 'It's moments like this that I remember why I was so fond of her.'

"That was absolutely scandalous! And to say such things in front of a lady?"

This time, he laughed. "You, a lady? What dictionary are you using? You live for scandal, and debauchery ought to be your first name, never mind your middle!"

"Why, I never!"

"Bullocks! You did so – often and occasionally in public, if Cornelius is to be believed."

"We did not! Those are just lies to make himself look good around his mates. I heard he plans on running for Minister, did you know?"

Lucius nodded. "He's mentioned it once or twice, but I hadn't thought he was serious. Not until he asked me to back his campaign, anyway. I honestly never would have thought he had it in him. He hated politics until recently, then next you know he's asking me to cut him a campaign check. Odd, really. I wonder what changed his mind?"

"Maybe he's afraid that if he doesn't run you'll run yourself. You're quite popular in the Ministry, you know."

"Me?" Malfoy shook his head, amused. "My father might have wanted that for me but I never wanted it for myself. I want it even less, now that he's gone – run into the ground by his obsession."

"I thought it was Dragonpox? That's what the Prophet reported."

"That's what they say, but the body was cremated before anyone could get a better look at it. I was told that it was to keep any lingering bacteria from infecting anyone else, but I'm not sure I believe that. He was my father; I should have been given the opportunity to say goodbye properly. Instead, I got a sealed urn in the post with a blatantly insincere letter of condolence attached to it. Disgraceful. The whole thing just reeks of foul play and a cover-up."

"You don't think you're being paranoid?"

"I'm a Malfoy, Rita – there's no such thing as paranoid, not for us."

They walked in contemplative silence for several, each mulling over what had been said.

"We're in public." she mused tentatively.

"I'm sorry?"

"What we were talking about earlier. That was just a rumor, but it doesn't have to stay that way - does it?" she looked up at him from underneath lowered eyelashes. "We could make it true, you and I."

"No."

"Lucius come on! It'll be fun! Just like old times."

"No."

"It'll cheer you up, and don't say you don't need it."

"It won't, and I don't. Not from you."

"Lucius…"

He stepped away from her, body tense with anger. "No Rita. I'm married, and I love my wife. I'm not going to throw that away with you."

"In private then," she offered, "that way no one will ever have to know."

Lucius scoffed. "You are incorrigible! What part of no don't you understand? I'm not risking my marriage - or reputation - for anyone or anything, least of all alackluster romp in the sheets with gossipy harlot like yourself!"

"But-"

"Enough, Rita; I've heard enough. Go find someone else's marriage to ruin; I'm not letting you ruin mine."

Molly swore as she watched him walk away. 'Damn you and your bloody loyalty! Who would have thought the Crown Prince of Slytherin had the heart of a bleeding Hufflepuff?' She watched morosely as he mover further away. Sighing, she decided there was no hope for it – desperate times called for desperate measures. The Order needed to know what he knew. Determinedly, she strode after him.

'It's for the Greater Good. And once I Obliviate him, no one will know.'

"Lucius!" she called, causing him to pause in consternation. She took his arm in one hand, and her wand in the other.

"Imperio."

22 December 1975, Guest Quarters, Zabini Chateau, France

"That wasn't so bad now was it?" Molly asked as she poured three drops of Veritaserum into a glass of water. "Here, have some water." She watched as he took the glass and emptied it. The Polyjuice would be wearing off soon, but that wouldn't matter once she Obliviated him.

"Now, let's have a little chat shall we? We'll start with something easy: what is your name?"

"Lucius Helios Malfoy."

"Do you serve or sympathize with the Dark Lord know as Lord Voldemort?"

"No."

"No?" 'What do you mean 'no'?' "Explain."

"The Dark Lord seeks war; to join him would be to put myself on the front lines and I will not endanger my life. Nor would I endanger my wife's life by siding against him. I will not let her become a target; she is all I have left now."

Molly growled in irritation. 'There's that bleeding Hufflepuff heart of his again.' "Have you ever been approached by the Dark Lord or an agent of him?"

"To my knowledge, no."

"Was your father a Death Eater?"

"I don't know."

Molly pulled her hair – now back to its usual red – in frustration. This was not how this interrogation was supposed to go! Sighing, she pulled herself together and tried to think of something useful that he might know.

"What are your future aspirations?" 'There,' she thought, 'that should get me something useful.'

"I always wanted a large family. We have been trying for a child, Narcissa and I, but haven't had much luck. Not like Arthur Weasley, the lucky bastard. I hear he's got two already."

'Lucius Malfoy is jealous of a Weasley?' "What about the war?"

"What about it? Traditionally Malfoys are French, born and bred. I see no reason why this should change."

"So you plan to leave the country? What about your holdings here?"

"The further away from the conflict we are, the safer we'll be. Besides, money is nice, but it doesn't breathe. The vault will keep accruing interest whether I'm here or not. And even if it doesn't, it's just money. Why die for something they make more of everyday?"

'Why indeed? I never thought I'd say but the man's a good catch.' "Your wife is lucky to have a husband like you."

"No," he disagreed, eyes still glazed over from the potion in his system. "I'm lucky to have her."

"We'll agree to disagree. Obliviate."

23 December 1975, Master Bedroom, The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, England

"You didn't have to have sex with him!" Arthur whispered furiously. "And for what? Nothing, that's what! You just had to get him alone long enough to get some answers!"

"You say that like I wanted to have sex with him! The plan didn't call for sex, but it did call for seduction, and not every man has the kind of self-restraint that you have!" she snapped angrily.

"So you're saying what, exactly? That you started it and he finished it?"

"Yes!"

"I hardly think that excuses it! You didn't need to get physical with him at all! Implied or otherwise!"

"It's not like it was consensual Arthur! How could you ever think that?"

Arthur stared at her as though he was trying to read her mind (and perhaps he was). "Are you saying what I think you're saying, Molly. Are you saying he raped you?"

'No,' she thought, 'I raped him.' "Yes."

Arthur paled, and then turned an increasingly alarming shade of red. "That brutish, sniveling, slimy son-of-bitch! I'll tear him apart! How dare he! I'll set the Aurors on him! I'll-"

"You can't." Molly whispered. "I Obliviated remember. He won't recall doing it, and if they Legilimize him they'll see that and the I'll be in just as much trouble for putting him under the Imperius and drugging him with Veritaserum."

Arthur seethed. He wanted revenge, but he knew that Molly was right – alerting the Aurors could backfire on them. They would have to keep quiet – for now.

"Fine. But I still want you to get checked out by a Healer. Who knows what that bastard might have left behind. Better safe than sorry, I say."

"He didn't curse me, Arthur."

"We don't know that for certain. It's better to be sure. Promise me."

Molly sighed. 'I owe him this at least.' "Alright. I'll see a Healer."

"Good."

14 January 1976, Kitchen, The Burrow, Otter St. Catchpole, England

"You're what!"

Molly cringed. She could not remember the last time she'd seen Arthur so angry. 'And it's all because of me. If I hadn't been so curious we might not be here right now.' "I'm pregnant Arthur."

Saying it a second time didn't reassure him. If anything, it only made him angrier.

"Molly," he growled, barely reigning in his temper, "we talked about this. We're in the middle of a war, you don't work, and my job at the Ministry doesn't pay much. We cannot afford another child."

"I know that, but obviously Nature doesn't agree with you." As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she'd gone too far.

"Nature doesn't agree with me? We agreed as a couple that we would hold off on having any more children until the war was over. We agreed that trying to raise the two kids we already have in the midst of a war – in which we are targets – was already reckless and irresponsible, and that bringing yet another innocent life into the equation was just this side of abuse!" he raged, face red in fury.

"I know what we agreed," she said, "but like I said, Nature didn't agree with us."

"Nature can be circumvented with medicine, Molly. I know I did my part, so why didn't you do yours?"

To that, she had no answer. 'At least not one that would calm him down.' "I just… I'm sorry."

After the all the yelling, the silence was deafening in its place.

"If you were really sorry, you'd just get rid of it like I asked."

The words cut just as deeply this time around as they had the first time. "If you loved me, you wouldn't ask that of me." she argued. It was underhanded, but she knew deep down that she couldn't do this. 'I'd rather die myself first.'

"If you loved me you would have respected me enough to keep your promise, and we wouldn't be having this conversation right now, now would we?" he snapped back, voice cold enough to freeze Hell twice over.

Molly flinched as though she'd been struck. 'He's right though, isn't he? I made a promise and I broke it. He should be angry.' She wanted to cry, really. 'Me and my damned curiosity… He'll be even angrier when I tell him the rest of it.' she despaired.

"Well? Nothing to say to that, huh? You know, I've spoiled you. I should have listened to Muriel when she said not to dote on you like I have been, but I was so sure that you weren't going to turn into a conceited, selfish brat. I guess I should have listened to her. Not only have you been lying, for Merlin-knows how long, but you probably didn't even intend to keep the promise in the first place, did you? And what exactly have you been doing with those pills if you haven't been taking them? Just flushing them down the loo I suppose? Do you know how expensive those things are? So not only have you been flushing money we can't afford to waste right down the drain, you've also further jeopardized our financial future by getting pregnant! And just how you managed that when I know I kept my promise I have no idea. What did you do, fish them out of the trash and save them? Impregnate yourself using some obscure potion and leftovers from the sheets?"

"It's Lucius'," she confessed. "It's the only logical explanation. When he… I…" 'I'm so sorry, Arthur,' she thought. "I know it's not what we planned, and that you're angry, but please don't make me go through that. Not that, Arthur, please. Haven't I suffered enough?" 'No,' her conscience whispered, 'you haven't suffered nearly enough. He'll want revenge, you know he will, and what then? Who will pay the price then? Lucius Malfoy? Or maybe that stolen child you're carrying? If the Malfoys ever find out…' she shuddered. 'But what else is there to do?'

"Fine. But after that – that abomination is born, we'll dump it on Malfoy's doorstep and be done with it. We can't afford another kid, Molly, and there's no reason for our family to suffer over this – you've suffered already. Dump it on him and he can clean up his own mess – whether he can remember it or not."

"We can't do that – you know we can't. He'll take it to the Aurors or Saint Mungo's, wondering where it came from, and then what? They'll look into it and we'll be looking at charges for the illegal use of memory charmsand Veritaserum, at the very least." 'And line-theft, the use of an Unforgiveable, and sexual assault at worst.'

"Then we'll put it in an orphanage."

"Arthur! In a war? You would do that to a child? It could be killed!"

"And you would what exactly? Keep it here and raise the little demon-spawn alongside our own, where it could corrupt them?"

"Children are not born evil! And you can't hold the sins of their fathers against them - that would make you as bad as You-Know-Who!"

"It would not!"

"Yes it would! It's why he's killing off the Muggleborns isn't it? Because of who their parents are?"

Arthur scowled. Molly had a point and he knew it. The brat was just as much a victim as Molly herself, and he shouldn't hold Malfoys' crimes against it but still… "If it's blonde, we ditch it you hear? They'll be no hiding it if that happens and we've enough to be going on with. We don't need to add rumors of line theft to it."

"Alright." 'Thank goodness' Molly sighed. 'For a moment there, I was really afraid that he'd tell me to drown it or something…' She knew, of course, that this wasn't the end of it. Arthur was known for being kind and patient, but he had a temper too, when provoked. 'And I certainly have provoked him.' She thought sadly. 'This is going to be a long nine months…'