This ficlet's also going into the 'slightly au, erm, make that au' category. Sorry, I guess.

Forgotten Pasts
by: sl-sama

A little boy shivered and pulled his blanket around him; the winters of northern Europe were harsh, and despite the warm fire in the grate before him, which was far more than what any other prisoner had been given, the draft still sent chills up his spine.

A light rattle alerted him to the opening door and he stood to greet his visitor. As he stood, a light film glazed his eyes, then left, leaving him slightly unbalanced as the door opened. He pulled himself together and by the time the man was standing in front of him, Percival Augustus Weasley was standing proudly, or at least leaning against the wall in a manner that made him look like he was standing.

"Percival."

"Tomas." He replied calmly, hazel eyes clear as he looked up at the most feared Dark Lord of the era.

Voldemort gritted his teeth for a split second, before letting out a low chuckle.

"I guess the rumours about your 'abilities' are true." Then he gestured to the tea set that had appeared before them, neither acting surprised when the formerly dark and miserable cell suddenly rearranged itself to become a tearoom befitting of royalty.

"Tea?" The boy nodded his assent mutely as he took a chair to the man's opposite, the bright flames of the fire casting his features into shadow. The man poured the tea and the two sipped at their cups in silence, unheeding to the tension that was slowly filling the room. This was all part of the game, they both knew, and the first to speak would lose the advantage. It took at least five minutes--more than enough time for both to finish their first cup and consume one snack--but finally, Tom set his cup down and spoke.

"Percival."

This man, this beautiful, charismatic man, said kindly.

"My little clairvoyant, I can give you anything you want, books, toys. An education to rival that of Hogwarts, allow you to see your family again."

"Going straight to the point, aren't you Tom? Where's the long drawn out conversation where you attempt to make me listen, and sympathize with your views?"

"You know the answer to that as well as I do Percival-it would be useless. You know all and see all with a child's objectivity."

"Should I be flattered or insulted by that?"

Percy poured himself a second cup of tea, adding sugar and cream in borderline-disgusting quantities while hiding his amusement.

"Are you're offers all so trivial, or is there anything more you would use to coerce me to your 'side'?"

"Well," Tom answered as he inspected the snack tray before him. "I could always allow you to see your father daily; from what Lestrange has observed, it would do you and the man some good."

Something in the boy's eyes died when Voldemort-Tom-said that, causing him to look vulnerable--the first time such a weakness had surfaced since the had been brought to the castle. Then it was covered and hidden, almost before Tom had seen it.

"You know as well as I do that my father only sees in black and white, not the shades of grey that cover everything."

"Really, now, Percy?"

"He does not believe that you could still turn-"

"Turn? I am turned."

The boy continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"Back to the, figurative, light side." The boy paused, then smiled wryly. "What a load of nonsense, dark arts, white magic. Light and Dark are no more representative of "good" and "evil" than the colours of white and black. They just are, and have been since the beginning of time. But I digress. As I was saying, my father does not understand that you could still turn to the figurative side of 'good'. Of course if you did so, it would probably mean that you would be allowing a man who is as destructive as the current you. My father does not understand any of this."

Intrigued at the odd statement, Tom leaned forward; curiosity piqued and prodded the child gently with his feelings, eyes, and body language to continue.

"He does not believe that you are only human. He does not want to believe that some of the darkest lords have been Gryffindors, or that a Slytherin is currently the strongest of the light.

"He would not even believe that you turned for love."

At the boy's last statement, blue eyes met clouded hazel, and images flew into Tom's mind. Images of a life he had had once--a life that he had been forced to abandon--and it was almost enough to break him.

With a start, Tom once again retreated behind Voldemort as he sneered at the boy, trying to hide himself once again.

"Are you so sure that you are a Gryffindor with their narrow-minded focuses? You are not a Hufflepuff to stick to tradition, or even a Ravenclaw; you couldn't spend your entire life devoted to your studies. In you, my boy, I see as a Slytherin: manipulative and cunning. What would your family say to that? What would you're father say to that?"

The boy's hazel eyes dimmed under the onslaught and watched thoughtfully as the broken man elegantly stalked out of the room.

-+-

"..Yuutsu no borode odoru. Jiyuu to uso ni tsuda nukare. Moroku maichiru puzzle kono shihai kara tobitate."

The redhead sang the Japanese lyrics softly as he listened to the home burned c.d. in the magically enhanced Walkman. Lowering his voice until he was simply humming the melody, he weaved his way through passages he had traversed for years until he reached a secluded entrance in a virtually unknown passage way.

A shadow fell over him, and, he immediate directed a calculating gaze to the sky, wand in hand. He wasn't paranoid, just cautious, but upon seeing the firebird above him, he let loose a genuine smile and lifted his arm for the bird to alight upon. As soon as it finished his descent, he slipped his wand back into the trigger holster on his left wrist and stroked the golden bird's plumage, smiling down at it as it let loose a melodious trill.

"Hey Fawkes."

The phoenix trilled, then tilted its head to glance at someone behind him.

Percival Weasley smiled at it, and stroked its plumage a few more times, before releasing it to soar once again through a window into the main building. Then he turned, and raised an eyebrow when he saw his older brother, Charlie, gaping at him. Then he blinked and smiled.

"G'evening Kee."

"'Evening 'Taus." Charlie replied automatically his face still, to Percy's amusement, frozen in an expression of disbelief. A plus, considering that he didn't particularly want his slip up to be remembered.

After all, not only had he ostracized himself from his family, but he hadn't addressed his older brother in such a manner Charlie 'Kee' for at least a decade by now, and it really wouldn't do to break the trend. Finding humour in his slightly bitter thoughts, he allowed a tiny smile to cross his lips as he walked into the meeting room. Settling into his customary seat, he trusted that his glamour would shield his identity from the other people in the room. Singing along with the still playing song, he subtly glanced around the room as he picked up a book on the table beside him.

"..Shining make you cry. Kiss shining hitomi ni kuchizukete, toke dasu hanabira mo jama ni naru, kill me shining..."

Idly, or at least it would have been idly if there was such a thing in these times, he wondered why his brother's teams were present, before narrowing his eyes when he saw his father mingling with people from different teams near the fireplace.

Then he looked up, waiting patiently for the headmaster to arrive, unsurprised when he saw his mother talking animatedly with him. Slipping an earphone from one ear, and slipping the Discman into his pocket, he slid up to them, and joined the conversation effortlessly. Then he asked the question that had been eating away at him.

"Albus, why exactly have you called team Elite here?"

The question was asked in so mild a manner that, even if Molly Weasley had not been so surprised to see her son to register his words, she might not have noticed the question. As it was, she was completely baffled both by his presence, and his appearance.

Her son, the pristine 'all wizard and proud of it!' son was dressed in muggle material black pants, that Arthur called "dungim," and a large black jacket made of some odd black material with what looked like metal teeth on the edges-where were the buttons? He was also wearing an odd black muggle shirt.

The shirt had a picture of a blond man in a muggle suit, tie, hat and suspenders, his black jacket falling off, a lavender(!) haired girl wearing a short black top that ended several inches above her pleated mini skirt (shameful!) and thigh-high black leather boots, and a brunette man with an open vest, red bandana around his throat, and dear god were those dragon-hide pants? Behind these drawn people were the words 'Nittle Grasper' in large white letters.

Not only this, but he had something in his ear! It certainly wasn't an earring, what was it then?

"And why exactly was I not informed?"

Molly almost began hyperventilating as her mind caught up to the conversation, not only was her baby, the one that they commonly viewed as a traitor, here, but he was also wearing odd clothing that he should not be wearing, with odd things in his ear, and he was also connected to the legendary team Elite!

"Because Percy, no one here knows of you're true importance to our cause."

By this time, the expression on Molly Weasley's face as several things—the fact that Percy was there, his new manner of dress, and the conversation she was hearing—fully sunk in could be described as comedic. Not, of course, that either man paid her notice, wrapped up in a conversation that they—intentionally—allowed her to assimilate. However, there was no denying the resignation in Percy's tone when he gave Dumbledore his reply.

"My father may seem quite accepting of muggles, but he doesn't easily accept things outside his frame of reference. He may never fully accept them, especially with the information we've been feeding him—12 Grimmauld Place is all he can take in right now.

"He's barely allowed himself to trust Sirius, Severus he still believes to be worse than scum, and I've already ostracized myself. He won't understand that it is possible to manipulate what people see in ways to benefit ourselves, and our personal causes. Not to mention, he still sees in terms of black and white, stereotypical Gryffindor."

Then Percival made his way back to his seat. Forcing herself out of her shock, Molly turned to Dumbledore questioningly. Typically, her former professor just smiled benignly at her before opening the meeting.

He had not even opened his mouth to begin speaking when the door to their room, also known as the "temporary, though actual Order of the Phoenix Headquarters", slammed open, and Remus Lupin ran in, covered in blood, gore, and dirt, as he clutched at his side and generally looked unwell.

Ignoring the shocked people in the room, Remus quickly sought and gained complete eye contact with Percy. With a gasp, the younger man was suddenly running out of the room, followed closely by the other members at a sharp signal from Dumbledore. Only a mediwitch remained to tend to the unconscious form of Remus Lupin.

The doors slammed open just as the large group arrived at the Great Hall and most were shocked to see a pale, blood-covered Lucius Malfoy stumbled in wearily, supporting a heavily injured Severus Snape.

"Malfoy!"

Ignoring his father's venomous exclamation and the drawn wands around him, Percy rushed forward to the other people on his team, taking Severus' weight from the blond and lifting him onto a table.

"Poppy, 'Bella!" He called frantically, allowing his glamour to slip as he cast a quick diagnosis charm on his ex-professor, wincing as he received the results.

The mediwitch and the empath rushed forward, rolling their sleeves up and un-pocketing balms, bandages and wands. Shooting a worried eye at the people slowly regaining their wits around them, Percy shot a terse question at the blond beside him.

"Bloody hell, Siri, when did you take that last dose?"

"It should be wearing off soon."

Percy nodded before turning back toward his ex-Professor.

"Wotcher, that looks painful. Need any help, Perce?"

"Tonks." He nodded to her and shoved a sterilized needle into her hands, motioning to a particularly nasty gash in their spy's side. "I know it's nasty, but it's to risky to spell him."

"No problem, four eyes." Despite her teasing tone, Tonks' hands shook with barely discernable tremors. But, under Pomfrey's guidance, and Arabella's instructions, she began closing the wound. Together the four slowly began patching the man up, as Percy shot questions at the last of their party: one Mundungus Fletcher.

Unfortunately they were interrupted by a sudden foray of curses aimed at Sirius, the prone man he was hovering over and, unluckily, the five 'innocent' persons near them. Fortunately, in a show of reflexes, agility, magic, and physical strength that astounded the firers of said curses, all the curses were either deflected, dodged or absorbed.

Percy had dodged three curses with a rather spectacular back handspring, immediately trapping four others with some sort of muggle contraption that he had procured as soon as he regained his feet.

Arabella had cartwheeled out of the way, landing squarely on her feet, and carefully dodging the rest of the shots. Fletcher stood beside her, his relatively young age suddenly apparent as he lost concentration on his glamour and his visage went from short, stout, and scraggly-the typical crook- to something completely different.

The man's stringy hair became a fetching dark chestnut brown, and he 'grew' back into his true height of around 6"1, with a lean and athletically built body-oddly remniscent of Johnny Depp, a muggle celebrity. He covered for Arabella as she ducked and weaved through the curses until she was close enough for him to shield them both.

The final member, Sirius Black, had quickly created a self-sufficient shield over himself, Poppy, an obviously annoyed Tonks and the unconscious Potions master. To Percy, the fact the shield simply absorbed, neutralized, then incorporated the magic from every spell that hit it was somehow hillarious.

Then Headmaster Dumbledore reappeared with a raven-haired teen in tow.

"Bloody hell, Gus why didn't you tie you're glamour into you're clothes like you did with mine!"

Chuckling at Arabella's comment, and surveying the battle ready positions of his team Elite, minus the junior member beside him. (Much to both Percival and Sirius' pride, the teen was already analysing the positions of every person within the room.) Taking in the universally confounded look on a little over a dozen and a half Order members who had drawn and fired their wands, Dumbledore shock his head sadly—though his "disappointment" was belied by the slight twinkle in his periwinkle eyes.

"Arthur, I had hoped that you would know better."

The man who had 'organized' the 'attack' cringed slightly at the light chastisement, before regaining himself and almost shouting at the aged warlock.

"But, sir, we thought it was Malfoy!"

"Father, that is no excuse!"

The reproachful tone caused Arthur Weasley to turn a sharp gaze at his middle son. Unabashed, Percival Augustus Weasley looked his father straight in the eye, completely aware of what was going through his father's mind. Nevertheless, the safety of his team-mates (all of whom had become something more than what most of his family was to him) was more important than the delusions that his father held close.

"You just attacked two injured men who in a highly warded room. Voldemort could not have penetrated these wards much less Lucius Malfoy! If, for once you could have put aside you're petty grudges and lust for idiotic revenge and decided to LISTEN to your common sense you might have realized this! Instead you attacked an injured man. Seeing the look on you're face, I see that this did not occur to you. It probably did not even occur to you that it might be someone who had taken Polyjuice to take on the guise of Lucius Malfoy!

"Not to mention, even if Sirius were the true Malfoy, there were four innocents in the way. You've read the book of protocol, you wait until there is as small a chance of injury to innocents before you attack. This is all that separates us from Voldemort and his minions!"

"Who are you to speak to me that way!" Arthur's voice was heavy with grief. "You're the one who has betrayed your family."

"Percy is one of our top spies, Arthur," Dumbledor broke in. "I am aware that some of you already knew, or assumed, but for those who did not realise this, he is our foremost spy in the ranks of the Ministry.

"Sirius is also one of our top agents, actually one of the top agents. Of course, his wanted status goes a long way to helping in schemes, of course. Besides they're both members of team Elite, the leaders of the Order of the Phoenix."

Astonished gazes filled the room, until one red-haired man sought to bring forth his own views.

"But Headmaster Dumbledore!" Confused hazel eyes, so close yet so far from those of his middle son's, met periwinkle blue. "You're our leader, we all know this."

It was not the headmaster, but a young emerald-eyed teen who stepped forward to answer the man's slightly desperate question.

"Mr. Weasley," The boy's light tenor filled the room, calling almost everyone's attention to himself. Flushing under the attention, Harry continued. "Who do you believe creates the plans, obtains the information, chooses the most qualified teams, and decides which actions will do the most good; are of the utmost importance?"

"Professor Dumbledore, of course."

"No Mr. Weasley." The boy's voice was calm, yet there was a note of hesitancy in his voice. "I asked you who organized; who planned; who our strategists are. Not who presented the information."

At the older man's still apparent confusion, Harry sighed and shook his head lightly.

"Surely you're not still answering Dumbledore? Albus is too busy, too old, too tired, and too well known to do this properly. He is our messenger as well as our advisor, but this is no longer his war, and he knows it.

"Besides, it would be stupid to allow one man to do a job for many."

A stunned silence filled the room before the older man turned a pleading gaze to the son who was watching over Severus Snape.

"Percy! Tell them, you're a sensible boy."

"I thought I was a traitor?" The teen questioned mildly. There was no surprise on his features when Arthur continued, unaware of the tension slowly gathering in his son's back.

"And I know you know that Dumbledore's our leader-not some, false-convict or death eater trash! Hell, they should be given to Voldemort now! I can see it now, a far better, and more trust worthy, spy turning Snape in along with Black, and then allowing Voldemort to do what he wanted with them. It would save us all a large headach-"

Arthur Weasley quailed under the blare from both obsidian and aqua eyes as he held his throbbing cheek, courtesy of the younger blonde woman in front of him. He was so absorbed in trying not to flinch at those glares, and scanning the room's occupants that he didn't see his Percy's shuddering form in the arms of his older brother-Charles Keene Weasley.

However, he did see the figure that was his eldest son holding back an enraged Sirius with the werewolf's help. Bill's focus was on the ground, his posture screaming shame, his hands flexing around the ex-convict's arms. Arthur also saw Fletcher holding Harry's shoulder and whispering urgently in the boy's ear—probably trying to talk the boy into letting go of the wand the teen held in a white knuckled grip. He also met his wife's cool gaze, until she broke it—disappointment practically radiating from her.

If anything this incensed him further, in fact, it was only the cool glare still centred on him by Hogwart's resident potions master that kept him in place. Snape's icy voice filled the air as he continued glaring at the man.

"Why would you wish that on us when you saw what it did to your son?"

"What do you mean? Bill and Charlie are perfectly fine!"

"You fool, I was talking of Percival."

"My son is perfectly fine! I should know; he is of my blood."

"You are a blind fool, Weasley. You don't know your son, hell you and most of your family even viewed him as a traitor." There was an oddly sad emotion in Snape's eyes. "And I pity you for it. You'll never know what you're missing."

Arthur was enraged by this statement, so enraged that he didn't see Percy recollect himself, and push his older brother away even as he murmured a quiet thank you, ten pairs of eyes suddenly focused on the teen as he made his way to the door. What he did see was his son walking past him, and away. Desperate, he let out one more statement.

"Percy, aren't they all lies? I'm your father, and I'd know you better than anyone else. What say we put the 'traitor' business behind us, besides, you do agree with me."

Percy froze, then turned to face his father, an unassuming look on his face. Eyes blank, he gestured at his clothing.

"Do you recognize any of this?" It was a mildly asked question.

Arthur shook his head.

"Do you even remember what happened to me when I was six?" There was something almost desparate in the teen's voice.

Once again the boy's father shook his head in denial.

"Then you've never known me."

His exit was made in deep silence.