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“Wow.” Bill’s eyes danced as he poked his head into Percy’s bedroom. “Fred and George said you were grounded, but I wasn’t sure if I should believe them.”
Percy, who’d been banished to his bedroom for the foreseeable future, scowled at his older—at the teenager in front of him. “Just leave me alone.”
Bill opened the door further and walked in instead. “My room too, Perce, or did you forget?”
Percy let his head fall back on the pillow. Grounded, and he couldn’t even have a moment’s peace because he shared a room with Bill and Charlie. It was unfair.
To make matters worse, Bill walked over to Percy’s bed and sat on the edge. “So, what’d you say to Mum?”
Percy’s face went a little pink at the memory. He was reluctant to tell Bill, partially because he was embarrassed and partially because he wasn’t entirely sure he was wrong. When Bill nudged him none-too-gently, Percy sighed. “I asked Mum if she’d ever had any dalliances,” he mumbled.
Bill frowned. “You got grounded for asking if she’d been with anyone before Dad?”
Percy wished the bed would swallow him whole, and Bill must have caught the expression on his face because he doubled over with his laughter. “Percy!” he wheezed. “Tell me you didn’t—tell me you didn’t accuse Mum of having an affair.”
“I didn’t put it like that!” Percy crossed his arms over his chest and rolled over so that his back was to Bill. He could admit now that he understood why his mother had been so offended, but really—anything could have happened! Perhaps she and his father had been on a break; Percy had heard about those. Or maybe he’d been adopted. There was a Hufflepuff in his year who was adopted, and she looked like her adoptive parents. The Weasleys weren’t the only wizards in Britain with red hair!
“Charlie!” Bill was at the door and shouting down into the hall. He could barely speak through his laughter. “Charlie, get in here!”
Percy sat up quickly, completely outraged. “Hey!”
His protest, more than anything, prompted Charlie’s quick arrival. He entered, looking between Bill and Percy with poorly-disguised intrigue. “What’s this about?”
Bill’s grin was wicked. “Percy’s grounded—”
“Ah, tough luck.” Charlie patted Percy heavily on the shoulder. “Bound to happen eventually, even to insufferable know-it-alls like you.”
“No, no!” Bill waved his hand around, still doubled over. “Charlie, mate. He asked Mum if she’d had any dalliances while she was married to Dad!”
Charlie burst into raucous laughter, the force of his bringing him to his knees. Percy, red-faced, threw a pillow at them both. “It could have happened!”
Bill straightened up and wiped at his eyes; Charlie was on the floor, shaking too hard to speak. “Percy, why would you ask that? When do you think Mum would’ve had time to have an affair with another bloke?”
Percy drew his knees up to his chest. The idea that he was the outlier in his family was not a recent one, and he knew that his so-called siblings felt the same. That there might be an actual explanation for him feeling that way—that was new. But once the theory had been born, he couldn’t unroot it.
He had no athletic ability. While he enjoyed watching the sport, Percy couldn’t play Quidditch for the life of him—even Ginny, who was only six years old, showed more promise at the game than he did. He preferred to stay inside and read than go on wild adventures in the garden. He was missing the sense of humor the rest of his family possessed. He’d been tortured all his life, mostly by Charlie and the twins, for being different from the rest of them.
Was it really so unbelievable to think that he was a misfit in the family because he wasn’t technically a part of it?
He wasn’t about to voice any of that to Bill or Charlie, but he thought that they should appreciate his theory, seeing as how they didn’t think he fit in, either.
Charlie had recovered enough of his breath, unfortunately, to speak. “Merlin, I wish I’d seen Mum’s face! How long—how long was your sentence?”
Percy shrugged miserably. She hadn’t specified, and he was smart enough to know when not to ask clarifying questions.
“Right,” Bill said with a nod. “I bet I can figure that out for you. Try not to ask Mum if she’s been a part of any dragon smuggling operations for a while.”
Charlie was on the floor again. “Or—or if she’s been sneaking off with the Minster!”
“Or if she’s stolen the crown jewels.”
“Or if she’s running an underground crime ring!”
Percy shoved Bill towards the door, leaving Charlie on the floor for now. He was stuck in one place, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let them make his punishment any more torturous than it already was. Bill walked out easily enough, and then Percy began kicking Charlie to usher him out the door.
Once both teenagers had left the room, Percy collapsed back on his bed. There was no way that he was actually, fully related to those two idiots. It couldn’t be true.
He held on to that thought during dinner two hours later, which was… frigid.
Ron and Ginny were too young to know what was going on, but they had clearly picked up on the tension. If Ginny spoke at all, she was giving their mother sickly-sweet compliments and acting like a model child. Ron was keeping mostly to himself, but he still scowled at Ginny and Fred—who sat on either side of him—if one of them leaned in a little too close at the cramped table. Percy had to admit, it was sort of a welcome change from the constant whinging about his space that Ron usually did. Even the twins seemed to be on their best behavior.
It would have been nice if Molly Weasley wasn’t so obviously angry.
Her lips remained pressed in a thin line, parting only when she was taking a bite of the food she’d spent the last hour or so preparing, so Percy correctly guessed that she was not yet over his insinuations. Percy didn’t bring it up to her, choosing instead to eat the meal she’d served. He was unable, unfortunately, to conceal the curl of his lip when he realized there were mushrooms on his plate. Percy knew he was the pickiest eater in the family and so it wasn’t unusual that he was given something he didn’t like—with so many people to feed, it would be impossible to please everyone all the time—but it wasn’t the greatest ending to the day.
Percy began picking out the mushrooms, an action that he was sure was not unnoticed by his mother. She didn’t say anything to him about it, though, so Percy kept his mouth shut as he separated the ingredients. It was uncomfortably silent, especially since his father—or maybe his adoptive father—was working late and wasn’t there to break the tension.
“So, Mum,” Charlie began with a shit-eating grin, and Percy’s heart sank into his stomach. “I was wondering if you had any serious relationships before Dad, maybe an old flame you’d like to reconnect—ow, Bill.”
But Bill’s swift kick to the shin had not saved Charlie. Their mother’s brown eyes were full of warning. “Charlie Weasley,” she said slowly, a clap of thunder outside punctuating her words, “you know very well that I love your father very much.”
Charlie looked caught between his desire to cause mischief and his sense of self-preservation. In the end, he chose the flames. “Everyone has their moments of weakness—”
“That’s enough.” The entire family jumped as Molly stood up from her chair and grabbed Charlie’s plate, pushing it into his hands. “You’re taking that to your room, and you aren’t coming out until you’ve reconsidered how you speak to your mother. And I’m locking your broom in the shed for the week.”
It was the last part of the punishment that distressed Charlie. “Aw, but Mum! I wasn’t the one who accused you of—”
“Not another word,” Molly cut in quickly with a glance at the youngest children at the table. “Room, Charlie. Now. I’ll call you out to wash your plate later.”
Charlie, finally coming to the conclusion that he was fighting a battle he couldn’t win, retreated to his room, grumbling all the way. Molly sat when he’d gone, and Percy wished he hadn’t heard the shaky sigh that escaped her lips.
She picked up her knife and fork and continued eating. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Percival Weasley,” she murmured. “Your father is going to talk with you once he’s home.”
Percy slumped in his chair, but he knew better than to argue. He just picked at his food sullenly and let Bill take the reins on assisting in the after-dinner chaos of trying to get everyone down for bed. He washed his plate and then slipped off to his room, pointedly ignoring Charlie’s inquiries about whether or not it was safe to go back out there yet.
Percy climbed into bed and stared up at the ceiling. He could hear the rain coming down harder outside; it’d be just his luck if the roof sprung a leak. He sort of wished that it would, if only because being wet and miserable would distract him from waiting for his punishment.
“Oh, relax, Percy,” Charlie groaned from the other side of the room. “I can hear you overthinking.”
Percy rolled over so that his back was to Charlie. “You made everything worse at dinner,” he said hotly. “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone for once?”
“Oi, I’m in trouble, too. Besides, for a kid genius, you did a pretty dumb thing by bringing that up to Mum.”
“It was just a question!”
“A question that implies you think she had an affair.”
“Not necessarily,” Percy insisted. He just didn’t understand why everyone was taking this so personally. “I could have been adopted, or left at the door—”
“Merlin, Perce.” Charlie sat up in his bed, and something about his tone made Percy look over. Charlie was looking at him very strangely. “Don’t you realize that you hurt her feelings?”
Something stuttered in Percy’s chest. “I don’t think I—”
“You walked up to your mum and told her that you thought she betrayed her husband. And now you keep insisting that you couldn’t possibly be related to us all. Are we so terrible that you can’t stand the fact that you’re a part of this family?”
Percy felt the stirrings of guilt, but he didn’t like the accusation in Charlie’s tone so he doubled down. “You say all the time that it’s like I’ve come from another planet! None of you like me at all!”
Charlie’s face was red. “You think you’re so smart, but you don’t know shit! You’re just a dumb little kid who thinks he’s better than the rest of us.”
Thunder broke the brief silence that followed, Percy momentarily too stunned—and hurt—to speak. “I’m not dumb,” he said quietly, angrily, fisting his hands into his comforter. “You’re just jealous that I’m better at school that you are—”
“Oh, here we go.” Charlie threw his hands up in the air. “It’s always everyone’s fault but yours. You should be grateful I tried to loosen Mum up, but no, I’m just a shitty brother instead. I hope Dad lets you have it!” Charlie grabbed his dishes and stomped towards the door. Right before he wrenched it open, he jabbed his finger at it. “In case it’s gone over your big head, I’d rather risk her wrath than be in here with you.”
Percy couldn’t come up with a good enough retort before Charlie had stormed off, so he threw his pillow at the door as it slammed shut.
He buried himself under his comforter, burning and seething and trying to banish that pesky guilty worm Charlie had planted in his chest. He didn’t need to feel bad for asking if there was any doubt about his parentage. If anything, his so-called brothers should feel bad for making him feel like such an outcast that he had to ask!
At some point, Percy’s angry recollections of every time he’d been poorly treated by his family sent him to sleep.
He slept peacefully for several hours, caught in the bliss of an almost-dream, when the sensation of something cold and wet pierced his subconscious. Percy shifted in his sleep, but he couldn’t hold on to his slumber. The smell of petrol filled his nostrils, and the next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes to see Fred and George with twin grins standing over his bed and upending a familiar vial.
“Argh!” Percy shouted and rocketed up in bed, scrambling to get away from the treated bubotuber pus that Bill used on the acne he pretended not to struggle with. The younger boys erupted into laughter as Bill and Charlie startled awake and Percy tried to brush the substance out of his nightclothes without any success. He grit his teeth and glared, then cast a furious glance to the top bunk on the other side of the room. “You didn’t lock the door!” he accused.
“Yes, I did,” Bill snapped back, never one for early morning wakeups—especially since the sun hadn’t yet risen. “Just like you always ask me to do for some stupid bloody reason—oi, Fred, that’s mine!”
Fred turned to defend himself and Percy caught sight of Charlie’s lockpick—which he’d likely been planning to use to break into the broomshed—clutched in his other palm. Fred and George had obviously swiped it to make his night miserable, which was exactly why he always requested that Bill lock their bedroom door each night.
Percy trembled with the force of his rage. Any regret he’d felt after dinner was gone now; there was no way he was related to these buffoons who thought that covering someone in foul-smelling substances while they slept was funny. No way that he was related to someone who couldn’t go a single day without his broomstick. No way that he was a Weasley at all!
Practically steaming at the ears, Percy clamored out of bed and started shouting at the twins, who seemed to only delight in his outrage, but he could barely be heard over Bill reprimanding Fred about stealing his potions products and Charlie bellowing at them all to shut up so he could sleep—
“What’s all this, then?”
All five boys froze when the uncharacteristically stern voice of their father cut through their arguing. Arthur Weasley stood in the doorway of the bedroom, backlit by the light of the hall. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was still wearing his Ministry robes. His glasses were askew and there were dark bags under his eyes, proof of how weary he was.
None of the boys were willing to speak first, so they all just shuffled and muttered their apologies. Percy kept quiet, having been reminded that his punishment was still undecided and that the man who’d bring the axe down on his neck was the one in front of him.
Arthur held up a hand, silencing their mumbling. “Go to bed, boys,” he said sternly. “All of you,” he added with a disapproving look at Fred and George. Then his gaze landed on Percy. “I hear you and I need to have a talk.”
Surprised, Percy blurted out, “Now?”
Arthur nodded. “Best not to let these things fester.”
With legs of stone, Percy rolled himself out of bed and trudged over, the proverbial noose around his neck tightening with each step. Arthur put a hand on his shoulder when he reached him, then ushered Fred and George back to bed and shut Percy’s bedroom door.
The hand on his shoulder was firm, but gentle. “We’ll talk in the kitchen.” Arthur suddenly frowned and sniffed the air, then waved his wand, ridding Percy of the substance Fred and George had dumped on him—and banishing the awful stench of petroleum.
Relieved that he didn’t have to endure that any longer, Percy bobbed his head miserably and let himself be led in that direction. He glanced up at his father, trying to catch a sign of how much trouble he was in, but he couldn’t discern the expression on the man’s face. When they reached the kitchen, Percy stole a glance at the clock on the wall—just past one in the morning. He shifted guiltily, wondering how long ago exactly Arthur had returned from work.
He sat down at the table. On top of it was the small cauldron that his mum used to brew quick remedies, an orchid, and a small crystal vial.
“Your mum wrote to me this afternoon and told me what happened,” Arthur said by way of explanation when he caught Percy looking. “I picked these up on the way home.”
“What is it?” Percy asked curiously, unable to help the question.
“A paternity test.” Arthur poured the content of the vial into the cauldron and picked up the orchid. He plucked two of its petals, ground them with a mortar and pestle, and then dumped that into the cauldron, as well. “I’ll need one of your hairs,” he said as he plucked one of his own from his head. “If you are my son, the potion will turn white. If you’re not, it will turn grey.”
Percy glanced at the lilac potion, then pulled a strand of his hair out and handed it over. Arthur dropped both hairs into the potion and gave it a quick stir; immediately, the potion turned white.
Percy’s shoulders slumped. He felt horribly disappointed that his theory had turned out to be wrong—he’d wished more than anything that there was a reason for his distance from the rest of the family. But if he was truly a Weasley, then perhaps it was true that he was just the odd one out.
He cast his mind around for one last, desperate alternative. “Do you think Mum could—”
“Percy.” His dad’s tone finally held a hint of warning, a sign that his patience was not unlimited. “I watched you come out of your mother. There is no doubt you’re hers.”
Percy wrinkled his nose at the image, but he didn’t try to argue. “I only wondered,” he muttered darkly.
His father pulled out a chair and sat beside Percy. He watched his son closely. “There’s never been any doubt in my mind that you’re my son,” he said slowly. “What put a doubt in yours?”
Percy’s face grew warm. “I dunno.” He refused to meet his father’s gaze.
“Hmm.” Arthur flicked his wand, and the tin of biscuits his mother did her best to keep hidden from Ron came flying over. Arthur pushed it over. “Have a biscuit, Percy. And then tell me the truth.”
Percy sighed. His father was watching him so patiently that he couldn’t find it in him to delay any longer. “I thought that it would make sense if I was adopted. Or if I had a different dad. Not that there’s something wrong with you,” he added hastily, “but I’m not very much like you or Mum, so I thought it would… explain… some things.” He trailed off. Just to distract himself from the awkwardness of the situation he’d created, he grabbed a biscuit and took a large bite.
To his surprise, his dad chuckled wryly. “I don’t know if I should be angry or relieved,” he admitted. “Percy, children aren’t copies of their parents. That’s not how it works.”
“I know that!” Percy huffed, agitated and embarrassed. “But I’m not just different—no one else in the entire family is like me. Everyone thinks I’m strange. Charlie says it all the time, and—and you saw how Fred and George treat me! I don’t fit in with them at all.” He waved his hands around. “With all the evidence, it really wasn’t such an unreasonable conclusion—”
“Percy, you hurt your mother’s feelings,” Arthur cut in sternly. “Now, I purchased this potion because I knew you wanted unequivocable proof. That’s who you are—you prefer to see things for yourself rather than take someone’s word. And that can be a very valuable trait. But I’ve been married to your mum for eighteen years, and I’ve never once questioned her commitment to our marriage.”
The guilt was back. “I didn’t think she’d necessarily been unfaithful…”
“I heard the word ‘dalliances’ was used.”
“I just thought that it was a likely scenario!”
“It wasn’t logical, Percy,” his dad told him sternly. “Is it really a reasonable conclusion to draw? Because you have a different personality than your siblings?”
Well, when he put it like that… Percy shifted in his chair. “It could have been true,” he said weakly.
“I think,” Arthur said slowly, “that you’re struggling with feeling disconnected from your siblings and you’re trying to make sense of it.”
Percy bristled. “I am not,” he snapped, because it didn’t bother him that he couldn’t keep up in Quidditch or that Bill and Charlie always ran off on their own and left him behind. It didn’t bother him that Fred and George only took pleasure in pranking him or that Ron and Ginny thought he was boring.
But his dad was looking at him with sadness, like he could see right through Percy’s every attempt at a lie. “Brothers don’t always get along,” he continued softly. “Some of my brothers I only got close to in adulthood. Some of them I just don’t get along with. I promise that you’ll all figure out how you fit together soon. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t belong in our family.”
Percy’s gaze fell to his lap. He felt like his father was looking at him through a pair of omnioculars, scrutinizing every little movement he made. He was trying very hard not to let his father know that those words were poking holes in the walls he’d put up, and Percy wondered very briefly if he was actually as lonely as his dad thought.
Warm hands suddenly enveloped his own. “You’re just as special as anyone else in this family,” Arthur told him. “You have talents that your brothers don’t. And maybe they don’t appreciate them now, but they will. I’m very proud of who you are, you know.” When he smiled, Percy’s dad’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “You’re my son, and no matter what, I love you.”
Percy’s slumped a little in relief. He told himself that he hadn’t needed that reassurance, but it was nice to hear all the same. “Thanks, Dad.”
Arthur squeezed his hands. “You will need to apologize to your mum tomorrow—and your brothers, I think it’s safe to say. They might think that you don’t enjoy being a part of this family, with the way you carried on this evening.”
Privately, Percy thought the apology to his brothers was undeserved, but he supposed he’d implied some harsh things about his mother, who definitely hadn’t deserved them. “Okay,” he said with a heavy sigh. He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Erm… Mum didn’t tell me how long I was grounded.”
His dad clapped a hand to his shoulder. “How about just tomorrow? I think a heartfelt apology and an explanation will go a long way. Besides,” his dad winced, “I’d rather not ground you and Charlie at the same time if I can help it.”
Percy nodded, relieved. If nothing else, he decided, his father was fair. Arthur nodded back at him and then stood up, arching his back and groaning as it popped. Percy glanced at the clock again and realized that it was now nearing two in the morning. He bit his lip, looking back at his father. “Dad?”
Arthur turned back to him. “Yes, son?”
“It’s not that I didn’t want to be your son.”
Arthur’s expression softened. “I know. Believe it or not, I know something about feeling like an imposter in your own home.”
Percy tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “You do?”
His father hummed. “I do. But that’s a story for another night. I think we’ve both had a long day.”
Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Percy promised once more that he would apologize to his mum the next morning and then finally headed up to bed. He slipped through his bedroom door, then made sure to slide across the latch, just in case Fred or George tried to break in again. He tiptoed over to his bed, trying to be mindful of Bill and Charlie sleeping on the other side of the room.
Just before Percy climbed onto the mattress, he heard a rustling. He squinted through the darkness and could just make out the silhouette of Charlie sitting up in the bottom bunk. “Changed your sheets, Perce,” Charlie mumbled, still half-asleep. “Those little shits got ‘em all wet.”
Percy blinked, surprised. Sure enough, though, when he ran his hand over his mattress, it was dry—no evidence that Fred and George had been there at all. Percy floundered for a moment, unsure what to say. “Thanks, Charlie,” he finally whispered.
“Mhmm.” Charlie lied back down. “Know you have high standards, you little freak.”
He started snoring immediately. Percy climbed into bed, still stunned, but he didn’t scowl at being called a freak like he normally would have. Charlie was right; he couldn’t fall asleep unless certain conditions were met, clean sheets being one of them. As he placed his glasses on the bedside table, Percy wondered if his father was on to something when he said that they’d all figure each other out one day.
It wasn’t so bad, he thought to himself as he drifted off, to be a Weasley.