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Paternity	By : Scribe Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 4738 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Disclaimer applies to all chapters

Title Paternity
Author: Scribe
Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: Circumstances (and unknowing contact with magic), leave Ron expecting--but who is the father--Harry or Draco? And how will each react? And can Lucius resist trying to turn this to his advantage?
Rating: Fan rated adult only
Pairings: Ron/Draco, Ron/Harry, Draco/OMC
Characters: Ron, Harry, Draco, Lucius, Severus, and various other HP characters
Betas: None
Notes:
Disclaimer: I did not create, and do not own the rights to, the recognizable media characters that appear in this story.
I have no legal or bindingagreement with the creators, or owners.
I do not seek, and would not accept,profit from this fiction.
I have nothing but affection and respect for the creators, and the actors and actresses who portrayed these characters.
This story is in no way meant to reflect on the actual lives or life styles of the actors and actresses who portrayed the characters
All original characters are copyrighted by the author. Do NOT use without specific permission
Warnings: Mpreg

Definitions and Latin translations: gelu--frost, chill. crystallus--a crystal drinking cup, the closest I could find to glass. These are taken from Latin Dictionary, an online translator. kow-tow: To show servile deference. Sweet--dessert: a course or dish of sweet food served at or near the end of a meal. Sommelier--a specialist wine waiter or steward. Vodun--official name for voodoo. gannet--a greedy person.

Paternity

By Scribe

Part One

Stuck

Lucius Malfoy stared down his nose at his only son. Scorn dripped from his voice as he said coldly, "Once again you disappoint me, Draco."

Draco crossed his arms, scowling. "I tell you it wasn't my fault! I can't help it if those idiots, Crabbe and Goyle, managed to get themselves caught trying to sabotage the Gryffindors' brooms before the final Quidditch match. We'd have won the house cup if those two hadn't..."

They were in a tiny private room at the back of The Hog's Head. Lucius felt that the establishment was far below his standards, but he hadn't wanted to go to Hogwarts, or patronize The Three Broomsticks. In those two places there was always the chance that he'd run into Dumbledore, Potter, or one of those irritating, rusty-haired Weasley brats. There never seemed to be an end to them.

Lucius paced angrily. He hadn't taken off his cape, and it swirled about him every time he made a turn--which was often, given the room's tiny dimensions. "Excuses, Draco, and shoddy ones at that. Crabbe and Goyle are your creatures--they obey you. As a Malfoy, you must be sure of your minions. You must take responsibility for their failures if you wish to take responsibility for their successes."

Draco's scowl deepened. *Right. I didn't notice you scrambling to take the blame the last time one of your plots fell through.* He didn't voice the thought. His father liked to think of himself as a civilized man, but Draco knew from first hand experience that his temper could be volatile--if he believed that the object of his anger couldn't fight back. Instead of saying what he was thinking, Draco responded, "Well, what do you want from me? They're the best of a bad lot. None of the junior boys have the physical presence of Crabbe and Goyle. They might be dregs when it comes to magic, and thick as pavingstones, but they can certainly knock heads, and they enjoy their work. As for the senior boys..." The corner of Draco's finely chiseled upper lip lifted in a sneer that was familiar to every Gryffindor, "they enjoy power politics as much as we, Father. None of them are willing to place themselves under my hand, though a few have offered me the position of toady."

Lucius' eyes flashed. He was, as usual, carrying his totally unnecessary walking stick, and his knuckles tightened on the silver head till they were white. He hissed, "No son of mine will kow-tow to one who has not yet earned our lord's Dark Mark! If you were sufficiently forceful you could win them to your side, Draco. Damn it, boy, you're my son! When I was your age I had a circle of useful allies under my influence, and what have you managed? Two near imbeciles, with nothing to recommend them but their pure blood, brute strength, and blind obedience. Granted, those are all good qualities, but they aren't enough! You need to draw to your side people who are brave, cunning, and powerful."

Draco had a temper to match his father's and it was rising. He decided to aim for one of his Lucius' sore points. He drawled, "Maybe I should try to seduce Potter."

His barb struck home. Lucius froze, his normally fair features going pale. His hand slid down to grip his cane by the middle, then he jerked it up, ready to strike. Draco didn't try to evade whatever was coming, just quickly turned his shoulder to his father, presenting a less vulnerable target. Lucius caught himself. Instead of hitting his son, he thoughtfully tapped the head of the cane in his palm, glowering at Draco. Finally, his expression grim, he lowered it to his side. "Careful, Draco. You're fast approaching the point where your youth won't protect you."

He crossed to a chair and sat, his movements unconsciously graceful. There was a small brass bell on the table beside him, and he rang it. After a moment a harried looking house elf appeared before him, bowing and scraping. "Yus, yus, what can Blog do for the gentleman? He wants food? He wants drink?" Blog glanced at the sullen, white-haired boy pouting nearby and said slyly, "He wants a room for an hour or two?"

Lucius whacked the elf on the head with his cane, eliciting a thump and a yelp. "He wants you to shut your blathering sink hole of a mouth and listen. Is there anything potable in this pestilent excuse for a pub?"

The elf looked confused. "We can bring Sir ale in a pot if he wishes, but..."

This time Lucius rapped the creature's bare toes. "Drinkable, you nit! Is there anything I can choke down without endangering my health? Do you have wine?"

House elves were very limber, and while Lucius spoke, Blog had raised the injured foot up to his face, and was sucking his toes. When Lucius finished his speech, though, the elf quickly came to attention. "Oh, yus Sir, yus! We has much nice wine! We has thistle berry, alligator pear--has quite a snap to it, has that one..." Lucius scowled at this feeble attempt at humor, tapping his cane on the floor. Blog cleared his throat and continued. "We has horse apple, and we has dandelion-chickweed." His chest puffed out with pride of his establishment. "All fresh, Sir. Not one more than two weeks old."

Lucius covered his eyes for a moment. "Bring me a glass of water--chilled."

The house elf was nodding, eager to be away. "Yus, Sir! One water."

Lucius' cane came down on its shoulder--not striking, but holding firmly. "And make sure the glass is clean."

"Yus, Sir! One water, special order." He disappeared.

Once the elf was gone, Lucius crossed his legs, laying the cane across the arms of the chair. "What shall I do with you, Draco?" Draco shrugged. "You know that these shortcomings can't be allowed to go unpunished."

"Make me leave the table before the sweet is served for a month?"

Lucius' eyes narrowed. "Sarcasm is not in your best interest right now."

The house elf reappeared, offering a small tray bearing a sparkling clean tumbler of water, the outside of the glass delicately laced with frost. Draco could picture the elf frantically running about, trying to get someone to cast a Gelu Crystallus spell to achieve that effect. Lucius, with his usual appreciation, snapped, "I suppose I'm supposed to freeze my fingers?" The elf babbled something, disappeared, and reappeared with a napkin wrapped around the glass. Lucius picked it up, examined it critically, sniffed it, and took an experimental sip. He rolled it over his tongue, as if it was wine, and he was considering ripping into the sommelier. Finally he gave a grudging nod, and Blog disappeared in a twinkle.

Lucius continued sipping, watching Draco. Draco folded his arms and waited. Lucius was deciding on his punishment, and any interruptions would just add to it. Finally Lucius said, "Your mother and I leave for Monte-Carlo next week."

*Maybe he's finally decided to be decent.* "I want to check out the Muggle style of gambling. I know that the legal age is twenty-one, but I'm seventeen now, and it shouldn't be too hard to whip up some convincing papers."

"Yes, well, perhaps you can borrow some Muggle books about it from Granger. I said that your mother and I would be goin. I said nothing about you."

"What?" Draco was aghast. "You can't mean to make me stay home all summer."

"No, indeed. You are to remain at Hogwarts over the summer holiday. I'll send Dumbledore an owl when I get home."

"That's unfair!" Draco's voice was rising in volume, and pitch. He caught himself before it became falsetto. He'd waited long enough for it to drop into adult register, and he wouldn't give his father the satisfaction of seeing him so enraged and disappointed that he squeaked.

"Draco, consider this--you could spend the Christmas holidays here, also. And the Easter. And all holidays until you graduate."

Draco chewed his lip, glaring at his father, but the threat was not empty. His shoulders slumpedittlittle, and his father's self-satisfied little smile made him hate the man just a that much more. "Huh. Well, at least I won't have to worry about dealing with Potter and Weasley for three months."

~~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~~

Ron Weasley slumped deeper into a chair in the Gryffindor common room, staring at the unrolled scroll in his hand. Pigwidgeon was hopping around the table before him, twittering busily. Ron didn't even look up when the little brown owl picked open a packet of Famous Witches and Wizards Cards. Harry, sitting on the other side of the table, watched at Pigwidgeon ate the Chocolate Fthatthat sprang out, and began hopping about even more madly. "Ron, Pig is into you candy." No response. "Ron!"

"It's bloody unfair, that's what it is," Ron mumbled.

"You know how Pig is. You shouldn't leave your candy lying about when he's loose."

"Not that, Harry--this!" Ron shook the parchment angrily. "My Mum sent it back with Pig."

"You look like someone's kicked your dog. Is it bad news?"

"It's horrible! I'm marooned, forsaken, betrayed!"

"You're melodramatic. What is it that's gotten your knickers in a twist?"

That brought Ron slightly out of his funk, as Harry had known it would. "Stop it, Harry, this is serious." He took a deep breath. "I'm not to go home for the holidays."

Harry sat forward, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose. "Why not?"

"Because my father is being sent to Haiti for the entire summer to learn about Vodun."

Harry frowned. "Your father investigates the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. Why are they sending him to learn about Vodun?"

Ron threw down the paper. "Because his supervisor is planning on taking a cruise this summer, and -someone- has to go. They sweetened the deal for Dad by offering to pay for Mum to go along. That's just brilliant for them, but it bollocks up my summer."

Harry smiled. "Language, Ron! What would your Mum say?"

"Nothing, because she won't hear, because I won't bloody be around her, will I? Mum and Dad are off to tropical climes. Bill, Charlie, and Percy have moved out on their own, Fred and George are boarding away while they're interning with the Capers and Japes Novelty Company, Hermione invited Ginny to spend the summer with her, and I'm stuck here." His anger melted into distress, and he almost wailed, "None of the other Gryffindors are staying, and there won't be more than a dozen or so from the other houses. I'll die of loneliness."

Harry felt a twinge of sympathy for his friend. He himself was used to solitude. The Dursleys excluded him whenever possible, and Harry had never wanted to seek their company, but it was different for Ron. The Weasleys were a big, boisterous, loving clan. They might squabble, but they were very close, and with his elder brothers attending Hogwarts before him, Ron had never been separated from family for long. Harry realized that the prospect of being far from the secure womb of the other Weasleys for over three months was frightening for Ron, though he'd never admit it. *He'll cop to irritation or anger, but he thinks he's too grown up to hurt from missing his family.*

Harry looked at his friend's miserable face and came to a decision. "Would it help if I stayed over, too?"

Ron looked up in surprise. "But you don't have to, Harry."

"Of course I don't, you silly git. Don't you think I'd rather spend the summer here, in comfort, with my best friend, rather than be the Dursleys' whipping boy?"

Hope tinged Ron's voice. "Can you?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't see why not. The only reason that Uncle Vernon would say no would be if he thought I really, really wanted it. I'll ask Dumbledore to phrase the request so that it sounds like it's his idea, but I'm really pining to be home, and my uncle will send back a reply in a shot, explaining how he couldn't possibly have me home over the summer."

"That would be smashing, Harry. We'll have all day to do whatever we like. I've heard that summer residents can do chores to earn pocket money, and we could just splurge in Hogsmeade every week." Ron was looking quite cheerful. He chuckled. "I can't wait to tell Fred and George. They'll turn pea green."

"Right. Well, I'd best go talk to Dumbledore. I don't know how he's going to contact the Dursleys. I've never sent Hedwig there, and I'm certainly not going to now. Dudley got a pellet gun for Christmas."

As Harry left the room to seek out Dumbledore, Ron got parchment from a stack on the table, grabbed a quill, and began to compose his letter home. Pigwidgeon had given up on trying to fly or walk, and was lying on his back, feet in the air, bouncing.

~~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~~

Graduation was over. Nearly all the lower form students had gone home the day before, but Hogwarts had been crammed with the friends and families of the graduating students. *It was like a poxy stirred up ant hill,* thought Draco sourly. He was sitting in the dining hall at one end of one of the Slytherin tables, poking disinterestedly at the assortment of cakes and bon-bons he'd demanded from one of the house elves. The creature had tried to protest that 'it will spoil young Sir's dinner, so it will', till Draco had picked it up by its large ears and shaken it.

A Slytherin boy stuck his head into the dining hall. Draco recognized him as Daggett Beanstone, one of the ones who'd just received his diploma. He looked around, spotted Draco, and strolled over with elaborate casualness. "Hullo, Malfoy. Mind if I join you?"

Draco cocked one fair eyebrow. Daggett wasn't the sort to waste words on a lower form boy. *He wants something.* Draco tilted his chin toward the chair beside him. "Have a seat." As Daggett sat down, Draco said, "I thought you'd be gone by now."

"Tomorrow. Dad doesn't like to travel at night, and it would be three-bloody-AM before we got home if we left now. We'll toddle off tomorrow sometimes around tenish. I hear you'll be staying over the holidays."

"Good news travels fast," said Draco dryly.

"Malfoy..." Daggett glanced around, not bothering to hide the fact that he was scanning for listeners. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in doing me a little favor." He paused.

"I'm listening."

"You're good at, um, acquiring things, aren't you?"

Draco nodded silently. When he was twelve, during a trip with his father to Knockturn Alley, he'd seen a Hand of Glory in Borgin & Burkes, and coveted it. His father, wrapped up in disposing of a few items that would have been very hard to explain to the Ministry of Magic, had refused Draco's demands. Draco had never ceased to lobby for the Hand, and last Christmas his mother had broken down and bought it for him--secretly. With the Hand of Glory, Draco could move about the darkened campus without a light showing to give him away. It made 'acquiring' things rather easy.

"I'd like you to get something from the greenhouse for me."

"Why can't you get it yourself? Sprout is there now, busy getting everything settled for the summer so that the elves can tend to things without causing a massive die-off."

"You see, Malfoy, I'm afraid that Sprout wouldn't be exactly eager to hand over what I'm thinking of. In fact, she's got it hidden inside a locked cupboard."

Now o wao was curious. "What is it?"

"Just some seeds. She's gotten a grant from the Department of Magical Agriculture to experiment back in her home garden this summer, trying to grow some hybrids. She'll be taking them with her when she leaves tomorrow, so they have to be gotten tonight."

"If she intends to take them away tomorrow, they'll be missed. I'm not going to have something go missing when I'm one of the few suspects around."

"No, it won't be like that, Malfoy--not if you're careful. You see, I don't want all of them--two or three will do. She'll never miss them out of a bag of seeds, will she?"

Draco considered this. "And what's in this for me?"

"Two galleons." Draco stared at him. "Three." Draco continued to stare. "Damn, Malfoy, I never thought you for a gannet."

"I'm not, Beanstone, but you seem to be gagging for whatever this is, and since I'm the only one who can get it for you, you ought to be ready to pay my price."

Daggett eyed Draco shrewdly. He laid a hand on Draco's thigh and purred, "And what would that be?"

Draco smirked. "Not that. No, Beanstone, all I want is a f in in return."

"What sort?"

"I don't know yet. If I get you what you want, you'll owe me. I'll collect when I feel it's time."

Daggett bit his lip, studying Draco. It wasn't a good idea to owe a Malfoy, but Draco was right--he didn't know of any other way he could get what he wanted. "All right."

"Where, exactly, is this stuff, and what is it?"

"It's in the middle cabinet at the back of the greenhouse, bottom section. It' a h a heavy canvas bag, with Sprout's name on it, and the initials SL." He stood up. "I'll be staying with Dad in Hogsmeade tonight, but I'm purposefully leaving a pair of cufflinks here. I'll be back to pick them up before breakfast, and you can give me the seeds then. Be sure to wear gloves at all times."

"Why? Are the seeds corrosive? Are they poisonous?" The idea that he might be illicitly acquiring poison for someone else didn't bother Draco much, except as it concerned his own safety.

"No, not as such." Daggett got up and began to leave.

"Wait--what do they do?"

Daggett smiled nastily. "You'll find out your senior year." Whistling jauntily, he left the room.
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Paternity