|
(Author's notes: I would like to say thanks to Switch, Lulu-chan and simmysim for reviewing A Loser's Game; here is a rather short (and, I hope, satisfactory) sequel to it.) A Nowhere State of Mind It was so dark outside Percy couldn't see what colors the roses were, but the brightness of Malfoy's hair that was recognizable even in this gloom. "You weren't sure I would come," said Malfoy. Percy held out his hands, pressed his fingers against the downy-soft skin. He had never felt guilty over the fact that Draco Malfoy was four years his junior, because mentally, in terms of cynicism, Malfoy was at least his equal. "I wasn't sure when." Malfoy shook his head, and Percy's hands slipped further, back behind his ears. "Ah. No, now that you mention it, I wouldn't miss out on this for the world." Percy knit his fingers in Draco's hair. "I don't think you're talking about negative reinforcement," he said, and tugged. "Well," said Draco, trying to squirm away--it had been calculated to hurt, "no." He ran his hands down the front of Percy's dress robes in a very distracting way. "I meant these. And your new job." "My...? I suppose you heard." He smirked, a flash of very pale white teeth and beautiful silver eyes, and even thought it must have been painful pulling against Percy's grip he kissed him teasingly. "More than heard. There were more senior officials available to replace Bartemius Crouch as a Triwizard Judge, not to mention to do the work of a Department Head. Why wouldn't one of them be assigned as the Acting Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation, instead of an eighteen-year-old, illustrious though his school record may have been?" "You--what?" "When Lucius Malfoy recommends one of Arthur Weasley's sons for a high-level position--if only as a substitute for the current holder--he's got to be very, very good... or very, very bad." Percy recoiled in disgust, hands falling from Malfoy's face. "Does he know?" he managed, thinking, You little bastard. He'd thought he'd been appointed on the basis of merit; to learn he was here because Lucius Malfoy, of all people, had put in a good word for him--his stomach churned. His own father would be-- "Of course not," scoffed Malfoy. "If he did, do you think he would've done this?" "Maybe he does know, and this is his way of--setting me up for the eventual but thorough destruction of my career." "He means to let you keep it until Crouch improves." Draco sounded so indignant Percy was sure the alternative hadn't occurred to him before tonight. Percy pulled his hands away, took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "And to whom did your father recommend me?" "'To whom,'" Draco repeated mockingly. "I don't know. Fudge, among others." "The Minister of Magic?" Malfoy shrugged. "It's not like Fudge was aware of any other candidates. He doesn't do anything, my father says, so from time to time he suggests an appointment with a few unsubtle words... tries to make it look like he's earning his pay." "He's the most powerful wizard in Britain. Apart from Dumbledore, that is," he added as an afterthought. Dumbledore was powerful like the sky was blue; it didn't need to be mentioned, and on bright days it couldn't be argued with. There was a snicker. "Powerful? Fudge? You can't possibly believe that." "Politically...." "Money," said Malfoy, his breath suddenly hot against Percy's chin, his words infernal, "Money talks." "I didn't--they weren't bribed, those who supported me for the--" "No. I told you, the senior officials in the department were so shocked that my father had something good to say about a Weasley they decided you must be some sort of wunderkind." "And what did he say?" "How should I know? ... eager, efficient, persuasive... that sort of thing, I expect." He had wanted so much to receive the station as a matter of merit, of being recognized as superbly competent, informed, adult, to even pause to consider that it might have been that he knew the right people. Favoritism was... wrong. "Why did you do it?" he asked, finally. "I can't help but be suspicious." "You made Head Boy. Sooner or later you'll figure it out." "Despite your reasons, then, I suppose I ought to be grateful," said Percy. Even the strongest of wizards could spend years under-employed before anyone noticed their talents were going to waste; at least as Acting Head of Department he and his worth would be conspicuous. Malfoy laughed, brusque and unamused. "My father says gratitude is the most unstable of currencies." "And thank him for me." "Why?" "I don't want to have to pay him back." He whispered this, hoarse from the sudden thought of the things Lucius Malfoy might want in return. "If he wants something, he has other witches and wizards in the Ministry who owe him for far greater favors, and they have more power and authority than you do. Besides, he's not too concerned about international co-operation." "He ought to be," said Percy heatedly, and would have launched into the usual lecture about the importance of international agreement on policies concerning magical artefacts and outlawed charms when he saw Malfoy was turning away from him. There was a rustle of vegetation. Malfoy had plunged his hands into a nearby rosebush and was plucking flowers, snapping off the thorns one by one. Percy slid his arms around Malfoy's waist and leaned closer to smell the roses. The bouquet grew fairly large, and the scent overwhelming. It filled first his senses and then his mind. Malfoy kept brushing his elbows against Pecry's arms with the movement but he stiffly and sullenly kept the rest of his body from accidentally touching Percy's. Finally he spoke. "These are for Parkinson." "The girl I saw you dancing with, earlier?" "She can't dance," said Draco sharply. "It was either bring her roses or bring her out to the rosebushes. I told her the latter was something no respectable Slytherin girl should appear eager to do." "I told Penny premarital sex could stunt careers and destroy ambitions." "Your idealism." Percy could hear the sneer. The boy was quivering. He moved his hands down to Draco's, pulled them from the rosebush. "I should have," he began, then forced Draco to turn around, "I've figured it out, all right," he said, and kissed Draco lightly on the forehead. "I wasn't sure, but I was hopingÉ you've been insisting there's nothing but lust and power for thirteen months so I'd expected you to never do anything so emotional again." "It is not, and never was, emotional," snapped Malfoy. Percy frowned. "So practically crying on my shoulder after losing the Quidditch Cup doesn't count as emotional." "Shut up. I didn't mean to, I didn't plan to, and I don't want to remember that I did. It was ignoble, not that you've known the opposite." From the sound of it he was almost ready to cry again. Percy, used to the insults Malfoy lobbed at practically everyone's line of descent, kissed him again, this time on the lips. "So what do you want?" "To win at Quidditch against Potter, to out-score Granger in exams, and to beat the living snot out of your younger brother." "You don't ask for much, do you?" Percy took his wand from his robes. "Lumos." In the pale golden light he saw Draco's face, the skin so white in deathly contrast to his robes. The velvet looked... expensive. Malfoy ducked his head, shielded his eyes from the sudden light with his free hand. "If I didn't ask for much, I wouldn't have anything to strive for." "You know, if you continue to hold the roses that tightly you'll crush the stems, and your... Parkinson... won't like them." Malfoy tossed the roses at Percy, feigning indifference. "She doesn't deserve them anyway." In the light of the wand they shone the same deep red color as blood. "It's nice to know that you think I do," murmured Percy, and knelt to collect them. "Only the best for the Acting Head of Britain's Department of International Magical Co-operation." Percy smiled wryly and, still on his knees, wanted to know, "Do these robes open in the front?" "No." "Pity." "There must be four teachers roaming the grounds, trying to keep the student body from committing 'wanton acts of carnality,' and Argus Filch out as well, and I'd hate to see what sort of scandal--I said, no." Percy smiled and rose with the flowers in his arms. "Hogsmeade?" "I think that's where the people from the Prophet are staying." "Damn." His watch read, "Almost a pumpkin again." "I'll write." "Why?" Percy shook his head and kissed Malfoy goodbye, pulling him closer as it deepened. Then he hissed and pulled away. "What the--? Your pockets are--" Malfoy didn't approve of the break, and stopped Percy's questions with his tongue. Percy, unsettled, tried to relax but remembered the roses he cradled so carefully, and how Malfoy's pockets were full of their thorns. |