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A Loser's Game "Malfoy glared witheringly at Percy. The Slytherins, Percy noticed, segregated their ranks by sexes. It was the sort of thing Purebloods would do and for a moment he approved of it before he realized that approving of it was not progressive, not modern, not politic thinking. But there was something he had to admire about the Slytherins, the efficient little monsters. They posted sentries so that by the time he stalked over to tell them off for talking when they should have been asleep, each and every one of them had fallen silent. Every one except one. The rest of the Slytherins were pretending to snooze but of course they listened to the continued monologue of Draco Malfoy. He was not discussing Sirius Black as he had probably already expressed his opinion and had it accepted by those surrounding him as the gospel truth. Such was the treatment Malfoy was used to from his housemates, and it seemed that he often forgot the rest of the school wasn't half as impressed by his name or wealth or social status. "You," Percy said. He would not deign to admit that he could match Malfoy's name to his voice. "No talking." "Who said that we weren't allowed to talk?" "I'm saying it. And I'm the Head Boy." His fingers closed around the badge. The light was too dim for the Slytherins to see it but it was there; authority was most potent when you didn't have to prove you had it. "I wouldn't be quiet for the headmaster, let alone the Head Boy." One of the Slytherins stifled a chortle. So Percy took ten points from that House, and warned them all that the next time it would be twenty. He hastened off to shush a group of Ravenclaw fifth-years, and returned to discover that Draco Malfoy still refused to shut up. The next time it would be fifty, and then he would have to talk to Professor Snape--when Professor Snape returned. If Professor Snape returned. Percy had faith in the Hogwarts staff but if Black really had been Voldemort's second-in-command.... He could barely remember those days. He pretended he did and shuddered at the evil because, well, his nightmares automatically had priority over those of his younger siblings if they featured Death Eaters. Sometimes in the dark he blushed to think of that deception, when he had trouble falling asleep or when he stayed awake at night to write a particularly elusive conclusion to an essay. The long, silent hours spent along surrounded by so many people never ceased to remind him, so he fell into a bad mood at half-past two and began dealing out stiff penalties to those few who still dared to talk. Those who attempted to sneak out of the Great Hall received detention. Didn't they know there was a murderer on the loose? At a quarter to four he subtracted another twenty points from Slytherin. "Honestly," snarled Malfoy, "I have to take a piss. I could go on the Gryffindors but I imagine--" "You're supposed to alert a prefect." Malfoy appeared to think on this for a moment. The starlight was reflected in his fine, pale hair. "How can I break a rule without knowing it is a rule? And all the prefects have fallen asleep." "Then you alert a teacher." "I've alerted you." "You were caught. And you need to be escorted by the prefect to the bathroom down the hall." Malfoy cast a dubious glance over the rows of sleeping students and then shrugged his acquiescence. They traversed the hall in silence; Malfoy would not speak to a Weasley except to insult him, and Percy saw no more rules being broken or reasons--excuses--to deduct points from Slytherin. Once in the bathroom Malfoy fumbled left-handedly at his fly, and Percy politely half-turned away, knowing as he did so that he had surrendered some power but knowing also that he would only compound the error by turning around again. A change of mind was as good, as bad, as indecision, and to falter was to be weak. He may have had trouble, using his left hand instead of his right, and technically a prefect--the Head Boy was a prefect, albeit an elevated one--was supposed to help students in need, but this was a little too personal. Malfoy swore a few times and Percy, smirking, decided that he preferred to listen to the Slytherin suffer. He felt almost as wicked as his younger brothers. "I've finished," said Malfoy. Percy twisted around but Malfoy hadn't yet zipped up, and he felt a telltale burn of blood in his cheeks. His face had to be glowing, and he knew he would never hear the end of this. "Why did you drink so much?" "What," asked Malfoy sharply, "do you think I knew in advance that Sirius Black would be breaking into Hogwarts and the entire student body would be confined to the Great Hall?" He sounded like he wished that had been the case, and not only because being escorted to the bathroom was embarrassing. Percy yearned to say, You're a Slytherin. He yearned to say, You're the son of Lucius Malfoy. Instead he managed a mild, "Overindulgence signifies a lack of discipline." "And you think that as Head Boy you ought to correct it?" "By example, yes; that's part of the Head Boy's duties--" But there was a glint in Malfoy's eyes that he told himself he did not like. He could not look away from them. "You know that example never works. Or at least should know. Negative reinforcement is the only effective method." It was a view he could not voice, could not admit espousing. He could feel the blood in his face, hear it in his ears as it rushed through his temples. "Hogwarts ruled against corporeal punishment decades ago." "Only officially," said Malfoy. His left hand--which, Percy remembered, he hadn't washed--grabbed Percy's collar. He was much shorter than Percy and when he pulled initially Percy resisted. He could have kept on resisting but found he didn't want to. Tentatively he licked, nibbled and then bit down hard on Malfoy's lips. The flesh was tender, young, smooth, teeth small and white and regular. Neither had been back to their dormitories since dinner and the kiss had a sour taste to it, a taste that framed by their lips was not unpleasant. He breathed, "I don't think that counts as disciplinary." "Bite me again," said Malfoy. "It's not negative reinforcement if you want it," countered Percy. His glasses were fogged. Malfoy released him and, sneering, asked, "What if I don't want it?" *** Percy found he could look Malfoy in the face for the next week; admittedly he could not help but blush slightly when he did so. He knew he could not appear to care, appear to acknowledge, even, that anything had happened between the two of them. Malfoy for his part seemed to ignore the incident, acting no differently in Percy's presence than he had before November, but Percy knew he had to remember it every bit as vividly as he did--perhaps not at the same times or with the same shame, or delight, or both. Eight days passed and then on a dreary Monday morning Percy looked across the Great Hall at breakfast to discover Draco Malfoy's right arm had been taken out of its bandages. "I knew the little bastard was faking it," grumbled George. "You and everybody else," Fred snapped. Percy was usually sure which twin was which: Fred tended to go for the throat, while George was relatively easy-going and conciliatory. "But, well, if we could've kept Harry off the field--" "We need a reserve Seeker. One for that sort of weather. The Ravenclaws--" Percy finished his breakfast and left the table, wiping his mouth distracted on his sleeve. As he exited he thought he could feel Malfoy's eyes follow him out. An hour or so afterwards he happened to find Malfoy in the corridors. Part of him had been expecting to, but Malfoy acted like he hadn't meant to be caught. "Bunking off, I see." "Maybe I don't have a class." Malfoy couldn't regain his composure, though, and Percy heard something akin to panic behind the sneer. He pulled the master roll book from his pocket. "Monday morning, Slytherin third-years are in Herbology. A truancy is worth ten points from your House." "Oh," said Malfoy, "points. I'm scared." Percy wrapped his hands over Malfoy's hipbones and covered his mouth. Their tongues shoved and wrestled gracelessly. Finally he said, "Is that enough negative reinforcement for you?" "Not at all." Malfoy's eyes narrowed, cool and fearless and challenging. "I want more." Which was how they ended up in the nearby Prefects' Bathroom, naked on the tiles. Percy's head was swimming though the steam from that morning had long ago dissipated. He looked down at Draco Malfoy with a sort of wonder and awe as the boy tried, and failed, to maintain a blasé expression. His limbs were thin with youth but his frame was in a process of pubescent expansion, and everywhere he was white or red or some elegant gradation, nothing like Percy had seen before, not from this angle or distance. The boys in Egypt hadn't been boys but legal and consenting adults, dark-skinned and -eyed, sweet-smelling and strongly muscled. Malfoy, from his sleek pale hair to the fierce blush across his pointed cheeks to the tips of his sunless toes, was intensely English, and Percy could not help but stare. The wait seemed to anger Malfoy. "I did not get undressed to be gawked at; I got undressed to be fucked." Percy ducked down to kiss him but Malfoy put his hands on his shoulders and pushed him away, unamused. Percy grabbed the boy's wrists and drew them up over his head. Under the near-transparent coat of Malfoy's body hair the muscles shifted involuntarily. "You did not come at all," Percy reminded him. "I took you here." "No," muttered Malfoy. His entire body shivered. It was traditional that prefects kept some sort of lotion or lubricant, some masturbatory oil, in the bathroom. Percy went to look for it--it had no fixed location; once it was used the prefect returned it to wherever was convenient--and eventually he found it behind a pile of towels. He hesitated, then brought back a pair of towels as well, folded and laid one out beneath Malfoy's hips, the other beneath the boy's head. He squirmed and fidgeted but watched with bored and surly silver eyes. He did not thank Percy--so Percy said, "Better this than you hitting your head on the tile and getting a concussion." "Which you would have to explain." "Of course. You look to your own interests, and I'll do the same with mine." It reminded him of a game he had played in Egypt with a boy who'd had pierced nipples and a shy smile: Do you love me, But they had laughed when they played it, and ignored how it hurt. And afterwards Malfoy walked around the tub, twisting faucets and moving with a light-footed tentativeness that Percy watched smugly. He was too tired to object that this being the Prefects' Bathroom only Prefects ought to bathe there, and besides Malfoy only dipped himself in and then out of the water. He toweled off, took his clothing and left, all without looking directly at Percy. Percy was being dared to object, and he did not. This was authority, gaining most by staying quiet, and he wasn't going to relinquish it. He reveled in it, his eyes barely level with Malfoy's knees. He watched the Slytherin tying his shoes, fingers tangled hopelessly in their sturdy black laces.
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