Fic: Knowing His Place (Percy/Lucius, R)
Today is August 9, which means that my slashfest story can be posted elsewhere. So...well...here it is. Definitely a weird pairing, but I think it makes sense. And amazingly, there is actually slash in here. Not genslash. SLASH.
Title: Knowing His Place
Author: gehayi
Fandom: Harry Potter (spanning GoF, OotP and HBP)
Pairing: Percy Weasley/Lucius Malfoy
Rating: R
Word Count: 4,564
Summary: People tend not to see the strengths of those they hate--or of those whom they underestimate.
Author's Note: For demonofrice, who wanted Percy/Lucius without fluff or sap.
Also, extraordinarily minor spoiler for HBP.
Might likewise be considered a bit AU--but on the other hand, we never did hear where Lucius was or what he was doing during Half Blood Prince.
As always, thanks to underlucius for the beta and Brit-picking.
***
He's known for a long time that he was put in the wrong House at Hogwarts. This does not surprise him--the Sorting Hat isn't infallible, after all. Even if it is imbued with the minds and personalities of the Founders...well, the Founders disagreed a fair bit, didn't they?
Bill and Charlie, yes, they're Gryffindors. But he has his doubts about the rest of the family. The twins are natural Slytherins--cunning men who parleyed their skill at pranks into a lucrative career. That kind of ambition is pure Slytherin. He wonders how the Hat missed it.
Ron, he thinks, would have done better in Hufflepuff. It's not that Ron's not brave--he is--but bravery doesn't define him. Loyalty does.
He can't quite decide where Ginny belongs, Gryffindor or Slytherin. His baby sister is brave, he has to give her that--but she plans things, and no one ever knows that she is planning. She learned to fly and play Quidditch without any of her brothers even catching her using their brooms. She's even managed to ambush a few Death Eaters. Whether she's ambitious, he doesn't know, but she definitely possesses Slytherin cunning.
He should have been put in Slytherin. Like the twins, he's ambitious; he wants nothing more than to escape from the genteel poverty that's imprisoned him his entire life. But Fred and George will be satisfied with wealth. He craves more: power, authority, respect, adulation.
He's heard all his life that money and power can't buy happiness. Rot. Obviously whoever concocted that saying was rich and powerful, and didn't want anyone else trying to attain either.
Well, he's been poor, and he's been powerless, and he's dealt with the mockery of family, and the casual, contemptuous indifference of fellow students and of employers.
He'll try the other way, thanks.
***
He meets Lucius Malfoy for the first time because of the new regulations on the thickness of cauldron bottoms.
The rule's a marvellous joke to his family. Everyone thinks it's ridiculous--a complete waste of time. Fred and George, particularly, find it risible, and screech over the rule like howling chimpanzees.
No one seems to realise that the rule is directed at--among other things--smugglers. It's easy enough to make a cauldron with a false bottom and place some contraband Dark artifacts within it. Crouch thinks that the Death Eaters--the allegedly former Death Eaters, he should say--have been doing this for years.
Crouch is distracted; much of his attention is focussed upon the Triwizard Tournament, and on who instructed Crouch's own house elf to send the Dark Mark. Most of the work falls on Percy's shoulders. He is careful to complain about it where his colleagues can hear, for too much eagerness will get him labelled a brown-noser, one of the enemy. And too much competence will frighten his superiors--ageing men who fear clever and ambitious young men who could so easily take over their bosses' jobs and do better than the bosses ever dreamed of doing.
He gives the impression, therefore, that he is clever and competent but insecure…and just a little bit pompous. Insecurity, he knows, will tell his rivals that he is too busy worrying about his own job to go after theirs. And the pomposity will encourage them to laugh at his foolishness--which is exactly what he wants, for now.
People tend not to see the strengths of those they hate--or of those whom they underestimate.
And while he is busy misdirecting the attention of potential rivals, he takes care to note which Dark Items have been confiscated by wizarding customs officials...and the names of those who are suspected of being behind the smuggling.
It makes for fascinating reading.
And as he reads, he adds things up. There is no Voldemort now, of course, but the Death Eaters are still a powerful--and well-organised--force. They have contacts, money, power and influence. Yes, they may be useful.
Eventually, Lucius Malfoy comes to see--well, not him, but Bartiemus Crouch. Crouch is busy, though, so Percy plays the part of the stand-in, listening to Malfoy's complaints and not-quite-spoken threats and not-quite-offered bribes. He watches Malfoy's grey eyes flicker toward him in utter disdain, and he perceives the contempt just barely below the surface of Malfoy's carefully controlled expression. A brainless Gryffindor, the eyes say. Pompous, self-important and useless. Portrait of a Weasley as a bureaucrat.
Malfoy, it seems, does not know how much he is revealing in his behaviour. The complaints--carefully couched in innocuous language--confirm that Malfoy is indeed one of the Death Eater smugglers. The bribes and threats tell him that Malfoy is more accustomed to using his money and his influence than his brains. And the disdain and contempt tell him that Malfoy is underestimating him, seeing him as far, far less than he truly is.
It's absolutely perfect.
He gives a virtuoso performance of a young, pompous, mildly stupid bureaucrat suffering from deep insecurity and even deeper dissatisfaction. It doesn't take much--a bewildered frown, a few moments of tapping his desk anxiously, a word or two that might or might not be taken several different ways. Eventually, he sees Malfoy's eyes light with interest and speculation: this boy could be my spy.
He struggles not to laugh. For now, Malfoy has to believe that he is the spider, and not the fly.
They make arrangements to meet again. This, he knows, means nothing; it will take time to convince Malfoy that he is willing to spy for him. Being too eager too fast will merely persuade Malfoy that he is, fundamentally, a worthless opportunist out for whatever he can get.
Well, that's half-true. He is an opportunist. But he's not going to settle for what he can get. He'll get what he wants--and more. That's far more satisfying.
***
The Weasley reputation is, in its way, an Invisibility Cloak. Thanks to his father and elder brothers, everyone has perfect faith in his integrity--even those like Malfoy, who have no reason to believe in his virtue.
It is in large part because of the Weasley reputation that he has to play the part of a venal young bureaucrat who is too naïve to realise he's being led astray. He dislikes this; people easily mistake shadow for substance, and he has no intention of losing power because others think him too naïve or too stupid to use it or to control it properly.
This is the most stressful part of the game. He could lose everything, yet Malfoy--at this stage--would lose little. It is tempting to rush through this portion, to let Malfoy see he's not so stupid after all.
He resists the temptation. He needs to lay the foundations for his naivete now; otherwise, he could sabotage his own work.
But oh, it's hard.
***
The rumour that Voldemort has risen nearly upsets everything.
It's impossible not to hear this news in the Ministry of Magic. Fudge issues so many panicked denials and the Prophet spends so much time discrediting Harry Potter that the accuracy of the story seems to be a dead giveaway. He is irked that so few wizards and witches perceive the deception. He's working so hard to fool Crouch's replacement and Fudge and his colleagues and Malfoy--and these stupid, blatant lies are what trick people?
He shakes his head sadly. There's just no appreciation for true style in this world. It's tragic, really.
Nevertheless, he continues with what he has planned. He is an artist, after all--even if the Philistines around him don't notice art. He's not going to transform his plans from a meticulously crafted fresco into a portrait on black velvet of the Weird Sisters in concert.
Voldemort's resurrection, unfortunately, requires him to break with the family. He truly doesn't want to; except for the twins, whom he mentally consigns to the deepest pits of Hell, he likes his family. It's a weakness, he knows, but it's not a weakness he can eliminate. For better or worse, he genuinely is fond of them, and doesn't want them to come to any harm.
Left to their own devices, he doesn't think that most of them would come to any harm--nothing political, anyway. His father might blow himself up while enchanting some Muggle device or other. His mother might have an aneurysm screaming at his siblings. Bill could be turned to dust by a curse he's trying to break for Gringotts'--though that's less likely now that Bill is working in England instead of traipsing through the pyramids of Egypt. Charlie could be incinerated by a dragon. Fred and George could be killed by the side effects of one of their own inventions. Ginny...well, Ginny is probably safe. It's not likely that she'll be possessed by Voldemort twice in one lifetime.
The problem, quite simply, is Dumbledore--and that ridiculous resistance group he's trying to bring back from the dead. The one that Percy's parents and his two older brothers have joined.
Looking at it logically, as he is wont to do, the Order of the Phoenix is an exercise in futility. There simply aren't enough members to be effective as soldiers or to gather sufficient intelligence as spies--there are only twenty-odd members or so in all of England. Hardly enough for an army, or even for a battalion. There is no underground newspaper or radio to disseminate information to the public. The Ministry doesn't back the Order, officially or unofficially. In fact, most of the political and financial backing is on the side of Voldemort, for most of the wealthy purebloods are supporting him.
As a resistance organisation, the Order is a complete disgrace. He reads no reports about attacks on known or suspected Death Eaters; he hears no rumours about planned attacks or raids. They seem to operate in a purely defensive mode.
And he knows that you can't win a war by doing nothing but defend yourself.
He cannot help but be angry with Dumbledore for creating this useless organisation--and with his parents and older brothers for leaping at the chance to join it. They might as well have targets painted on their backs. And for what? For the illusion that they can defeat Voldemort.
Perhaps if the Order were larger or were backed politically and monetarily or actually fought the Death Eaters, it would be worth the risk. As it is--it's a waste of time, and a waste of lives.
He dislikes waste. It's inefficient.
He has argued with his family about the Order, and about Harry Potter's sanity. He does not doubt that Harry is sane--Harry is saner than many of his own superiors, Percy suspects--but he has been toeing the government line for a long time. He can't very well tell them now that he knows Voldemort is back because Lucius Malfoy told him this. His parents would never forgive him for even talking to a Malfoy. And he can hardly tell them that Voldemort's return is precisely why he can't bear to have his family belong to the Order. Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian died--heroically, valiantly, stupidly--for the Order in the first War with Voldemort.
He's not willing to let others in his family die for Dumbledore's folly.
But he can't tell his parents this. His father would only stare blankly at him, while his mother would tell him that his uncles would be ashamed of him.
And so he writes to Ron. Ron, who hangs about with Harry Potter. Ron, his baby brother, who, more than any member of the family (even those in the Order), is at risk.
The letter is, he knows, stiff and formal; he thinks in polysyllabic words and polished phrases. He can only hope that Ron will look at sentences like you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility and read "I'm that proud of you, little brother." He prays that Ron will read I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions as "I don't agree with our parents about the Order, but I don't want them or you to be hurt." He hopes that Ron will read if you look at the Daily Prophet tomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing as a warning about the opposition, not a boast.
Ron doesn't answer.
He's disappointed.
But not in the least astonished.
***
Around Christmas that year, he hears--not from his mother or his brothers or even the hospital, but from Lucius Malfoy, smiling smugly--that a snake bit his father in the Department of Mysteries.
"Your father may be dying," Malfoy informs him, looking like a cat who's up to his ears in Devonshire cream.
It's all Percy can do not to draw back his fist and smash Malfoy's face in, driving Malfoy's teeth down his throat, shattering his jaw, rendering the Death Eater as hideous in body as he is in soul.
Instead, he gives a virtuoso performance of a man torn between his ambition and his family, a pompous git more concerned with his own pride than with his kin. And he's clear--frighteningly clear--about the fact that he won't, or maybe can't, talk to his father, not even now.
He can sense Malfoy's disappointment. The Death Eater was hoping for leverage.
Percy goes home, visibly agitated, because that's what Malfoy and his spies need to see, want to see. Malfoy, he knows, wants to underestimate him, needs to feel superior to the blood traitor, and at this point in the game, it's better to oblige.
His family must not become hostages to Malfoy's ambitious whims. So he cannot be seen to visit his father in hospital. Malfoy must not know how much Percy would do for them, or the game will be lost, and so will they.
Arthur Weasley never sees Percy at St Mungo's.
But if Percy chokes down flask after flask of vile-smelling potion that he's set aside for an emergency (for if there's anything he knows, it's that emergencies always arrive, and you can never be too prepared)...
And if the Healers of St Mungo's note that plump, red-headed Molly Weasley can be found sitting beside the bed of her slumbering husband at the oddest times, even after visiting hours are long since over, speaking in a voice too soft to be heard...
...well, surely that is no one's business but his own.
***
And then, suddenly, it is June, and a handful of children (led by Harry Potter, of course) and a few discredited resistance fighters defeat a team of experienced Death Eaters in what the papers call the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Fudge, who so often and so loudly proclaimed that Voldemort was not and could not have been resurrected, has fallen from the Ministry in utter disgrace. The Prophet, fickle creature that it is, keeps sneering about peace without honour. Rufus Scrimgeour steps in as Minister of Magic. And Lucius Malfoy is sent to Azkaban.
This last is a disaster for Percy, and he can only hope that Malfoy has the money and the influence to buy his way out. His plans cannot go forward while Malfoy is imprisoned. Not yet, anyway.
In the meanwhile, he strives to avoid notice at work, and wonders how the children managed to win. He respects their courage, and he knows that his brother is brilliant at chess, and hence at strategy.
But...they're children. Children against Death Eaters. The battle should have been a bloodbath.
And it was not.
And that makes no sense.
No one was killed. No one's will was swept away. A few bolts of Crucio were shot off, but not for long…less than half a minute, if that. Certainly not for the length of time or for the intensity needed to torture anyone into insanity.
And when he learns what spells were used, the battle makes even less sense. A dancing charm? That sort of spellcasting isn't what made the Death Eaters a horror to the wizarding world.
He struggles endlessly, unable to see the strategy.
And then he realises. This isn't chess. It's poker. Someone threw this hand, allowing a mark to win in order to convince the poor fool that he stands a good chance of winning the immense jackpot at the end of the game.
Someone wants Harry to be far, far too confident for his own good.
Not Voldemort. Percy has been studying Voldemort for several years, and he knows that the Dark Lord is not subtle. Voldemort is an iron hand in an iron glove.
But Malfoy would do this, he realises. Malfoy would let Harry win, both to unsettle the Dark Lord and to raise Harry's confidence to unrealistic levels. He would do it, if only to cause both to make stupid mistakes.
Percy keeps schtum about this, and watches, and waits.
It's a long four weeks before Malfoy's lawyers--the esteemed firm of Burke & Hare--negotiate to have their client freed from Azkaban and placed under house arrest in his Wiltshire mansion. It's another four weeks before Percy receives a coded message summoning him to the Malfoy estate.
By using a careful combination of Shielding Charms, he renders himself, not invisible to the eyes of the unseen Aurors who ensuring that Malfoy stays under house arrest, but unimportant. If questioned, they will say that no one entered the Malfoy mansion except one of Lucius's Squib gardeners.
This done, he Apparates to Malfoy's Wiltshire mansion; he is not yet important enough for Malfoy to want or need to come to him. As he walks up the front steps, he resolves that this will change. Soon.
He is escorted to the study by a house elf. Malfoy, clad in his most elegant robes and holding a glass of port, is waiting.
They talk, and say nothing in particular, though he is careful to give the impression of frustrated, thwarted ambition, and the willingness to do anything for power. He is half-maddened by the need to play games even at this stage--after all, isn't this what he's been telling Lucius for two years or more?--but he recognises a formal ballroom dance when he sees one. If this will calm Lucius and allay his fears, Percy is all for it.
Eventually, Lucius gets around to what Percy has been thinking of as the main business of the evening. He leans over and smiles acquisitively. Then he kisses Percy slowly and with a great deal of concentration while brushing his fingernails lightly up the inside of Percy's thigh toward his groin.
Merlin, you're good, Percy thinks--or tries to force himself to think through the fireworks going off inside his brain. For the first time, he wonders if he can actually pull this off.
He leans toward Lucius--and is stopped by Lucius's left hand on his chest, and a wave of Lucius's wand. For a moment, Percy can feel magic tingling against his skin, vibrating through his nerves.
And then Lucius is staring at Percy as if Percy were a chest of pirate treasure. "You are," he whispers. "You truly are a virgin."
"I haven't had what you'd call a lot of opportunities," Percy says, shrugging in a way that suggests extreme embarrassment. He allows a fragment of pomposity to slip through. "Why were you checking?"
Now Lucius shrugs. "In case you had been spelled to kill me--and yourself--after sex. Aurors have tried this before."
Percy cannot tell if Lucius means that Aurors have used this method to assassinate others, or if they have only tried this against Lucius himself. Or, in fact, if this is all a lie.
He says nothing. It seems the wisest course.
Lucius tilts Percy's chin up, forcing him to look Lucius in the eyes. "Do you want this?" he asks gently.
Though the tone is sweet and smooth as hot chocolate, Percy knows it is already far too late to say "No."
Fortunately, he has no intention of saying that.
"Oh, yes," he says in a hoarse voice he doesn't have to fake. "I want this--want you--more than I've ever wanted anything in my life."
That damned look of ownership is back. Percy pretends not to notice.
Lucius pulls him to his feet. "Follow me," he says, and it's less a request than a royal command.
Percy follows him down a labyrinth of corridors to a bedroom in the guest wing that has been prepared for them. The sheets are clean and sweet-smelling; a fire burns brightly in the hearth.
Confident, weren't you? thinks Percy, and then Lucius is pressing those glass-smooth lips against his eyes, his cheeks, his neck…and he can scarcely think at all.
"Wait," he just manages to gasp. "Let me...get ready..."
His eagerness seems to amuse Lucius--almost as much as his meticulousness in disrobing. "Proper, precise Percy," he says with a hint of laughter in his voice as Percy places his neatly folded robes beside the pillow, just as Molly taught all of her children to do. "What does proper, precise Percy want to do?"
Percy removes his glasses and places them on the bedside table. "Um. That's rather the problem, isn't it?" he says quietly, sitting down and swinging his legs onto the bed. "I want to do everything. But I'm not quite sure what everything is." He lies back, ginger hair against the pillow, and gazes upward appealingly. "Would you show me? Please?"
He can't see clearly, so Lucius's expression is blurry, but he knows that he looks very different without his glasses. Less self-assured. Younger. Vulnerable.
And, perhaps, not unappealing. He doesn't have Bill's or Charlie's looks, but he's not bad. Especially now, when he's lying naked and spread-eagled in Lucius's bed, under Lucius.
For a moment, he's afraid he's pushed too far--and then he hears the lust-hunger in Lucius's voice--"It would be my pleasure to show you"--and he knows that, for Lucius, this has stopped being purely political. It's not about love, oh, definitely not, but it's suddenly become more aesthetic, artful seduction rather than crude screwing.
Now all Percy has to do is control himself.
And that's a rather tall order, for Lucius is everywhere, his lips brushing Percy's eyes and lips and throat, his teeth teasing Percy's nipples, his fingers stroking and probing Percy's torso and buttocks. Every ounce of skin is suddenly alive with sensation, and, as he arches into Lucius's caress, Percy whimpers, his vocabulary reduced to ululating monosyllables.
Lucius is merciless in the way that he takes his time. He explores Percy's body with care and fascination, as if it is a marvellous new toy, teasing Percy's nerves with the cobweb brush of pale hair against smooth young skin. Percy writhes upon the sheets, and gasps almost-words in a tone of pure hunger.
And then Lucius, with an acquisitive chuckle, takes Percy's cock in his mouth, his tongue tickling the sensitive tip. It's almost more pleasure than Percy can bear, and he groans. Though it is incoherent, there is something in the tone that says it would be speech, if Percy had his way.
It goes on like that for some time--seducer and seduced, a mocking, possessive smile and the wordless syllables of pure pleasure. At last, however, Lucius is spent, and begins to drift into exhausted slumber. Percy stretches, plucks his wand from the neatly folded garments near his pillow, and places it against Lucius's left temple.
"Imperio!" he cries.
For one instant, Lucius's eyes snap open; the Death Eater glares at him in rage and hatred. But an instant later, an expression of peaceful stupidity sweeps across his face, and he lies there gazing at Percy, as if awaiting instructions.
Percy wastes no time, for the Imperius Curse and the Binding magic of the sex spell he managed to stammer grant him a power that he will never possess again. He smirks, for there is vast power in the seduction of a virgin, and even more if the virgin is willing. Lucius should have remembered this.
"From this moment on," he says firmly, "your only loyalty is to me. While you will not think of this if you are in Voldemort's presence, or the presence of any Legilimens, it will always be true. I am your Lord now, and you shall never have another.
"Now. Tell me everything about Voldemort."
"Everything" turns out to be quite a lot. Urged on by Percy, Lucius names names--many of them well-thought-of public opponents of Voldemort--as well as places, dates, and times. He speaks of secret meetings and private orders to this or that Death Eater to accomplish a task no other knows of. And over and over, Lucius describes Voldemort casually torturing this or that Death Eater for his own amusement.
At last he asks the question that has been troubling him the most since his father was injured. "Who is the most faithful follower of the Dark Lord?"
"There are two," Lucius answers instantly. "Snape and Pettigrew. Snape has served the Dark Lord faithfully for twenty years and Pettigrew--" Even in his Imperiused state, Lucius cannot repress a small, mocking smile. "Few are loyal enough to cut off their own hands for the sake of Him whom they serve."
Percy nods, trying not to wince at the name of his former rat. "Good," he says emotionlessly. "Tomorrow you will kill them both, and you will burn their corpses to ashes. Do you understand?"
Lucius nods, blank-eyed. "I understand."
"I understand, Master." Percy has no idea why he added this, save that it makes him feel good.
"I understand, Master."
"And if anyone catches you, or tries to make you talk, you will kill yourself first. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Master."
"Good. Strive not to let that happen." Percy glances at Lucius. "I should hate to lose you."
After all, it's not as if I can cast that spell again. I would prefer you to be useful until the present Dark Lord dies.
And after Voldemort does die--by means of Percy's assistance to young Harry Potter--well, perhaps in a few years, there will be room for a new Lord. Not a Dark Lord, though. A Lord of reason, and order, and law.
A Lord of Light, perhaps. Yes, that sounds much better.
Harry, he is sure, will not survive the encounter with Voldemort, for Harry is a hero. Heroes are not destined for ordinary lives after their extraordinary tasks are done. So Harry will not likely even be a rival.
Of course, he himself has not yet done much that is heroic, or that can be construed as heroic. But that makes little difference, now that he owns Lucius Malfoy's mind and has condemned Snape and Pettigrew to painful and inevitable death.
He will be the secret commander in this war, seizing the minds and wills of the Death Eaters, and ordering them to slay their more loyal colleagues.
It will work. He knows it will.
Just as he knows that he should have been Sorted into Slytherin.
Title: Knowing His Place
Author: gehayi
Fandom: Harry Potter (spanning GoF, OotP and HBP)
Pairing: Percy Weasley/Lucius Malfoy
Rating: R
Word Count: 4,564
Summary: People tend not to see the strengths of those they hate--or of those whom they underestimate.
Author's Note: For demonofrice, who wanted Percy/Lucius without fluff or sap.
Also, extraordinarily minor spoiler for HBP.
Might likewise be considered a bit AU--but on the other hand, we never did hear where Lucius was or what he was doing during Half Blood Prince.
As always, thanks to underlucius for the beta and Brit-picking.
***
He's known for a long time that he was put in the wrong House at Hogwarts. This does not surprise him--the Sorting Hat isn't infallible, after all. Even if it is imbued with the minds and personalities of the Founders...well, the Founders disagreed a fair bit, didn't they?
Bill and Charlie, yes, they're Gryffindors. But he has his doubts about the rest of the family. The twins are natural Slytherins--cunning men who parleyed their skill at pranks into a lucrative career. That kind of ambition is pure Slytherin. He wonders how the Hat missed it.
Ron, he thinks, would have done better in Hufflepuff. It's not that Ron's not brave--he is--but bravery doesn't define him. Loyalty does.
He can't quite decide where Ginny belongs, Gryffindor or Slytherin. His baby sister is brave, he has to give her that--but she plans things, and no one ever knows that she is planning. She learned to fly and play Quidditch without any of her brothers even catching her using their brooms. She's even managed to ambush a few Death Eaters. Whether she's ambitious, he doesn't know, but she definitely possesses Slytherin cunning.
He should have been put in Slytherin. Like the twins, he's ambitious; he wants nothing more than to escape from the genteel poverty that's imprisoned him his entire life. But Fred and George will be satisfied with wealth. He craves more: power, authority, respect, adulation.
He's heard all his life that money and power can't buy happiness. Rot. Obviously whoever concocted that saying was rich and powerful, and didn't want anyone else trying to attain either.
Well, he's been poor, and he's been powerless, and he's dealt with the mockery of family, and the casual, contemptuous indifference of fellow students and of employers.
He'll try the other way, thanks.
***
He meets Lucius Malfoy for the first time because of the new regulations on the thickness of cauldron bottoms.
The rule's a marvellous joke to his family. Everyone thinks it's ridiculous--a complete waste of time. Fred and George, particularly, find it risible, and screech over the rule like howling chimpanzees.
No one seems to realise that the rule is directed at--among other things--smugglers. It's easy enough to make a cauldron with a false bottom and place some contraband Dark artifacts within it. Crouch thinks that the Death Eaters--the allegedly former Death Eaters, he should say--have been doing this for years.
Crouch is distracted; much of his attention is focussed upon the Triwizard Tournament, and on who instructed Crouch's own house elf to send the Dark Mark. Most of the work falls on Percy's shoulders. He is careful to complain about it where his colleagues can hear, for too much eagerness will get him labelled a brown-noser, one of the enemy. And too much competence will frighten his superiors--ageing men who fear clever and ambitious young men who could so easily take over their bosses' jobs and do better than the bosses ever dreamed of doing.
He gives the impression, therefore, that he is clever and competent but insecure…and just a little bit pompous. Insecurity, he knows, will tell his rivals that he is too busy worrying about his own job to go after theirs. And the pomposity will encourage them to laugh at his foolishness--which is exactly what he wants, for now.
People tend not to see the strengths of those they hate--or of those whom they underestimate.
And while he is busy misdirecting the attention of potential rivals, he takes care to note which Dark Items have been confiscated by wizarding customs officials...and the names of those who are suspected of being behind the smuggling.
It makes for fascinating reading.
And as he reads, he adds things up. There is no Voldemort now, of course, but the Death Eaters are still a powerful--and well-organised--force. They have contacts, money, power and influence. Yes, they may be useful.
Eventually, Lucius Malfoy comes to see--well, not him, but Bartiemus Crouch. Crouch is busy, though, so Percy plays the part of the stand-in, listening to Malfoy's complaints and not-quite-spoken threats and not-quite-offered bribes. He watches Malfoy's grey eyes flicker toward him in utter disdain, and he perceives the contempt just barely below the surface of Malfoy's carefully controlled expression. A brainless Gryffindor, the eyes say. Pompous, self-important and useless. Portrait of a Weasley as a bureaucrat.
Malfoy, it seems, does not know how much he is revealing in his behaviour. The complaints--carefully couched in innocuous language--confirm that Malfoy is indeed one of the Death Eater smugglers. The bribes and threats tell him that Malfoy is more accustomed to using his money and his influence than his brains. And the disdain and contempt tell him that Malfoy is underestimating him, seeing him as far, far less than he truly is.
It's absolutely perfect.
He gives a virtuoso performance of a young, pompous, mildly stupid bureaucrat suffering from deep insecurity and even deeper dissatisfaction. It doesn't take much--a bewildered frown, a few moments of tapping his desk anxiously, a word or two that might or might not be taken several different ways. Eventually, he sees Malfoy's eyes light with interest and speculation: this boy could be my spy.
He struggles not to laugh. For now, Malfoy has to believe that he is the spider, and not the fly.
They make arrangements to meet again. This, he knows, means nothing; it will take time to convince Malfoy that he is willing to spy for him. Being too eager too fast will merely persuade Malfoy that he is, fundamentally, a worthless opportunist out for whatever he can get.
Well, that's half-true. He is an opportunist. But he's not going to settle for what he can get. He'll get what he wants--and more. That's far more satisfying.
***
The Weasley reputation is, in its way, an Invisibility Cloak. Thanks to his father and elder brothers, everyone has perfect faith in his integrity--even those like Malfoy, who have no reason to believe in his virtue.
It is in large part because of the Weasley reputation that he has to play the part of a venal young bureaucrat who is too naïve to realise he's being led astray. He dislikes this; people easily mistake shadow for substance, and he has no intention of losing power because others think him too naïve or too stupid to use it or to control it properly.
This is the most stressful part of the game. He could lose everything, yet Malfoy--at this stage--would lose little. It is tempting to rush through this portion, to let Malfoy see he's not so stupid after all.
He resists the temptation. He needs to lay the foundations for his naivete now; otherwise, he could sabotage his own work.
But oh, it's hard.
***
The rumour that Voldemort has risen nearly upsets everything.
It's impossible not to hear this news in the Ministry of Magic. Fudge issues so many panicked denials and the Prophet spends so much time discrediting Harry Potter that the accuracy of the story seems to be a dead giveaway. He is irked that so few wizards and witches perceive the deception. He's working so hard to fool Crouch's replacement and Fudge and his colleagues and Malfoy--and these stupid, blatant lies are what trick people?
He shakes his head sadly. There's just no appreciation for true style in this world. It's tragic, really.
Nevertheless, he continues with what he has planned. He is an artist, after all--even if the Philistines around him don't notice art. He's not going to transform his plans from a meticulously crafted fresco into a portrait on black velvet of the Weird Sisters in concert.
Voldemort's resurrection, unfortunately, requires him to break with the family. He truly doesn't want to; except for the twins, whom he mentally consigns to the deepest pits of Hell, he likes his family. It's a weakness, he knows, but it's not a weakness he can eliminate. For better or worse, he genuinely is fond of them, and doesn't want them to come to any harm.
Left to their own devices, he doesn't think that most of them would come to any harm--nothing political, anyway. His father might blow himself up while enchanting some Muggle device or other. His mother might have an aneurysm screaming at his siblings. Bill could be turned to dust by a curse he's trying to break for Gringotts'--though that's less likely now that Bill is working in England instead of traipsing through the pyramids of Egypt. Charlie could be incinerated by a dragon. Fred and George could be killed by the side effects of one of their own inventions. Ginny...well, Ginny is probably safe. It's not likely that she'll be possessed by Voldemort twice in one lifetime.
The problem, quite simply, is Dumbledore--and that ridiculous resistance group he's trying to bring back from the dead. The one that Percy's parents and his two older brothers have joined.
Looking at it logically, as he is wont to do, the Order of the Phoenix is an exercise in futility. There simply aren't enough members to be effective as soldiers or to gather sufficient intelligence as spies--there are only twenty-odd members or so in all of England. Hardly enough for an army, or even for a battalion. There is no underground newspaper or radio to disseminate information to the public. The Ministry doesn't back the Order, officially or unofficially. In fact, most of the political and financial backing is on the side of Voldemort, for most of the wealthy purebloods are supporting him.
As a resistance organisation, the Order is a complete disgrace. He reads no reports about attacks on known or suspected Death Eaters; he hears no rumours about planned attacks or raids. They seem to operate in a purely defensive mode.
And he knows that you can't win a war by doing nothing but defend yourself.
He cannot help but be angry with Dumbledore for creating this useless organisation--and with his parents and older brothers for leaping at the chance to join it. They might as well have targets painted on their backs. And for what? For the illusion that they can defeat Voldemort.
Perhaps if the Order were larger or were backed politically and monetarily or actually fought the Death Eaters, it would be worth the risk. As it is--it's a waste of time, and a waste of lives.
He dislikes waste. It's inefficient.
He has argued with his family about the Order, and about Harry Potter's sanity. He does not doubt that Harry is sane--Harry is saner than many of his own superiors, Percy suspects--but he has been toeing the government line for a long time. He can't very well tell them now that he knows Voldemort is back because Lucius Malfoy told him this. His parents would never forgive him for even talking to a Malfoy. And he can hardly tell them that Voldemort's return is precisely why he can't bear to have his family belong to the Order. Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian died--heroically, valiantly, stupidly--for the Order in the first War with Voldemort.
He's not willing to let others in his family die for Dumbledore's folly.
But he can't tell his parents this. His father would only stare blankly at him, while his mother would tell him that his uncles would be ashamed of him.
And so he writes to Ron. Ron, who hangs about with Harry Potter. Ron, his baby brother, who, more than any member of the family (even those in the Order), is at risk.
The letter is, he knows, stiff and formal; he thinks in polysyllabic words and polished phrases. He can only hope that Ron will look at sentences like you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility and read "I'm that proud of you, little brother." He prays that Ron will read I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions as "I don't agree with our parents about the Order, but I don't want them or you to be hurt." He hopes that Ron will read if you look at the Daily Prophet tomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing as a warning about the opposition, not a boast.
Ron doesn't answer.
He's disappointed.
But not in the least astonished.
***
Around Christmas that year, he hears--not from his mother or his brothers or even the hospital, but from Lucius Malfoy, smiling smugly--that a snake bit his father in the Department of Mysteries.
"Your father may be dying," Malfoy informs him, looking like a cat who's up to his ears in Devonshire cream.
It's all Percy can do not to draw back his fist and smash Malfoy's face in, driving Malfoy's teeth down his throat, shattering his jaw, rendering the Death Eater as hideous in body as he is in soul.
Instead, he gives a virtuoso performance of a man torn between his ambition and his family, a pompous git more concerned with his own pride than with his kin. And he's clear--frighteningly clear--about the fact that he won't, or maybe can't, talk to his father, not even now.
He can sense Malfoy's disappointment. The Death Eater was hoping for leverage.
Percy goes home, visibly agitated, because that's what Malfoy and his spies need to see, want to see. Malfoy, he knows, wants to underestimate him, needs to feel superior to the blood traitor, and at this point in the game, it's better to oblige.
His family must not become hostages to Malfoy's ambitious whims. So he cannot be seen to visit his father in hospital. Malfoy must not know how much Percy would do for them, or the game will be lost, and so will they.
Arthur Weasley never sees Percy at St Mungo's.
But if Percy chokes down flask after flask of vile-smelling potion that he's set aside for an emergency (for if there's anything he knows, it's that emergencies always arrive, and you can never be too prepared)...
And if the Healers of St Mungo's note that plump, red-headed Molly Weasley can be found sitting beside the bed of her slumbering husband at the oddest times, even after visiting hours are long since over, speaking in a voice too soft to be heard...
...well, surely that is no one's business but his own.
***
And then, suddenly, it is June, and a handful of children (led by Harry Potter, of course) and a few discredited resistance fighters defeat a team of experienced Death Eaters in what the papers call the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Fudge, who so often and so loudly proclaimed that Voldemort was not and could not have been resurrected, has fallen from the Ministry in utter disgrace. The Prophet, fickle creature that it is, keeps sneering about peace without honour. Rufus Scrimgeour steps in as Minister of Magic. And Lucius Malfoy is sent to Azkaban.
This last is a disaster for Percy, and he can only hope that Malfoy has the money and the influence to buy his way out. His plans cannot go forward while Malfoy is imprisoned. Not yet, anyway.
In the meanwhile, he strives to avoid notice at work, and wonders how the children managed to win. He respects their courage, and he knows that his brother is brilliant at chess, and hence at strategy.
But...they're children. Children against Death Eaters. The battle should have been a bloodbath.
And it was not.
And that makes no sense.
No one was killed. No one's will was swept away. A few bolts of Crucio were shot off, but not for long…less than half a minute, if that. Certainly not for the length of time or for the intensity needed to torture anyone into insanity.
And when he learns what spells were used, the battle makes even less sense. A dancing charm? That sort of spellcasting isn't what made the Death Eaters a horror to the wizarding world.
He struggles endlessly, unable to see the strategy.
And then he realises. This isn't chess. It's poker. Someone threw this hand, allowing a mark to win in order to convince the poor fool that he stands a good chance of winning the immense jackpot at the end of the game.
Someone wants Harry to be far, far too confident for his own good.
Not Voldemort. Percy has been studying Voldemort for several years, and he knows that the Dark Lord is not subtle. Voldemort is an iron hand in an iron glove.
But Malfoy would do this, he realises. Malfoy would let Harry win, both to unsettle the Dark Lord and to raise Harry's confidence to unrealistic levels. He would do it, if only to cause both to make stupid mistakes.
Percy keeps schtum about this, and watches, and waits.
It's a long four weeks before Malfoy's lawyers--the esteemed firm of Burke & Hare--negotiate to have their client freed from Azkaban and placed under house arrest in his Wiltshire mansion. It's another four weeks before Percy receives a coded message summoning him to the Malfoy estate.
By using a careful combination of Shielding Charms, he renders himself, not invisible to the eyes of the unseen Aurors who ensuring that Malfoy stays under house arrest, but unimportant. If questioned, they will say that no one entered the Malfoy mansion except one of Lucius's Squib gardeners.
This done, he Apparates to Malfoy's Wiltshire mansion; he is not yet important enough for Malfoy to want or need to come to him. As he walks up the front steps, he resolves that this will change. Soon.
He is escorted to the study by a house elf. Malfoy, clad in his most elegant robes and holding a glass of port, is waiting.
They talk, and say nothing in particular, though he is careful to give the impression of frustrated, thwarted ambition, and the willingness to do anything for power. He is half-maddened by the need to play games even at this stage--after all, isn't this what he's been telling Lucius for two years or more?--but he recognises a formal ballroom dance when he sees one. If this will calm Lucius and allay his fears, Percy is all for it.
Eventually, Lucius gets around to what Percy has been thinking of as the main business of the evening. He leans over and smiles acquisitively. Then he kisses Percy slowly and with a great deal of concentration while brushing his fingernails lightly up the inside of Percy's thigh toward his groin.
Merlin, you're good, Percy thinks--or tries to force himself to think through the fireworks going off inside his brain. For the first time, he wonders if he can actually pull this off.
He leans toward Lucius--and is stopped by Lucius's left hand on his chest, and a wave of Lucius's wand. For a moment, Percy can feel magic tingling against his skin, vibrating through his nerves.
And then Lucius is staring at Percy as if Percy were a chest of pirate treasure. "You are," he whispers. "You truly are a virgin."
"I haven't had what you'd call a lot of opportunities," Percy says, shrugging in a way that suggests extreme embarrassment. He allows a fragment of pomposity to slip through. "Why were you checking?"
Now Lucius shrugs. "In case you had been spelled to kill me--and yourself--after sex. Aurors have tried this before."
Percy cannot tell if Lucius means that Aurors have used this method to assassinate others, or if they have only tried this against Lucius himself. Or, in fact, if this is all a lie.
He says nothing. It seems the wisest course.
Lucius tilts Percy's chin up, forcing him to look Lucius in the eyes. "Do you want this?" he asks gently.
Though the tone is sweet and smooth as hot chocolate, Percy knows it is already far too late to say "No."
Fortunately, he has no intention of saying that.
"Oh, yes," he says in a hoarse voice he doesn't have to fake. "I want this--want you--more than I've ever wanted anything in my life."
That damned look of ownership is back. Percy pretends not to notice.
Lucius pulls him to his feet. "Follow me," he says, and it's less a request than a royal command.
Percy follows him down a labyrinth of corridors to a bedroom in the guest wing that has been prepared for them. The sheets are clean and sweet-smelling; a fire burns brightly in the hearth.
Confident, weren't you? thinks Percy, and then Lucius is pressing those glass-smooth lips against his eyes, his cheeks, his neck…and he can scarcely think at all.
"Wait," he just manages to gasp. "Let me...get ready..."
His eagerness seems to amuse Lucius--almost as much as his meticulousness in disrobing. "Proper, precise Percy," he says with a hint of laughter in his voice as Percy places his neatly folded robes beside the pillow, just as Molly taught all of her children to do. "What does proper, precise Percy want to do?"
Percy removes his glasses and places them on the bedside table. "Um. That's rather the problem, isn't it?" he says quietly, sitting down and swinging his legs onto the bed. "I want to do everything. But I'm not quite sure what everything is." He lies back, ginger hair against the pillow, and gazes upward appealingly. "Would you show me? Please?"
He can't see clearly, so Lucius's expression is blurry, but he knows that he looks very different without his glasses. Less self-assured. Younger. Vulnerable.
And, perhaps, not unappealing. He doesn't have Bill's or Charlie's looks, but he's not bad. Especially now, when he's lying naked and spread-eagled in Lucius's bed, under Lucius.
For a moment, he's afraid he's pushed too far--and then he hears the lust-hunger in Lucius's voice--"It would be my pleasure to show you"--and he knows that, for Lucius, this has stopped being purely political. It's not about love, oh, definitely not, but it's suddenly become more aesthetic, artful seduction rather than crude screwing.
Now all Percy has to do is control himself.
And that's a rather tall order, for Lucius is everywhere, his lips brushing Percy's eyes and lips and throat, his teeth teasing Percy's nipples, his fingers stroking and probing Percy's torso and buttocks. Every ounce of skin is suddenly alive with sensation, and, as he arches into Lucius's caress, Percy whimpers, his vocabulary reduced to ululating monosyllables.
Lucius is merciless in the way that he takes his time. He explores Percy's body with care and fascination, as if it is a marvellous new toy, teasing Percy's nerves with the cobweb brush of pale hair against smooth young skin. Percy writhes upon the sheets, and gasps almost-words in a tone of pure hunger.
And then Lucius, with an acquisitive chuckle, takes Percy's cock in his mouth, his tongue tickling the sensitive tip. It's almost more pleasure than Percy can bear, and he groans. Though it is incoherent, there is something in the tone that says it would be speech, if Percy had his way.
It goes on like that for some time--seducer and seduced, a mocking, possessive smile and the wordless syllables of pure pleasure. At last, however, Lucius is spent, and begins to drift into exhausted slumber. Percy stretches, plucks his wand from the neatly folded garments near his pillow, and places it against Lucius's left temple.
"Imperio!" he cries.
For one instant, Lucius's eyes snap open; the Death Eater glares at him in rage and hatred. But an instant later, an expression of peaceful stupidity sweeps across his face, and he lies there gazing at Percy, as if awaiting instructions.
Percy wastes no time, for the Imperius Curse and the Binding magic of the sex spell he managed to stammer grant him a power that he will never possess again. He smirks, for there is vast power in the seduction of a virgin, and even more if the virgin is willing. Lucius should have remembered this.
"From this moment on," he says firmly, "your only loyalty is to me. While you will not think of this if you are in Voldemort's presence, or the presence of any Legilimens, it will always be true. I am your Lord now, and you shall never have another.
"Now. Tell me everything about Voldemort."
"Everything" turns out to be quite a lot. Urged on by Percy, Lucius names names--many of them well-thought-of public opponents of Voldemort--as well as places, dates, and times. He speaks of secret meetings and private orders to this or that Death Eater to accomplish a task no other knows of. And over and over, Lucius describes Voldemort casually torturing this or that Death Eater for his own amusement.
At last he asks the question that has been troubling him the most since his father was injured. "Who is the most faithful follower of the Dark Lord?"
"There are two," Lucius answers instantly. "Snape and Pettigrew. Snape has served the Dark Lord faithfully for twenty years and Pettigrew--" Even in his Imperiused state, Lucius cannot repress a small, mocking smile. "Few are loyal enough to cut off their own hands for the sake of Him whom they serve."
Percy nods, trying not to wince at the name of his former rat. "Good," he says emotionlessly. "Tomorrow you will kill them both, and you will burn their corpses to ashes. Do you understand?"
Lucius nods, blank-eyed. "I understand."
"I understand, Master." Percy has no idea why he added this, save that it makes him feel good.
"I understand, Master."
"And if anyone catches you, or tries to make you talk, you will kill yourself first. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Master."
"Good. Strive not to let that happen." Percy glances at Lucius. "I should hate to lose you."
After all, it's not as if I can cast that spell again. I would prefer you to be useful until the present Dark Lord dies.
And after Voldemort does die--by means of Percy's assistance to young Harry Potter--well, perhaps in a few years, there will be room for a new Lord. Not a Dark Lord, though. A Lord of reason, and order, and law.
A Lord of Light, perhaps. Yes, that sounds much better.
Harry, he is sure, will not survive the encounter with Voldemort, for Harry is a hero. Heroes are not destined for ordinary lives after their extraordinary tasks are done. So Harry will not likely even be a rival.
Of course, he himself has not yet done much that is heroic, or that can be construed as heroic. But that makes little difference, now that he owns Lucius Malfoy's mind and has condemned Snape and Pettigrew to painful and inevitable death.
He will be the secret commander in this war, seizing the minds and wills of the Death Eaters, and ordering them to slay their more loyal colleagues.
It will work. He knows it will.
Just as he knows that he should have been Sorted into Slytherin.