Application: Petyr Baelish (A.K.A. Littlefinger), A Song of Ice and Fire
((Littlefinger's motives for coming to Hogwarts stolen from Camilla. Thanks!))
A short man with grey-green eyes and a goatee strolled leisurely through the Great Hall to the head table. His elegant silk blue cloak with its silver mockingbird clasp was caked with mud, but he was smiling. "I should really have a talk with that Thoros," he drawled. " ( Read more... )
Thirty seconds later, after Littlefinger had recovered from his laughing fit, he reflected on what the boy had told him. Branches on the brain. People had called Littlefinger many things throughout his life, most of them negative, but "stupid" wasn't one of them. "Believe me, I won't argue with you about bloodlines. I could have married the love of my life if I were Lord of Winterfell instead of Lord of Sheep Shit and Rocks. When a great man is born, it matters not to what family, and those who grow complacent in their station deserve to have it ripped away from them by someone smarter."
He was surprised to hear that Ron was in Slytherin, considering what his sources had told him about Slytherin. Either Petyr had been mistaken in his first impressions of the boy, or his sources had failed him once again. Comparing his own track record with those of his sources, Petyr suspected the latter.
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"Heh. Heh heh. Yeah. They... sure are clever, those storks." Ron rubbed the back of his neck, while backing away slightly. "Really pretty birds."
Ron and Petyr also were not meshing when it came to the treatment of the high-ranking. "Uh, no, that's not quite what I meant to say." He elaborated despite his better judgment, which were telling him to do the activity mentioned above. "I mean, right, you should get the job based on who you are, not where your family's from. But I wouldn't say you'd have to, uh, rip anything away from someone."
Ron let out a breath, and on impulse asked, "So, you lost your girl? That blows."
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If they ever went through with that election for Lord of the Burrow, Ron certainly wouldn't get Petyr's vote.
"Yes," he said, "My beautiful Cat was stolen from me by that cold Ned Stark. I took her maidenhead, you know." His wet nurse had told him of an old superstition that if the Crone heard you say something five hundred times, it would come true. "Not a day goes by when I don't think of her. And I took her maidenhead. Oh, and did I mention that I took her maidenhead?"
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After Petyr's third announcement of his accomplishment, Ron hastily said, "Yes you did." He was very much bothered by this creep, now. At an earlier time Ron would have been blushing, but right now he mostly looked disgusted. "And I have to say, you know, pretty much every bird loses it. And so there would have to be a bloke for every, uh, time that happens. So it really isn't that big a win, if you know what I'm saying." The redhead thought about correcting himself, since some girls liked an alternative to some guy's... but no, that was not a conversation he wanted to have with anyone, but especially this guy.
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"Please, I'd rather you didn't besmirch the honour of my blowup dolls," said Petyr. "Their names are Cat II, Lyn, and Cate-Cate, and they're very special to me. And I was using 'for the last time' figuratively. There's no need to nitpick." Privately, however, he wondered how he'd made such a careless mistake. Why, it was almost as if an illiterate moron with a fraction of his intelligence had taken control of his speech and forced him to say stupid things. But he dismissed the thought as ridiculous.
"And I wouldn't be proud of taking just anyone's maidenhead. It's just that if you'd ever met my darling Cat, you'd know it's quite an accomplishment. Now, I also took Lysa Arryn's maidenhead, but you won't catch me boasting about that." He shuddered. "Well, except to half the court, but only as a bit of entertaining gossip. So if it's a matter of quantity alone, I've taken two maidenheads." For a moment, he contemplated this. "Wait a minute. If there's a man for every 'bird' who loses her maidenhead, doesn't that mean that somewhere, there's a man who has never claimed a maidenhead because of me?" He shrugged, then said, "Maybe it's you."
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"I hope you find your Cat." Ron didn't. He actually hoped this Cat was far, far away from this man. The recently-tanned boy gave a small salute, and quickly left the sorting room.
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