The Better Part of Valor 3/9 (PG-13, RW/DM)
Title: The Better Part of Valor (3/9)
Author: Nasturia W. Clink (mad_maudlin)
Recipient: Clarence Threepwood (wildegirl_05)
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Rating: PG-13/R
3.
We went back to Cox's office, and he fetched me a box of plasters and some ice for my head, neck, both knees and left wrist. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, " I don't know what got into him, David's always been an exemplary employee"
"David?" I asked. "Who's David?"
Cox blinked at me. "David Black. The, ah, fellow you were chasing out of here?"
I glanced at Aldershot and Rickler, who both shrugged. Aldershot asked, "How long has Black worked for you, Mr. Cox?"
"Oh, years, years...ever since our previous pianist went to Sweden to get his operation."
"Pianist?" I asked. "He plays piano here?"
Cox nodded. "Oh, yes, every weekendis thatsurely you don't think"
"No," I said very loudly, "we don't think MaBlack had anything to do with the drugs."
"Then why did you chase him?" Cox asked.
I cleared my throat and told him, "Just a case of mistaken identity," which was not, technically, a lie. Really.
Rickler and Aldershot finished up gathering the names of employees and we made our way back to the Ministrythis time Rickler demanded we Apparate from an alleyway, for which he earned my undying gratitude. While I set about charming my bruises off, Aldershot announced, "Malfoy is the number one suspect, obviously."
"I don’t think so," I said.
"He works there on weekends," Rickler pointed out. "The victims were all poisoned on weekends."
"That's circumstantial," I said, and transfigured a quill into a mirror so I could get a good look at my face. I immediately regretted it. "There's no motive and there's still no method."
"You want a motive?" Aldershot asked. "He's an admitted Death Eater."
"He switched sides in the end," I said.
Rickler harrumphed. "Why would he work for Muggles unless he was up to something? And under an alias! It's all terribly suspicious, if you ask me."
I shook my head. "He's been working there for years without doing anything, why start now? Besides, he's the pianist. He's not going to be in a position to slip anything to anyone."
"He's a wizard with a concrete link to the scene of the crime," Aldershot declared, "and this is still my case."
I sighed, tried to rake my fingers through my hair, and yelped when I hit another lump. "Fine. Fine, let's go chasing Malfoy. I don't really think he's involved, though."
"It would seem like a rather obvious conclusion," Rickler said with a sniff.
And, okay, it was pretty obvious. They did have points. It was pretty bloody out of character for Malfoy to be working for Muggles under an assumed name, and it was a pretty big stretch for a load of Muggles to get poisoned while he just happened to be in the same building. Something didn't sit right about it for me, though, something seemed to be missing. I just couldn't put my finger on what.
Malfoy leaves the wizarding world. Malfoy goes to work for Muggles. Malfoy, years later, poisons a bunch of Muggles. Malfoy is my birthday party for no damn reason and snogs me in the corridor.
Wait. That last bit didn't have anything to do with the case.
(Didn't it?)
"You've got Malfoy's address, don't you?" I asked Aldershot. "Along with all the other employees?"
She flipped through the papers that had come out of the noisy box under the comoopter. "Yes, of course, I have everyone who worked the nights of the incidents."
I grabbed the right paper out of her stack and read it over. "This isn't too far from the Leaky Cauldron."
"Easy access to an apothecary," Rickler said ominously.
I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to watch the place for a while. See what he's up to."
Aldershot frowned again. "Excuse me, Weasley, but I am the primary investigator of this case."
"Sorry," I said. "May I watch the place for a while and see what he's up to?"
Her face turned an interesting shade of fuchsia, but eventually she nodded. "Go on, then. I'll start interviewing the other staff of the Claw. Rickler, I'd like you to start asking around at all the greenhouses and apothecaries you can findsee if they've seen Malfoy recently and what he's purchased."
"If we still don't know what the poison that's being used is, what good will that do?" I asked.
"It might be evidence," Aldershot said.
"He might be brewing Pepper-Up Potion by the gallon, too, and that wouldn't tell us anything about the Muggles," I pointed out.
She scowled at me, and I could've sworn her ponytail slipped. "Weren't you just leaving, Weasley?"
"Right. Sorry."
I volunteered to watch Malfoy's flat because, as an Auror, I was better trained in the arts of surveillance and stealth, and because if that was the direction that the investigation was going to go I might as well go along with it, whether I thought he was guilty or not. That's it. That's all. Really. This was my job, and I was being professional about it. If there was any part of me that was still thinking about the night before (and I'm not saying there was [and if there were, it was only because I was going mad from blue balls]), that part was completely separate from the part of me that was working on the case.
Watching the flat also gave me a chance to think a bit about the case without Aldershot and Rickler jumping to conclusions on me. Malfoy's flat was conveniently close to a bus stop, so I was able to lean against a light post and watch the front entrance without looking out of place or having to talk to anyone. (Except when the bus actually showed up. Then I had to pretend I'd forgotten something and run away until it had gone again.) In the chilly air, I reviewed everything I'd seen at The Golden Claw, particularly those private rooms upstairs. All manner of things could go on up there that the staff would be "discreet" about, and if this mystery poison brought people out in green spots, that staircase I'd fallen down would make a convenient, almost witness-free exit.
Though, come to think of it, the poison was also problematic. Granted, I was never great shakes at potion-making, but a poison that causes green spots and memory loss sounded more like a second-year prank than Dark magic. Though, if the St. Mungo's Healers weren't able to identify it, perhaps it was a new invention, or even the early stages of a new invention...and that would definitely rule Malfoy out, because he was never that great with potions either, not when Snape wasn't around to play favorites. I'd have to remember to share that observation with Aldershot later, to get her off this Malfoy obsession...
Because I didn't want to waste time, of course. Not for Malfoy's sake. I wanted this case to be over with so I could get back to my real job as fast as possible. If Kingsley was going to loan me out like a library book, the least I could do was show the rest of the department how things are done among the Aurors. I couldn't have cared less for Malfoy's well being, though knowing his address now made things awfully convenient...
For talking, that is. If I wanted to talk to him. About stuff. Job-related stuff.
That's all.
I waited outside Malfoy's flat well into the afternoon, just long enough that the cashier in the greengrocer across the street started looking at me funny every time I ran away from the bus stop. I was about to alter my disguise to throw her off when, for the first time all day, the door to Malfoy's building opened up. The pianist from the surprise party came out.
I almost did a completely indiscreet double-take, but yeah, it was the same blokedark hair, beard, everything. He was also wearing a scarf identical to the one Malfoy had had on, and he tucked it tight into his cloak before he started off down the street. I followed him from the other side, all the way into the Leaky Cauldron. I already knew he was connected to Malfoy, somehow, if only because they'd both been in the same place, at the same timeperhaps Malfoy had gone to the Spotted Hippogryffs to meet this other bloke, for some reason? Besides, if one wizard living the Muggle life was suspicious, two wizards living in the same Muggle building was downright coincidental. There had to be some kind of connection.
The Leaky Cauldron was busy, but not so busy I couldn’t see him stop off at the bar and have a short conversation with Tom. I slipped into Diagon Alley ahead of him and picked up his trail again there, trying to stay far enough behind him to go unnoticed. I held my breath for a moment when he turned down Knockturn Alleysurely evidence wasn't just going to fall into my lap like that? No, of course not, that would've actually been easy; after a short jaunt down Knockturn, the pianist made another left turn, onto Six Shoe Alley, and from the corner I watched him slip into the side door of a squat, garish building declaring itself Tiresias.
Now I was in a bit of a bind. As a rule I never, ever set foot in Six Shoe Alley, not since a pretty disastrous outing with Fred and George when I was eighteen. That had ended with me being chased out of a brothel by a dwarf, and George having to convince Mum that his trousers had been stolen by rogue house-elves. These days when I had time to go out at all, I went to Muggle bars, where there was no chance I'd be seen by someone who might recognize me, so this was unfamiliar territory. Besides, I wasn't exactly dressed for clubbingbut the longer I waited on the corner of Six Shoe and Knockturn, the clearer it got that my pianist wasn't coming back out. If I wanted to find out what he was doing, I'd have to go in and find him.
I braced myself, transfigured my trench coat back into robes (and after I thought about it for a minute, I transfigured my robes into something that wouldn't look quite so out of place at a clubI hoped). I headed for the doors of Tiresias, where a bouncer with a neck as thick as my torso stopped me there. "Cover charge," he grunted at menot a question, a demand.
"Er," I said. "How much?"
"One Galleon seven."
I flinched. "Er. Sure I'm not on the guest list?"
"There is no guest list."
Crap. "Then I reckon I'll just"
"Ooooh, let that one in for free!"
The shrill voice just about made me jump out of my skin, and when I worked out where it was coming from, I had to fight the urge to run away. A...well, a person was standing just inside the doors of the club, wearing a sleek satin evening gown and a jeweled tiara. I might've been able to call that person a woman, if not for the prominent Adam's apple and distinct lack of tits. As it was, I was still blinking when whatever it was grabbed me by the hand and pulled me inside. "Darling, you are just too precious for words," he-she-it said, patting my captive hand with fingernails like daggers. "You come here and enjoy yourself any time. I insist."
"Thanks," I said.
He-she-it leaned in close and whispered in my ear. "If you have any trouble at all, just ask a server for Madame Helene, I'll be right with you, mmmkay?"
"I will," I said, and didn't exhale until "Madame" Helene was well out of sight.
If I thought that was going to be the most traumatic moment of the evening, I was sorely mistaken, because the moment I turned around to survey the interior of the club I flinched. It was as bright and tacky on the inside as it was on the outsidelots of bright colors and clashing patterns on everything, though the predominant theme seemed to be pink. The walls were plastered with an assortment of badly-drawn nudes in peculiar color schemes, most of which bordered on the pornographic, or at least tried to. There were only a handful of people inside on that particular evening, but all of them were dressed to match the décor, lots of leather and glitter and more color than I'd ever wear in a lifetime. If someone set out to construct the diametric opposite of The Golden Claw, this would be it.
I skirted around the edge of the empty dance floor towards the bar, and eventually I picked up where my pianist had got tohe was playing a bright pink piano tucked into a nook on the far side of the room. He looked, well, about as out of place as I must've, since neither of us were wearing glitter or leather, but he was playing enthusiastically, the same shitty Weird Sisters cover he'd played the night before. Another ambiguously gendered person tottered up to the piano in spiked boots and tried to slip some coins down the back of the pianist's trousers; he whipped his head around and snarled him-her-it off without missing a note. Nice to know I wasn't the only one to get a cold shoulder from him.
"What'll you have?" the bartender asked me. Except for the kohl around his eyes, and his sparkly scarf, he actually looked fairly normal.
"Rum and coer, pumpkin juice," I said. I'd definitely been spending too much time in Muggle bars.
"Coming right up."
"How much will it be?"
The bartender bloody winked at me. "For you? On the house."
I took a deep breath and looked more closely at those nudes on the walls. It wasn't always easy to tell, but I spotted a couple of blokes touching blokes and birds touching birds. No bloke/bird combinations. I looked at the customers. The closest table was filled solely by wizards (or wizard-shaped people of ambiguous gender) and they were all a bit, er, friendly with one another.
Merlin's balls, my first time in Six Shoe Alley in seven years and I'd walked right into a gay bar.
I almost walked straight (hah!) back out again. I'd spent way too much time trying to keep my secret to end up outed in a work-related accident. I wanted nothing to do with these people in their leather and glitter and inexplicable things that showed off way, way too much skin for this time of year. I definitely didn't want to sit here and get hit on by a bartender or Madame Helene the drag queen or God knew who else. Get out! cried the Hermione-voice in the back of my head. Get out while you still can!
Only problem was, my pianist was still here. And I did still have a job to do.
The bartender brought me my drink and I pretended to take a sip out of it. He put a great deal of effort into wiping a very small spot off the surface of the bar, near my elbow, most likely because I was the only person sitting there. (At least, I hoped that was his only reason.) I got his attention and nodded towards the piano. "Who's that bloke up there?"
He let go of the rag, which continued to rub at the spot, and braced his elbows on the countertop with another wink. "What, see something you like? His name is Lysander White."
"Hmm. He play here often?"
"Oh, yes. Madame Helene likes to have live music when she can, says it adds class."
I didn't have the heart to tell him that the best way to add class to this place was probably a wrecking ball. I watched White finish up one song and crack his knuckles loudly before starting in on the next. "What's he like? Personally, I mean."
"Mmm, don't bother with him," the bartender said sagely. "He's a right cactus, especially with customers."
"Didn't say I wanted to bother with him," I said. "Just wanted to compliment him on the music."
The bartender snorted knowingly. "Right."
"Honest."
"You're still out of luck." The bartender prodded the rag further along the countertop with the end of his wand. "He's a bitch to everyone he sees, especially customers, and he's got all the social life of a fruit fly. I've never seen so much self-loathing in one queer in my life."
I had been pretending to take another sip of my drink; I almost inhaled it. "Er," I said. "Really?"
"It's really sort of pathetic," the bartender carried on with authority. "I mean, we've all got our issues, right, but if you turn around and project all that onto the rest of us, well, you're just left all alone, aren't you?"
I pushed my glass towards him. "Sorry. I've, um, I've got to go."
"Oh," he said, and shouted at me as I walked away very very fast, "Come back any time!"
I walked back to the Leaky Cauldron without bothering to fasten up my cloak, even though the sun had already gone down. Inside the pub the crowds were still bustling and nobody was queer, or at least if they were they were keeping it to themselves. Just like me. Because that was how it was supposed to be.
Did you know you're loathing yourself? the Hermione-voice asked sweetly.
Shut up, I told her. I'm not allowed to talk to myself on the job.
Eventually I did go back to Malfoy's flat, where I was meant to have been all night, instead of following queer pianists. I concentrated on noting who came and went, and on running away from buses, and occasionally on running away from the lady at the greengrocer, rather than worrying about the Hermione-voice or the people at Tiresias or being pathetic and alone. Eventually the night got colder, and the busses stopped, and the greengrocer closed for the night; around two or three in the morning, when I was about ready to give up and head to bed, I saw White make his way back to the building and step inside. A moment later a light came on in an alley window on the second story, the only light in the whole building.
I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I fished into my pocket for Malfoy's address. It was a second-floor flat as well.
I quickly crossed the street, slipped into the alley, and made my way up the fire escape on the side of the building. If I was careful, I could lean over the edge of the platform and peek through the lit window into the flat. I could also have fallen to a messy death on the pavement, of course, but I had had a sudden and unusual ideaor perhaps the idea had me.
Peering through the lower corner of the window, where the broken blinds didn't quite cover the glass, I saw White toss his cloak onto a shabby little sofa and unwind his scarf. He crossed into the bedroom, one window over, without turning on the light (not that I would've tried to look in that window even if he hadI was curious, not suicidal). I braced myself on the edge of the platform and waited for what felt like an eternity, waiting for White to come out again.
He didn't.
Malfoy, wearing nothing but an indecently loose pair of pajama bottoms, did.
My hand slipped on the railing of the platform and I cracked my head against the window sill. Gritting my teeth to keep from swearing out loud, I pushed myself up to look again. Malfoy was hanging up White's cloak and scarfthe scarf I'd seen both of them wear todaywith a disgusted look on his face. He turned back towards the bedroom door, showing off his straight, smooth back and the barest hint of an arsecrack over the band of the pajamas. Then he turned out the light.
I threw myself back onto the platform and pressed my forehead against the bricks, for concentration as much as to stop the bleeding. It looked like Malfoy had a boyfriend. Malfoy had a wizard boyfriend, no less. A wizard boyfriend with a bad attitude and loads of unspent free time, if the bartender at Tiresias was right.
I had a sudden hunch that I'd found our poisoner.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Four
Author: Nasturia W. Clink (mad_maudlin)
Recipient: Clarence Threepwood (wildegirl_05)
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Rating: PG-13/R
3.
We went back to Cox's office, and he fetched me a box of plasters and some ice for my head, neck, both knees and left wrist. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, " I don't know what got into him, David's always been an exemplary employee"
"David?" I asked. "Who's David?"
Cox blinked at me. "David Black. The, ah, fellow you were chasing out of here?"
I glanced at Aldershot and Rickler, who both shrugged. Aldershot asked, "How long has Black worked for you, Mr. Cox?"
"Oh, years, years...ever since our previous pianist went to Sweden to get his operation."
"Pianist?" I asked. "He plays piano here?"
Cox nodded. "Oh, yes, every weekendis thatsurely you don't think"
"No," I said very loudly, "we don't think MaBlack had anything to do with the drugs."
"Then why did you chase him?" Cox asked.
I cleared my throat and told him, "Just a case of mistaken identity," which was not, technically, a lie. Really.
Rickler and Aldershot finished up gathering the names of employees and we made our way back to the Ministrythis time Rickler demanded we Apparate from an alleyway, for which he earned my undying gratitude. While I set about charming my bruises off, Aldershot announced, "Malfoy is the number one suspect, obviously."
"I don’t think so," I said.
"He works there on weekends," Rickler pointed out. "The victims were all poisoned on weekends."
"That's circumstantial," I said, and transfigured a quill into a mirror so I could get a good look at my face. I immediately regretted it. "There's no motive and there's still no method."
"You want a motive?" Aldershot asked. "He's an admitted Death Eater."
"He switched sides in the end," I said.
Rickler harrumphed. "Why would he work for Muggles unless he was up to something? And under an alias! It's all terribly suspicious, if you ask me."
I shook my head. "He's been working there for years without doing anything, why start now? Besides, he's the pianist. He's not going to be in a position to slip anything to anyone."
"He's a wizard with a concrete link to the scene of the crime," Aldershot declared, "and this is still my case."
I sighed, tried to rake my fingers through my hair, and yelped when I hit another lump. "Fine. Fine, let's go chasing Malfoy. I don't really think he's involved, though."
"It would seem like a rather obvious conclusion," Rickler said with a sniff.
And, okay, it was pretty obvious. They did have points. It was pretty bloody out of character for Malfoy to be working for Muggles under an assumed name, and it was a pretty big stretch for a load of Muggles to get poisoned while he just happened to be in the same building. Something didn't sit right about it for me, though, something seemed to be missing. I just couldn't put my finger on what.
Malfoy leaves the wizarding world. Malfoy goes to work for Muggles. Malfoy, years later, poisons a bunch of Muggles. Malfoy is my birthday party for no damn reason and snogs me in the corridor.
Wait. That last bit didn't have anything to do with the case.
(Didn't it?)
"You've got Malfoy's address, don't you?" I asked Aldershot. "Along with all the other employees?"
She flipped through the papers that had come out of the noisy box under the comoopter. "Yes, of course, I have everyone who worked the nights of the incidents."
I grabbed the right paper out of her stack and read it over. "This isn't too far from the Leaky Cauldron."
"Easy access to an apothecary," Rickler said ominously.
I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to watch the place for a while. See what he's up to."
Aldershot frowned again. "Excuse me, Weasley, but I am the primary investigator of this case."
"Sorry," I said. "May I watch the place for a while and see what he's up to?"
Her face turned an interesting shade of fuchsia, but eventually she nodded. "Go on, then. I'll start interviewing the other staff of the Claw. Rickler, I'd like you to start asking around at all the greenhouses and apothecaries you can findsee if they've seen Malfoy recently and what he's purchased."
"If we still don't know what the poison that's being used is, what good will that do?" I asked.
"It might be evidence," Aldershot said.
"He might be brewing Pepper-Up Potion by the gallon, too, and that wouldn't tell us anything about the Muggles," I pointed out.
She scowled at me, and I could've sworn her ponytail slipped. "Weren't you just leaving, Weasley?"
"Right. Sorry."
I volunteered to watch Malfoy's flat because, as an Auror, I was better trained in the arts of surveillance and stealth, and because if that was the direction that the investigation was going to go I might as well go along with it, whether I thought he was guilty or not. That's it. That's all. Really. This was my job, and I was being professional about it. If there was any part of me that was still thinking about the night before (and I'm not saying there was [and if there were, it was only because I was going mad from blue balls]), that part was completely separate from the part of me that was working on the case.
Watching the flat also gave me a chance to think a bit about the case without Aldershot and Rickler jumping to conclusions on me. Malfoy's flat was conveniently close to a bus stop, so I was able to lean against a light post and watch the front entrance without looking out of place or having to talk to anyone. (Except when the bus actually showed up. Then I had to pretend I'd forgotten something and run away until it had gone again.) In the chilly air, I reviewed everything I'd seen at The Golden Claw, particularly those private rooms upstairs. All manner of things could go on up there that the staff would be "discreet" about, and if this mystery poison brought people out in green spots, that staircase I'd fallen down would make a convenient, almost witness-free exit.
Though, come to think of it, the poison was also problematic. Granted, I was never great shakes at potion-making, but a poison that causes green spots and memory loss sounded more like a second-year prank than Dark magic. Though, if the St. Mungo's Healers weren't able to identify it, perhaps it was a new invention, or even the early stages of a new invention...and that would definitely rule Malfoy out, because he was never that great with potions either, not when Snape wasn't around to play favorites. I'd have to remember to share that observation with Aldershot later, to get her off this Malfoy obsession...
Because I didn't want to waste time, of course. Not for Malfoy's sake. I wanted this case to be over with so I could get back to my real job as fast as possible. If Kingsley was going to loan me out like a library book, the least I could do was show the rest of the department how things are done among the Aurors. I couldn't have cared less for Malfoy's well being, though knowing his address now made things awfully convenient...
For talking, that is. If I wanted to talk to him. About stuff. Job-related stuff.
That's all.
I waited outside Malfoy's flat well into the afternoon, just long enough that the cashier in the greengrocer across the street started looking at me funny every time I ran away from the bus stop. I was about to alter my disguise to throw her off when, for the first time all day, the door to Malfoy's building opened up. The pianist from the surprise party came out.
I almost did a completely indiscreet double-take, but yeah, it was the same blokedark hair, beard, everything. He was also wearing a scarf identical to the one Malfoy had had on, and he tucked it tight into his cloak before he started off down the street. I followed him from the other side, all the way into the Leaky Cauldron. I already knew he was connected to Malfoy, somehow, if only because they'd both been in the same place, at the same timeperhaps Malfoy had gone to the Spotted Hippogryffs to meet this other bloke, for some reason? Besides, if one wizard living the Muggle life was suspicious, two wizards living in the same Muggle building was downright coincidental. There had to be some kind of connection.
The Leaky Cauldron was busy, but not so busy I couldn’t see him stop off at the bar and have a short conversation with Tom. I slipped into Diagon Alley ahead of him and picked up his trail again there, trying to stay far enough behind him to go unnoticed. I held my breath for a moment when he turned down Knockturn Alleysurely evidence wasn't just going to fall into my lap like that? No, of course not, that would've actually been easy; after a short jaunt down Knockturn, the pianist made another left turn, onto Six Shoe Alley, and from the corner I watched him slip into the side door of a squat, garish building declaring itself Tiresias.
Now I was in a bit of a bind. As a rule I never, ever set foot in Six Shoe Alley, not since a pretty disastrous outing with Fred and George when I was eighteen. That had ended with me being chased out of a brothel by a dwarf, and George having to convince Mum that his trousers had been stolen by rogue house-elves. These days when I had time to go out at all, I went to Muggle bars, where there was no chance I'd be seen by someone who might recognize me, so this was unfamiliar territory. Besides, I wasn't exactly dressed for clubbingbut the longer I waited on the corner of Six Shoe and Knockturn, the clearer it got that my pianist wasn't coming back out. If I wanted to find out what he was doing, I'd have to go in and find him.
I braced myself, transfigured my trench coat back into robes (and after I thought about it for a minute, I transfigured my robes into something that wouldn't look quite so out of place at a clubI hoped). I headed for the doors of Tiresias, where a bouncer with a neck as thick as my torso stopped me there. "Cover charge," he grunted at menot a question, a demand.
"Er," I said. "How much?"
"One Galleon seven."
I flinched. "Er. Sure I'm not on the guest list?"
"There is no guest list."
Crap. "Then I reckon I'll just"
"Ooooh, let that one in for free!"
The shrill voice just about made me jump out of my skin, and when I worked out where it was coming from, I had to fight the urge to run away. A...well, a person was standing just inside the doors of the club, wearing a sleek satin evening gown and a jeweled tiara. I might've been able to call that person a woman, if not for the prominent Adam's apple and distinct lack of tits. As it was, I was still blinking when whatever it was grabbed me by the hand and pulled me inside. "Darling, you are just too precious for words," he-she-it said, patting my captive hand with fingernails like daggers. "You come here and enjoy yourself any time. I insist."
"Thanks," I said.
He-she-it leaned in close and whispered in my ear. "If you have any trouble at all, just ask a server for Madame Helene, I'll be right with you, mmmkay?"
"I will," I said, and didn't exhale until "Madame" Helene was well out of sight.
If I thought that was going to be the most traumatic moment of the evening, I was sorely mistaken, because the moment I turned around to survey the interior of the club I flinched. It was as bright and tacky on the inside as it was on the outsidelots of bright colors and clashing patterns on everything, though the predominant theme seemed to be pink. The walls were plastered with an assortment of badly-drawn nudes in peculiar color schemes, most of which bordered on the pornographic, or at least tried to. There were only a handful of people inside on that particular evening, but all of them were dressed to match the décor, lots of leather and glitter and more color than I'd ever wear in a lifetime. If someone set out to construct the diametric opposite of The Golden Claw, this would be it.
I skirted around the edge of the empty dance floor towards the bar, and eventually I picked up where my pianist had got tohe was playing a bright pink piano tucked into a nook on the far side of the room. He looked, well, about as out of place as I must've, since neither of us were wearing glitter or leather, but he was playing enthusiastically, the same shitty Weird Sisters cover he'd played the night before. Another ambiguously gendered person tottered up to the piano in spiked boots and tried to slip some coins down the back of the pianist's trousers; he whipped his head around and snarled him-her-it off without missing a note. Nice to know I wasn't the only one to get a cold shoulder from him.
"What'll you have?" the bartender asked me. Except for the kohl around his eyes, and his sparkly scarf, he actually looked fairly normal.
"Rum and coer, pumpkin juice," I said. I'd definitely been spending too much time in Muggle bars.
"Coming right up."
"How much will it be?"
The bartender bloody winked at me. "For you? On the house."
I took a deep breath and looked more closely at those nudes on the walls. It wasn't always easy to tell, but I spotted a couple of blokes touching blokes and birds touching birds. No bloke/bird combinations. I looked at the customers. The closest table was filled solely by wizards (or wizard-shaped people of ambiguous gender) and they were all a bit, er, friendly with one another.
Merlin's balls, my first time in Six Shoe Alley in seven years and I'd walked right into a gay bar.
I almost walked straight (hah!) back out again. I'd spent way too much time trying to keep my secret to end up outed in a work-related accident. I wanted nothing to do with these people in their leather and glitter and inexplicable things that showed off way, way too much skin for this time of year. I definitely didn't want to sit here and get hit on by a bartender or Madame Helene the drag queen or God knew who else. Get out! cried the Hermione-voice in the back of my head. Get out while you still can!
Only problem was, my pianist was still here. And I did still have a job to do.
The bartender brought me my drink and I pretended to take a sip out of it. He put a great deal of effort into wiping a very small spot off the surface of the bar, near my elbow, most likely because I was the only person sitting there. (At least, I hoped that was his only reason.) I got his attention and nodded towards the piano. "Who's that bloke up there?"
He let go of the rag, which continued to rub at the spot, and braced his elbows on the countertop with another wink. "What, see something you like? His name is Lysander White."
"Hmm. He play here often?"
"Oh, yes. Madame Helene likes to have live music when she can, says it adds class."
I didn't have the heart to tell him that the best way to add class to this place was probably a wrecking ball. I watched White finish up one song and crack his knuckles loudly before starting in on the next. "What's he like? Personally, I mean."
"Mmm, don't bother with him," the bartender said sagely. "He's a right cactus, especially with customers."
"Didn't say I wanted to bother with him," I said. "Just wanted to compliment him on the music."
The bartender snorted knowingly. "Right."
"Honest."
"You're still out of luck." The bartender prodded the rag further along the countertop with the end of his wand. "He's a bitch to everyone he sees, especially customers, and he's got all the social life of a fruit fly. I've never seen so much self-loathing in one queer in my life."
I had been pretending to take another sip of my drink; I almost inhaled it. "Er," I said. "Really?"
"It's really sort of pathetic," the bartender carried on with authority. "I mean, we've all got our issues, right, but if you turn around and project all that onto the rest of us, well, you're just left all alone, aren't you?"
I pushed my glass towards him. "Sorry. I've, um, I've got to go."
"Oh," he said, and shouted at me as I walked away very very fast, "Come back any time!"
I walked back to the Leaky Cauldron without bothering to fasten up my cloak, even though the sun had already gone down. Inside the pub the crowds were still bustling and nobody was queer, or at least if they were they were keeping it to themselves. Just like me. Because that was how it was supposed to be.
Did you know you're loathing yourself? the Hermione-voice asked sweetly.
Shut up, I told her. I'm not allowed to talk to myself on the job.
Eventually I did go back to Malfoy's flat, where I was meant to have been all night, instead of following queer pianists. I concentrated on noting who came and went, and on running away from buses, and occasionally on running away from the lady at the greengrocer, rather than worrying about the Hermione-voice or the people at Tiresias or being pathetic and alone. Eventually the night got colder, and the busses stopped, and the greengrocer closed for the night; around two or three in the morning, when I was about ready to give up and head to bed, I saw White make his way back to the building and step inside. A moment later a light came on in an alley window on the second story, the only light in the whole building.
I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I fished into my pocket for Malfoy's address. It was a second-floor flat as well.
I quickly crossed the street, slipped into the alley, and made my way up the fire escape on the side of the building. If I was careful, I could lean over the edge of the platform and peek through the lit window into the flat. I could also have fallen to a messy death on the pavement, of course, but I had had a sudden and unusual ideaor perhaps the idea had me.
Peering through the lower corner of the window, where the broken blinds didn't quite cover the glass, I saw White toss his cloak onto a shabby little sofa and unwind his scarf. He crossed into the bedroom, one window over, without turning on the light (not that I would've tried to look in that window even if he hadI was curious, not suicidal). I braced myself on the edge of the platform and waited for what felt like an eternity, waiting for White to come out again.
He didn't.
Malfoy, wearing nothing but an indecently loose pair of pajama bottoms, did.
My hand slipped on the railing of the platform and I cracked my head against the window sill. Gritting my teeth to keep from swearing out loud, I pushed myself up to look again. Malfoy was hanging up White's cloak and scarfthe scarf I'd seen both of them wear todaywith a disgusted look on his face. He turned back towards the bedroom door, showing off his straight, smooth back and the barest hint of an arsecrack over the band of the pajamas. Then he turned out the light.
I threw myself back onto the platform and pressed my forehead against the bricks, for concentration as much as to stop the bleeding. It looked like Malfoy had a boyfriend. Malfoy had a wizard boyfriend, no less. A wizard boyfriend with a bad attitude and loads of unspent free time, if the bartender at Tiresias was right.
I had a sudden hunch that I'd found our poisoner.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Four