The Better Part of Valor 4/9 (R/D, PG-13)
Title: The Better Part of Valor
Author: Mad Maudlin
Rating: high PG-13
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Summary: Discretion is the better part of valor. But for Ron Weasley, a rash of Muggle poisonings coupled with the abrupt and disturbing return of Draco Malfoy to his life threaten to blow the lid off his best-kept secret.
The Better Part of Valor
by Mad Maudlin
4.
That night I went to Central Records, only to discover that, in a pit of despair where paperwork goes to die, there wasn't a single scrap of information on Lysander White. No birth certificate, no OWL or NEWT results, not even one of those minor citations that everybody gets for using magic where maybe possibly a Muggle could see it if they squinted, and everybody's gotten one of those. Which meant that either White was a new arrival in the United Kingdomunlikelyor "White" wasn't really his name.
The next morningor later the same morning, whateverI went back to Diagon Alley and chased publicans and barkeeps all over wizarding London, starting with the owner of the Spotted Hippogryffs. After a calculated detour into Knockturn Alley, I tracked down Aldershot and Rickler in the Enforcer's wing of Magical Law-Enforcement. Aldershoot's hair was a bun this morning, still pulled tight enough to give her permanently raised eyebrows, though she did her best to lower them at me when she saw me approach.
"Weasley," she said. "So nice of you to drop in on us."
"I think I've got something," I said. "Something on the poisoner, maybe."
"You mean Malfoy?" Rickler asked.
"Sort of." I hadn't taken the time to rewrite my notes, so they were kind of chaotic and some of them were on serviettes, but I spread them out on Aldershot's desk and shoved aside some other scrolls to make room. "Malfoy has aa roommate, going by the name of Lysander White. He's a wizard musician who showed up in Knockturn Alley about seven years ago, having apparently crawled fully-formed from under a cabbage."
The words Knockturn Alley sure got Aldershot's attention. "Knockturn? Doing what, exactly?"
I hesitated. "He was...sort of an errand boy. Sometimes a clerk. Worked a bit for Borgin and Burke's, Dramm's Apothecary, two different book dealers, that sort of thing. He became a pianist a few years ago, but he's certainly still got contacts in that part of the Alley."
"But how does that tie him to Malfoy, except circumstantially?" Rickler asked.
"Because Malfoy hasn't been seen in our world since his acquittal," I pointed out. "Not in Knockturn, not by anybody."
Aldershot's eyebrows moved together sideways without any motion up or down. "Are you suggesting that this White has been Malfoy's courier, then? Procuring the ingredients so that Malfoy could make the poison?"
"If White's not the poisoner himself," I pointed out. "Which is entirely possible."
Rickler snorted. "How can that be? Malfoy's the one who works at the Golden Claw."
Okay, that one stumped me. I admit it. "Maybe," I said, "maybe, er...maybe Malfoy is just the patsy. Or an unwitting courier. Or under the Imperius curse?"
Aldershot frowned deeply, so deeply I was afraid that at any moment her bun would spring open and knock down the cubicle wall. "Weasley," she said, "I don't mean to offend, but you seem awfully convinced of Malfoy's innocence from the outset of this investigation."
"Because the evidence against him is all circumstantial," I said.
"So's your evidence against White," Rickler said.
"White has the Knockturn Alley connections to get himself a poison so rare not even St. Mungo's can sort it out," I said.
"Malfoy is placed at the scene, and he has a motive," Aldershot said.
"He changed sides"
"The Kneazle doesn't change his spots," Rickler said.
Aldershot nodded. "Weasley, at best you've proven that Malfoy has an accomplice, and for that I'm actually willing to forgive you for your little vanishing act."
"Vanishing act?" I asked. "I was investigating"
"As were we." Aldershot picked up one of the scrolls I'd pushed aside and used it to sweep all my notes off the desk; I Summoned them back up to me, but they were all out of order, and one of the paper serviettes got damp and smudged on my shoe. "Rickler and I have contacted fifty-two public and private establishments where Malfoyor whoevermay have procured the ingredients for a poison."
"And?" I asked.
Rickler deflated a bit. "Wellwe inquired whether anyone had made any unusual or large purchases recentlywe specifically sought out places specializing in more exotic ingredientsor whether anything had been stolen or gone missing in an inexplicable manner, or just about any strange activities, really."
"And?" I asked.
Aldershot cleared her throat. "Nothing," she said coolly. "Aside from a few growers trying to sell goods contaminated with a fungal blight, whom we fined appropriately."
"Ooh, yes, you're really furthered the investigation there," I muttered.
Aldershot gave me the kind of look that should turn a bloke's bits into pudding from the sheer nastiness of it. "Weasley, I realize that Aurors aren't generally known for playing well with others, but I'd like to remind you that this is my case and for the moment you are under my authority."
"Yes," I said, "and you can thank me for giving you the lead on White whenever you wish."
She gave a funny sort of growl and shuffled her scrolls of notes almost violently. "Fine" she said eventually. "Thank you. We'll set up a tail on them both.
"Excellent," I said. "I'll take Malfoy"
"No, no," Aldershot said. "You've already been following White."
"But I'd prefer to go after Malfoy," I said, though the thought of going back to the Golden Claw made me a bit ill. "After all, he works tonight, you can't follow him inside the club"
"Rickler can, though," Aldershot pointed out. (Rickler blinked and asked, "I can?") "Besides, this is your lead, you have a right to follow through on it."
"I don't mind letting someone else take over," I said quickly.
"But it's more practical for Rickler to follow Malfoy" ("It is?" Rickler asked) "he knows far more about the Muggle world. He can blend in better."
I wanted to dispute that somehow without revealing my habit of going to Muggle gay bars, but then I realized that Aldershot was smiling. Smirking, really. Just a bit. That bitch. "Fine," I said, and gave her a very nasty look. "I'll stay on White."
"That's very professional of you," she said with a sweet, sweet smile I wanted to kick.
You can't kick your coworkers, the Hermione-voice said.
Go to hell, I told it.
Instead of kicking anyone, I went home and kipped for a few hours before turning to the question of my wardrobe. If I was going to return to Tiresias, I'd have to blend in, which would seem to mandate a certain amount of glitter and/or leather, based on initial reconnaissance. Problem was, I did not own any glitter, or any leather, or anything that could really pass for club attire, at least for a wizard club. I did possess a pair of blue jeans with a couple of strategically placed holes, and they certainly had a bewitching effect on the Muggle blokes I'd slept with, but I wasn't certain that counted. On the other hand, I couldn't exactly wear my uniform robes on the dance floor.
Wait, was I even going on the dance floor? I'd have to, if I wanted to blend in. Though I couldn't really imagine anyone getting particularly dance-y to light piano music. But I'd have to interact somehow or else I'd stand out. It's just for work, I told myself. If anyone ever asks, I can always explain I was there for work.
That's not very honest of you, the Hermione-voice said solemnly.
I'm a dishonest person.
I ultimately went with a pair of jeans (not the jeans) and a button-down shirt that just happened not to be all that buttoned, under a loose open robe in a complementary color. Instead of going to White's flat this time, I went directly to Tiresias, where, true to Madame Helene's word, the bouncer let me in without a cover. I felt strangely naked when I hung up my cloak, a feeling that wasn't helped by the way the cloakroom attendant whistled at me. I kept saying to myself, just doing my job, as I walked toward the bar, again. There was a different bartender tonight, a witch with a lot of spikey jewelry to match her spikey hair, and she ignored me after she mixed my drink. Almost all the tables were empty so early in the evening, so I snagged one, and waited for White to come on stage.
I found a better distraction when Madame Helene emerged from the back in another boat of a satin evening gown. He (or she, or whatever) made a point of bestowing kisses on a handful of people, sometimes on the hand and sometimes on the cheek, and one blush-worthy smacker right on a bloke's mouth. I don't think he was expecting it, but he looked thrilled anyway. Helene made her way to a big booth in a far corner, under the tackiest of the nude posters, followed by a train of admirers that probably made up more than half of the people in the building. They all crammed in around her, and I heard her squeal about "drinks on the house."
A waiter, one of the he-she-it-things, came by with another drink for me even though my first one was still full. "I didn't order this," I said.
"Complements of Madame Helene," he-she-it said with a suggestive smile.
I glanced at the corner booth, where she seemed to be holding court with her fan club. "Really? That's...generous of her."
"Oh, she's a wonderful person," the waiter said, and got big dewey eyes and a little breathless hitch in his-her-its voice. "She really made this place what it is today, you know, brought us all together...before her, if we wanted to go out, we had to go out among Muggles, can you imagine that?"
"Must've been horrific," I mumbled.
"Oh, it wasbut now we can all come together and be ourselves, our real selves, in the real world. It's just so exciting." The waiter sighed and looked wistfully at Helene's chosen few in the corner booth. "She's just brilliant."
"Er...yeah, really." I checked my watch; White had been on stage this time last night. "Say, when does the music start around here?" I asked.
The waiter jiggled his-her-its shoulders in a way that showed off just how loose his-her-its top really was. "Oh, the band should be here any minuteI reckon they must be drunk already and can't find the club."
"Band?" I asked, trying to cover for myself. "What sort of a band is it?"
"Ooh, all sorts of thingsa great dance bandthey play all weekend, so if you like them, you can come back tomorrow, too." He-she-it winked at me. "That's my night off."
"Er," I said. "We'll see." The waiter, apparently put off, strutted away with a little pout, and I barely remembered to transfigure the alcohol in my glass to water before I slugged half the drink down at once.
White wasn't working tonight, which meant my presence here was a bust. I could escape, go home, be back among normal people...And you'll have to admit to Aldershot that you fouled up the tail, said the Hermione-voice.
Like Rickler will do any better with Malfoy, I told her.
Or you could still get some useful information while you're here, the Hermione-voice pointed out.
Yeah? I snorted. Like what? But even as I thought it, I found myself looking at Madame Helene again. She definitely made eye contact for a moment. The night might not yet be a total loss; I picked up the drink, transfigured away the alcohol again, and made my way up to Helene's booth.
The court, male and female and ambiguous, saw me coming and started nudging and winking and giggling well before I got near them. I'm sure Helene saw me, too, but she didn't react until I had stood at the edge of the booth for a few minutes. Then she shushed whoever she was talking to and smiled sweetly at me. "Hello, darling," she said with a bit of a purr. "So glad to see you back!"
"I'm glad to be back," I said, with one fist coiled in my robe pocket. The other was wrapped around my glass, which I raised to her. "Thank you, by the way."
"Oh, it's nothing at all," Helene said, batting her eyelashes. "For you, it's on the house. Come, sit."
She patted a sliver of space next to herself in the booth, and I blinked a little bit, because there was no way I could get over the tangle of legs wedged under the table, never mind fit in that gap. But one of the members of the court pulled me practically into his lap, and then someone else tugged my arm, and pretty soon I was being pushed and pulled into the booth by a half-dozen very grabby hands. So I wasn't exactly in my best state of composure when I landed half in Madame Helene's lap, in the middle of the booth, and her throwing her wrap over my shoulder and leaning against my shoulder didn't help much.
She was quite a bit shorter than me and built lightly, which I suppose helped to pull off the whole drag queen thing. She patted my wrist, managing to miss the sticky spots where my drink had sloshed over the rim of the glass in transit. "There," she said, "much better. Tell us your name, darling."
I calculated my options and didn't like the answer I came up with, but with the Hermione-voice tsking in the back of my head I did it anyway. "Ron," I said. "And you're the famous Madame Helene."
That was the right thing to say, insomuch as it sent the court tittering and Helene herself smiling coyly. "Oh, dear, you flatter me...famous, you say?"
I shrugged and sipped my drink. "I've heard excellent things about you."
She pinched my cheek. "Oh, are't you a sweet one? Tell me, sweetheart, where have you been all these years? I've never seen you in my club before."
"Around." I sipped my drink again to stall; most of the court had their attention on me and it was a bit unnerving. "Suppose I've never had thethe courage, before, to come in."
"Ooh, and what gave you the courage tonight?" Helene asked, leaning very deep into my personal space.
Once again, I considered my options, and decided this was as good an opening as any. "I was actually hoping to hear your pianist play," I said. "I think his name Lucian? Lycian?"
"Lysander," Helene said, and there was a flatness to her voice that told me I'd said the wrong thing. She leaned back a bit. "I'm terribly sorry, darling, but he doesn't work tonight."
I nodded. "One of the waiters told me. He's quite good" and here I thought of a good way to recover "You must've been, er, very clever to hire him."
"Well, yes, I daresay it was one of my better moments," Helene said, all modesty again. "Though I'd better warn you, love, Lysander isn't the friendliest fellow in the worldyou'd be far better off pursuing someone a little...warmer?"
I might've actually been able to ignore the innuendo if Helene hadn't stuck one hand into my lap. I'm afraid I might've actually squeaked a bit. "I just wanted to hear the music," I said quickly, which sent the whole court tittering again.
I was rescued from imminent molestation by a bloke who slipped around the back of the booth and cleared his throat. He was probably the only person in the club besides me not wearing something leather or sparklyjust plain dark robes and a plain dark cloak. "Madame?" he said. "We're ready."
Helene sighed dramatically and let go of my thigh. "If we must," she said, then smiled beatifically at her court and blew a few kisses. "I'm terribly sorry, my lovelies, but I've business to attend to."
There were genuine groans and frowns from the court, but they all shuffled out of the booth obediently so that Helene could glide off whence she came. I watched her pass by the bartender and snag her by the spikes; I couldn't hear everything they said, but I had the distinct impression that the instruction "on the house" got passed along. Then Helene was gone, and the court started to go their separate ways.
A glittery bloke tapped me on the shoulder and grinned brilliantly at me. "Oi, you. Want to dance?" he asked.
I glanced at the stage, where, yes, a very hung-over looking band was setting up their instruments. I was technically on the job, I had an objective, and I'd failed to get anything from Madame Helene. We really should be leaving now, the Hermione-voice said severely.
"Sure," I told the bloke.
Now, let me make a few things clear. I didn't drinkI charmed the liquor out of everything the lesbian barkeep threw at me. I also didn't get off with anyone, not that I didn't have ample opportunity. I danced with a few blokes and one very drunk witch, I chatted, I nursed my non-alcoholic drinks. I tried to get more information on White, but all the regulars gave me the standard linehe was a prickly asshole with no known friends who nevertheless could play the hell out of that hideous piano, or else they'd never put up with him. I got plenty of adoring commentary on Madame Helene, as if opening the first proper gay club on Six Shoe qualified her for sainthood.
Last call left me with a funny disconnected feeling had absolutely nothing to do with drinking, and I tried walking it off in the cold, wet air. The patrons of Tiresias were...nice. Friendly, even. They'd welcomed me into their little cliques without question, and most of them hadn't tried to grope me. I'd never spent so much time in a club beforeusually I just stayed long enough to pull a likely-looking bloke, we shagged at his place, and I was back home before bedtime. Just dancing and chatting had been...fun. Nice.
I was clearly out of my mind.
They're only friendly with one another because they don't have anyone else, I reminded myself. Outcasts, every one of them.
But they seem like such happy outcasts, the Hermione-voice said.
How can you tell if they're happy?
Well, they don't seem to be talking to themselves.
The voice had a point, and I was so busy working out a response that I walked right into someone coming around a corner. I started to mumble an apology until I stepped away and recognized, out of all the possible people I could've run into, Draco fucking Malfoy, blinking at me in a street lamp.
I grabbed him before he could run away again. "What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.
He thrashed and tried to shrug me off. "I'm walking home, you idiot," he snarled. "What are you doing here?"
I glanced around; damn, I had walked straight to his flat. "Looking for your boyfriend, actually," I said, without letting him go. "Know where I could find him?"
Malfoy blinked. "What in the name of Merlin are you talking about, Weasley?"
"I think you know perfectly well," I said. "And if you want my help, I'm sure you know where to find me."
"If I wanted secret codes, Weasley, I'd read the Quibbler."
"I know what he's up to," I said softlyI would've whispered it in his ear if I was certain he wouldn't try to bite me for it. "And I can help protect you."
Malfoy suddenly went very still, and his eyes fixed on something over my shoulder. "You mean Higgs?" he asked softly.
I blinked at him. "Who?"
He shook his head and managed to slip out of my hands. "Never mind," he snarled, tugging on his scarf. "If you'll excuse me, it's past my bedtime."
"Malfoy, who's Higgs?"
"Piss off already!" He ducked away from me arm when I tried to grab him again and took big backwards strides away from me. "It's none of your business! It's not even any of my business!"
"I'm trying to help you, you stupid bastard!" I shouted back.
"Well, I don't want it!"
I clenched my fists. "You started this!"
"Excuse me, you grabbed me!"
Windows facing the street started to light up, probably from all the shouting, and I quickly backed into a shadow while Malfoy hurried into the building. When he failed to come back outside and keep arguing with me, I made a rude gesture in the general direction of his alley window and Disapparated back to my flat.
Chapter One
Chapter Three
Chapter Five
Author: Mad Maudlin
Rating: high PG-13
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Summary: Discretion is the better part of valor. But for Ron Weasley, a rash of Muggle poisonings coupled with the abrupt and disturbing return of Draco Malfoy to his life threaten to blow the lid off his best-kept secret.
The Better Part of Valor
by Mad Maudlin
4.
That night I went to Central Records, only to discover that, in a pit of despair where paperwork goes to die, there wasn't a single scrap of information on Lysander White. No birth certificate, no OWL or NEWT results, not even one of those minor citations that everybody gets for using magic where maybe possibly a Muggle could see it if they squinted, and everybody's gotten one of those. Which meant that either White was a new arrival in the United Kingdomunlikelyor "White" wasn't really his name.
The next morningor later the same morning, whateverI went back to Diagon Alley and chased publicans and barkeeps all over wizarding London, starting with the owner of the Spotted Hippogryffs. After a calculated detour into Knockturn Alley, I tracked down Aldershot and Rickler in the Enforcer's wing of Magical Law-Enforcement. Aldershoot's hair was a bun this morning, still pulled tight enough to give her permanently raised eyebrows, though she did her best to lower them at me when she saw me approach.
"Weasley," she said. "So nice of you to drop in on us."
"I think I've got something," I said. "Something on the poisoner, maybe."
"You mean Malfoy?" Rickler asked.
"Sort of." I hadn't taken the time to rewrite my notes, so they were kind of chaotic and some of them were on serviettes, but I spread them out on Aldershot's desk and shoved aside some other scrolls to make room. "Malfoy has aa roommate, going by the name of Lysander White. He's a wizard musician who showed up in Knockturn Alley about seven years ago, having apparently crawled fully-formed from under a cabbage."
The words Knockturn Alley sure got Aldershot's attention. "Knockturn? Doing what, exactly?"
I hesitated. "He was...sort of an errand boy. Sometimes a clerk. Worked a bit for Borgin and Burke's, Dramm's Apothecary, two different book dealers, that sort of thing. He became a pianist a few years ago, but he's certainly still got contacts in that part of the Alley."
"But how does that tie him to Malfoy, except circumstantially?" Rickler asked.
"Because Malfoy hasn't been seen in our world since his acquittal," I pointed out. "Not in Knockturn, not by anybody."
Aldershot's eyebrows moved together sideways without any motion up or down. "Are you suggesting that this White has been Malfoy's courier, then? Procuring the ingredients so that Malfoy could make the poison?"
"If White's not the poisoner himself," I pointed out. "Which is entirely possible."
Rickler snorted. "How can that be? Malfoy's the one who works at the Golden Claw."
Okay, that one stumped me. I admit it. "Maybe," I said, "maybe, er...maybe Malfoy is just the patsy. Or an unwitting courier. Or under the Imperius curse?"
Aldershot frowned deeply, so deeply I was afraid that at any moment her bun would spring open and knock down the cubicle wall. "Weasley," she said, "I don't mean to offend, but you seem awfully convinced of Malfoy's innocence from the outset of this investigation."
"Because the evidence against him is all circumstantial," I said.
"So's your evidence against White," Rickler said.
"White has the Knockturn Alley connections to get himself a poison so rare not even St. Mungo's can sort it out," I said.
"Malfoy is placed at the scene, and he has a motive," Aldershot said.
"He changed sides"
"The Kneazle doesn't change his spots," Rickler said.
Aldershot nodded. "Weasley, at best you've proven that Malfoy has an accomplice, and for that I'm actually willing to forgive you for your little vanishing act."
"Vanishing act?" I asked. "I was investigating"
"As were we." Aldershot picked up one of the scrolls I'd pushed aside and used it to sweep all my notes off the desk; I Summoned them back up to me, but they were all out of order, and one of the paper serviettes got damp and smudged on my shoe. "Rickler and I have contacted fifty-two public and private establishments where Malfoyor whoevermay have procured the ingredients for a poison."
"And?" I asked.
Rickler deflated a bit. "Wellwe inquired whether anyone had made any unusual or large purchases recentlywe specifically sought out places specializing in more exotic ingredientsor whether anything had been stolen or gone missing in an inexplicable manner, or just about any strange activities, really."
"And?" I asked.
Aldershot cleared her throat. "Nothing," she said coolly. "Aside from a few growers trying to sell goods contaminated with a fungal blight, whom we fined appropriately."
"Ooh, yes, you're really furthered the investigation there," I muttered.
Aldershot gave me the kind of look that should turn a bloke's bits into pudding from the sheer nastiness of it. "Weasley, I realize that Aurors aren't generally known for playing well with others, but I'd like to remind you that this is my case and for the moment you are under my authority."
"Yes," I said, "and you can thank me for giving you the lead on White whenever you wish."
She gave a funny sort of growl and shuffled her scrolls of notes almost violently. "Fine" she said eventually. "Thank you. We'll set up a tail on them both.
"Excellent," I said. "I'll take Malfoy"
"No, no," Aldershot said. "You've already been following White."
"But I'd prefer to go after Malfoy," I said, though the thought of going back to the Golden Claw made me a bit ill. "After all, he works tonight, you can't follow him inside the club"
"Rickler can, though," Aldershot pointed out. (Rickler blinked and asked, "I can?") "Besides, this is your lead, you have a right to follow through on it."
"I don't mind letting someone else take over," I said quickly.
"But it's more practical for Rickler to follow Malfoy" ("It is?" Rickler asked) "he knows far more about the Muggle world. He can blend in better."
I wanted to dispute that somehow without revealing my habit of going to Muggle gay bars, but then I realized that Aldershot was smiling. Smirking, really. Just a bit. That bitch. "Fine," I said, and gave her a very nasty look. "I'll stay on White."
"That's very professional of you," she said with a sweet, sweet smile I wanted to kick.
You can't kick your coworkers, the Hermione-voice said.
Go to hell, I told it.
Instead of kicking anyone, I went home and kipped for a few hours before turning to the question of my wardrobe. If I was going to return to Tiresias, I'd have to blend in, which would seem to mandate a certain amount of glitter and/or leather, based on initial reconnaissance. Problem was, I did not own any glitter, or any leather, or anything that could really pass for club attire, at least for a wizard club. I did possess a pair of blue jeans with a couple of strategically placed holes, and they certainly had a bewitching effect on the Muggle blokes I'd slept with, but I wasn't certain that counted. On the other hand, I couldn't exactly wear my uniform robes on the dance floor.
Wait, was I even going on the dance floor? I'd have to, if I wanted to blend in. Though I couldn't really imagine anyone getting particularly dance-y to light piano music. But I'd have to interact somehow or else I'd stand out. It's just for work, I told myself. If anyone ever asks, I can always explain I was there for work.
That's not very honest of you, the Hermione-voice said solemnly.
I'm a dishonest person.
I ultimately went with a pair of jeans (not the jeans) and a button-down shirt that just happened not to be all that buttoned, under a loose open robe in a complementary color. Instead of going to White's flat this time, I went directly to Tiresias, where, true to Madame Helene's word, the bouncer let me in without a cover. I felt strangely naked when I hung up my cloak, a feeling that wasn't helped by the way the cloakroom attendant whistled at me. I kept saying to myself, just doing my job, as I walked toward the bar, again. There was a different bartender tonight, a witch with a lot of spikey jewelry to match her spikey hair, and she ignored me after she mixed my drink. Almost all the tables were empty so early in the evening, so I snagged one, and waited for White to come on stage.
I found a better distraction when Madame Helene emerged from the back in another boat of a satin evening gown. He (or she, or whatever) made a point of bestowing kisses on a handful of people, sometimes on the hand and sometimes on the cheek, and one blush-worthy smacker right on a bloke's mouth. I don't think he was expecting it, but he looked thrilled anyway. Helene made her way to a big booth in a far corner, under the tackiest of the nude posters, followed by a train of admirers that probably made up more than half of the people in the building. They all crammed in around her, and I heard her squeal about "drinks on the house."
A waiter, one of the he-she-it-things, came by with another drink for me even though my first one was still full. "I didn't order this," I said.
"Complements of Madame Helene," he-she-it said with a suggestive smile.
I glanced at the corner booth, where she seemed to be holding court with her fan club. "Really? That's...generous of her."
"Oh, she's a wonderful person," the waiter said, and got big dewey eyes and a little breathless hitch in his-her-its voice. "She really made this place what it is today, you know, brought us all together...before her, if we wanted to go out, we had to go out among Muggles, can you imagine that?"
"Must've been horrific," I mumbled.
"Oh, it wasbut now we can all come together and be ourselves, our real selves, in the real world. It's just so exciting." The waiter sighed and looked wistfully at Helene's chosen few in the corner booth. "She's just brilliant."
"Er...yeah, really." I checked my watch; White had been on stage this time last night. "Say, when does the music start around here?" I asked.
The waiter jiggled his-her-its shoulders in a way that showed off just how loose his-her-its top really was. "Oh, the band should be here any minuteI reckon they must be drunk already and can't find the club."
"Band?" I asked, trying to cover for myself. "What sort of a band is it?"
"Ooh, all sorts of thingsa great dance bandthey play all weekend, so if you like them, you can come back tomorrow, too." He-she-it winked at me. "That's my night off."
"Er," I said. "We'll see." The waiter, apparently put off, strutted away with a little pout, and I barely remembered to transfigure the alcohol in my glass to water before I slugged half the drink down at once.
White wasn't working tonight, which meant my presence here was a bust. I could escape, go home, be back among normal people...And you'll have to admit to Aldershot that you fouled up the tail, said the Hermione-voice.
Like Rickler will do any better with Malfoy, I told her.
Or you could still get some useful information while you're here, the Hermione-voice pointed out.
Yeah? I snorted. Like what? But even as I thought it, I found myself looking at Madame Helene again. She definitely made eye contact for a moment. The night might not yet be a total loss; I picked up the drink, transfigured away the alcohol again, and made my way up to Helene's booth.
The court, male and female and ambiguous, saw me coming and started nudging and winking and giggling well before I got near them. I'm sure Helene saw me, too, but she didn't react until I had stood at the edge of the booth for a few minutes. Then she shushed whoever she was talking to and smiled sweetly at me. "Hello, darling," she said with a bit of a purr. "So glad to see you back!"
"I'm glad to be back," I said, with one fist coiled in my robe pocket. The other was wrapped around my glass, which I raised to her. "Thank you, by the way."
"Oh, it's nothing at all," Helene said, batting her eyelashes. "For you, it's on the house. Come, sit."
She patted a sliver of space next to herself in the booth, and I blinked a little bit, because there was no way I could get over the tangle of legs wedged under the table, never mind fit in that gap. But one of the members of the court pulled me practically into his lap, and then someone else tugged my arm, and pretty soon I was being pushed and pulled into the booth by a half-dozen very grabby hands. So I wasn't exactly in my best state of composure when I landed half in Madame Helene's lap, in the middle of the booth, and her throwing her wrap over my shoulder and leaning against my shoulder didn't help much.
She was quite a bit shorter than me and built lightly, which I suppose helped to pull off the whole drag queen thing. She patted my wrist, managing to miss the sticky spots where my drink had sloshed over the rim of the glass in transit. "There," she said, "much better. Tell us your name, darling."
I calculated my options and didn't like the answer I came up with, but with the Hermione-voice tsking in the back of my head I did it anyway. "Ron," I said. "And you're the famous Madame Helene."
That was the right thing to say, insomuch as it sent the court tittering and Helene herself smiling coyly. "Oh, dear, you flatter me...famous, you say?"
I shrugged and sipped my drink. "I've heard excellent things about you."
She pinched my cheek. "Oh, are't you a sweet one? Tell me, sweetheart, where have you been all these years? I've never seen you in my club before."
"Around." I sipped my drink again to stall; most of the court had their attention on me and it was a bit unnerving. "Suppose I've never had thethe courage, before, to come in."
"Ooh, and what gave you the courage tonight?" Helene asked, leaning very deep into my personal space.
Once again, I considered my options, and decided this was as good an opening as any. "I was actually hoping to hear your pianist play," I said. "I think his name Lucian? Lycian?"
"Lysander," Helene said, and there was a flatness to her voice that told me I'd said the wrong thing. She leaned back a bit. "I'm terribly sorry, darling, but he doesn't work tonight."
I nodded. "One of the waiters told me. He's quite good" and here I thought of a good way to recover "You must've been, er, very clever to hire him."
"Well, yes, I daresay it was one of my better moments," Helene said, all modesty again. "Though I'd better warn you, love, Lysander isn't the friendliest fellow in the worldyou'd be far better off pursuing someone a little...warmer?"
I might've actually been able to ignore the innuendo if Helene hadn't stuck one hand into my lap. I'm afraid I might've actually squeaked a bit. "I just wanted to hear the music," I said quickly, which sent the whole court tittering again.
I was rescued from imminent molestation by a bloke who slipped around the back of the booth and cleared his throat. He was probably the only person in the club besides me not wearing something leather or sparklyjust plain dark robes and a plain dark cloak. "Madame?" he said. "We're ready."
Helene sighed dramatically and let go of my thigh. "If we must," she said, then smiled beatifically at her court and blew a few kisses. "I'm terribly sorry, my lovelies, but I've business to attend to."
There were genuine groans and frowns from the court, but they all shuffled out of the booth obediently so that Helene could glide off whence she came. I watched her pass by the bartender and snag her by the spikes; I couldn't hear everything they said, but I had the distinct impression that the instruction "on the house" got passed along. Then Helene was gone, and the court started to go their separate ways.
A glittery bloke tapped me on the shoulder and grinned brilliantly at me. "Oi, you. Want to dance?" he asked.
I glanced at the stage, where, yes, a very hung-over looking band was setting up their instruments. I was technically on the job, I had an objective, and I'd failed to get anything from Madame Helene. We really should be leaving now, the Hermione-voice said severely.
"Sure," I told the bloke.
Now, let me make a few things clear. I didn't drinkI charmed the liquor out of everything the lesbian barkeep threw at me. I also didn't get off with anyone, not that I didn't have ample opportunity. I danced with a few blokes and one very drunk witch, I chatted, I nursed my non-alcoholic drinks. I tried to get more information on White, but all the regulars gave me the standard linehe was a prickly asshole with no known friends who nevertheless could play the hell out of that hideous piano, or else they'd never put up with him. I got plenty of adoring commentary on Madame Helene, as if opening the first proper gay club on Six Shoe qualified her for sainthood.
Last call left me with a funny disconnected feeling had absolutely nothing to do with drinking, and I tried walking it off in the cold, wet air. The patrons of Tiresias were...nice. Friendly, even. They'd welcomed me into their little cliques without question, and most of them hadn't tried to grope me. I'd never spent so much time in a club beforeusually I just stayed long enough to pull a likely-looking bloke, we shagged at his place, and I was back home before bedtime. Just dancing and chatting had been...fun. Nice.
I was clearly out of my mind.
They're only friendly with one another because they don't have anyone else, I reminded myself. Outcasts, every one of them.
But they seem like such happy outcasts, the Hermione-voice said.
How can you tell if they're happy?
Well, they don't seem to be talking to themselves.
The voice had a point, and I was so busy working out a response that I walked right into someone coming around a corner. I started to mumble an apology until I stepped away and recognized, out of all the possible people I could've run into, Draco fucking Malfoy, blinking at me in a street lamp.
I grabbed him before he could run away again. "What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.
He thrashed and tried to shrug me off. "I'm walking home, you idiot," he snarled. "What are you doing here?"
I glanced around; damn, I had walked straight to his flat. "Looking for your boyfriend, actually," I said, without letting him go. "Know where I could find him?"
Malfoy blinked. "What in the name of Merlin are you talking about, Weasley?"
"I think you know perfectly well," I said. "And if you want my help, I'm sure you know where to find me."
"If I wanted secret codes, Weasley, I'd read the Quibbler."
"I know what he's up to," I said softlyI would've whispered it in his ear if I was certain he wouldn't try to bite me for it. "And I can help protect you."
Malfoy suddenly went very still, and his eyes fixed on something over my shoulder. "You mean Higgs?" he asked softly.
I blinked at him. "Who?"
He shook his head and managed to slip out of my hands. "Never mind," he snarled, tugging on his scarf. "If you'll excuse me, it's past my bedtime."
"Malfoy, who's Higgs?"
"Piss off already!" He ducked away from me arm when I tried to grab him again and took big backwards strides away from me. "It's none of your business! It's not even any of my business!"
"I'm trying to help you, you stupid bastard!" I shouted back.
"Well, I don't want it!"
I clenched my fists. "You started this!"
"Excuse me, you grabbed me!"
Windows facing the street started to light up, probably from all the shouting, and I quickly backed into a shadow while Malfoy hurried into the building. When he failed to come back outside and keep arguing with me, I made a rude gesture in the general direction of his alley window and Disapparated back to my flat.
Chapter One
Chapter Three
Chapter Five