Deep Throat
by Icarus
Severus studied the swinging sign of the Belfrey Bat and waited for nightfall, that part of the evening where it was too early for partygoers and too late for the after-work crowd. It seemed his new 'contact' knew this, which spoke volumes.
The Order had warned him it was a gay bar. 'Try to fit in' he was told. Severus chuckled to himself. They didn't know him all that well. It was one of the few benefits of switching sides, that your new 'friends' didn't know where all the bodies were buried. No one knew, in fact, outside of certain circles that had nothing to do with Gryffindors and Weasleys and Orders of Anything.
If nothing else, Severus was discreet. He prided himself on that.
He edged into the room and slid easily onto a barstool that he knew, without a second glance, would afford a perfect view of the door. The room pulsed with obnoxious music, and an absurdly thin crowd for such a loud 'festive' noise. Men made sideways glances about them, avoided looking too long at those they didn't want, seeking the averted eyes of those they did. All the while pretending to drink and dance and enjoy themselves. The lucky ones disappeared into the men's room.
It had been a while. The music had changed, but the dance was still the same. Severus watched the door.
When his contact arrived, he knew it immediately. The dark cap over his hair was both unattractive and strange, and not what you'd wear to be picked up. But mostly, it was the way he looked about. He did not even attempt to appear suave, or relaxed. Severus shook his head slightly, though he covered the motion with his drink. Amateur.
The man spotted him quickly enough, in fact instantly if he were honest, and made right for the stool beside him. And that was only the first surprise.
It explained the hat. That Weasley red hair was like a beacon.
My, my, Head Boy. Aren't we playing a dangerous game?
The boy - well, man now - knew enough to stare straight ahead as he spoke. The exchanged codewords, though he was certain neither had any doubt of the other. Severus felt a slight tingle as the charms attached to them were diverted. If he'd been the wrong person, a low-level Obliviate charm, mixed with a touch of illusion, would have made him remember, oh, a fat Alchemist -- anything other than an attractive, serious young man with red curls escaping that black cap. Severus wanted to stuff them back in. Why did the stuffy, uptight Head Boy request to meet here?
"I have some information. For the Order," he said, stating the obvious. About Minister Fudge no doubt, though he didn't say that. "But it can't appear to come from me."
And more about Malfoy, like as not. Oh, but the lost Weasley was playing with the big boys, wasn't he? This was a valuable contact… and so immature and fragile. Why didn't he just contact his father? Surely a message home wouldn't look suspicious.
"What changed your mind?" Severus said into his drink. The answer would tell him much.
"Changed it from what?" Weasley asked, in that typical affronted tone.
You were taking your first baby-steps down a very long, dark road, that's what. "From what it was before," he said in icy tones. Surely the boy knew.
"What do you mean?"
At that moment, Severus realised -- of course. He didn't know. That's how it had been for himself. Everything had made sense, he was right, the rest of the world was wrong. Till it all came crashing down around him.
He had forgotten. Severus was quiet a moment, as he recovered from his epiphany.
"Why meet here, of all places?" It was irrelevant, but curiosity got the best of him.
There was a long pause. One that didn't bode well to his mind. Finally, Percy -- yes, that was his name -- turned and looked at him, clear-eyed.
"Because I wanted it to be you."
Finis.