"Mr. Ignatius?"
Percy lifted his head and blinked. Someone was outside. He sat up, groaning. The couch was not meant for sleeping on. He hadn't even realized he had nodded off. The last several days had been a daze, one of anticipation and restlessness. Valentine had recognized him and notified the proper authorities. She had, of course, been enjoying the time since the meeting.
"Mr. Ignatius, are you in there?" the voice called again. A man's voice, deep and annunciating. Percy immediately liked it, despite himself.
"Be there in a moment," he replied, slipping the hood back on. He didn't know how dark it was outside.
The man matched his voice as much as someone could in such an area. He was short and stocky, but well poised. Combed graying hair fell neatly to his shoulders. He frowned at Percy. "Mr. John Ignatius?"
"At your service," Percy replied, responding easily to the name he'd used for the past year.
The man's frown did not lessen. "Uh-huh. Yes. My name is Matthias Dormand. I'm supposed to let you know you received the job."
Percy's eyes widened. He had been right in assuming news did not travel this far. His former fear was pure paranoia. Unless. . . lovely, it was returning. He took a deep breath and forced a smile. "I did? I mean, thank-you, sir."
"Uh-huh. You'll be working for me. Just don't start flashing the Dark Mark around."
It took Percy a moment to realize that Dormand had made a joke. The finely wrinkled face barely lightened. "You won't need to worry about that, sir." He managed a weak laugh. "I also didn't expect to see anyone so soon."
"That'd be Valentine. She likes drama. You will have to forgive her of that and get used to it." He cleared his throat and watched Percy almost expectantly.
Percy repressed a shudder. "Would . . . would you want to come inside for some coffee or something?"
"No, thank you." Dormand's tone was somewhat flat. "I'd like to talk to you about the job, and I prefer to talk while walking. I can show you around Dragon's Tooth."
"I've already seen it."
But Dormand had already started away from the tent, not even bothering to check that Percy was following him.
He sighed again and looked at the sky. It was quickly growing dark, and he was still tired. Giving the tent a final kick, he followed his new boss.
"So," said Dormand nonchalantly. "Do you have any questions about the job?"
"My tasks, sir?"
He laughed, a surprisingly jovial laugh for his personality. "You sound eager. A fine quality. Basically, you'll be doing whatever the hell I tell you to do."
"Which is, sir?" Sir. He was still in that habit. He wanted to spit the politeness from his tongue, scrape it off and burn it.
"Oh, a number of things. Paperwork, taking my messages. Getting my coffee." His voice softened, and he again turned his eyes expectantly toward Percy. "Valentine did tell you about Brown?"
Percy's first thought was that he was being tested for a spy. "Not much. Only that you stand against the Dar---He-who-must-not-be-named."
"Lord Voldemort." He paused, listening for something, before continuing. "Learn to say his name, son."
"Yes, sir."
"We don't do much. We don't even know much. But we have our people, we do our work. Do you know why they call this village Dragon's Tooth?"
Percy had no idea. It sounded like some raggedy pub in a bad neighborhood. Not that he'd say that aloud.
"There's a fair number of dragons in the hills outside the village, Mr. Ignatius. They never get too close, generally. Well, we hear Voldemort is aiming to create dragon armies."
"Dragon armies?!" It must have been a new plan, one that developed after he had left.
"Evidently he has found a way to Imperius the beast mind. If he can get near them . . . well, best not think about it. But we like our dragons. It gives this little village some pride to live near so many. Besides, they're quite dangerous, even without Voldemort's help. But you won't be worrying about any of this. You'll be safe doing paperwork."
They had already circled the village; Dormand hadn't pointed out a single thing.
"Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Ignatius." His eyes inadvertently passed over Percy's left arm. "Most of the village is part of Brown. You can talk to anyone. Except the outsiders." He nodded toward a shadowy tavern across the road. "We've got some guests for a few months. Researchers from St. Mungo's have come to study the local plants."
Percy scoffed, forgetting himself. "They wouldn't have Death Eaters at St. Mungos!"
Dormand frowned. "They could be anywhere. Though I agree with you. But these people are saving the world in their more peaceable way. They don't need to get mixed up in this, understand?"
He stared at Percy with such intensity that all he could do was nod feebly.
"I'm glad you understand. Valentine has shown me your resume, and I'm pleased to have you onboard. Work begins tomorrow at sunrise. You'd best get your sleep. Goodnight, Mr. Ignatius." And with a loud pop, he disapparated.
"Show off," Percy muttered, thinking back to when he had first earned his license; he had apparated into the kitchen every morning. He bitterly shook the memory away and turned back toward his tent.
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a figure round the corner of the St. Mungo tavern. Someone gathering moon plants, he thought. He didn't really care. In fact, by the time he had reached his tent, he had completely forgotten about the whole thing.
The next morning, he rolled out of the hide-a-bed and set off for work in a grubby little excuse for an office building. A dark-haired man a few years older than him was already there, picking his teeth as dumped a stack of parchment on a desk. The desk shook with the fresh weight, and for one moment Percy was certain it'd collapse.
"Good morning," he murmured to the man, who grinned and extended a hand.
"Winston Morsley," he exclaimed almost too eagerly.
"John Ignatius." Percy pulled his throbbing hand away and nodded at the stack of papers. "Are those . . . ?"
"Reports?" Morsley's eyes glittered. "Yes, reports just in! Our spies know much! Many secrets! Our village will hold out against him! We might even defeat him! Our spies--"
"Are no concern of Mr. Ignatius," Dormand finished loudly as he strolled from a back door Percy hadn't noticed. Probably hadn't even been there.
Morsley paled under Dormand's gaze, and he humbly scooped the stack into his arms. "I meant nothing, sir. I . . ."
"Have you heard any news from Marchent?"
Morsley's voice dropped several volumes. "Same as always. Not for three weeks, sir."
"Pugmire was with him. The Healers?"
"Still working with him, sir."
Apparently there was nothing wrong with Percy overhearing this conversation, but at the same time it was clearly not directed at him. He hovered nearby, waiting for instructions. Like a pathetic lapdog. He sighed. Oh, well. What else was his life?
Dormand noticed him again. "Mr. Ignatius, I consider it very rude when my employees hide their faces in my presence. Please remove that ridiculous hood."
Percy shuddered involuntarily, but somehow he managed to make his hand reach up to pull the hood back.
Morsley's face went further ashen, if such a thing was possible, but Dormand's expression barely flickered. "Did you ever have a decent Healer have a look at that injury?"
Percy gingerly ran a hand over the diagonal welt that nearly split his face in two. "It was a deep cut. Hippogriff."
Dormand nodded understandingly, as if he had dealt with mad hippogriffs many a time. "Ah. Of course. Well, just remember that we don't mind in this office. You may wear your hood outside, however, if you prefer. But I like to see my employees. There's your desk. You'll find all the ink and quills and parchment you could possibly need in the middle drawer. Copy all messages, never question."
The front door flew open, and Valentine strutted in, frizzy blonde hair everywhere. She winked at Percy. "Ah, John Ignatius. Good to see you got the job." She pressed a wrinkled bunch of parchment at his chest. "Clean this up for me."
It was five feet of dragon notes.
"Your first task," Dormand said with an oddly familiar laugh. "Call me if there is an emergency."
"There's plenty more coming, Dormand," Valentine said breathlessly. "The population in the second territory are stabilizing again."
"Is that all you think about?" Morsley asked bitterly.
"Yes." With a toss of her blonde frizz, she was out the door. Dormand went into the back door, which promptly disappeared. Percy found himself left alone with Morsley.
Morsley's grin returned. "I don't even work here," he said proudly.
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I'm the best Dormand has."
Percy was clearly supposed to ask for clarification, but he only stared.
Morsley's face fell. "Well, I'll be seeing you."
"What an idiot," Percy muttered as soon as Morsley was gone. He sat down at the desk, praying the chair was sturdier than it looked.
Valentine's organization was atrocious, but he found a sort of sick pleasure in arranging the mess into a proper report. There was something comforting in the task, a familiarity that he knew how to handle. Or maybe it was the obvious assurance that Valentine was an idiot. He dove into the task, relishing every edit.
He had been at it for several hours when the door opened. It was an almost timid motion, so unlike Valentine's brash thrust. Percy didn't bother to look up.
"Is Mr. Dormand around?" asked a soft female voice. "I need to speak with him."
He wasn't sure how to answer that question; the door to Dormand's office was invisible, and he hadn't left instructions that explicit. "He's out right now, but I—"
His voice broke off as he looked up. "Penelope?"
"It is you!" Penelope Clearwater didn't appear nearly as surprised as Percy; her expression was one of morbid curiosity satisfied. "I thought I saw you last night, outside the tavern. . . .I thought it was just a dream. . . . what on earth happened to your face?!"
Percy had jumped to his feet, shaking. "Penny. . . what the hell are you doing here? You shouldn't. . . I. . . . you can't say a word . . . " He searched the room wildly, hoping Morsley wasn't lurking in a corner.
"Where have you been?!" she demanded. She stared at him with something akin to horror, an expression he had only seen on her once. Five years before, she had been attacked by a basilisk and petrified. The same look had been on her face for weeks.
Other than that, she looked more or less the way he remembered her. Short, a definite contrast to his own height. The same blue eyes peered out from under loose bangs of light brown curls. She had always been pretty. "You cut your hair," he said stupidly.
The words affected her like a knife, and she flinched and lowered her eyes. "I shouldn't be here . . ." The front door was only a short run from her. It hung open, swaying gently on its rusty hinges. It must have seemed tempting to her.
"You don't believe anything about me?" Percy asked. It was something he had wanted to ask someone, anyone from his old life, for a long time. Now that the opportunity had arrived, it didn't feel real. "What the Ministry has said. . . well, most of it's a lie."
"Most of it?" Her eyes were back on him, burning.
"You don't know what happened that night, Penny." What a strange thing to say. He wasn't even sure if he knew himself.
"If Mister Dormand isn't here, I'm going to leave." She clenched her hands as she defiantly marched back to the door. "And don't call me Penny."
The door slammed shut behind her, and Percy sunk back into his chair. Something, a command, echoed from the depths of his mind, but it didn't make any sense. He returned to Valentine's report. She was so unorganized. The writing was unintelligible, worse than earlier. Minutes passed in vain as he stared at the parchment. With an anguished cry, he slammed his fist on the table, spilling parchment everywhere.
"Focus, dammit! She wouldn't dare say anything." He stabbed his quill into the bottle of ink and splattered the parchment. He'd do this assignment. Of course he would. There was work to be done.
