lomonaaeren | Chapter Three of 'Keep It Simple, Stupid'- Prince Plots and Plans

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Chapter Three—Prince Plots and Plans

“Settle down.”

The Death Eaters stopped their chattering the moment that Prince strode into the room, and turned eager faces towards him. Draco gritted his teeth behind his mask. It disturbed him that someone like Bellatrix, who had never shown obedience to anyone but the Dark Lord, could follow this man so automatically. It probably helped that he never showed his face and had obviously changed his voice and concealed his movements by magic—or else Draco couldn’t have failed to recognize him, could he?—which allowed for the build-up of worship.

But still. Prince had tamed the Death Eaters to his hand with hardly a gesture. Draco shuddered to think of what he could do if he had an army behind him.

Come to think of it, did he really choose the Death Eaters just because he thought they hated Potter almost as much as he did? He could have a competent army if he bothered to spend a little time building it up.

Jugson’s diffident voice distracted him from the puzzle. “Did you cast the Dark Mark over the weekend, my lord?”

Draco gagged, glad that his stomach was stronger than to allow him to vomit at that. My lord, indeed! I sincerely hope the Dark Lord demanded the title and then enforced the punishment with Cruciatus until Jugson’s mind broke. He sounds like a bloody Muggle drooling over an aristocrat.

Prince seemed to accept the title as his due, though, if the pleased way he pulled on his gloves was any indication. “Yes, I did,” he said. “I chose a house that I knew was uninhabited, because I do not think we should kill. Yet.”

He hissed out the last word, and all the Death Eaters leaned forwards, enthralled. Draco leaned with them, even though he felt like hitting his forehead very hard against the table until he blacked out. For God’s sake. It’s just simple actor’s tricks. Bellatrix has used enough of them in her time, she ought to recognize them.

Then again, his aunt seemed to have a weakness for them when they were used by powerful wizards who dressed all in black.

“Why shouldn’t we?” Avery asked, because he was thick like that.

Prince gave him a haughty look. All right, so his mask shut off most of his expression, but Draco recognized that particular tilt of the head from having used it himself, and it would have its effect on the uneducated plebeians surrounding them. “Because we wish to build up terror slowly,” he explained, as though to a child. “They are unsure of what we will do at the moment. I want to panic them. When wolves run after a flock, they do not simply show themselves and then charge. They skirt about, flaunting their strength, sending the sheep into different dodges. Inevitably, the weakest members are exposed when that happens.”

Those are my sheep, Draco thought. Potter in particular might be annoying, but you don’t have the right to slaughter them.

Uncannily, Prince seemed to sense his thoughts and turned to look straight at him. “Mr. Malfoy, did you have something to add?”

“I don’t, my lord,” Draco said, and promised himself a good Firewhiskey later for being forced to speak the title now. “Just that I think it risky to show our strength before we’re ready to move. I enjoyed the terror in the Ministry, but I must admit, was the danger worth the gain?”

That made Rodolphus cluck his tongue anxiously, and Dolohov turn around, his suspicious gaze settling on Prince. Draco waited for a moment to see how Prince would respond. If he believed his own rhetoric, then maybe—

Prince only laughed, his voice rich with scorn. Draco felt his hands clenching beneath the table. He’s damn smart, whoever he is. I could wish that he weren’t so smart, or at least that fate hadn’t taken my amusement with the Death Eaters as a challenge.

“There was another part of my strategy, which I did not intend to explain yet,” said Prince. “But as young Mr. Malfoy has divined it, I shall. Never let it be said that I will treat my fellows as lesser than me when they have proven to be my equals in cleverness.”

That made Bellatrix preen and Draco fight to keep from baring his teeth. Prince’s eyes were on his face. He was certain the gesture, slight as it was, would be noticed.

“They think us mostly harmless, now that they have recovered from their terror,” said Prince softly. “They will have another few days before they begin fearing again. To hasten that time, I suggest we kill Potter, now, and take their symbol of hope away from them. Their terror of us will increase tenfold.”

It seemed that only Draco noticed this was actually a contradiction with the strategy that Prince had been proposing before. Pleased nods came from all around the table. Draco, for his part, had to picture those annoying green eyes closed forever, those talented hands limp. He shook his head.

It’s hard to breathe. I never noticed how close this room was before.

“We’ll do it with a simple plan,” Prince was saying. “I happen to know that Mr. Potter is planning to attend a private birthday celebration at a small pub tomorrow, without his bodyguard of Aurors. I need people who won’t be recognized on sight, who can safely blend into the crowd at the pub and attack him when the time seems right.”

“What about me, my lord?” Draco asked, striving for the right mixture of pride and humility in his words. “I’m sure that he won’t mistrust me. I’m a fellow Auror, and he’s been throwing himself at me rather hard.”

“A good suggestion, Mr. Malfoy, but no.”

Damn.

“We need you to stay in the Ministry and play at being loyal, still, so that we can use you later.” Prince’s eyes traveled around the room. “Similarly, you’re out, Bellatrix, because you’re too recognizable.” He paused for a thoughtful movement, and Draco could almost feel him rejecting Dolohov, for the same reason that Draco would have: the old Death Eater was too jumpy to actually fire curses at only his designated target.

I hate that he thinks like me. I mean, I have to admire him if I don’t want to despise myself, and this is uncomfortable.

“Jugson and Avery,” said Prince at last. “I still hear rumors that you weren’t actually Death Eaters. I think you won’t be recognized until it’s too late.”

Jugson and Avery both beamed. Draco narrowed his eyes. It was true that Avery wasn’t the brightest charm in the wand, but he was unknown, and sending Jugson with him would guarantee that he did as well as he could in the circumstances.

It seems as though he’s making the best he can of poor tools. But I don’t know why he should have to make use of poor tools at all. He could easily enough find other people to follow him. Why—

“Malfoy.”

He looked up at Prince, aware that this was the first time he had been addressed by his last name alone. He thought he could see the eyes narrowed behind the white mask. He blinked and did his best to look innocent, while meeting the gaze and hoping that Prince wasn’t a Legilimens like Severus had been.

“Do you have any objections to this?” Prince asked coolly. “Since you said that you wanted to be in at the kill, I would be sure.”

With a chance to expose my disloyalty in front of everyone if I object. Draco simply shrugged, though. He wasn’t really worried about being exposed, or not any more than he had been during the years he attended the meetings. “I’ll do what you command, my lord,” he said. “And Potter’s been flirting with me like a madman. At least his death will relieve me of that distraction.”

From the way the corners of Prince’s mouth moved, Draco was sure he was smirking. He nodded and turned away, to answer Bellatrix’s question.

“And after we kill Potter,” she asked, with a breathlessness in the back of her voice, “what then?”

Prince began spinning another of his tales about how they would achieve fame and wealth and glory and, yes, even immortality. He sounded saner than the Dark Lord, but possessed of the same ambitions. Draco folded his hands behind his head and listened with half an ear, to make sure that Prince said nothing truly dangerous.

He might not have been worried ordinarily. But Potter refused to prepare himself for the threat, and he would be in the pub without trained bodyguards. So there was still the chance that he might die, or that someone else near him might be injured.

So. The only possible choice was for Draco to take advantage of the goods blatantly on offer and ensure that he’d be at the pub, too, though with his objections noted.

He grimaced. Potter is never going to let me hear the end of this.

*

From the look of things, he would be too delighted to let it rest.

“You want to go on a date with me?” he cooed at Draco, his eyelashes practically fluttering. “I knew I would wear you down. Come, tell me. Was it my dashing good looks that won you over? Or my casual touches, perfectly timed to make you long without fulfilling the longing? Or my prowess with a wand?”

He winked so lewdly at that last insinuation that Draco was surprised his hair didn’t catch fire from the sheer amount of lust he probably had in his body. Not that Draco’s own face wasn’t flushed, but that was because he had a sense of shame.

Face stiff, he answered, “Why do you want to know? So that you can go and flirt with someone else while I’m there?” With an effort, he managed to sound jealous.

Potter sidled nearer to him, which made Draco lock his muscles in an effort to keep from flinching away. They were in the center of a fairly public corridor in the Ministry, and—well, such things just weren’t done with the manners Draco was used to. Potter’s fingers slid along Draco’s shoulder and down towards his wrist. How he managed to keep from swatting them away, Draco didn’t know.

And yes, they raised gooseflesh in their wake. Of course they did. That didn’t mean he had to admit he enjoyed the touch, it was just a natural physical reaction.

“Once I have you, Draco,” Potter said, when he had Draco’s attention absolutely focused on him, “I’ll have everything, and everyone, I want.” His eyes rose and locked Draco’s in a gaze of such intensity that he began shivering convulsively. “I don’t intend to flirt with anyone else. You’ll be the only one I show my looks to, the only one I touch, the only one who receives any benefit from my prowess with a wand.”

His voice was strong and sensual. Draco felt his mouth dry out with want, and swiftly jerked his head so that he looked away, disgusted with himself for having fallen for Potter’s ploy even momentarily.

This is a game, remember? The only reason why he chased you so hard is that you showed you were concerned about something other than him. Watch him tonight; he won’t touch you because you’re there, and he’ll flirt with someone else who seems unattainable.

“You’re too much of a playboy to keep to one bed, Potter,” he said. “I’ve heard stories about you.”

“You might consider paying attention to the sexual aspects of those stories, you know,” Potter said in his normal tone, leaning away from Draco. “Just because it might not be forever doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time.”

Draco found himself considering it, for one devastating moment—

And then he shoved the notion away from himself hard enough that he hoped it would break apart entirely.

This is necessary to get me close to Potter for the evening, but it won’t be forever. It can’t. Even he says it can’t. See?

“You wish, Potter,” he said, and managed to give the other man a melting look. “Because, if you had paid attention to the stories about me, you would know exactly how far you have to go to compete.”

Really, Potter’s dropped jaw was very gratifying. Draco wished this was a regular part of his job—

And then he told himself, firmly, that no, he didn’t.

*

So there he was, in a noisy, smelly, disgusting pub that seemed to be frequented mostly by retired Quidditch players, nursing a drink and with a plausible story to tell Prince if he asked: that Potter had badgered and hounded him to attend this party until Draco had said yes just to get some peace.

And it would have been simple enough to keep an eye out for Avery and Jugson and compose the story he would tell Prince in his head, if only Potter had behaved as Draco had been certain he would. He should have flirted with other people and laughed in Draco’s face if he pouted about it.

Instead, he was paying attention to Draco—so much so that Draco was worried Jugson and Avery could stroll up to them and he wouldn’t notice.

Potter was talking softly to Draco, though he would turn around and address one of his other friends vaguely if they asked, including the acquaintance whose birthday they were nominally here to celebrate. But he would always turn back to Draco, and his hand would reach out and land on his elbow, as though he needed to be reassured that Draco hadn’t vanished in the meantime. The fingers would rub in small, caressing circles, while his eyes grew darker and deeper, and Draco’s breath caught in his lungs.

And then he would say something inane, usually to talk about how clever and admirable and wonderful he was, and Draco would wonder whether Potter had two personalities taking over from each other at unpredictable moments.

The “highlight” of the evening, if one could call it that, arrived when Potter had just become tipsy and the friend called for him to make a toast. Draco imagined the man had some praise of himself and his old Quidditch victories in mind, but instead Potter rose to his feet and hauled Draco right up along with him.

Draco flushed at the eyes that focused on him. He hadn’t realized how many tables the pub had, or how his hair would flash and shine in the light of the torches. He stared at his hands, until Potter caught his chin and tilted his face up. His smile was unexpectedly sweet, even as he called out in a loud, drunken voice, “To my date, Draco Malfoy, who’s finally seen the good sense of preferring me before anyone else!”

A loud laugh exploded from all corners of the pub, and then Potter leaned closer, and his lips fastened on Draco’s.

Draco’s gasp wasn’t audible to anyone else—at least, he fervently hoped not—but it didn’t need to be audible to do damage. Potter’s tongue swept in, found his, and collided with it. Draco was hit with a blast of heat that might only have been Potter’s breath, but didn’t feel like anything so normal and natural. His gut tightened. He heard himself make a helpless whimpering noise, and his left hand rose to cup Potter’s cheek, wanting to draw him close and draw out the kiss at the same time.

Then Potter yanked back and yelled to the pub at large, hoisting his drink above his head, “Can I kiss or can I kiss?”

Potter’s friends laughed, and several people cheered. Draco, his cheeks burning, reckoned that they must have seen him like this with men and women before—or maybe they just thought he was pissed and were tolerant of him because of that.

He really couldn’t be tolerant. He was caught between acidic jealousy of everyone else Potter had kissed like that, and cold self-hatred that he’d allowed it to happen.

He sat down, drawing his drink towards him and burying his flushed face in his hands, scrubbing fiercely at his cheeks as if that could take the red color away. Potter flung himself into the chair across from him, and answered some burst of rude talk with a loud laugh. His waved drink slopped liquid into his hair.

Draco conjured up an image of Potter waking in the morning, his hair soaked and his face running with dribbles of alcohol and spit. He’d get up, stagger over his discarded clothes, and make his way into the loo to vomit.

There. That picture should kill any inappropriate stirrings of lust that Draco felt. And if he had to feel even worse for a while about being attracted to such a complete lout, well, everyone did stupid things sometimes. He would recover.

“Aw, come on, Draco.”

He looked up, startled, as Potter’s hand came to rest over his. The green eyes could barely focus. Draco bared his teeth, not sure whether his disdain for Potter or for himself was stronger at the moment.

“Don’t be like that,” Potter coaxed him. “It was just a kiss between friends, wasn’t it? You don’t need to act like it’s the end of the world that I couldn’t give you a perfect kiss, with my breath stinking and all.”

“That’s not why I’m upset,” Draco hissed. “I mean—I’m not upset. I just don’t want you to embarrass me in front of everyone else.”

“You embarrassed me, not the other way around,” Potter muttered, and then took a long swill of his Firewhiskey.

Draco narrowed his eyes in confusion. That had sounded almost like a compliment. But then he translated it from Potter-speech into his own terms, and nodded grimly. Potter had just said that Draco’s reaction wasn’t worthy of someone who had been lucky enough to date the Savior of the Wizarding World.

“Farewell,” he said, and pushed his chair back. It was almost midnight. If Jugson and Avery hadn’t shown, they had probably backed out, or maybe Prince had made some other plan with them, out of Draco’s hearing. “I do hope that you can find someone else who manages to Apparate you home without Splinching you, since I’m not doing it.”

“Draco,” Potter whinged pathetically, and clutched at his arm with crawling fingers. Draco slapped his hand, trying to detach it.

And, just then, Jugson attacked.

Draco nearly didn’t see him; he had come close with such a slow gait that it implied patience, and patience had always been the one thing he was most incapable of. Then he whipped his cloak off and drew his wand. Several people turned around to stare, but no one had any reason to think he was attacking Potter. Some of the idiots even clapped, as if they thought they were about to see a show.

Draco was the one who had to move sideways and drop to a crouch, so he could be ready when the first curse came in.

“Oh, a duel!” Potter shouted, sounding pleased.

Jugson’s face was murderous when he screamed out the first Blasting Curse. Draco intended to raise a Shield Charm that would deflect it. Then he could tie Jugson up, scan the room for Avery—or just use his wand to point the way—and get rid of him, too. All very nice, all very neat.

And then Potter, the idiot, the bumbling oaf who evidently thought he was in a dueling class at Hogwarts, leaped around Draco and in front of Jugson’s Blasting Curse.

He was laughing. His hand traveled so fast that Draco couldn’t even make out the spell which both defeated the Blasting Curse and attacked Jugson; it only manifested as a web of bluish-green light. Jugson’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed as vines grew out of the floor and wrapped around his legs and arms. Potter laughed again and pranced lightly on his feet as he turned around.

“What do you think of that?” he yelled cheerfully at Draco. “I told you that I had some prowess with a wand!”

Draco had to force him flat to the floor as the red light of a Blood-Boiling Curse passed overhead. Avery screamed in frustration, and Draco knew the git had revealed himself. He just had to roll over, and—

And Potter was lifting his hips towards Draco with an obvious bulge in his trousers, and a moan of, “I want to, Draco, but I don’t think this is really the time or place, do you?”

Draco jerked back, feeling as though he’d been slapped, and Potter rose up and fired a neat hex in Avery’s direction. Judging by the sound, it caught the edge of a table instead of Avery. People were finally starting to scream and drag their alcohol-sodden bodies out of the way. Draco fervently hoped they would be able to keep the casualties to a minimum.

Avery had ducked beneath the splintered table, and now came up in a charge, roaring like a bear. His wand flashed out several nonverbal curses, any of which would kill Potter if they hit.

All of which he countered, laughing like a maniac all the while. He must think this was something arranged for his personal entertainment, Draco thought. Red light met smoke rings. Blue light met Shield Charms. A yellow blast Draco didn’t know collided with a glassy charm he didn’t know and faded to nothingness.

And then Potter conjured a long chain that he launched straight into the middle of Avery’s chest, winding him. He went down heavily, and Potter bound him with vines like he’d done with Jugson. Draco caught his breath and swallowed several times, hardly daring to believe it was over and that no one but the Death Eaters had been wounded.

Potter turned around.

His face was filled with a savage delight, and he stamped in the middle of the crowded room and the cries of frightened people like some beautiful male animal—a stag or a bull, Draco thought hazily, tossing his horns at the competition.

He averted his gaze swiftly. The Firewhiskey had clouded his judgment, obviously. He waved his wand, and Jugson rose in the air.

“Don’t think you can claim credit for all of this, Draco,” Potter said. “You did make the evening more enjoyable, but I was the one who captured them.” He came close enough to see Jugson’s face then, and whistled under his breath. “Former Death Eaters, no less!”

Draco nodded stiffly. He was wondering what Prince would say when he heard that two of his people had been captured, but almost worse were his own unwanted thoughts about and reactions to Potter.

And then a hand rested on his back, burning through the cloth, and Potter stared at him, eyes dark, challenging, beckoning.

Draco jerked his head aside again. “The Minister will have a fit if we don’t get them to him as soon as possible,” he said.

Potter sighed. “So much for my night off.”

Good, Draco thought. Be the person I hate. Please. You confound my expectations so much anyway, you could at least do this one small thing for me.

The hand left his back, and the darkened eyes turned away, and as Potter laughed again and bowed to his admiring public, Draco was reminded that this was all just a game, as he always said and Potter always agreed. Just a game.

One he did not intend to let Potter win.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

dairygirl.livejournal.com

Harry and Draco seem at such cross-purposes I wonder what you will reveal in the end. The capability Harry had in the duel seems to belie his drunken state. The Prince seems a bit odder this chapter as well. "Let's scare the populous (no death) and then kill Potter!" And I'm afraid you have a red herring and I so want to chase it! Plus, a kiss (even if Draco is of two minds about it). I eagerly await the next chapter!

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Chapter Three of 'Keep It Simple, Stupid'- Prince Plots and Plans

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