Brown

"We don't like fancy names," the woman said with obvious distaste as she spoke more to her mug of coffee than her guest. She stirred a long, callused finger in the lukewarm drink before putting it in her mouth to suck. A rather disgusting display, but one that fit her image. She was tall, and much too skinny for the mop of frizzy blonde hair that all but buried her small face. "Fancy names are obvious. They scream 'Look at me! I am a secret organization!' Damn it all, but it is annoying!" She banged her fist down on the table, splattering coffee everywhere.

Percy Weasley, flinching from the flying coffee, allowed himself a smile. It was ironic that this woman was an example of the people fighting Lord Voldemort; it didn't give him much security. But she did have a point. That Order of the Phoenix thing the rest of his family was so proud of had a name bound to get attention someday. "So you call yourself Brown?"

The woman smiled as she mopped up the spilt coffee with a filthy rag. "You judge us on that? I'd be careful about the comments I made in this village, mister."

Percy took a deep breath to fight the wave of indignation that rushed through him. He had already been insulted enough, having been dragged to this hell-hole of a tavern to have this greasy woman laugh at his every move. He didn't need a lecture. "Look, I just want the job."

The woman's smile broadened. She pulled a wand from the pocket of her ratty robes and waved a piece of parchment into the air. "You seem. . . qualified. Your past. . . . "

He crossed his fingers under the table.

". . . Not much there. Oh, well. Means you're either boring or completely trustworthy. Or. . ." The smile faded completely.

"Or what?" He was getting impatient.

She gave a short laugh, waved her hand, and the parchment disappeared. "Or nothing. I wouldn't worry about it. Plenty of people like you have turned up before. We're not that picky."

Percy absent-mindedly tugged at the robe of his sleeve. How he would love to strike this woman! "I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean."

She drained her coffee and stood up. "You don't want a job. You want to hide. Someone will get in touch with you soon. They'll mention my name, Valentine Munk. Don't even think about leaving the village." She gave a playful wink. "We don't trust you yet." She tossed some knuts on the table and marched from the tavern.

Percy remained at the table, fuming silently. Of all the nerve! He couldn't decide which bothered him more: Valentine's manners or the fact that she was right. He hurriedly looked around the tavern to see if anyone was watching. A few humanoid shadows parked at random tables seemed indulged in their own interests. Most likely they hadn't heard any of the conversation.

He stared at the knuts for a moment before sweeping them into his hand. No one noticed that, either. He then headed for the tavern's exit.

He stood a moment in the shade just outside the door, taking in the scene before him. Dragon's Tooth was too big a name for a pitiful little village compromised of a few dozen rickety cabins of varying degrees of importance. In all honesty, Percy wasn't even sure where the village was located. Out in the woods, tucked near the mountains. That was obvious. It was a wizarding village, so it had to be unplottable. Someone had given him directions a few weeks before.

As pathetic as Dragon's Tooth was, Percy had to admit it did look somewhat nice with as lovely as the weather was. In fact, it was a little too lovely for weather. He pulled the hood of his cloak, which he had let hang loose during his meeting with Valentine, over his face. If they didn't trust him yet, he didn't want to be too recognizable.

He walked up the road, actually a dirt path beaten through the weeds, to the edge of the village. There was a patch of soft grass and a few trees. There he had set up his tent, a tattered old thing he had found at a pawn shop. He was glad no one knew him--a tent with a hide-a-bed couch tucked into the kitchen and a bathroom decorated with smiling frogs was embarrassing. After giving the tent an irritated kick, he entered and sprawled out on the couch. He wasn't tired; at least not physically. The fact that he hadn't stayed anywhere for longer than two weeks during the past year didn't help much.

He doubted he would get the job. He had heard that someone in a place called Dragon's Tooth needed a secretary. Just the basic odd jobs of filing papers and running for coffee; but it would be an income and it was work Percy knew well. He hadn't expected a secret organization. He was so sick of those he could scream. The war hadn't reached its peak yet, but he wished both sides would kill each other off in a single spectacular battle. The goblins could go, too. Percy had never much cared for goblins.

At least this Brown wasn't the Order of the Phoenix, though the similarities were there. He couldn't shake the feeling that the job offer hadn't been much more than a recruiting tactic. If they didn't like him, if they figure out who he was, they'd probably take him out in the woods and execute him. He didn't think he'd mind--it'd break the monotony of his miserable existence.

He lifted his left arm, letting the sleeve of the robe fall back. The tent was not well-lit, but he could still see it: the subtle cris-cross pattern of scars over what looked like a bruised area. It hadn't burned in ages, but the sore was still there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mr. Ignatius?"

Percy lifted his head and blinked. Someone was outside. He sat up, groaning. The couch was not meant for sleeping on, not unfolded. 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. Everyone knew. She had, of course, been enjoying the time since the meeting. He shook his head. "Don't lose it," he whispered.

"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. Not a common nor uncommon appearance, but. . . Percy couldn't put his finger on it. The man seemed strangely familiar, even his frown. "Mr. John Ignatius?"

"At your service," Percy replied, responding easily to the name he had 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." Dorman was clearly unimpressed by the politeness. "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 because of 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, I just had a drink." 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.

Percy 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 demonstration 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 raggedly 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. And yet.. . it was also the most moronic thing he had ever heard.

"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. I'm not sure what your experience with dragons has been. 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. Mungo's!"

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 morning. 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 the grubby little excuse for an office building. A dark-haired man a few years older than him was already there, picking his teeth as he dumped a stack of parchment on a desk. The desk shook with the fresh weight, and for one moment Percy was certain it would 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 of no concern to 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. Almost glad they don't have to deal with Marchent. That temper of his. . ."

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 Dorman 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 Mr. 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.