riddlelog | this is the noise that keeps me awake

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this is the noise that keeps me awake

a → the ministry

There are certain parts of Lucius Malfoy's reputation that are extremely accurate. He does play the part of the spoiled heir to the hilt, showing up to work only a few days a week, often disappearing for long lunches that are as much drunk as they're eaten. He is a bit lazy, a lot spoiled, very bored, and almost entirely lacking in motivation most of the time. Like some other Death Eaters one could mention, Lucius has neglected part of the work-life balance equation; it's just that the part he leaves out tends to be work.

It makes it rather easy for the unwary to forget that Lucius is also very, very sharp, and there's a rather cool glitter in his gray eyes as he listens. Maybe he is actually behind one of the Muggle registration desks, where he's supposed to be. Maybe he's migrated to the Time Deviants to ~~bother~~ help Bellatrix. Or perhaps he's elsewhere, stopped by your desk. In any case, you've caught his attention. His finger taps lightly against his lip.

"Well, go on."

b → the leaky cauldron

It's not up to his usual standards, true, and Lucius is likely resisting the urge to eye the plate of chips on the table like they're a plate of poisonous snakes, but nonetheless - here he is, in a quiet booth, with a pint that's been barely touched for all that he's cultivated the habit of day drinking. Now his gaze is perfectly bland and arch as he lounges back against a seat that defies lounging. Sometimes it flicks away from his own booth and seems to go watchful as he takes in the scene at the pub.

It is the night of the full moon, after all, and as it happens, he'd run into a werewolf only hours before.

c → malfoy manor

It's entirely true that a not inconsiderable amount of his time was spent in and around Lestrange Manor even before time deviants of his own line began to appear, but he's all but officially changed his place of residence. Nonetheless, appearances must be maintained, and for once Lucius can be found in his own library, a glass of brandy at his elbow as he pages with seeming idleness through an old book. When someone inevitably comes into the room (and it's not a house elf he can chase out with either a sharp word or a small, contained explosion), he'll raise his brow. You must want something, get on with it.

"Is there something you required?"

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Lucius could still be lying. Really, what did Peter have to lose? He knew very little about the man other than what he'd heard around the Ministry and the stories Sirius told about his family. It wasn't much to base an opinion on. Besides, if Peter had to be honest with himself, lunch with Lucius Malfoy would certainly break the monotony of his week.

"All right then," Peter nods. Ten minutes should give him enough time to clean the soot from his face and clothing. He considered putting a few charms on his clothes to make them seem more presentable but the odds were that he'd only ruin his shirt rather than dress it up.

Ten minutes later, Peter is down in the lobby. He half-expects Lucius not to show, but his suspicions are eased for the most part. Lucius doesn't seem to be the type to pull idle pranks. Maybe he does want to share lunch with Peter. Stranger things have happened.

Lucius is there, of course, leaning against one of the pillars and holding up one of the m.i.a.v.i. parchments, which he's reading with a raised eyebrow. Which thread has caught his attention is a mystery, though, because as soon as he sees Peter, the parchment disappears into his robe.

"There you are," he says as he straightens from the wall. "So, the Leaky Cauldron, or something a bit more upscale? Madame Moraine has a new menu this week."

Peter has never been to Madame Moraine's new restaurant. It's one of those fancy places where even a simple cup of coffee cost more than half a day's wages. He's not dressed for it, he knows that, and yet, even if he were wearing his nicest dress robes he'd be underdressed.

"Since you're buying, I'll let you choose," Peter says, half hoping Lucius chooses the upscale restaurant, half terrified. "I'm fairly easy."

Peter certainly isn't dressed for it, and Lucius considers for a moment choosing it in any case. Madame Moraine is hardly going to turn him away, after all, and he's always enjoyed watching someone squirm. "Madame Moraine's another time, perhaps," he says. "We'll do the Leaky Cauldron this time."

He'd rather Peter feel comfortable...well. More comfortable, in his presence. It might make him less likely to skitter away later on, if it comes to that.

"Get whatever you like," he says as they apparate to the pub and the grouchy innkeeper waves them to a booth. "Firewhiskey for me," he says as a waitress comes up to them. "And...the special, I suppose."

He's a bit disappointed that he won't get a chance to sample the high life, but perhaps, it was for the better. At least he knew the Leaky Cauldron's menu like the back of his hand. There was little chance Peter was going to embarrass himself with his lack of fancy cuisine knowledge. And, he was observant enough that he noticed Lucius said "next time." As though going out to lunch would be a usual thing.

Peter sits across from Lucius and smiles at the waitress. "I'll take a pint of Bluebeard's Stout," he says, ordering one of the mid-ranged priced ales. Lucius had said he could order whatever he liked and he saved Bluebeard's for special occasions.

"So..." Peter trails off, not really knowing what to talk about.

The high life - or his normal life, actually - could wait. Not that he was the greatest fan of the Leaky Cauldron, Lucius thinks as he takes a sip of the whiskey and tilts his head to one side "So...." he echoes with an amused smile. He can't help himself, really.

"Do they stick with all the messes in Transportation?" He asks after a moment, leaning his elbow on the table. "It's likely because you're too good at your job. A bit like punishment, isn't it? Do all the work, get all the responsibility."

Peter is in the middle of taking a long sip of his drink when Lucius speaks. He shrugs his shoulders, wiping his lips off on the cuff of his jacket before he replies. "It's more likely I was the only one left in the office," he says, but the compliment is appreciated.

"I'd rather be out repairing floos than stuck taking Howlers. I've had my fair share of explosions at my desk. It's a job, you know? Something to fill the day and take my wage like every office drone. I'm sure you have no clue what that is like."

"Oh, no, I don't have to be at the Ministry., that's true." And as irritating as it was to be in the Muggle Registration Commission - he'd not started at the bottom the way Peter was. He was a Malfoy, it wouldn't have been borne even if his association with the Minister all but guaranteed he'd start at least a few rungs up.

He takes another sip of the Firewhiskey, then pushes it aside for the water that had been brought alongside. "It's unfortunate they still have you in the Complaints department, after two years. I could put in a word with your department head, if you like." Transport was one of the few departments not headed by one of their little group, but it was still headed by an old, pureblood head of house. Not one as noble as the Malfoys, of course, which made it all the easier to manipulate them.

There's a flicker of a smile. "I might as well use all that influence for something or other."

Peter frowns into his pint of ale. Is Lucius Malfoy offering him a favor? Somehow Peter didn't think such an offer came without a price. He wasn't sure what he had to offer Lucius in return, but he had the nagging suspicion that Lucius was fishing for something.

"And take on more responsibility? I think if they would have moved me up in the past two years it would have happened. As it stands, my performance reviews are mediocre. Which sounds about right."

Peter finishes off his pint and sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why are you offering to help me? There's got to be something in it for you. I'm not exactly some nobody in the Ministry. You know who my mates are. Does this have anything to do with them?"

It's true that Peter's friendships - more the one with Sirius Black than James Potter or Remus Lupin - are part of what makes him interesting. But it's less that, really, than Peter's view of himself as a nobody. The boy thinks little of himself, and that kind of person makes for a devoted ~~pet~~ friend, as long as given the proper attention.

"I'm not particularly interested in Sirius Black or James Potter," he says dryly. "Why would I be? They're both similar to me, too much money, too much time on their hands. At some point they'll get bored with being idle and find something to do with their time, but they don't have to." Which must drive Peter nuts, he thinks, especially if there's the usual post-school distance. "You don't seem to think anyone could be interested in helping you for yourself. But the fact of the matter, someone who knows they have to work hard and does it is far more valuable to the Ministry then someone who might have been bright in school but doesn't have any motivation right now."

Lucius surprises Peter. He hadn't expected a pureblood who has had the world on a silver platter since the moment he was born to understand the frustration of being ordinary. In this world, you either have money, talent, or beauty to get anywhere. Blood purity could be overlooked if you had the charm to turn a few heads. Peter had none of these and it was achingly obvious. His mates couldn't see how they lived a life that was unaccessible to Peter. Unless he suddenly had a close encounter with a rabid werewolf, there was little he could do to change his status.

Yet, here was Lucius Malfoy, buying him lunch and speaking to him almost as though they were equals. It was absurd and yet maybe, just maybe, Lucius saw something in Peter. A quality that even Peter couldn't see. Something that made Peter special.

"So, you believe I'm valuable to the Ministry," Peter says. He inches foward in his seat, his hands now resting on the table. "How, exactly? You're not going to offer me a position to be your personal floo boy, are you? Because, while I may not look it, I do have standards."

Ordinary isn't allowed in Malfoy Manor, and it's true that life - much of it, at least - was handed to Lucius on a silver platter. There was, of course, the stress of living up to those high expectations. Much of his current lazy outlook on life is because one, he can afford to live this way, and two, because he was intellectually and emotionally burned out after Hogwarts.

He takes a sip of his water and eyes Peter as if he's considering his potential, measuring where he might best fit. In truth, Peter Pettigrew is so very ordinary. There are a dozen twenty year olds who could do what he does better. But Peter's hardly a fool, either, and whatever skills he lacks can be taught eventually. More important is the fact that Peter wants someone to think he's got something special. "I'm likely leaving the DMLE soon," he says, leaning in conspiratorially . The Minister's been making noises to that effect; there are a few departments left in the Ministry without Death Eaters at their head, and a few of those directors are retiring at the end of September. Lucius is one of the few in the Ministry not running his own department by now. "Wherever I go, I'll need at least one person I know won't assume that I'm going to be easy to get around. So, no, not a personal floo boy, Peter. I can get a house elf for that kind of thing."

Peter is stunned. Lucius Malfoy was offering him a promotion, one that would certainly give him enough galleons to finally move out of his mother's dingy flat and find a decent place of his own. He signals to the server and orders another pint of ale. He doesn't care that this is his lunch break and he'll likely return on a bit of a buzz. No one had ever made him an offer like this before and he didn't want to seem over eager.

"An assistant, then," he says. "You're asking if I'd like to be your assistant."

Why me? He wants to ask Lucius again why he's being singled out but he keeps his thoughts to himself. The offer was tentative at best. THe last thing he wanted was for Lucius to change his mind.

Lucius inclines his head. Peter would hardly be the only assistant, if he got a department directorship. And if for some reason he didn't, Peter would be eager enough to take the more menial tasks off Regulus' plate. The ideal scenario would be if he had his own department, however, one where Regulus and Rodolphus and Rabastan were not likely to be eying this game.

"Is that something you're interested in?" He asks instead of answering one way or the other. "The work is no doubt likely to be different."

Interested? Of course Peter is interested. He tries to play it cool, sitting back against the booth as he shrugs. "It would be a change, that's for sure," he says. "But I think I can handle it. Anything is better than those Howlers, after all."

He circles the rim of his glass with a fingertip, resisting the urge to ask when can he start. "I might be up for a promotion in Transport," he says instead. "So if I take another position it would have to be better than that. I'm looking for forward movement, nothing lateral."

Lucius arches a brow under the fringe of dark blond hair falling over his forehead. Cheeky, he thinks, but it's with a bit of an amused smile. Games aren't fun if they don't have some twists and turns after all. So he goes along, even though they both know that Peter's really not going to be up for promotion in Transport.

"Assistant to a department head might not be glamorous," he says, "but it's a higher rise than any promotion you'll get in Transport, unless Runcorn takes a shine to you." Which was...doubtful, really.

Peter has to hide his smile behind the rim of his pint glass. He doesn't care about fancy job titles or a bump up in the social order. It's the pay that has him excited. A raise will make it so much easier to move out on his own and away from his overbearing mum.

"All right," Peter says after a brief moment of silence. "I'm interested. Transport is holding me back, besides. If you've a position, then I'm your man."

Money spoke louder than title for a good ninety percent of the Muggle Registration Commission; they might mostly be purebloods, but that didn't mean rich in this day in age. There were exceptions, of course. The Lestranges, the Blacks, the Greengrasses, the Parkinsons, the Malfoys? All had money. Most of the rest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight were decaying.

Lucius was well aware what inspired most people. But exalted titles that made them puff out their chests meant more when the financial need was filled. "They certainly are," he drawls. "I'll be able to let you know what it is in about a week."

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