Of Wolves and Ravens
by FenrisWolf
Disclaimer - I don't own anything, J. K. Rowling does - damn it.
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Chapter Two
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"Doctor Scarabus, so good of you to come," Big Bad said unctuously. This fellow might be their last chance; it wouldn't hurt to butter the old boy up a bit.
The elderly wizard smiled graciously, settling into the proffered chair as if it were a throne. "Thank you, though in all honesty I must say that the retainer your agents tendered to me made it difficult to resist," he replied, his black eyes twinkling from beneath his heavy eyebrows.
The chief wizard of T.I.C.K.L.E. felt the velvety texture of Scarabus's voice wash over him like a balm, and for some reason was reminded of a favorite uncle who used to read children's stories to him as a lad. Mentally he shook himself, and brought his attention back to his gently smiling guest. 'If the spell he can cast with mere words is any indication of his power, he just may be able to do the job', he mused. To Scarabus he said, "Did our agents fill you in on the nature of the contract we wish you to undertake?"
"Only in the most general of terms," the white-haired wizard replied, his clean-shaven face smiling and friendly. "You are concerned that events you set in motion have slipped beyond your control, and wish to make certain that your interests are not…adversely impacted…by the results. Is that essentially correct?"
Big Bad was amazed; Scarabus's ability to describe T.I.C.K.L.E.'s predicament in concise terms without once admitting that he was in fact being asked to undermine the happiness of the world's most powerful wizard was mesmerizing. Still, better to be sure they understood one another. "That's it, more or less. Now, we don't necessarily want to see anyone get hurt, we just don't want to be hurt ourselves. If you can arrange our safety without sabotaging what we accomplished, so much the better."
Scarabus nodded, steepling his fingers as his deep-set eyes grew serious. "Yes, I do believe I see your difficulty. Still there are ways to approach this that you may not have considered; sometimes it takes a viewpoint from outside the problem to see the solution." He removed his yarmulke-like wizard's cap and scratched his head, disarranging the neatly bowl-cut white locks as he did so.
"If I do accept this task, I must have complete freedom of operation; no one looking over my shoulder, no one questioning my methods." He smiled to ease the sting of his words as Big Bad frowned. "It is no reflection on your organization, I assure you; I have lived to the ripe age of 160 by keeping my own counsel and protecting my secrets. As for the effectiveness of my methods, well, one does not live as long as I without making enemies, but I am here and they are not."
The head of T.I.C.K.L.E. recognized the truth of his guest's words, but another question occurred to him. "If you operate in this manner, how will we arrange payment in a way that is mutually agreeable?"
At this Scarabus negligently waved a hand. "It is a matter of little import. I will need a small fund for operating expenses, and the balance of my fee may be placed in an escrow account at Gringotts, its release dependent on the satisfactory conclusion of my task."
Big Bad blinked in surprise. "Aren't you concerned that you might be cheated?"
Scarabus shrugged. "Not particularly; for some reason, very few people feel the urge to try and deny me what is rightfully mine. Your pardon," he said abruptly, and made a small gesture with his hand. Instantly a platter holding two goblets and a chilled decanter appeared on the desk. "I find that negotiations often leave me parched. Pumpkin juice?"
The crimelord shook his head and swallowed nervously at the casual display of wandless magic. He didn't know which idea was more disturbing, that Scarabus had Summoned the platter right through the wards that supposedly protected the premises, or that he had conjured the items out of thin air without the use of a wand. Either way, the ease with which it was done spoke of tremendous power. No, Scarabus probably didn't have to worry too much about someone cheating him…
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Narcissa made her way across the floor of the restaurant and towards the bar, struggling to resist the urge to tug on the hem of her extremely short skirt. Hermione had gone with her to pick it out, and while she knew rationally that what she was wearing was perfectly acceptable among Muggles, by Wizarding custom she was practically naked. The deep red silk barely reached mid-thigh, for Circe's sake, and the skin tight waist and scoop neckline made it abundantly clear that marriage and childbirth had had absolutely no effect on her figure, other than to perhaps give a slightly more womanly roundness to her hips and breasts than in her Hogwarts' days.
Still, she had to admit that it was strangely liberating to put aside the all-enveloping robes that were considered appropriate evening wear for a respectable woman in the Wizarding world. Certainly the reactions of the Muggle males were gratifyingly appreciative, and she smirked as one girl gave her escort holy hell for looking at someone else besides his date.
She scanned the bar, looking for a particular head of salt-and-pepper hair, and tried to hide the hint of nervousness she felt at venturing wholly into the Muggle world. It wasn't completely alien to her; there were any number of establishments that blurred the lines between the two sides, but in most cases the Muggle appearances were camouflage, wizards and witches playing dress-up and emulating their peculiar neighbors. But Remus's condition and the attitudes of Wizarding society towards it meant that he had spent a fair amount of his life living wholly as a Muggle, and he was comfortable there, so much so that he wanted to share it with her.
Narcissa finally spotted the person she was looking for, and she chuckled evilly as she beheld the results of the compromise she'd demanded before agreeing to meet Remus for a Muggle date. If she was going to have to dress the part, then by Merlin so was he, and that included doing something about that roughly chopped, shaggy mess that he called his hair. He didn't have Harry's excuse of rogue accidental magic to fob it off on, just a lack of concern for his appearance and the absence of the funds to do something about it. Well, neither of those excuses was going to wash anymore, and she'd called him on it.
At her insistence he'd made an appointment with her favorite stylist, Raoul, and the results were nothing short of phenomenal. Instead of the overlong mass that always looked as if he just hacked it off with a pair of shears whenever it became annoying, his hair was now neatly trimmed, with just enough styling gel to give it control without looking artificial. At his temples it was swept back, taking full advantage of the streaks of grey that made him look distinguished, while at the same time exposing what she thought was one of his sexier features, the slight pointing of his ears that was a side effect of his lycanthropy. On top and in the back his hair was long enough for its natural waviness to emerge, and Raoul had added some highlights to blend the streaks of grey into the whole in an appealing manner.
All in all Narcissa thought he looked incredible, and from the looks some of the unattached Muggle women were giving him, she wasn't the only one to feel that way. She was suddenly reminded of something Hermione had told her, how she was constantly having to restrain herself from running her finger's through Harry's messy black locks, and looking at Lupin, she could finally sympathize with the younger woman.
She paused for just an instant to appreciate his outfit; low heeled black ankle boots (he was quite tall enough without artificial lifts, thank you), a pair of black leather pants she loved to see him wear, especially on those occasions when she happened to be walking behind him, and a long sleeved cambric shirt of deep forest green with a collar that accentuated his broad shoulders, and open just enough at the throat to show a touch of the thick mat of soft, grey hair that covered his chest. She shivered as the memory of how that hair had felt against her skin, and smiled. Yes, Muggle clothes definitely suited him…
A moment later she was standing beside him, the small smile still playing about her lips as he completely ignored the trashy brunette who was trying to chat him up. She suppressed the urge to let her smile turn into a smirk as the bar tart stomped off in a huff. "You look incredible, Narcissa," Remus said, his eyes travelling appreciatively over what her dress revealed, and his expression displayed a hint of the hunger that thrilled her.
She felt a slight blush climb her cheeks, and wondered once again how it was he was able to slip through her defenses so easily. "Thank you," she replied, her eyes deliberately lingering on his new hairstyle. "You look pretty good yourself. Didn't I tell you Raoul was a genius?"
It was his turn to blush, a phenomenon she found endlessly amusing, especially now that she could see it extending to the tips of his ears. He took a sip of the frothy white concoction sitting before him, grimacing slightly at its taste. "First time I saw myself in a mirror, I thought I was looking at Gilderoy Lockheart," he muttered.
"Well, I think it's perfect," she declared, allowing her impulse free reign as she quickly ruffled the top. He laughed and batted at her hand, but she slipped aside and reached for his glass. "Whatever are you drinking?" she asked, taking a sip of the sweet, coconutty mixture.
"Something Harry suggested when I told him where we were meeting," Remus answered, his tone slightly puzzled. "He said that if I was going to play to the cliché, I should do it properly."
Narcissa thought about it for a second, but finally shrugged. She had no idea why dinner at Trader Vic's should be a cliché, but there were so many oddities about Muggle culture, it wasn't at all unusual not to catch one. "What's this called?" she asked as she took a second sip, and almost sprayed the mouthful across his face when he replied, "A Pina Colada."
She struggled to keep from laughing, but refused to clue her date in on the mystery, much to his annoyance. She'd had no idea that Harry possessed such a wicked sense of humor; perhaps it was a side effect of his recent foray into happiness. Still smiling, she took her date's arm as he escorted her into dinner, her steps bouncing to the catchy song that now kept playing over and over again in her head…
~~~~~
Draco threw the investigator's report on the floor in a fit of pique, the sheets of parchment vomiting out of the folder in a cream-colored wave. Bad enough that his mother was lowering herself by cavorting with someone the Wizarding community didn't even accept as being wholly human, but now he was seducing her into enjoying Muggle society. If word got out that a Malfoy (he refused to acknowledge her name change back to Black) was actually partaking of Muggle culture, and worse, liking it, he would be a laughingstock.
What made matters even more unbearable was the limited number of options he had for dealing with the situation. He could bluster and bellow all he wanted, but he might as well try and stop an avalanche with his tongue as convince his mother to change her course of action once her mind was made up. Trying to use force to convince her was even more pointless, and carried a significant risk as well; he'd tried to cast the Cruciatus curse on her just once, and had given it up as a lost cause when she told him to stop tickling her. Imperio had been an even worse disaster; she'd reversed it on him, and not only had he squawked like a peahen for days, she'd served him the eggs he'd laid for breakfast…no, the use of magic against his mother was right out.
That left getting rid of Lupin as the only option, and that wasn't a particularly attractive idea, either. Not that he felt any qualms about putting down the mangy cur, far from it, but even he recognized that taking personal action might prove hazardous to his health. Draco was under no illusions as to how much protection from her wrath Narcissa's dubious maternal instincts might grant him, especially when measured against how happy her little affair seemed to be making her. But even if he managed to avoid having his mother decide to retroactively terminate her pregnancy, there was still the matter of Lupin's family, specifically his in-all-but-name nephew, Harry Potter.
Potter. Merlin, how he hated that name. It wasn't fair that such a plebian sounding patronymic should be attached to someone so powerful. Merlin Ambrosius, Taliesin, even Albus Dumbledore, those were names that rolled off the tongue and resonated with strength, but Potter? Even Draco's gardener had a more imposing sounding name. And Harry, for god's sake! Not a decent Alexander, or Caesar, or even Harold! Just plain old Harry Potter, the most powerful wizard in the world…
No, if he wanted Lupin out of his perfectly groomed, bottled blond hair, he'd have to be subtle. Another mark against the blighter, he HATED being subtle. Oh well… "Booger!" he shouted.
"Yes, Master Malfoy, sir?" a high-pitched voice responded from the area behind his knees.
"Gah! How many times do I have to tell you, appear where I can see you?" Draco snapped at the Malfoys' sole remaining house elf.
"Booger is very sorry, Master Malfoy, sir; Booger will try to remember, but Booger is very busy, and sometimes Booger forgets-"
"All right, all right, I get the point," Draco said testily. "Booger, I have a job for you, a very important job. So important I want you to drop all the other jobs I've given you in order to complete it."
Booger's face brightened. "Booger can stop polishing the insides of the chamberpots with his face? Thank you, Master Malfoy, sir!"
Draco blinked; he'd told the house elf to do that when he was seven, he'd no idea the disgusting little creature was still obeying that order. Still, that did explain the aroma that seemed to follow him everywhere… "Yes, Booger, you can stop. I need you to talk to all the other house elves, the ones who serve the right kinds of people. I need you to find out a name for me, the name of someone new to Britain who is of interest to me. Ask about someone brought here to do special work, the kind that no one talks too much about." There'd been a rumor floating around the brothels that someone had imported a new, powerful hit wizard into the country. Draco needed to know if that was true, and if so, what his name was so he could contact him about a possible sub-contract.
Booger's head was bobbing up and down, his ugly face (as if house elves had any other kind) split by a huge grin. Not only was he off chamberpot duty, he was going to get to travel all over Britain on his new job. There were a LOT of house elves in Britain, and Booger would have to talk to them all. Of course, house elves had much faster ways of sharing information, what one knew they all could know if they wished, but Master had said talk, so talk he would. Sooner or later one of his fellow slaves would mention the name Scarabus, and then he could tell Master what he wanted to know…
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That's it for Chapter Two. Anybody recognize our new villain yet? I've tried to be as clear as I could…a box of chocolate-covered Snozzberries to the first person who guesses…thanks to everyone who fed my review habit, I am a happy review junkie…