"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!" 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 a 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 out of 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."

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. 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 criss-cross pattern of scars over what looked like a bruised area. It hadn't burned in ages, but the sore was still there.