17th October 1991

Lucius was late. Of course. It would hardly do for the Head of Governors to look too keen. There was a rumble of voices behind the thick oak door. He waved away the House Elf guide he had been allocated; he didn't need to be shown where to go, he had been to the Governors' Meeting room hundreds of times before. No, he suspected that the guide was there to spy on him and keep him in line. Dumbledore didn't trust Lucius with a free rein inside his precious school. Silly old fool. Quite right in this case, though. The old manipulator was up to something with his Muggle-loving followers. They were probably hiding things in the castle somewhere. Lucius and Dumbledore might not be on opposing sides any longer - without the Dark Lord there were no sides after all - but neither wizard trusted the other.

The House Elf bowed, but not very low, and it didn't disappear. Dumbledore was too soft on them. Give this one a few days at Malfoy Manor and Lucius would teach it the proper respect for its betters.

"I think I can manage from here," Lucius said smoothly, allowing his upper lip to curl in disdain. The wretched creature kept its mis-shapen eyes on him.

Sighing with despair, Lucius lifted his cane, causing the door to open. Heads were bent low over the large, shabby table. All of those present were concentrating on the sheets of parchment before them - probably something tedious relating to bathrooms. Lucius strode in, conjuring a little extra breeze to ruffle the paperwork and help to dramatise his entrance. All heads lifted. Good.

"So sorry. Am I a little late? Awfully busy with the Minister. Where am I to sit?" There were plenty of empty chairs around the table, but instead of sitting on one of those, he levitated one from the piles against the wall, and flew it low over several heads, making them duck down out of its way. Lucius placed it firmly at the foot of the table, directly opposite Dumbledore – bumping a witch and a student out of the way in order to do so. Lucius swept his cape round as they adjusted their chairs, and then sat with the maximum fuss possible.

Dumbledore raised one eyebrow. "Mr Malfoy," he acknowledged. "What a very opportune moment for your arrival. I'm sure you have the most enlightening opinions on water closet design. We were just discussing balancing function with form. Flushing particularly."

Lucius raised his eyes towards the ceiling. "What a good thing that we have the Greatest Wizard Of His Age among us to pontificate on such issues," he drawled. "What a wonderful use of your great mind, Headmaster."

"Come, come. We can hardly teach the students anything if they are distracted by their bladders." The patronising old bastard actually had the temerity to waggle his wrinkly finger at Lucius; his eyes did that infuriating twinkling thing. Lucius wasn't taken in by that lovable old duffer routine. He knew the wily cunt was as hard as nails underneath.

They discussed u-bends and the bowel movements and menstruation of teenagers for a while. Lucius made his lack of interest obvious by looking about him. The witch to his right was a parent – one of the namby-pamby type who had probably lost relatives to Death Eaters and probably still minded terribly about that and thought Dumbledore's Order had been an Awfully Good Thing. He nodded with ingratiating politeness. She looked flustered and stared at the diagram on the table in front of her.

Lucius looked to his left. A student, so some kind of prefect or something. Not the Head Boy: he was seated on the right hand of the Albus. Of course he was, with those looks. The boy beside Lucius had clearly been placed at this end of the table because wasn't muscular enough for Dumbledore's tastes. The Head had a weakness for the Quidditch boys, the geriatric invert. It wasn't that Lucius was averse to Greek love himself, but he preferred his partners to be a match for him and that meant adult men.

Spectacles. Weak eyes, then. And Ginger. Merlin forbid! Not another one of Arthur Weasley's pups? It had been bad enough with that long-haired chap a few years ago. He'd been made Head Boy. He'd been too soft on the students, of course. Typical Gryffindor. The next brother had been too useless to be offered anything other than House Quidditch Captain: so fortunately Lucius hadn't had to deal with that one.

Dumbledore's allegiances and nepotisms were so transparent. Another bloody Weasley. They probably got handed these sops of positions in return for the sacrifice of the Prewitt boys. That had been a good night. They had bled so perfectly, screaming intensely in discordant notes. And yet, a terrible night, too, because of course that had been the Dark Lord's last night. That same Halloween, the Potter brat had done whatever it was that a toddler could do to destroy a great wizard. A decade ago. And now that boy was in this building. So was Draco, of course. Lucius spared his son a moment's tender thought.

Then the ginger adolescent beside him began to speak. Lucius sighed loudly and made a great business of turning in his seat to watch the boy. The boy lifted his head briefly from his copious notes and coolly acknowledged Lucius, without hesitating in his little speech.

That was impressive. Most boys his age would have been intimidated. Arthur would have got flustered and then angry. Lucius listened for a while. Arthur would hardly have been worth listening to, and nor would his eldest. Lucius was surprised to find himself paying attention, however. Apparently they had moved on from plumbing and the boy was proposing changes to the examination marking scheme. This would not ordinarily have engaged Lucius much more than loos did, but the child's argument was intelligent and well thought-out. Also, it was subversive. Dumbledore was frowning. This was all rather wonderful.

Lucius sat up a little smarter. This boy was no mealy liberal like his parents. He was arguing for greater privileges and opportunities for brighter pupils. He was arguing in favour of meritocracy and against blind equality. Lucius double-checked the colours on his tie. They could have been green and silver; they weren't. When the speech was finished, Dumbledore tried to fob the boy off with some charming crap, but Lucius cut him off with a round of applause. He was so determined that the other governors joined him. The boy blushed. It was a lovely flush, reminding Lucius of other things, although the boy wasn't his usual type at all. Much too young and far too slender.

"Hear hear," Lucius declaimed over the clapping. "Quite right. Of course there should be greater recognition for the more intelligent students. Hogwarts should value cleverness more than it does." He knew full well that Dumbledore would never implement any of this boy's suggestions - Circe forbid the more stupid students should be made to feel inferior - but Lucius wanted to make his refusal as awkward as possible.

"Yes, a wonderfully argued case, Percy," the old charmer was forced to concede, before adding his patronising, "I can see that you've worked very hard on that."

So, his name was Percy? Lucius was impressed with the boy in spite of himself. This was brave. Percy had only just been made a prefect and already he had chosen not only to speak at a meeting of governors, but to challenge the status quo. Only a select few prefects were invited to each Governors' meeting, and Lucius didn't expect to see Percy here again. Not until he was Head Boy, anyway, which was clearly a possibility. If only the boy hadn't been a Gryffindor from a family of Blood Traitors. Still. Some wizards could surprise expectations. This one was one to watch. He might be useful. In several ways.

At the end of the meeting he made sure to shake the boy's hand. The hand inside his was small, soft and freckled – but the grip was dry and strong.

"I'm Lucius Malfoy, pleased to meet you," Lucius offered.

Only then did Percy hesitate. "Oh, I know, sir," he said shyly, before composing himself in order to reply, "I'm Percy Weasley."

Lucius smiled his broadest smile, the one that made old witches give him whatever Dark object he requested from their jewellery boxes. "I thought you might be," he said softly. He didn't withdraw his hand.

Percy said nothing, but blushed again and averted his eyes. That confirmed it and Lucius was glad of it. This one was a sodomite-in-waiting. Lucius would keep that knowledge close and bide his time. He was going to enjoy watching this Percy: waiting for the day when he became disillusioned with his useless parents and needed a mentor and a cause. Lucius would step in then and provide both.

He slid his hand from the boy's grasp and added, "That was a very good speech, you know," just so that he could watch the pale face flush pink again.