Dark Haired Boys
Blaise wasn’t wrong. As much as Draco cherished his own hair, something about the idea of dating someone close in appearance to himself was too narcissistic even for Draco. So, brunettes were where his tastes lay.
After his brief stint in the Chief Warlock’s office, Gavin Hailsen convinced Draco that although his work was appreciated, the pale, drawn face from the late hours working on Wizengamot papers was proof that he was overextending himself. Hailsen pushed him towards the MACUSA exchange program, which is how Draco found himself swaying in the lobby of a New York skyscraper.
For those not used to international Portkeys, the instantaneous jump across oceans could be disconcerting. Draco had always thought himself rather adept at travel, but the jump for Wiltshire to Cannes was vastly different than one from London to New York. A wave a vertigo came over him, and he stumbled, only to be caught in a pair of waiting arms.
“Easy there, tiger,” the rich voice said. “Takes some getting used to. Got your sea legs yet? Welcome to America!” Draco blushed at having to be held up, but the blush deepened when he realized he was in the grasp of a stocky, broad shouldered American. Draco cleared his throat and attempted to brush off his robes, trying to ignore the deep tan, tousled dark hair and brown eyes lingering on him amusedly.
“My name’s Tiago Vargas.” Said man stuck out his hand as if it hadn’t previously been propping Draco up.
“Pleasure; Draco Malfoy,” he replied.
“I gathered,” Tiago said with a snort. “Nice accent! Alright, I’m usually attached to magical sports and cooperation, but you,” he pointed at the blonde, “get to be my little project for a while.”
“And why’s that?” Draco said a little taken aback.
“Don’t look so put out! When MACUSA participates in an exchange program, they usually partner the visitors up with someone working in government for their time here. Even if their interests aren’t perfectly aligned. It’s a learning experience, right?” Tiago finished enthusiastically. “So, what are your interests Draco?”
“Um well I just finished schooling at the Hauteville School of Architecture in Sicily with a focus on warding.” Draco was still a little flustered from the onslaught of information being thrust at him.
“Oh, nice,” Tiago said absentmindedly. “Here, let me show you around. Don’t mind your things, the elves will take care of them.” Draco wandered in a haze around the Magical Congress building as the tall American babbled constantly about the history of the building, the functions of the offices, and frankly more information than Draco could retain at the moment.
He was still thrown from his less than graceful landing and the handsome figure it threw him at. When he tried to sound engaged, he just came off as foolish. “Oh yes, didn’t the first Congress meet in Washington at the time of the Revolution?” Draco asked politely.
“What? No,” Tiago chuckled. “D.C. didn’t exist for like, another 25 years after the Revolution. It was just a swamp then. Still a swamp to be perfectly honest.”
“Well that brochure was wrong,” Draco muttered.
It wasn’t the only thing that was wrong, and as the days turned into months in America, Draco realized how very little he knew about the country. And if he didn’t know these things, obviously most of wizarding Britain wouldn’t know them either. Probably.
Tiago was with Draco through most of his experience working brief stints at various MACUSA departments. Popping up with a quick joke, a sly grin at some stuck-up official and the occasional remarkable insight. At one point he barged in to the MACUSA-provided flat that Draco had been given, already in the middle of a story.
“You wouldn’t believe the mess the Mexicans made at the North Conference Quidditch round-robin . . .” he fumed. “Draco?”
He hadn’t reacted when the other wizard came blustering through the door. His forehead was pinched, his eyes were stuck on a letter he received just 20 minutes prior.
“What’s wrong?” Tiago asked at Draco’s heavy sigh.
He held up the letter. “It’s my friend. He hasn’t adjusted well since the war. He can’t find work.”
“Dark Lord supporter?” Tiago asked with a calculating look. Draco hesitated a moment. “Come on Draco, I know a bit about your past,” he continued into the silence.
Draco shrugged noncommittally. “He was never a Death Eater – you know what that is right? But yes, he’s been run out of jobs time and again because of association with people like his father. With people like me.”
Poor Greg, who truly had a sweet side when his temper wasn’t up. Who may not have been the smartest, no matter how many times Draco had tried to correct his homework, but who was loyal to the people he cared about. His nature was taken advantage of by weak men, like the Dark Lord, like his father, and like Draco.
“Do you want me to try to find him something over here?” Tiago asked kindly.
“You would do that?” Draco inquired tentatively.
Tiago shrugged. “As long as he won’t go off on someone for their blood status, or completely go off the reservation, I don’t see why not. But remember, in America, magic is sacred. We don’t care about blood status – we care about keeping the magic and nonmagic communities separate. So it doesn’t matter if your parents are no-majs. Do you think you can make sure your friend understands that?”
A little bit of hope attached itself to Draco. “I think I can. I’m not sure how much of Greg’s conviction is legitimate and how much is just repeating things he’s been told.”
Tiago pursed his lips. “And what about you? Are those thoughts just things you were repeating?”
Draco sat back and thought, really thought. His years in Sicily, away from war-torn Britain, he often returned to the ideologies of the war. But no one had challenged him like this, not to his face. Come to think of it, Draco wasn’t even sure what Tiago’s blood status was.
“I think I did believe it once,” Draco replied honestly. “Yes, they were things I was brought up to believe – quotes muttered around the fireplace or the dining table. But while there are benefits to having wizarding parents, I can’t say any longer that purebloods are inherently stronger or more attuned with magic.”
“I certainly don’t believe any rubbish that they stole their powers,” he finished quietly.
Tiago looked relieved. He came over and rested a hand on Draco’s shoulders. “I’m glad to hear it. Magic should be nurtured. I’m not saying our solution is perfect, but integrating witches and wizards early is certainly preferable to springing it on them later.”
Draco found himself agreeing with that, though he wasn’t sure how to feel about the prospect of stealing away infants who possessed magical ability. That said, it was not the time for deep philosophical discussions and the conversation moved to safer ground. Tiago promised to look for something for Greg and Draco set about drafting an encouraging letter back, trying to explain the nuances of an issue that has baffled magical communities for centuries. I hope poor Greg doesn’t dose off reading this, Draco despaired.