Swords to Plowshares

Work on Tuesday morning was a welcome relief from the chaos of Monday's Quidditch World Cup. I accompanied my father on his early trip to the Ministry, cauldron-bottom thickness report completed and in hand, but was surprised to find that I arrived before Mr. Crouch. I figured the mayhem surrounding last night, coupled with the article in this morning's Daily Prophet, would have him in the office before any of the staff, but I was mistaken. In fact, Mr. Crouch didn't show up until nearly mid-afternoon. I found this disconcerting, especially in light of his never showing up for the game once he made his brief appearance in the Top Box, but rationalized that it probably had something to do with the need for damage control after last night's Dark Mark debacle. In the meantime, I sat at my desk and listened to my coworkers rehash the events of yesterday.

"You don't really think You-Know-Who is back, do you?" asked Hitchens, sipping her coffee and sitting on one corner of her desk. "I mean, you think he'd have done a lot worse than turn a few Muggles upside-down and flash the Dark Mark. No one there died or anything...did they? Seems an odd show to put on for nothing."

"I hardly think it was for nothing, Abby," interjected Philip Greengrass, who hadn't been in the department much longer than I but who was well liked and respected. "He's still got followers, I'm sure. Those people in masks...they wouldn't have bothered if they weren't afraid of their identities being known. They've got something to hide, and they're still scared of being found out. One of them had to have conjured the Dark Mark."

"I heard it was Harry Potter," said Andrews.

"It wasn't."

Everyone turned to look at me, as though surprised I could talk. I seized the opportunity of their silence and spoke as fast as I could. "It wasn't Harry Potter. I know him fairly well. He's a good friend of my brother's, and I heard a lot when they all got back to our tents. Harry went to the Cup with my family, and he told us...my father was there, and he told us how it all happened." As I spoke, Andrews's eyes grew wide, but I didn't know if it was from finding out that it wasn't Harry Potter who cast the Dark Mark or my audacity at openly, loudly, contradicting him.

"Do you plan to tell us who it was, then, or do you just like to keep us in suspense?" inquired Hitchens, glaring at me over the rim of her cup.

"It was Mr. Crouch's house-elf. Winky, her name was."

Greengrass smiled crookedly. "That's a good one, Weasley. And I hear house-elves are now issued wands with their tea towels or pillowcases or whatever else they wear." This caused Hitchens to snort into her coffee, and a few other people looked at each other sideways, trying not to laugh.

"I'm serious, Greengrass." I straightened in my chair, looking him in the eye. "They found her in a clearing, unconscious and holding Harry Potter's wand." I nodded to reinforce my statement. "It may sound strange, but my father was there and he told me everything. Winky denied having anything to do with the Dark Mark or You-Know-Who, but really, what else would you expect? She insisted that it wasn't her, as though it had been some other wizard who stole Harry's wand. You see, this is why we need all those regulations about non-human creatures and why they're not issued wands! No one would have suspected Mr. Crouch's elf of dealing in the Dark Arts, but the evidence speaks for itself."

By this time they all looked rather unsettled, but they had to hear the truth no matter how uncomfortable it might make them. "I didn't see it, of course, but plenty of people did, including a lot of people who work here at the Ministry. Anyone you talk to will corroborate my story. Someone ran into me in the confusion when the Dark Mark was in the sky, and I had to fumble my way back to our tent with a bloody nose. But when my father came back with Harry, my brother Ron, and a friend of theirs, he told us everything."

They all stared at me in disbelief. "You're making this up, right, Weasley?" asked Greengrass, a little nervous.

"Am I in the habit of fabricating stories?" I shot back, and Greengrass raised an eyebrow. "It was Mr. Crouch's house-elf, Winky. She stole Harry Potter's wand when she was in the Top Box with us and conjured the Dark Mark. Ron told me that they even checked the wand via Prior Incantatem to make sure that she was the one. You can, of course, imagine how Mr. Crouch reacted to finding out such a horrible thing. He fired her for the infraction, and I think he was right to do so. She broke at least three major Ministry rules by doing what she did, including possessing Harry's wand, and Mr. Crouch could simply not have that." I was doing it again, running my mouth, but I couldn't stop. They needed to hear everything, since they were all apparently ignorant about a major event that could cost this department its reputation. "We all know how much prestige he carries in the Ministry and in the international wizarding confederacies, and having a house-elf aligned with You-Know-Who would bring him down so fast he'd be lucky to get a position on the Broom Regulatory Council. He can't afford that and neither can we. If his job is on the line, so are ours. And did you all see the Daily Prophet this morning?" I was absolutely infuriated by Rita Skeeter's article, such an insult to the Ministry on top of everything else that had gone wrong.

"Yes, Weasley, and we all remember every single word of every single article we read," said Hitchens flatly.

I shook my head. "Well, if you're not reading the papers, you should be, especially anything that's written by that horrible Rita Skeeter. You all know how she'll say anything to make the Ministry look as bad as possible, in spite of whether it's the truth. In fact, it seems to me like she'd rather not have the truth, because then she gets to say whatever she wants about the Ministry and there's no evidence either way. She printed an article this morning, which, among other libelous claims, insinuated that bodies were removed from the woods near the campgrounds. Bodies! That woman will stop at nothing to hurt this department, and if you had any sense of loyalty to Mr. Crouch, or a sense of duty to your job, you'd make every effort to familiarize yourself with the lies she tells so that you can tell everyone else the truth!"

No one had much to say after that. Greengrass looked up at the clock and mumbled something about how we should get the day started, as it was nearly nine o'clock.

The minute the clock struck nine, owls came flying right and left through our front door, and they didn't let up for a week. By Friday, I felt like I had lived the same day five times over, doing nothing except answering angry letters from people who had complaints with the proceedings and security at the Cup. Ridiculous allegations, one right after the other, flooded my in-tray. My ears rang from the number of Howlers we received. None of us had a moment to rest, and everyone worked shifts of twelve hours or more to control the volume of mail. I ate my lunch at my desk because I couldn't afford to be away for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time. Once, I was delayed at the Department of Magical Games and Sports for nearly half an hour as Ludo Bagman sent someone to find the papers I needed to bring to Mr. Crouch. When I returned to my office, my desk was on fire, probably due to a Howler that I hadn't had the opportunity to open.

Furious, but by this time, no longer surprised, that no one had made a move to put out the fire, I extinguished it with a jet of water from my wand. That, of course, destroyed seventy-five percent of the papers I had been working on, so I had to stay at the office until nearly ten that evening getting new copies of books, papers, and reports. I skipped dinner, came home, and fell asleep within a minute of crawling into bed. Though I wanted to go to King's Cross with the twins, Ron, and Ginny on September first to see them off on the Hogwarts Express, I couldn't take the time off work.

The flurry of hate mail ceased after about three weeks, and I got back to my regular schedule of coming home around five o'clock, taking extra work to my room, and working in the evenings. The house was much quieter now that Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny were back at Hogwarts, but even though I liked the silence that enabled me to work, I was lonely. Some of the loneliness I staved off with paperwork, telling myself that I didn't have much time to go out with friends as it was, but there were times when I ached for companionship, even just one person to spend time with and talk to. Mother and Father weren't enough anymore, the way they had been when I was younger. We seemed to argue about everything, and as the only child at home I was always the focus of their attention whether I wanted to be or not.

"Percy, your mother and I wanted to go over to the Lovegoods' tonight, just to say hello. You know he gets lonely when he's not traveling, with his wife gone and Luna at Hogwarts most of the year. Would you like to come?"

"Ah...no thank you. I...have a lot of work to do this evening. Still catching up on everything I had to put aside after the World Cup."

"We were really hoping you'd come with us, Percy. You've been so..." My mother looked as though she was searching for the right word.

"Busy?" I supplied.

"That's not quite what I had in mind. We know you're busy. Your father's not had an easy time at work lately either, but, well, you spend all your spare time in your room--"

"Because I have work to do," I snapped. "I've got a long way to go before I'm in the position I want at the Ministry, and these early years are very important. If it means sacrificing a little time now to accomplish more in the future, then that's the way it has to be."

"Don't take that tone of voice with us, young man," said my mother sternly. "We're very aware of what you want to do, and we fully support you, but you've been nothing but depressed and moody lately and we're tired of it."

My jaw dropped. How was I supposed to respond to that? How dare they say anything when I worked so hard? I slammed my fork down on the table, most of the food on my plate untouched, and ran upstairs. For days afterward, conversation with my parents was strained. Even when our actions returned to normal, there was an underlying tension, a thread of courtesy that formed itself into a noose.

~~~~~~~~~~

One Monday morning in mid-October, Mr. Crouch called me into his private office.

"Weatherby, may I speak to you for a moment?"

"Weasley," I corrected, under my breath. From what I understood, there was a Weatherby who worked in the department but left last April. This was not the first time Mr. Crouch had made this mistake, but it disturbed me that as of late, he never bothered to correct himself. I had long since given up trying to tell him that my name was Weasley, especially since he'd been under a lot of stress since the World Cup. It was enough, I figured, that he spoke to me and called me a consistent if not correct name. "What is it, sir?"

"Have a seat," he said to me, closing the door. This couldn't be good. Usually, Mr. Crouch didn't call newer department members in for private conferences unless he had plans to fire them. My knees started shaking, and I walked as quickly as I could to the chair, sitting before I could collapse.

"Weatherby, I want to ask for your assistance."

"My...assistance, sir?" Hearing his request, I allowed myself to breathe again.

"Yes. Before I discuss the matter further with you, though, I must ask for your confidentiality. By accepting this task, you are agreeing to discuss this matter with no one unless I approve of you doing so. You are not to answer questions from anyone else in this department or the Ministry about the nature of your work. I promise that I will not ask you to do anything illegal, and if you feel uncomfortable with my requests, you are welcome to refuse, but I still ask that you not talk about any of the work. Can I trust you to keep secret what I'm about to ask of you?" His voice was more authoritative than I'd heard in a long time. I wasn't sure whether to be impressed or afraid. Since the World Cup, Mr. Crouch had moments where his speech halted and he seemed lost in the middle of a sentence. Now, however, he appeared to know exactly what he was saying.

"You can, sir." I figured there was no harm in showing him that I was trustworthy even before he set the task in front of me.

"Weatherby, the first thing you should know is that this is more a matter of...personal interest than one of the Ministry's, though it does concern some Ministry affairs. I will grant you paid time and overtime, if necessary, to complete this project, and should you choose to apply for a higher position in the Ministry when you have gained the experience, I will write a reference for you. Does that sound fair?"

"Yes, sir." Now I was curious. I realized that as much as I knew about Mr. Crouch's daily operations in the office, I barely knew anything besides what he chose to reveal to the department. What personal mission could be so important?

"Good. Somehow I knew you would be the right one to ask. Later today, I will give you a list of names. I need you to go to the Department of Records and retrieve the files on each of the people whose names I'm going to give you. Each of those files needs to be thoroughly reviewed, checked to make sure none of the contents are missing, and summarized. Recent events have warranted a re-read of these files, and it is imperative that they are all thorough and accurate. I have seen your work and know that you are capable of performing this job. Will you accept it?"

I watched Mr. Crouch across the table for a moment. His expression was serious but not grave, more determined. As a well-respected and high-ranking Ministry official, recommendations from him were worth their weight in gold. There was no good reason not to take this job, and I was thrilled he had chosen me above everyone else to carry it out. "I will, sir. When would you like for me to begin?"

"This afternoon. I will compile the list of files you need to retrieve, and you can start after lunch. No one outside of a select few can know what you are doing, and it may become necessary to cover your paperwork if someone becomes too inquisitive. There may also be further instruction from me, depending on...well, a lot of factors, which I don't need to expand on just yet. Do you have any other questions?"

"No, sir."

"Thank you for your time, Weatherby. I will give you that list this afternoon. In the meantime, go about your usual business. See if Greengrass needs a hand with the...with his project."

"Ah...yes, sir."

He dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

More confused than I had been since my first day at the job, I rose from my chair, silently collecting my papers. Several people looked up as I entered the main office, quill and folders tucked under one arm. I walked as casually as I could back to my desk and took the day's correspondence from my in-tray, looking down at a letter.

"You still work here, Weasley...or is it Weatherby?" whispered Andrews in a rather nasty tone.

"I do, Andrews, and will until further notice," I responded, my eyes on the paper. Do you?"

He didn't react but for a completely blank look on his face, and I continued in a tone just as low and mean as his. "You see, unlike some, Mr. Crouch recognizes that I do outstanding rather than slipshod work." Deliberately, I raised my head, and spoke so softly that Andrews had to lean in to hear me. "Not that you would know anything about the latter, of course, because you always meet every single one of your deadlines and never try to pass your menial assignments onto younger members of the department. Never." Mr. Crouch's assignment had strengthened me. It didn't matter what any of them thought. I had made an impression on the one who truly mattered to my career. Silently, Andrews left my desk, not looking my way as he sat and began to sift through his papers.

When I came back from lunch that afternoon, a sealed envelope with my name on it was in my in-tray. This had to be from Mr. Crouch. Glancing around to see if anyone was looking my way, I opened the envelope. On a plain piece of parchment, one that would be indistinguishable from anything else on my desk but for the fact that it was in Mr. Crouch's handwriting, was a list of names. There was no signature on the paper. I unfolded it and slowly began to read.

All records 1970-1981

Avery, John
Bagman, Ludovic
Black, Sirius
Dolohov, Antonin
Karkaroff, Ivan
Lestrange, Bellatrix (

neé Black)
Lestrange, Rodolphus
Malfoy, Lucius
Rookwood, Augustus
Travers, Wesley
Mulciber, Ferrus
Snape, Severus

1970-1981. 1981...that was best known as the year Lord Voldemort had fallen, and 1970...that would correspond with his rise to power. Interesting. Reading slowly a second time through the list, I took inventory of the names.

Avery, John

I had no idea who he was.

Bagman, Ludovic
Black, Sirius

Those two names I recognized, but I was very surprised to see Bagman's name in conjunction with Sirius Black's. True, Bagman wasn't, as I'd heard Greengrass say, the shiniest Galleon in Gringotts, but I couldn't see him participating in any sort of activity that would link him with Sirius Black, a known, dangerous convict.

Dolohov, Antonin
Karkaroff, Ivan

Antonin Dolohov was another one I had never heard, but Ivan Karkaroff-he was now head of the Durmstrang Institute. I'd never seen him in person, but knew that Mr. Crouch did not favor him and in fact looked as though he'd eaten something sour every time Karkaroff's name was mentioned.

Lestrange, Bellatrix (neé Black)
Lestrange, Rodolphus

A married couple. Bellatrix Lestrange's maiden name was marked. Black. That was interesting. I wondered if she was related to Sirius Black. A sister, perhaps? Cousin? Black wasn't an uncommon surname, but I remembered something my father and mother mentioned once when I'd asked about their families, something about the Black line being very old and very large, even linked to our family by marriage. At this realization, my heart sped up. I was related to at least one convicted criminal, and possibly three. For a moment I considered giving the list back to Mr. Crouch, but I knew I couldn't. Even though my assignment was only to do a read and review of the files, my curiosity had to be satiated.

Malfoy, Lucius

Here, I paused, studying the fine line of script on the page. Lucius Malfoy. Sirius Black. Bellatrix Lestrange, neé Black. All...Death Eaters? It would certainly fit with the dates, and even more so if Bellatrix Lestrange was related to Sirius Black. Malfoy and Black most definitely had connections to Lord Voldemort. However, Ludovic Bagman struck me as the last person I'd finger as a Death Eater. And what about the names I didn't know? As I thought more, I questioned how much I really knew about Lucius Malfoy. He and my father shared an unpleasant history, and his son, Draco, was a thorn in Ron's side, but I'd never spoken to him in person.

Mulciber, Ferrus
Rookwood, Augustus
Travers, Wesley

Three more names I didn't recognize.

Snape, Severus

That gave me pause. If the previous names were all linked by virtue of having connections to Lord Voldemort, why was Snape's name on there? Dumbledore would never give a job to a known Death Eater...unless Snape was a Death Eater and was able to hide it from Dumbledore. That didn't seem logical, though. Dumbledore had an uncanny way of knowing the truth about everyone. It was true that Snape wasn't the most personable of teachers, but he was talented and knowledgeable and I had come to respect him a great deal while taking his N.E.W.T. level Potions class. This was becoming more intriguing by the minute.

I took a new file folder from the supply in my bottom desk drawer and stuck the piece of parchment into it, as well as a second sheet with Mr. Crouch's signature embossed at the bottom that turned out to be a form authorizing me to take the files out of the Department of Records. Rising from my desk, I knocked carefully on Mr. Crouch's office door.

"Enter! Ah...yes...Weatherby."

"Weasley, sir," I replied, but it was more a quiet reflex than an actual attempt to make him remember my name.

"I take it you received my correspondence."

"Yes, sir."

"Very well then. You have your assignment."

"I'll be back later this afternoon, sir."

"Yes, of course, Weatherby, just..." He looked as though he'd forgotten again where he was and what he was doing in the middle of his sentence. "You know what to do. I'll be in my office."

I left and headed for the lifts, taking them to the basement, which housed the Department of Records. Not much was down here. In fact, it seemed like whoever designed the Ministry building had a grudge against the department head. It was dark and damp, lit by a few wall sconces. Rather than wood, the floor was ceramic tile. I shivered for a moment as I followed the signs to the department.

When I knocked on the door, no one answered, so I pushed it open.

The sight that met my eyes was nothing short of astonishing. Unlike the rest of the basement, this room was clean, airy, bright, and enormous. Filing cabinets were stacked floor to ceiling, and the wide aisles between them housed long tables with candles, perfect for an afternoon of research. The place was a labyrinth of information.

"Hello? Anyone here?" There was no way I was going to find anything here on my own. I wandered past the empty entrance desk, down a few of the aisles, to the back of the room.

"Can I help you?"

I jumped as I heard a voice behind me. It belonged to a young witch with short, brown curly hair. She smiled at me as I spun around. "Oh! I'm sorry to have scared you. You just looked like you could use a hand."

Hands. Right. I held mine out to shake hers. "Percy Weasley, Department of International Magical Cooperation."

She smiled. "Eileen Leary, Department of Records. Sorry if you didn't get any help earlier, but we have two catalogers out sick and things around here have been a little crazy. What are you looking for?"

I opened my folder. "I need some files."

"What kind of files? Vital records? Birth? Criminal? Financial?" She took a small pad and a quill off her desk, preparing to take notes.

"It just says 'All Records, 1970 to 1981.'"

"Sure. Do you have an authorization?"

"What? Oh, yes." I pulled the second piece of parchment from my folder and handed it to her. She studied it and placed it on a nearby desk.

After I gave her the list of names, she scanned it. "This is going to take a few minutes. We're looking at thirty files or more. Does Mr. Crouch mind if you stay for a bit? I could use a hand with the files."

"He should be fine with it, madam. He's expecting me to be out for at least part of the afternoon, I believe."

She smiled. "All right. Follow me, Mr. Weasley."

I was astonished by her ability to find and retrieve the records so quickly. Within half an hour, a table was covered with heavy files. Had I tried that myself, I'd have easily spent the entirety of the afternoon searching for what I needed. Carrying any more files than three at a time was impossible, but that would mean ten or more trips up and down the lifts.

"I'll have them sent to you. Will that work? It won't take very long."

"Yes, Miss Leary. Thank you. I appreciate your help. And...er...if it's not too much trouble, could you destroy the paper you wrote those names on?"

"It's no trouble at all," she replied, tearing the paper into small squares. "And feel free to call me Eileen. Just send me a memo if you find you need additional files."

"Thank you...Eileen. Have a good afternoon."

"You too."

The materials from the Department of Records arrived not long after I got back to my desk. Figuring I would tackle the longest files first, I pulled the three thickest folders into the middle of my desk and spread them into a fan.

Black, Sirius

Malfoy, Lucius

Snape, Severus

I spent the rest of the afternoon looking through Sirius Black's file, periodically taking breaks to keep up on department correspondence. The information, though a little dry in places, was quite interesting. It contained documents on his birth, his family, even records from Hogwarts. This was going to be a huge project, and I barely knew where to begin. If any of the files seemed to be missing important information in relation to the link, I needed to find it. I made a checklist of everything that a file should contain. Each file needed to be equal in the way of birth, death, family, and completed education records, and from there I would have to add on anything financial, criminal, civil...the list never seemed to end. Paging through the files, though, I found that I had three questions unrelated to Mr. Crouch's assignment for every one that was. I started a second page of notes, furtively looking up to make sure he wasn't looking at what I was doing.

Time passed quickly as I paged through the folders, and I checked my watch when I realized that much of the natural light in the office had faded. It was nearly six-thirty, and I was the only one still in the office besides Mr. Crouch. I closed Black's file, as well as Snape's, but wanted to take one final look at the remaining file.

Malfoy, Lucius

I started reading, slowly turning the pages and scanning the information. Financial records showed he made more in a year than I did in four. A marriage certificate. Narcissa Black. That piqued my interest, and I noted on a separate sheet to check for any relation between Sirius Black, Narcissa Black, now Malfoy, and Bellatrix Black, now Lestrange. It wouldn't surprise me if they were related in some way, especially since the Malfoys were known for being another old wizarding family. I paused at a court record dated the twelfth of January, 1982.

...In a vote of four to one, Malfoy was exonerated of all charges related to his alleged involvement with Lord Voldemort...

I had known this for years, of course, but for all that my father said it might as well have never happened. At my house, it was practically a requirement to spit every time Lucius Malfoy was mentioned. According to my father, he was an insult to wizards everywhere, buying his way out of prison and hiding Dark artifacts in every spare corner of his house. I never spoke against my father, not really knowing for myself what Lucius Malfoy was like, but in my time alone I wondered why my father had such a vendetta. I knew they'd been in at least one physical fight, and who knew what transpired between them on the nights my father made raids on Malfoy's house?

My mind was wandering, and I shook my head as thought to clear it. I needed food. It was time to leave. I started collating and alphabetizing the files, preparing to put them in my desk, when the door to the department opened.

As though he knew I had his file in my hand, Lucius Malfoy entered the office. My heart rate nearly doubled at the sight of him, and I tried to stand, greet him, hide his file, and clean up my desk all at once. Instead of doing any of those things, I accidentally dropped the folder. Papers spilled everywhere. When I reached under the desk to retrieve some of them, I hit my head trying to sit up. Swearing under my breath, I collected the papers and stuffed them back into the folder as quickly as I could. It was going to take me the better part of tomorrow to get everything in order again. By the time I looked up, he was no longer standing in the doorway. Calmer now that he was gone, I finished clearing my desk except for a few departmental papers and a spare bottle of red ink.

On his way out of Mr. Crouch's office just moments after I had placed the last piece of parchment in my to-do box, Mr. Malfoy paused for a moment and looked in my direction. Though he said nothing, I knew he was studying me, everything from the ink stains on my hands to the end-of-day disarray of my hair. If he had spoken, I knew he would say the same sneering "Weasley" my coworkers did. Regardless of that, and regardless of the appearance of his name on a list I was pretty sure contained the names of people with connections to Lord Voldemort, he was an important associate of Mr. Crouch's and had to be treated with respect.

I opened my mouth to greet him, but no sound came out. The only thing that broke our silence was the sound my inkbottle made as it hit the floor when, in an attempt to stand, I sent it flying sideways.