And You Were Worried About Rodents?

This is our punishment. We came
Here without blame, yet with blame,
Dark blame of others, but our blame also.
This stroke was bound to fall,
Though not to fall so.

(Edwin Muir, The Refugees)

Chapter 3: Plans, Polymorphing and Prisoners

He awoke with a feeling as if he were lying an inch away from his body and observing it with an extremely critical eye. His head didn't exactly hurt, but it seemed about three times its normal size and stuffed with cotton. Black, red and green swirls danced before his eyes, occasionally interspersed with bright white lightning. And he hadn't even lifted his lids yet. There was an acidly sweet taste in his mouth - potion? It would explain why he felt more like after one of their infamous throw-illegal-potion-ingredients-into-the-punch-bowl Gryffindor parties than after using a Portkey, no matter how badly calibrated.

For a couple of minutes he just focused on breathing. It helped - his mind snuggled a little closer to his body and hovered just outside his skin. Moving was still out of the question, but his senses perked up one after the other. It was warm - pretty hot, to be precise. Dark, in a suffocating way. Well, maybe that had to do with the closed eyes. A strange smell hung in the air, as if a combination of different mixtures was bubbling over a fire. A potions lab? Yes, Arthur, you're definitely getting closer. Voices spoke quietly in the background, just out of earshot. One strange, and alien. One - not.

Concentrating sent a sharp stab through his temples right down into the roots of his teeth. His mind's voice began to protest furiously at the strain. Let it go for the moment, Arthur, you're only going to make yourself sick. And while you may be able to face a bunch of Death Eaters intent on torturing you to death, you definitely can't let yourself be sick in front of... ok, face, it, you spine- and literally mindless Flobberworm, Lucius Malfoy.

Malfoy. Who has a plan. Oh, beautiful!

It took a couple of minutes before he was able to eavesdrop again.

"... potion is ready."

"Let's wake our guest." Closer, this time.

"Oh, he's been awake for quite a bit." The weird voice again. "Ennervate!"

A sudden shock shoved his mind back into his body and he was able to move again. Well, slowly, anyway. Carefully, so as not to upset his stomach, he sat up and turned around to face his captors. And jumped. Violently.

One face was familiar; pale hair and eyes over a dark robe, no physical mask on his face this time, only a clear, though guarded, mixture of hatred and satisfaction. The other... well, there was a significant difference between knowing and seeing something really evil had occurred, Arthur realised. Dumbledore had spoken about it gravely, Harry with a mixture of pain and horror, but only at this moment Arthur understood the full implications of the phrase 'You-Know-Who has returned'.

He stumbled to his feet, shivering badly. The thin, tall frame, the snakish face with domineering red eyes was terrifying in itself, but the air of icy darkness that surrounded him was worst. A tiny voice in the back of his head complained bitterly at the unfairness of it all. What had he done to deserve this monster crossing his path? Although, he suspected, poor Bertha Jorkins and Bartemius Crouch had asked the same, the former at least with better reason than himself.

Lucius Malfoy's face peered over the shoulder of his Lord, eyes glittering with amused malice. Behind them, a small cauldron was bubbling over a fire and emitting brightly coloured puffs of smoke every once in a while.

"Close your mouth, Weasley, it's an unbecoming sight."

The scorn actually helped him get a grip on reality. He took a ragged breath and gave Malfoy the tiniest of cool nods. He was strangely grateful for his presence - without it, he'd probably have broken down in hysterics.

"You seem surprised to see me, Mr... Weasley, is it?" The voice didn't fit. It was too high for a being of such... presence. It sounded as if a snake had acquired human speech - just wrong! The Dark Lord seemed unaware of Arthur's inability to speak. "Please, sit. You don't look well." Arthur was too shaken to react to the cruelly mocking politeness. Instead, he slumped back onto the cot.

"I think introductions are in order," Malfoy drawled. "Arthur, you have the honour of meeting the Dark Lord, for the first time, I believe. My lord, this is Arthur Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, the instigator of the so-called 'Muggle Protection Act'."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut in despair. Thanks beyond measure, Malfoy, you twisted bastard! If he wasn't ready to blast me to bits before, he definitely is now!

Voldemort hissed contemptuously, cruel red eyes burning into Arthur's.

"I doubt that the most dangerous species in this world needs additional 'protection', Mr. Weasley," he hissed. "Muggles have condemned us to an eternity in hiding, and have left out no opportunity for destroying wizards in their hatred for everything that is more... gifted than they are. These creatures are mad to self-destruction, and care nothing about all the other species they will drag to their doom with them. They don't need protection - they need to be incapacitated to guarantee the safety and freedom of our world. People like you stand in the way of the magical community's very survival."

Indignation and self-preservation fought a short but vicious battle for dominance in Arthur's head. You can't contradict him, he's going to kill you, self-preservation howled desperately before being squashed by Arthur's inner Gryffindor.

"There is some truth to that," he conceded. His inner Gryffindor was courageous, not dead stupid. "And yet, I have seen members of the magical community slaughter helpless Muggles - and their own - with the very same cruelty and callousness you're denouncing." Your people. He didn't voice that bit, but it stood clearly in the room.

"You're a brave wizard, Mr. Weasley," the Dark Lord acknowledged with a hideous smile. "I would show you the errors of your ways myself, but Lucius here has asked me to be allowed to take care of that, and he has earned a reward for his ingenious plan."

He turned away and glided over to the potion cauldron. Obviously satisfied with its contents, he picked two bulbous glass vials from a shelf and ladled a generous portion of potion into one. He held the container up against the light, where it still exuded colourful smike. He returned to Arthur and pointed his wand at him.

"Imperio!"

The curse took effect instantaneously. Comforting warmth began to spread through his body, and caressed his spine. Surge after surge of calmness drowned the terror in his mind like warm, mild waves lapping over a sunny beach. He tried to fight against the feeling, but the willpower to do so slipped through his fingers like water through a sieve. It wasn't so bad anyway, so why worry?

"Lucius, would you hand Mr. Weasley your dagger?"

"Of course." Malfoy grinned viciously and produced a silver ritual knife, which he pressed into Arthur's hand. Arthur took it gratefully. The Dark Lord handed him the empty vial and smiled benevolently.

"We need some blood from you, Mr. Weasley. Would you be so kind as to procure it?"

Arthur nodded in peaceful relaxation and wondered why the little voice in his head made such a fuss about it. They were good people, and he wanted to help them. And yet, a vague sense of dread remained as the blade cut into the crook of his left arm. A steady trickle of blood ran down his elbow. He put the vial to the cut and happily watched it slowly filling with red fluid. When it was full, he handed it back to the Dark Lord. The hideous figure measured thirteen drops of blood into the potion, watched it turn a pale red colour that much resembled Arthur's hair, and put the vial back on the rack to cool with an approving nod.

"Finite Incantatem!"

The comforting calm receded and left only cold in its wake. Arthur shivered violently and clutched his wounded arm. He didn't react as Lucius came up to him and took the knife out of his hand. He used it to cut off the torn, bloody sleeve of Arthur's robe, which he then folded and put into a small carved wooden box, together with, Arthur noted uncomprehendingly, the plug Portkey that had brought him here. He was thrown into even greater confusion when the pale Death Eater picked up a magical camera from the table and proceeded to take his picture.

"Don't smile," he sneered, "it would spoil the effect."

The camera - tiny and surprisingly Muggle in design - hissed and sputtered before emitting the photograph. Photo Arthur glared angrily at real-world Arthur. Malfoy smirked at both and added the picture to the contents of the box, which he then proceeded to close.

"What are you planning to do with that?" Arthur asked, deeply suspicious. The other looked far to smug for his liking.

"Well," Malfoy rattled the box, "we're going to owl this to Hogwarts, addressed to your son, Ronald." He grinned in vile anticipation. "He's a Fifth Year, so I guess by now he will have learned how to perform an Originatus spell." Originatus, Arthur recalled, was performed to identify the owner of human residues or frequently used items.

"Among the Muggles you're so fond of we'd have sent him a body part or two, but it would have been so... common." The Dark Lord turned his attention away from his potion.

"Well," Lucius threw in, "I was all for it, but was outvoted."

"It happens among Muggle criminals," Arthur snapped, quite fed up with constantly being given a hard time for not being a rabid anti-Muggle bigot. "And what do you want with Ron?"

"It's quite simple, Mr. Weasley." There was an unholy glint in the Dark Lord's eyes as he faced his victim. "We'll let young Mr. Weasley know that his beloved father is our prisoner, and that your life depends on him doing exactly as we tell him. I'm quite sure he will prove a dutiful son and comply with our wishes."

"What wishes?" Arthur could see where this was going, but insisted on confirmation anyway.

"He will give Harry Potter a potion we'll provide, and take him to a place of our choosing later this month. If he complies, he'll be told, we will free you."

Harry! They're after Harry, and trying to use Ron!

"Wouldn't it be more... respectable for a wizard of your power to focus on a less... juvenile target," he spat in a fit of fury.

The skeletal figure shot him a look that froze his blood, casually pointed his wand towards Arthur and hissed a spell under his breath. The effect was immediate. A burning pain seared across his left cheek like a thin and extremely sharp dagger laced with acid. The pain radiated throughout his skull and a small trickle of blood made its way down his cheek.

"You will not speak to me in such a tone again," the tall figure hissed, "unless you want to experience something very much worse than Imperius."

Arthur glared, but wisely fell silent.

It won't work anyway, he tried to calm his panic. Even if they could convince Ron to go along with it - which I doubt - their plan is doomed as soon as the Ministry notices my disappearance. Fudge may be in denial about Voldemort's return, but after the Bertha Jorkins case the Ministry is more than paranoid.

The lipless mouth of the Dark Lord pulled itself into a hideous smile.

"And if you're hoping that the Ministry will treat your disappearance with more concern than that of the late Miss Jorkins," he said as if reading Arthur's mind, "we'll just have to make sure that you will not disappear." He held up the vial of potion that contained Arthur's blood. "That, Mr. Weasley, is what we have brewed this potion for." The glittering fluid sparkled before Arthur's eyes like an ominous threat. Voldemort turned to Malfoy and announced, "It's time to fetch our other guest, I think."

The pale wizard nodded and disappeared through the door.

The Dark Lord focussed his attention back on Arthur. "Are you familiar with the effect of Polymorph Potion?"

Arthur shook his head - he'd never been very good at or interested in potions.

"It is a variant of Polyjuice Potion," Voldemort explained, "except that it uses a person's blood instead of hair or nails as the central ingredient. Therefore not only does it turn one person's shape into another's, it also transfers some aspects of the donator's personality. Lucius told me that you're from a pureblood family, so you'd better hope, for the sake of your family, that your blood is strong enough to influence the recipient."

He was interrupted when Lucius Malfoy entered again, followed by a burly dark-haired wizard in a black hooded robe.

"Ah, how good of you to come," Voldemort greeted the new arrival cordially. The wizard dropped on his knees before him and kissed the hem of his robes with a devotion that reminded Arthur of a potion addict abasing himself before his brewer.

"Arthur," Lucius said, "meet Antonin Dolohov, one of our most devoted Death Eaters."

Arthur eyed the man sceptically. He hadn't been at Dolohov's trial, but knew for sure that - as one of Voldemort's most notorious followers - the Death Eater had been sent to Azkaban for life.

"Dolohov has been in Azkaban for over thirteen years," he stated flatly. "He was arrested shortly after the Dark Lord's... disappearance."

Lucius threw him a smug grin. Dolohov just glared, cold dark eyes burning in a lined face. He was still on his knees before the Dark Lord like an adoring, slightly overgrown puppy.

"Yes, well, it took some effort to have him here today," Lucius explained. "I'm not surprised that Fudge has kept a tight lid on his escape. Honestly, the man is so effective in doing our job that he could be a honorary Death Eater." Lucius smiled, condescending amusement laced with steel.

"Two days ago an old acquaintance, Igor Karkaroff, appeared at the Office for Magical Law Enforcement and confessed to the Auror on duty that thirteen years ago he had forced Antonin under the Imperius Curse to commit the acts he was afterwards sent to Azkaban for."

Dolohov gave a soft, contemptuous snort, as if he was resenting the fact that another claimed responsibility for crimes he was proud of. Malfoy looked down at him, and they shared a secretive, twisted smile.

"I'm pretty sure Fudge would have had hushed that up too," Malfoy continued, "if Karkaroff hadn't implied he'd owled the Russian Ministry of Magic about it beforehand. Well, the Ministry sent a Magical Law Enforcement team to fetch Dolohov out of Azkaban for a new hearing at the Ministry. They were... intercepted on their way back by a group of Death Eaters, who escaped with the prisoner."

"You killed them?"

"No," Malfoy shook his head, "but they were so thoroughly Confounded that I doubt they'll remember whether they escorted a wizard or a plucked turkey out of Azkaban." He grinned at Arthur's disbelieving gaze. "No, we haven't discovered the meaning of mercy. It is merely in our best interest to keep as low a profile as possible for the time being. We need inside information about Azkaban, not a full-blown mass hysteria."

"But... Karkaroff?" Arthur shook his head. "He may have been guilty as hell himself, but there is no way Dolohov was under the Imperius Curse." He glanced at the wizard in question, who gave a mocking, slightly mad and thoroughly unsettling smile in return.

"You're right, of course," Malfoy agreed. "Karkaroff was under the Curse when he went to the Ministry. Sadly enough, he chose to attack a Dementor while under arrest, and suffered the Kiss before the guards could interfere."

"You ordered him to do that? One of your own?"

"A traitor," the Dark Lord interjected coldly. "We do not suffer traitors to live."

"Now that Dolohov is free," Lucius continued, "this is where you come into the game, Arthur: I have pulled some strings at the Ministry to make sure that you, as an avowed enemy of the Dark Side-" he gave Arthur a very meaningful look, "- will be entrusted with the inquiry into of Dolohov's disappearance and his recapture. Of course, by then he will have taken your place with the help of the Polymorph Potion, and will be in the unique position to hide right in front of the Ministry's nose while throwing them off track in their pursuit. You have to admit it's... interesting."

Arthur shot back an equally cold look.

"It is indeed. But then I never said you were stupid, just evil."

Lucius gave a him a mocking bow, and the Dark Lord interrupted impatiently.

"Lucius, you can continue your conversation with Mr. Weasley after I'm gone. Now, Antonin, are you feeling up to your task?"

The dark-haired wizard rose from his knees and bowed deeply.

"My lord, I'm yours to command." His voice was raspy - as if he hadn't used it for a long time, except to scream. Although he was formally dressed, shaven, and his hair had been cut expertly, the mad gleam in his eyes reminded Arthur very much of the pictures he'd seen of Sirius Black. Utterly, irreparably damaged.

The Dark Lord handed him the potion glass and he swallowed it without a split second's hesitation, as if he was ingesting something sanctified by the touch of his master. It made Arthur quite sick, and not just because he had been told the sinister plan behind the potion.

The effect set in immediately. Dolohov let out a hoarse, strangled scream as his skin began to dissolve into a bubbling mass. He pressed both hands against his face, which had the sickening appearance of two shapeless pink sticks clinging to a lump of runny dough. It took a minute until the skin started to reshape itself. His hair receded quickly and changed colour to Arthur's vivid red, and it was as if Arthur's features swam to the surface of the previously flat and undistinguished face. Dolohov grew visibly and groaned as his bones and muscles were stretched and elongated. The Dark Lord and Malfoy watched expressionlessly, the former with a curious tilt of the snake-like head. At last the horrified whimpers that had accompanied the process subsided.

Dolohov removed his hands and Arthur gaped at his own face. It was him, and yet, like in a very slightly cracked mirror, it wasn't. Something dark shone through the eyes that most definitely was not Arthur Weasley's, not even on a very bad day.

The transformed Death Eater snuck up and circled him like a crazy cat. He sniffed at the back of Arthur's neck in a very disturbing manner.

"Not really my type, you aren't," he hissed softly, "and your wife isn't too attractive either, they say. Pity..." Arthur whirled around, filled with hot fury, and swung at his double. He was still too groggy from the potion to deliver a satisfying punch, but the Russian Death Eater stumbled back a couple of steps.

"Impedimenta!" The Dark Lord's spell sent Arthur reeling into the wall. It took him a couple of seconds to clear his head. When he managed, he glared up directly into Voldemort's terrifying visage.

"You are a fool indeed, Mr. Weasley, and soon enough you'll face the consequences of acting like a fool."

Arthur swallowed hard and fought a hard battle both against his fear and his pride. He won, but only just.

"Please... my lord." It was the hardest word he'd ever spoken.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" Voldemort smiled, in obviously pleased expectancy.

"Please leave my son and my family out of this."

"I'm afraid that is impossible. The next step in my return to power depends very much on your loved ones." He looked anything but sorry, however. He gave Arthur another cynical smile and added, "I suspect this will not exactly incline you to reconsider your attitude towards my side, correct?"

"Correct," Arthur replied resignedly. "I tend to judge a side's merit by their actions, not their words. Your... servant might have told you this."

"Is that so?" Voldemort glanced over his shoulder at Lucius, who had been observing their conversation closely, a calming hand on Dolohov's shoulder. Now, however, a pink tinge coloured his face and his expression was nothing less than deadly. The Dark Lord was visibly amused by his follower's reaction. "And are you prepared to be judged by your actions, Mr. Weasley?"

Damn! How much exactly did he know? And yet there was only one answer to that question, bitter as the consequences might be.

"I am."

The Dark Lord hissed in what could only be described as sadistic amusement.

"Then I wish you an interesting time of it, Mr. Weasley, because it's unlikely that we will speak again."

Yes, because I won't be around no matter what Ron and Harry decide to do, Arthur thought bitterly. I got the message well enough.

Voldemort raised his wand again to perform a partial Body-Bind. Arthur fell back on the cot, bumping his head against the wall in the process.

"I rely on your successful execution of the plan, Lucius," he heard the Dark Lord say. "If everything works out you'll have made up for a great deal of the neglect you've shown me over the last decade."

"Thank you, my lord," Lucius replied. "Ideally, Potter will be yours at Halloween, and we can tap into both the Ministry's and Dumbledore's secrets. Even if the young Weasley fails or Dolohov blows his cover or starts massacring the Weasleys, we'll have sown distrust between Potter and his friends and rid ourselves of a handful of enemies."

"Yes," Voldemort hissed. "And Lucius, please don't think I haven't noticed how neatly my interests coincide with your personal motives in this little scheme of yours. Remember that Mr. Weasley has to be alive for us to guarantee Dolohov's supply of Polymorph Potion."

"Don't worry, my lord." Lucius' voice dropped a couple of degrees. "Killing him quickly is the last thing I have in mind."

"Good."

Out of the corner of his eyes Arthur watched as Voldemort took the arm of Arthur Weasley the Death Eater and, with a final nod to Malfoy, Disapparated with him.

Lucius gave Arthur a long, hard look before sauntering over to him. With a slight wave of his wand he took off the Body-Bind. Arthur rubbed the back of his neck gingerly to soothe his cramped muscles.

"Alone at last," Lucius stated grimly, his normally pale eyes dark with anger like stormy grey clouds.

"Crucio!"

Arthur's world exploded in a myriad of fiery and icy shards, invisible tiny daggers that burrowed beneath his skin and proceeded to sink with agonising accuracy right down into the marrow of his bones. He was vaguely aware that he was screaming and trashing convulsively, but the pain was just too fundamental to permit any semblance of control. It was like being drowned in a sea of fire. Finally, it proved too much for his weakened body, and he gratefully allowed unconsciousness to consume him.

~ ~ ~ tbc. ~ ~ ~