And You Were Worried About Rodents?

Chapter 5: ... Is For Good Men To Do Nothing
Part 2

Next morning's sunrise found Arthur at the top of one of Hogwarts' higher towers, pacing in front of Albus Dumbledore's door.

Visiting the headmaster had been - unsurprisingly - Molly's immediate advice after she had extracted last afternoon's events from him in the large four-poster bed Dumbledore had Transfigured for them. As always, she'd seen the answer much more clearly than him.

He had virtually run out of names of sweets with which to tempt the headmaster's door, when suddenly it swung open and Dumbledore peeked out. He was wearing an orange-and-yellow striped dressing gown and a matching night cap. His long beard had obviously not yet seen a comb and was extremely tousled.

"Arthur, my dear boy!" he greeted. "I had hoped you would drop by." He gave the door a thoughtful look, and added off-handedly, "I've been thinking about putting a statue here... a griffon perhaps, or a gargoyle..."

Arthur just stared, slightly taken aback by the headmaster's eccentricity.

Dumbledore gave him a bright smile.

"Do come in."

The staircase gently spiralled them up to the Headmaster's office.

"Will you take a cup of tea with me?" Dumbledore asked after he had beckoned Arthur inside.

"Thank you, sir." Arthur was expecting it to be a long conversation, so he gratefully accepted one of the two mugs the headmaster conjured.

"Please, call me Albus," Dumbledore said cheerfully. He levitated a pile of books off a carved antique chair and motioned for Arthur to sit. "Now, please tell me what's on your mind."

Arthur took a sip from his steaming mug, relishing the taste of orange and spices, before blurting out the story of the Malfoy raid and its consequences.

"It's just wrong" he finished with an intensity born from self-loathing. "They can't just drag somebody to Azkaban without a shred of evidence. I should have done something!"

Dumbledore stroked his beard pensively.

"I'm glad that you feel that way, Arthur, especially after the losses you have suffered," he replied after a short pause. "In troubled times like these, it's sometimes easy to exchange conscience for expedience. And if we walk that path, it may lead us down to a point where we come face to face with our enemies and find ourselves looking at our own reflection in a mirror. It takes great courage to shun that path - even, or maybe in particular, for a Gryffindor."

"Some Gryffindor I was," Arthur retorted bitterly, "letting myself be intimidated by authority. Gryffindors shouldn't run away from a fight just because the odds are bad. If I'd wanted to do that, I should have kept my mouth shut about Malfoy in the first place."

"I think you believe that no more than I do, Arthur. But certainly you haven't come here just to let me know about the latest injustice at the Ministry. What can I do for you?"

Arthur took another sip, uncomfortable at the thought of further intruding on the old headmaster's hectic life after everything he had already done for him.

"You are one of the most respected people in the magical community," he began hesitantly. If you were to point out to the Ministry that their... methods leave a lot to be desired, they would listen."

Dumbledore sighed.

"I wish they would, Arthur." He rubbed the crook of his nose above the half-moon spectacles. "I'm afraid, though, that my public opposition to the Emergency Wizarding Protection Act and the involvement of Azkaban's Dementors in Magical Law Enforcement has estranged me quite thoroughly from people like Barty Crouch. But yes, I will owl the Ministry, and also the Lemarchand twins to express my condolences about Mr. Crouch's decision concerning their sister." He gave Arthur a penetrating look, eyes twinkling. "And what are your plans, my friend?"

Arthur answered with a wry smile of his own.

"I'll have another word with Alastor Moody. If that doesn't work... well, I also have an alternative plan, though if that fails I'd appreciate it if you could send a second letter to the Ministry to get me out of Azkaban..."

Dumbledore chuckled quietly.

"I don't think it will come to that. Alastor is a good man, and a good friend." He smiled at Arthur. "Like you, Arthur. I'm glad to have you on our side."

Arthur's ears went slightly red at that.

~ ~ ~

Several hours later, he had tracked Alastor Moody down to the antechamber of Bartemius Crouch's office - past the obligatory security trolls - and was trying to persuade Crouch's personal assistant to call the Auror out of his meeting. The young wizard looked terrified at the very thought, and Arthur mused that his must be a bloody unpleasant job.

It took another ten minutes of persuasion before the man found the courage to knock at the office door and ask Moody outside.

The Auror was out of his levitating chair, but still looked terrible. Arthur marvelled at his stamina, and noticed that Crouch's assistant was desperately trying not to look at the mutilated face.

"Weasley?" he asked worriedly. "Something wrong?"

"Yes, indeed," Arthur replied firmly. "I realised that I acquiesced to a horrible travesty of justice yesterday, and I'm here to rectify that."

Moody sighed, plainly torn between exasperation and understanding.

"Look, boy-" he started, but Arthur interrupted him.

"You told me to go into hiding yesterday because the Death Eaters like to go after the families of those who cross them. Are you going to tell me that sort of behaviour is acceptable as long as it's our side which practices it?"

"It's out of my hands now, Weasley," said Moody. "But I don't think Crouch will be able to hold her long - the Lemarchands are on the war path big time, and Barty got an owl from Dumbledore this morning that did not make him happy at all. It'll be over soon."

Arthur shook his head.

"Not good enough."

Moody observed him, eyes half-closed in concentration.

"This isn't just about Narcissa Malfoy, is it? You have your own axe to grind with Magical Law Enforcement, because of your father."

Arthur pondered this for a moment.

"Perhaps. But then again, maybe that just makes me more sensitive to the injustices the MLE permits."

"What do you think I can do, boy?"

"Let me speak to Mr. Crouch for a minute," Arthur replied.

"Are you going to do something stupid?"

"That depends on your definition of stupid..."

~ ~ ~

"Mr. Weasley." Bartemius Crouch looked up coldly at Arthur, who stood in front of his desk with Moody looming behind his shoulder. The head of Magical Law Enforcement put a slender hand on a pile of parchments before him. Most were ripped at the edges, and sported scorch marks - as did the desk itself. A trademark red envelope among the pile confirmed Arthur's suspicions - a Howler. "Do I have you to thank for this hostile barrage of letters pressing for Mrs. Malfoy's immediate release?"

Arthur met his gaze directly. He had turned his speech around in his head ever since his talk with Dumbledore.

"Mr. Crouch, I understand the necessity of investigating Lucius Malfoy's activities. I also understand that this will involve interviewing his wife with regard to potential Death Eater activities. But Azkaban? Sir, we send the worst criminals in the Wizarding World there as a punishment." He put all the conviction he felt into his voice. "To condemn somebody to that hell just because she is married to a Death Eater, and may not even have been aware of it, is wrong. It makes us no better than them. And the consequences of prolonged exposure to Dementors can be more serious than an apology may be able to cure."

Crouch's eyes narrowed.

"I strongly doubt that any Death Eater can be so secretive that even his closest family members remain ignorant of his... pursuits. I am very sorry, but I have to decline your request until the interviews are concluded."

Arthur took a deep breath. This was it.

"Sir, I would regret it very much if I had to walk into the Daily Prophet offices and confess to the editor that I have falsely accused Lucius Malfoy because of a school feud and that despite my best efforts Magical Law Enforcement still persists with keeping his young wife incarcerated at Azkaban."

Crouch looked at the file on his desk.

"There was no feud between you and Mr. Malfoy at Hogwarts..." He fell silent and gave Arthur a piercing, incredulous look. "Are you trying to blackmail me, Mr. Weasley?"

"I had hoped to convince you without having to resort to this," Arthur admitted.

"Are you aware that I could have you arrested?"

Arthur shrugged.

"Not until I actually do it, and afterwards it won't matter any more, because the public outcry will be loud enough to shake the Ministry in its foundations. And with public scrutiny turned on Magical Law Enforcement, who knows whether the Emergency Wizarding Protection Act with all its unsavoury sub-clauses will not come under reinvestigation...?"

"This is Dumbledore's doing, isn't it?" Crouch hissed. "Always trying to sabotage our work, and of course he would be in league with the Lemarchands..."

"Dumbledore has nothing to do with this," Arthur shot back heatedly and fell silent when Moody raised both hands in a pacifying gesture.

"Look, Barty," the Auror rumbled thoughtfully, "perhaps they're right. We have the resources to hold the girl at the Ministry. You know her brothers - they'll use every Galleon they're making from Dervish & Banges to fight us, and there'll be nasty articles in the Prophet even without Arthur here. And Dumbledore - perhaps we should concentrate on the Death Eaters instead of fighting our allies."

Crouch leaned back in his chair, anger still visible on his face, but his eyes slowly went from steely fury to the darker grey of resentment.

"Perhaps you're right, Alastor. Perhaps I am too... preoccupied with fighting the Death Eaters to pay enough attention to public opinion. Ask Theobald and Louise to transfer the suspect from Azkaban fortress to the Ministry." He brushed Arthur with an icy glare. "I assume that will satisfy you, Mr. Weasley?"

Arthur nodded, trying very hard to suppress the urge to apologise for having so pressured the man.

"Then if you don't mind, I have work to do. And I certainly will have words with Augustus Rookwood about the quality of personnel he recommends for employment at the Ministry."

~ ~ ~

As he preceded Moody through the door, an uncomfortable nagging thought disturbed Arthur's mind - something that had nothing to do with Crouch, but rather with Crouch's parting shot. Words with Augustus Rookwood... For a second, he was back in a sun-flooded Ministry corridor, almost a year back...

"I know Lucius, and I'm absolutely certain he's not involved with the Death Eaters." Rookwood had been wrong. But had he been wrong on purpose? Arthur gave Moody a pensive glance. I could mention it. Perhaps I *should* mention it.

No! Resolve flooded him. You have done enough harm already, Arthur. You will *not* throw another one to the wolves, especially not someone who has shown you nothing but support.

Calmly, he parted company with the Auror and walked back to his office.

~ ~ ~

Finding himself alone, Arthur laid his forehead against the tabletop and closed his eyes. Crouch would not forget this, ever. He was probably as good as fired from the Ministry already, not to mention that Wolfe's kind would find their worst suspicions about him confirmed.

Did I do the right thing? he wondered.

Yes, and you took your bloody time, too! his inner Gryffindor shot back.

Sighing, he picked up his bulging 'Confiscated Items' file and began categorising the parchments in alphabetical order.

He had just reached 'H' -- 'Howling Hair-Dye' when Arnold Peasegood stuck his head into the office.

"There's somebody in the fireplace for you." As a subdivision of the Office of Misinformation, they shared the fireplace in the hallway with the Obliviators.

This is it, Arthur thought. He slouched out of the office, nodding to Arnold, who leaned over and mouthed,

"Hogwarts."

A quick step later, and Arthur was standing in front of the fireplace and looking at the flame-crowned head of Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. Her normally stern features were uncharacteristically soft.

"Mr. Weas... Arthur," she greeted him with a smile. "Congratulations. You're father to a second son."

Arthur felt his expression changing from worry into a supremely silly grin.

"He was born in Hagrid's hut, actually," the professor added with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "School Nurse Figg was quite impressed with his assistance, and both Molly and the baby are well. Madam Figg insisted on Flooing them to St. Mungo's Midwitchery Ward though, just to make sure everything's fine." Another wry smile. "Neither she nor Hagrid felt too competent at midwitchery."

Arthur's grin broadened. Old Mathilda Figg was famous for her skills with Quidditch injuries, potion accidents and botched Transfigurations, but he bet nobody had ever asked her to deliver a baby...

"Hagrid has gone off to calm his frazzled nerves at the Hog's Head, but sends his congratulations. And don't worry about Bill - he's got all of the staff twisted around his little finger already. We'll take care of him until you and Molly return."

"Thanks - for everything," Arthur answered, still grinning like a madman.

"Well," McGonagall waved him away sternly, "dash off, will you?"

~ ~ ~

The sprawling white building that housed the London branch of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries resembled a Victorian manor house more than a renowned wizarding clinic. It was located in an Unplottable and heavily anti-Muggle charmed area in one of London's larger parks. Arthur Apparated into its huge, crowded Visitor Hall of Apparition, whose walls were lined with fireplaces. A young wizard was handing out multi-coloured Short-Jump Floo Powder to the milling crowd.

"Midwitchery Ward," Arthur told him, and received a handful of pink and light-blue powder.

He came out in another fireplace, hair and robes sprinkled with coloured ashes. A young nurse showed him to Molly's room. It was small, cheerful and dominated by a big window overlooking the park.

Molly looked worn-out, but gave him a bright smile when he entered. Her arm was curled protectively around a small bundle of blankets next to her in bed.

"A Charlie instead of a Gina," she murmured, caressing the tuft of red-golden hair on the newborn's head. Hair like his brother Michael, Arthur thought, not dark red like Billy's...

"He's beautiful, Molly." It was very hard to take his eyes off the sleeping, slightly crumpled face of his son. "Are you all right?"

"Never better. It was even easier than with Billy." Her grin became distinctly wry. "We hardly had time to call Madam Figg through the fireplace. I think I gave Hagrid the fright of his life."

Arthur chuckled, stroking the baby's cheek lightly. "If Hagrid was the first thing he saw, I bet he's going to be fond of large things."

Molly yawned and rubbed her eyes.

"Tired?"

"A little. I haven't had much time to rest yet, and the Floo travel was pretty awful."

~ ~ ~

He was watching her drift off to sleep when a familiar raspy voice from the corridor interrupted the quiet of the Ward. Arthur's ears perked up. Moody? Here?

With a last look at Molly and little Charlie he tiptoed to the door to investigate the sudden noise.

He opened the door and saw a small group of people standing a little way down the corridor. To his great surprise, Arthur recognised Moody, Wolfe and the woman Auror, McKinnon.

They've come to take me to Azkaban! was Arthur's first thought.

His fear was quickly calmed when Moody waved him over. Wolfe's face pulled itself into an Avada Kedavra scowl, while McKinnon looked at her feet.

"Your wife?" Moody asked.

"She just gave birth to a son," Arthur replied, still marvelling at the warmth that spread through his whole body at that thought.

"Congratulations!" The Auror's voice was strangely subdued, Arthur noticed, and it wasn't because of the facial injuries.

"Has... has something happened?" Arthur ventured nervously.

Moody shuffled uncomfortably.

"We fetched Narcissa Malfoy from Azkaban," he rumbled. "There have been... complications."

"Complications?" They whirled around at the venomous voice behind them. In the open doorway stood a young woman in the blue robes of a junior Mediwitch - short, rather portly, with a long, thick black braid. Everything about her posture radiated anger, as fiercely as a dragon radiated heat.

"Doctor Parkinson," Moody acknowledged with barely disguised antipathy.

"What happened?" Arthur asked Moody in a whisper, feeling pinned like a moth on a needle under the piercing eyes of the Mediwitch.

"Yes, why don't you tell him?" Parkinson turned her death glare back on Moody. "Tell him that your... heroes locked up a pregnant woman in Azkaban and nearly killed her with their interrogation. Or are you going to hush it up and hide behind the Protection Laws again?"

Arthur suddenly felt as cold as if a couple of Dementors had just wandered around the corner. Oh Merlin, no!

"Please, spare us the professional outrage," Wolfe threw in. "What about the suspect?"

The doctor gave them an ugly look. "Narcissa Malfoy is suffering from Dark Shock Syndrome. Some people - and I'm surprised I have to explain it to you after the MLE was so eager to get into bed with the Dementors - especially people with traumatic childhood experiences, are particularly vulnerable to Dementors."

Wolfe's brows furrowed.

"But-"

She cut him off rudely.

"No, I'm not trying to shelter Narcissa out of Slytherin loyalty, or because she's my friend." Her lips thinned. "But if you had bothered doing your research, you'd perhaps know that Narcissa's parents and elder brothers were slaughtered by some of Grindelwald's surviving supporters after Malachi Lemarchand had changed sides and provided Albus Dumbledore with enough information to defeat Grindelwald. When the French Aureurs arrived at Chateau Lemarchand, they came too late to save anyone but the three youngest children."

Wolfe drummed his fingers impatiently.

"Your grasp of minor historical detail is impressive, Doctor, but I fail to see how this might be relevant."

"Dark Shock Syndrome means that Narcissa Malfoy is locked inside her own mind with the memories the Dementors have dredged up. We'll be lucky if we can pull her out of it." Parkinson paused and swallowed. "Of course, she miscarried - and the damage is severe enough that any further attempt at having children is likely to kill her."

Louise McKinnon looked decidedly sick.

"If we had only known!" she whispered dejectedly.

The tight knot inside Arthur's chest pulled itself a little bit tighter.

"If you hadn't been so quick to put her under Imperius, she might have had the chance to tell you!"

The Auror stared at him, face scrunched up fighting the tears, then turned and fled down the corridor.

"Arthur!" Moody growled.

"Yes, let's not exaggerate this," Wolfe added carelessly. "We were well within our legal rights to act, and while any loss of life is regrettable, in this case it means one less future Death Eater-"

Parkinson's wand was out so quickly that even Moody could not grab her arm in time. Arthur, however, was faster. Before a curse could leave her lips, his fist connected with Wolfe's chin and sent him sprawling into the wall.

Bugger! Arthur thought, That hurt!. He'd always left the brawling - or the duelling - to Michael, but watching Wolfe's stunned expression and the angry red bruise that blossomed on his chin was extremely satisfying. Take that, you sick, loathsome bastard, he mentally hissed at the other wizard.

"I'll-" The MLE official spat, mumbling slightly through a swollen jaw. "I'll have you arrested for attacking a Ministry official, Weasley!"

"I didn't see any attack," Moody told him angrily. "Just... just bugger off, Theobald, will you?"

"You'd side with a... a criminal and a Death Eater sympathiser against your own, Alastor?" Wolfe asked incredulously. "Perhaps your injuries have addled your brain!"

Moody's stony expression didn't change as he continued to stare down the furious wizard. At last, Wolfe turned with an audible hiss and stalked after McKinnon.

"He's right, Moody." Parkinson snarled as soon as he was out of earshot and pulled out of the old Auror's grip. "Why bother about the fate of one more Slytherin? We're all servants of evil anyway, right?"

She opened the door to the adjacent room. Arthur got a glimpse of a motionless figure on the bed, white face half hidden behind tangled blonde hair.

"I've worked here to repair the damages the Death Eaters have done to the magical community ever since I got out of Hogwarts," Parkinson added, very quietly. "But today, I wonder why do I even bother?"

Before Moody could respond, she had turned away. The door clicked shut behind her with a very final sound.

Moody sighed and plucked at one of the scabbed claw marks that still disfigured his face. He looked worn, and much older than before.

"Arthur..." he ventured carefully. "You did your best."

"Yes," Arthur replied flatly, the tone reflecting the chill inside him. "Pity that my best turned out to be of fuck all use in the end."

He turned and went back into Molly's room, leaving the Auror alone in the corridor.

Heavily, he slumped down into the visitor's chair and studied his wife's relaxed, sleeping face for some long minutes. Finally, he picked up baby Charlie, still swathed in his blankets, and held him gently against his chest. He rocked his newborn son in his arms, lips lightly resting on the smooth forehead, and wept.

~ ~ ~ *** ~ ~ ~

"You slugged Wolfe for that?"

Lucius' voice was calm and curious. Arthur's mouth felt dry, as if an Ashwinder had just crumbled to dust in it. He reached for the long-forgotten cup of tea on the tray and took a sip, throwing caution to the winds. The tea was stone cold, and bitter.

"You know, if you weren't under Veritaserum, I'd believe you only said that to pacify me."

"That's why I'd never have mentioned it without the serum," Arthur replied.

"Ah, yes, how could I forget about the famous Gryffindor spirit." Arthur accepted the insult with a bitter smile. They were both aware of how little he had distinguished himself as a Gryffindor in the story Lucius had just heard.

Malfoy tapped a finger against his lips thoughtfully. "But it explains why it was so ridiculously easy to slander your name at the Ministry... Crouch must have had an immense chip on his shoulder, and Wolfe...?" He grinned - a slow, vile expression that sent chills down Arthur's back. "A persistent little rodent. I think you owe me one for getting him out of your way, Arthur."

Arthur blinked in confusion. Wolfe? I thought he eloped to America with that Salem Institute exchange student a year after You-Know-Who's defeat? The effect of the Veritaserum was quickly receding, leaving him with a clearer head but immensely thirsty and with a furred-over tongue. He downed the dregs of his tea - and realisation suddenly hit him.

"You killed him, didn't you?"

Lucius' grin never wavered.

"Ten points to Gryffindor. Do you know what a Lethifold is, Arthur?"

"I've done Defence Against the Dark Arts, Lucius," Arthur snapped. With you, you condescending git, he added mentally.

"A creature very hard to procure, and even harder to control," Lucius mused. "It took me months to complete the rituals that would force it to do my bidding. I had to call it off Wolfe several times, otherwise it would have been over far too fast." The pale eyes locked with Arthur's. "I wanted him to be very aware of why he was going to die, and who was killing him."

Arthur shuddered inwardly at the thought of being gradually suffocated and digested. He had detested Crouch's offensive right hand, but he had not deserved that kind of agony. Nobody did.

"You disapprove?" Lucius asked, mocking his horror.

"Wolfe deserved to be fired from the Ministry." Arthur hissed. "Perhaps they should never have employed him. But he did not deserve to die!"

"I wouldn't have expected any other response from such an upstanding, virtuous representative of Dumbledore's circle. But now that you've got your indignation off your chest, no pun intended: do you understand?"

Arthur stared at him as the implications of the question slowly sank in.

Did he understand?

Revenge... murder... those were concepts thoroughly alien to him, acts he knew himself to be incapable of. But - having seen Narcissa Malfoy's face, first terrified out of her mind by the Dementors, then slack on a white hospital bed, and knowing what Malfoy had lost - he could not say that he didn't understand. He disapproved, most emphatically so, but yes, he understood...

Very slowly, he nodded.

"Good," Malfoy said. "Because then you'll also understand why your feeble attempts at making up for the consequences of your actions don't matter. You gave my name to the Ministry, and it caused the death of my firstborn. Because of you, my wife has never fully recovered from her trauma." His eyes held Arthur's, very cold, and very determined. "And you're here to pay."

And here, Arthur thought, we come to the crux of the matter. For all the intricate plans he has sold You-Know-Who, this is what it all boils down to. Past wrongs. Revenge. I wonder if his 'Dark Lord' knows the extent to which he is used.

He felt the familiar guilt, but a flicker of anger beneath it made him throw Lucius' hate-filled look back in challenge.

"You're telling me nothing I haven't told myself over and over again." He noted the triumphant light in the Slytherin's eyes, which was extinguished quickly as he continued. "And yet, you're a self-righteous, ignorant hypocrite, Malfoy!"

Disbelief etched itself on Lucius' face at the words.

"Yes, the Ministry under Crouch had deteriorated into something that at times was no better than the other side it was fighting. Yes, there was no excuse for the authorisation of the Unforgivable Curses. But then," Arthur pointed out, as coldly as Lucius had spoken to him, "it was people like you who drove them to those extremes. You and your Lord and your Death Eaters. Your atrocities threw them into panic, and made them strike back just as ruthlessly. And yes, I failed myself, and worse, I failed to protect your wife and your son. But did you think about them when you decided to become one of Voldemort's killers? When you murdered David Prewett?"

Arthur watched Malfoy's eyes ice over, turning into something wild and quite deadly. Good!

"I am sorry that Crouch and Wolfe took out their hatred for you on your wife, and yes, perhaps I deserve to pay for my role in it. But most of all, Malfoy, I am sorry because it should have been you!"

Arthur heard the spell whispered a second before it hit his face, thousands of icy needles freezing his skin and robbing him of breath. It was like being exposed to a raging, soundless blizzard. Tears spilled from his eyes only to immediately freeze into tiny droplets of ice, and he felt the wound on his cheek crack and break open. Pressing both hands against his face brought no warmth, but only succeeded in spreading the cold to his palms.

Malfoy watched for a long moment until satisfaction had soothed the worst of his anger, before calling the spell off.

The cold dispelled, and Arthur faintly brushed water and blood from his face.

"An impressive display of moral outrage, Arthur," Malfoy judged, his voice calm as if nothing had happened. "But you're missing the point." He leaned forward. "I. Do. Not. Care. Not about the Ministry's motives, not about Prewett, and most of all," this time very coldly, "not about your motives. You wronged me. You'll pay. It's that simple."

Yes, this was a face Arthur recognised. The unproclaimed head of Slytherin house. Accepting no rule but his own and walking over the fallen bodies of those who got in the way. Bleeding Merlin, why did I even bother?

"Yet I think your performance shouldn't go without a reward..."

The insufferable smirk was back, and Arthur longingly considered how nice it would be to punch him, too. Which would, however, be a very bad idea.

"I've been looking forward to practising my Unforgivables a bit more," Lucius gloated. "But I'll leave you the choice between Imperius and Cruciatus." He grinned at Arthur's shocked face. "So, Arthur, what's it going to be?"

Merlin, no! Arthur hated himself for shrinking back, but he couldn't suppress the reflex. After his last experience he could barely even think of the Cruciatus Curse without shaking and breaking into a cold sweat.

And yet... he remembered how You-Know-Who's Imperius had turned him into a mindless puppet, willing to do anything, and he also remembered what the curse had made people do during the Dark Lord's reign. Thinking of the pain almost made his heart stop, but Imperius... He wasn't so much afraid of humiliation - he had experienced his share of that over the years - but the thought of Lucius forcing him to kill or torture innocents was... yes, unthinkable.

"If it's my choice," he replied tiredly, "why not practice the third Unforgivable?"

Malfoy chuckled.

"I'm not that merciful. Not to mention that the Dark Lord would punish me for it. Would you want that, Arthur?"

Arthur stared back into the pale, composed face and shook his head, very seriously.

"No, Lucius. I would not want that. Cast Cruciatus, if you must."

Lucius Malfoy held his eyes for a few long seconds, just as seriously, and did.