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 6: The Difference Between Truth and Light

Part 1

Regaining consciousness after a second night of the Cruciatus Curse, Arthur realised as he swam back to consciousness on a wave of pain, was no better than the first time.

He was still curled on the floor in the corner into which he had crawled sometime after - or before - Lucius had let go of him. He didn't recall anything besides the omnipresence of agony. To be honest, he wasn't sure about anything but his name. Breathing hurt. Moving hurt so much that he abandoned any further attempt after trying in vain to brace himself on one arm. Hell, thinking hurt.

After another couple of minutes - or hours - he managed to pull himself up onto his knees, and from there onto the cot, where he sank into another pained stupor.

When the door opened, it was far too early, and he reflexively pressed his back against the wall. Shit, shit, shit! It hurt! And he was in no way ready to face his smiling nemesis, who strode briskly into the cell.

"My, Arthur," Lucius Malfoy announced cheerfully, "you look like hell."

You're not kidding! Arthur thought, and gratefully noted that his mental voice at least still showed a degree of defiance his physical self was unable to muster. He was aware that he had begun to shiver as soon as the door had opened. Every nerve in his body felt as if it had been turned inside out and rubbed raw. It took all he had to merely look at the Dark Wizard - part of him wanted to lower his gaze to the floor in order not to give offence. He'd do anything so Malfoy wouldn't curse him again.

"Come on, rise and shine as your beloved Muggles say." Lucius gave him a cursory once-over and shook his head. "Bugger, Arthur, look at you. You wouldn't last a day as a Death Eater."

"Perhaps-" Arthur croaked, before doubling up with a violent, agonising coughing fit. "Perhaps that's because I wouldn't want to be a Death Eater," he finished weakly.

Lucius sighed and threw him a vial. "Drink that," he ordered. "You're no use to me like this, and I have lots of interesting news to share." When Arthur eyed the vial that had landed on his pillow, Malfoy added coldly, "And I don't want to have the poison debate again. If I have to force you, you'll regret it. Bitterly."

Arthur took out the stopper and recognised the sharp-smelling smoke of Pepperup Potion. Oh well. He drank it down and was rewarded with a wave of warmth that first spread through his throat and stomach, and then radiated through his entire body. It was far more potent stuff than what Molly brewed in the Burrow's kitchen cauldron during cold season. Smoke hissed faintly from his ears, filling them with heat. The image seemed to amuse Malfoy. When the smoke had cleared, the Death Eater reached into his robes, drew out a rolled-up copy of the DAILY PROPHET, and flung it at Arthur.

"Congratulations! You've made the front page again."

Arthur scanned the headlines as quickly as his burning eyes allowed. A short notice at the bottom-right of the page drew his attention.

INVESTIAGION COMMITTEE APPOINTED

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office and instigator of the Muggle Protection Act, has been assigned head of the investigation of a freak incident that left three Aurors hospitalised with massive Confundus Spells.

"Details will not be released as long as investigations are pending," Mr Weasley said in a short statement to the press. "We assure the public, however, that all three victims are in good health and St Mungo's Curse Experts expect them to regain their mental faculties in less than a month."

No mention at all of Dolohov's escape, or a Death Eater attack. Incident, my arse, Arthur snorted inwardly.

"There was something to be said for Rita Skeeter," he remarked as he handed back the paper. "She'd have smelled something fishy about this from ten miles away."

"Thanks to whoever it was that scared her off her job, then," Lucius replied, practically oozing good mood. "But I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear that Dolohov has been doing an admirable job so far. He's met with your Ronald in Hogsmeade yesterday, and seems to have... persuaded... him to take the potion to slip into Potter's drink. After some... altercations, I heard."

Arthur's head jerked up. "What-"

"Oh, you know," Lucius waved his question off carelessly. "Your offspring has a reputation for temper, and sadly enough, so does Antonin. His propensity for nasty curses is legendary even among the Dark Lord's chosen, as you might remember from the fate of the late Mrs Prewett. I wouldn't worry too much, though. We still need young Master Ronald's services, so Antonin couldn't do any lasting - or visible - damage."

Rage heated Arthur's face to the point of challenging his hair colour.

"You set the monster who murdered Mandy Prewett on my family?"

He got up, hardly noticing his aching muscles, fists clenched. Even the fact that he was staring directly at the point of Malfoy's wand hardly restrained him from punching the Death Eater.

"Calm down, Arthur." Malfoy's tone was deceptively mild. "From what I hear, your family is quite safe for the moment. Antonin seems to have had not a glimpse of your work-obsessed Weatherby yet, and since your wife is at St Mungo's, he won't have a chance to insist on his marital rights any time soon. Which could turn nasty, I'll admit."

"St Mungo's?" So they've cursed Molly after all, Arthur thought with cold dread.

"Oh, yes," Lucius confirmed. "It seems that your Charlie had to be hospitalised for complications with his injury. From what I hear, inflammation is quite a dangerous symptom in dragon burns."

Charlie's agonised face as the nameless Death Eater touched his glowing wand to his son's burned thigh flashed before Arthur's eyes.

"You horrible, hateful bastard," he whispered, feeling helplessness crash over him like a tidal wave. "I just wish you'd gone to Azkaban years ago. If anybody deserves it, it's you."

Lucius pondered him with narrowed eyes.

"And you did your very best to send me there, didn't you, Arthur? But your best is rarely good enough, isn't it?"

Oh yes, Arthur remembered. Watching Malfoy walk away a free wizard after his trial had been one of the most painful experiences of his life. Responsibility, retribution, justice - when it came to Malfoy, it seemed that all standards of right and wrong just ceased to apply...

* * *

It took a week for the wizarding world to recover from the happiest day it had seen in decades. The downfall of You-Know-Who had occurred on an ordinary Monday, and the celebrations didn't die down for days. The subsequent Monday found Arthur Weasley in the spacious but dreary Storage Chamber of the Department of Illegal Enchantments with both hands clamped around the brim of a large, pearl-grey bowler hat. A matching silk umbrella lay next to it, wrapped tightly in its cover and bound with additional cords.

"At least the umbrella only sings French chansons," Mafalda Hopkirk, the doe-eyed junior registrar sighed. "But that hat..."

"I know," Arthur blushed slightly. "It's incredible, the things people think of casting the Lewd Limerick Hex on." Inwardly, he wondered what had sent the elderly Muggle gentleman into hospital with a heart flutter - the fact that his new bowler was talking, or the nature of the rhymes it had been spouting.

He crushed the brim of the hat against his chest, ears burning. Still, the presence of the pretty registrar was certainly preferable to sitting in his own office at the moment, where his colleague Perkins was still suffering from the previous week's revelries. The man's eyes hadn't lost their shade of red for days, and his slow, abrupt shuffle reminded Arthur of a pecking chicken under the Confundus Curse. Even Bartemius Crouch, the stern head Magical Law Enforcement, had ignored the goings on at the Ministry, provided his Aurors stayed sober and in something resembling working order. Arthur looked forward to Perkins recovering enough to cast a Hangover-Begone Charm on himself without nailing his ears to the wall in the process. Or Arthur's, for that matter, whenever he tried to Summon his coffee cup...

So when the heavy doors burst open suddenly, his first thought was that Perkins had finally hexed himself into oblivition by accident and he was wanted to help cover it up. In sped, however, young Abernathy Spudmore, the DIE's desk clerk.

"Mafalda!" Noticing Arthur, he amended, "Miss Hopkirk. Oh - morning, Arthur." He gallivanted over to them, obviously annoyed about not having caught the pretty witch alone. But then his news seemed to burn on his tongue too badly not to blurt it out.

"Have you heard? Lucius Malfoy just turned himself in."

Arthur's heart stopped for a moment. It couldn't be!

He was glad young Abernathy was too busy ogling Mafalda Hopkirk's obvious assets to pay any attention to his reaction.

"Malfoy?" he asked sharply.

"Yes!" the DIE clerk continued. "Walked right into the Minister's aide's office, cool as you please, and gave himself up. Old Man Crockford said he never saw Fudge so flabbergasted. Of course, they called the Aurors and took him away straight off."

Mafalda gasped and put a hand to her mouth. Abernathy looked desperate to pat her other hand, but couldn't seem to work up the courage.

"Yes, Azkaban of course," he shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant and failing. "I guess that with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gone and his right hand man Black in Azkaban, he reckoned he didn't have a chance."

Mafalda fiddled with the enchanted umbrella on the table. "So what do they say will happen to him?"

"Well..." Abernathy leaned against the desk and made a sweeping gesture that looked like it was intended to be impressive, but made him look like Chlodwig the Clumsy dropping his wand. "From what I happened to overhear in the MLE corridor, dropping off department memos-"

You snuck in and eavesdropped for all it was worth, Arthur translated to himself.

"- Mr Crouch and Mad-Eye Moody seemed happy to throw him into a cell in Azkaban and lose the key, like they did with that monster Black."

"Terrible!" Mafalda shuddered. "And he always seemed so... dashing. Half of the girls in my year used to cut out every article about him in Witch Weekly..."

Arthur rolled his eyes, handed the dented bowler to Abernathy and tipped his pointed hat to Mafalda. She blushed and giggled, which drew a dark look from Spudmore. Arthur smirked and left.

The dim, dusty DIE dungeon felt much more cheery when he made his way back to his office. Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban - the world was suddenly a much brighter - and safer - place. Perhaps this was the beginning of a new era at last, one where they would again have the luxury to worry about things like Lewd Limerick Hexes...

...

Two months later, Arthur was more than ready to eat that thought. It seemed, he sighed as he entered the lift to go down to the DIE dungeon once again, that he'd spent enough time down there lately to make people believe he'd been permanently transferred.

Broderick Bode, who joined him on the first underground level, gave the cardboard box in Arthur's hands a curious glance after the metal grilles had clanged shut behind them.

"More insulting enchantments?" he asked.

Arthur shrugged and lifted the lid of the box a fraction.

"Bitch!", "Bastard!", "Bad Wizard!" the set of teacups inside chattered, making rude gestures at Bode with their porcelain handles.

As an Unspeakable, Bode had likely seen worse; he eyed the offensive china with a vaguely revolted expression.

"Perkins still has the matching teapot - wolf-whistling through its snout and offering to do unspeakable things to your mother..."

"Disgusting," Bode commented. "I hope you'll catch up with the culprit soon."

Arthur got out on the dungeon level and carried his clattering box through the cobwebbed corridors towards the DIE storeroom. He walked up to the reception desk and set the box down, craning his neck to see Abernathy Spudmore or Mafalda Hopkirk. Nothing. At last he began to look around, and found Abernathy slouched on the sole chair of his tiny cubicle, head bowed and looking like he was fighting tears. Arthur waited a moment for the clerk to notice him, but his head never rose.

"Spudmore?" he finally asked. "Are you all right?"

After a moment the younger man looked up and gave Arthur a pathetic, red-rimmed stare.

"They took Mafalda," he whispered.

"Miss Hopkirk? Who 'took' her? Death Eaters?" He couldn't believe it - not even the most nervous Dark Wizard would feel threatened by as harmless a creature as Hopkirk.

"Magical Law Enforcement." Abernathy buried his head in his hands again. "They asked her up this morning, and the next thing I heard was that she'd tried to kill an Auror." He mangled an innocent piece of parchment between his fingers. "I don't believe it! Mafalda, a Death Eater!"

It was, Arthur had to agree, a truly mind-boggling image. He reached out to pat Spudmore's shoulder gingerly.

"Look - Abernathy - I'll just leave you the cups, and see if I can find out anything-"

He was interrupted by the sound of the handbell on the desk outside, followed by a shrill voice.

"Boy! Ye've got Arthur down here?"

Arthur shoved the box at the distraught clerk and stuck his head out of the cubicle.

"Over here, Perkins."

"Pardon fer interrupting, Arthur," Perkins wheezed. "But there's Mad-Eye kickin' up a bloody fuss in the fireplace up at the office. D'ye want me to tell him yer busy?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Did he say what it's about?" he asked, dreading the thought that the insulting enchantments business had spread to involve Magical Law Enforcement.

Perkins shook his head.

"Jus' that he wants ye up at MLE."

"Tell him I'll be at his office shortly."

Arthur watched Perkins slouch off and wondered what Moody might be calling about. He hadn't seen the man in weeks. The Aurors were busy apprehending and interrogating suspects in the fallout of You-Know-Who's defeat, and Moody, predictably, was in the very thick of it.

He looked down at Spudmore once more.

"I'll have to be off - but perhaps I can find out what's going on with Miss Hopkirk up at Magical Law Enforcement. Perk up, will you? I'm sure it's been a mistake."

With that meagre bit of consolation, he made his way up to Magical Law Enforcement.

...

Arthur paused in front of the door to Alastor Moody's office and eyed it apprehensively. It was so heavily warded that the wood almost glowed, and the scowling doorknob actually sported a twin set of needle-sharp vampire teeth. He touched it, very gingerly.

The knob glared at him and hissed.

"Who're you and what's the password?"

"Arthur Weasley. Alastor is expecting me. The password is 'Vigilance'." The doorknob snapped at him and actually grazed his little finger as he jerked away.

"That was last month! Intruder! Dark Wizard! Death Eater!"

The door flew open and out stormed Moody, wand drawn and curses ready.

Arthur put his hands up. "It's just me, Alastor!"

He felt Moody's terrifying artificial eye bore right into him. The old Auror's wand never wavered.

"C'me in, Arthur."

Arthur walked into the room, only to find one more wand aimed at him. It belonged to a young Hit Wizard Arthur had never seen before. A series of purplish bruises mottled the left side of the young man's head, garishly obvious in spite of his dark skin.

The office itself was chaotic, to say the least. Strips of parchment littered carpet, drawers and tables. The mess was worse towards the corners, as if a Sweeping Charm had already taken care of the worst. The place looked a bit as if it had been showered with the paper garlands Muggles used to decorate for parties - corsetti, or whatever they were called. But Arthur doubted there was a connection. None of the room's occupants looked the least bit festive.

"Alastor?" Arthur asked with a twinge of alarm, but Moody didn't look at him.

Behind the Auror's desk was a middle-aged witch Arthur with a severe crewcut whom Arthur knew only by name - Amelia Bones, Crouch's deputy. She'd sat as one of the Interrogators at Arthur's father's trial, and had been the only one to move for his acquittal. Arthur wasn't likely to forget that. Bones' presence actually helped check his worst apprehensions - much as he respected Moody, the old Auror had taken a distinct turn for the paranoid in recent years, and being held at wandpoint by him and a befuddled junior wizard wasn't reassuring.

"Gimme your wand, Arthur," Moody said.

"What?" Arthur snapped, his patience wearing thin. "Why? Am I under arrest? What for?"

Amelia Bones raised her hand. "Please, Mr Weasley, it's just a precaution, and one we have good reason for, I assure you."

Arthur exhaled audibly and produced his wand from his robe pocket. He noted that both wizards were gripping their own wands tighter as he handed it to Moody.

"Is this about Miss Hopkirk?" he inquired.

"What makes you think that?" Moody shot back.

"Perhaps the fact that her admirer Spudmore just told me she'd been accused of attacking one of your men?" Arthur didn't even try to keep the sarcasm out of his tone as he inclined his head to the bruised Hit Wizard. The youngster's face flushed even darker with embarrassment.

Moody snorted. "I told that Spudmore kid to mind his own bloody business when he had the nerve to firecall the Department. Always snooping around, gossiping and spying. Perhaps we should have a closer look at him..."

"Please, Alastor," Bones interrupted Moody's harangue. "Let's focus on the matter at hand, shall we?" She turned to Arthur. "Please, take a seat."

Arthur sat gingerly on the hardwood armchair in front of the desk. As soon as his back touched the chair, a number of bright-blue cords shot out of the armrests and wrapped themselves around his wrists and torso. A flush of fury left its telltale heat in his cheeks, and it was all he could do not to struggle against the bonds.

"I just hope you have a really good explanation for this!"

He couldn't keep a nervous edge out of his voice. Sure, he hadn't broken any law he was aware of, and he hadn't even had time to tinker with his Muggle artefacts - baby Ginny had been born only two months before You-Know-Who's defeat. His clash with Crouch was nine years in the past, and so far the man's vengefulness had been fully occupied with the Dark wizards he was hunting. Still, they had to have something on him to treat him like this...

"We do." Moody walked around the chair to lean against the side of the desk. "Last night, we arrested Augustus Rookwood as a Death Eater."

The Auror leaned forward to peer at Arthur's face intently as he imparted his news.

Oh mercy, no!

Arthur shut his eyes tightly for a moment. Somewhere in the most hidden depths of his mind, he'd always feared that he might hear something like this someday. He'd tried to bury the thought, had scolded himself for his Moody-like paranoia, but it had never gone away completely.

Rookwood, who'd all but single-handedly brought Arthur into the Ministry when no-one else had been willing to give him the time of day.

Rookwood, the first person Arthur had ever approached with his suspicions about Malfoy, and who'd sworn it couldn't be true.

Rookwood, whose loyalty he had suspected after Malfoy turned out to be a Death Eater after all...

But there hadn't been any proof, and he'd seen firsthand what unfounded accusations could do to a person in times like these. He'd held his peace, and now...

"You don't seem very surprised, Arthur," Moody observed.

Images of truth potions and Dementors danced before Arthur's inner eye, and his hands started to tremble.

"I already knew there was trouble when I came up," he answered. "I thought it was Hopkirk, though... Rookwood! I'd never have expected that."

When did you become such an accomplished liar? he marvelled, torn between shame and relief at his Slytherinesque quick thinking.

To Arthur's relief, Moody's intense scrutiny seemed to lessen when he received a coherent answer. The Auror banged his fist on the table in rage, but it wasn't directed at Arthur.

"Neither did we! And he was in a prime position - handing over Ministry strategies and names of potential targets to bloody Voldemort, twisting our investigations away from the right people, and turning employees into spies!"

Bones rubbed her temple. Looking more closely, Arthur noted that she had dark rings under her eyes, and that her work robes were dusty.

"You see, Mr Weasley, we acquired Augustus Rookwood's name from one of his former... associates," she explained, "together with a warning that Rookwood had used his position to establish a spy network throughout the Ministry - he's conducted numerous job interviews, and is an expert on the use of Imperius, according to our source."

"Malfoy?" Arthur asked reflexively.

Moody snorted. "Funny you should mention him. But no, the one we're talking about is an even sleazier critter, if that's at all possible. Would give away anyone to get out of Azkaban, that one..."

"After arresting Augustus Rookwood last night," Amelia Bones took up the story again, "we immediately started to interview everybody he brought into the Ministry. Mafalda Hopkirk was one - you're another."

"And it's been a debacle from start to finish," Moody threw in angrily. "Some bloody idiot called up Rookwood's assistant Gesius Flint sometime last night, and of course set off the Imperius trigger right away. Flint cast the Exsanguinus Curse on the Knockturn Alley kid who warmed his bed, and then he burned all the paperwork he'd collected at home before blowing himself up together with his flat." His magical eye rotated wildly. "We've been wading through rubble and body parts all morning."

Arthur shuddered. Those people could still be alive if he had spoken up that fateful day. It was a failure he'd have to live with for the rest of his life. And to feel such relief over the fact that he'd not been found out - what did that say about him?

Moody pointed at the Hit Wizard, oblivious to Arthur's self-recriminations.

"The young ones like Shacklebolt here started with the interrogation of those who'd been hand-picked by the bastard first thing this morning. After the first two turned out negative, that Hopkirk girl showed up looking as harmless as a baby Niffler. They never even took her wand. It took her two seconds with a standard Permanent Shredding Jinx to tear every scrap of paper in my office to shreds, and then she went for Shacklebolt's head..." He threw a death glare at his subordinate.

"If I didn't keep extra copies of the important files in a safe place, I'd have killed the two idiots myself - and I'd have done a better job at it than that girl. He should be glad that Fragmentarium was the worst hex she knew, and that her aim was horrid," Moody said, and Shacklebolt hung his head in shame. "If she'd known how to cast Avada Kedavra, the careless sod would be toast now!"

"So she was under Imperius?" Arthur asked. "Poor girl."

Moody hrumped, and Arthur saw Bones raising her eyes to the ceiling delicately.

"Perhaps we should assure Mr Weasley that nothing untoward has happened to the young woman, Alastor? And call in Alice to do a surface probe on him, just to make sure?"

The Auror walked over to the back door and threw it open. Behind it lay another, larger office. On one of the threadbare sofas sat Mafalda Hopkirk, sobbing and with tangled hair. Her hands were still tied in her lap with the same blue spellcords that restrained Arthur. Beside her stood a round-faced young witch who spoke to her in calm, low tones.

"Alice!" Moody called out to her. "Can you abandon the girl for a moment?" He gave Hopkirk a none-too-friendly side glance, which provoked a fresh burst of tears.

"Will you stop giving the poor girl the evil eye, Moody?" 'Alice' snapped. "It wasn't her fault!"

Frowning sideways at the Auror, she followed him into the office and closed the door.

"I've done what I could for her," she said and accepted a goblet of pumpkin juice that Bones conjured for her. "The rest is up to the Spell Damage squad at St Mungo's." She took another sip. "She's terribly distraught and confused, the poor thing. She's always been delicate - I used to tutor her and some other juniors in Defence at Hogwarts - and now this... I guess a transfer to a less excitable department would be best as soon as she's regained her wits - the House-Elf Re-Allocation Bureau, or Underage Magic, perhaps."

"Mm, yes - if they decide to keep her on after the investigation," Moody replied, receiving another stern look. "Can you give Arthur here a once-over as well?" He nodded at Arthur. "Alice is our Charms whizz - left Hogwarts with the highest NEWT since my generation." His expression darkened for a moment, and Arthur wondered who he'd been thinking of.

The young woman walked up to Arthur's chair, produced a wand from one of her robe sleeves, and gave him a kind smile. As Arthur returned it, amused by the deft way she'd handled Moody, he realised how many of the MLE personnel were strangers to him - he knew that Crouch had lost Aurors and Hit Wizards left and right in the last years before You-Know-Who fell, but seeing it firsthand brought home the awful reality of it.

"Try to relax and clear your mind as much as possible," she advised. "I'm going to probe for surface Imperius traces - it might sting a bit."

Arthur gave a nervous laugh. Could it be? Had he kept his suspicions quiet because he'd been under Imperius, or a Memory Charm? He didn't think so. For that particular failure, he'd only himself to blame.

"I'll try." He kept his mind as blank as he could, and balled his hands into fists until his fingers trembled, trying to keep his thoughts - and most importantly his memories - hidden.

When the spell hit him, it was awash in pink light and felt as if she was actually trying to pull out his brains through his nasal cavity. He moaned in pain and threw his head from one side to the other, pulling on the cords that bound him to the chair.

"I'm sorry," he heard her voice through the pounding in his head when the spell was finally gone. "Finite!"

The magical restraints fell away, and a handkerchief was pressed into his hand. He felt wetness on his upper lip and pressed the cloth to his bleeding nose.

"I'm sorry," Alice repeated, looking contrite. She touched her wand to his temple and executed a Headache-Begone Charm with a skill Perkins would have coveted.

"It looks like you're clear of influence, Mr Weasley, although only a full security examination at St Mungo's will establish that with certainty," Bones stated. "But I've been authorised to offer you-"

The back door banged open again and a wizard stuck his head in with an agonised expression.

"Amelia, it's the girl again, wailing like an uprooted Mandrake - I just can't get her to calm down."

Bones ran a hand through her short brown hair and sighed. "I'll be there in a moment - just let me get Barty to substitute." She got up and closed the door behind her.

Arthur cocked a questioning eyebrow at Moody, and the Auror seemed to feel sufficiently guilty to reply.

"Her little niece, Susan. Guess you've heard how that Death-Eating scum murdered her brother Edgar and his family?"

Arthur nodded. It had made the headlines in a spectacular fashion, the last big Death Eater attack on a wizarding family before the Potters.

"Well, they just had time to shove the baby into a broom closet before the killers came down on them - Bones died along with his wife and two older children that day." He picked at his scarred nose. "Kid's a real survivor - if she hadn't been so quiet..."

He fell silent when Bones reappeared in the doorway, Bartemius Crouch in tow. Crouch's cold eyes scanned the room, hardening a fraction when they fell on Arthur. He paused and turned back to Bones.

"Amelia, have you thought about taking some time off?" he asked her. "Not that anyone minds Susan here, but today's events have shown how dangerous it can be."

"As opposed to the safety of sitting at home when the Death Eaters come calling?" she shot back. "No, Barty - you won't get rid of me until the last of those pieces of-" she paused, "- of them is in Azkaban!"

She walked out into the corridor without giving Crouch a chance to reply. Crouch sighed and took her seat behind the desk.

"Told you so," Moody commented.

"Mr Weasley," Crouch finally acknowledged. "No compulsion to do damage to yourself or others after being informed of Rookwood's arrest?"

"No, sir," Arthur answered.

"I didn't expect it myself," Crouch admitted. "If you had been under Rookwood's control, he'd never have allowed you to expose Malfoy."

"Well," Moody threw in, "considering the degree of Death Eater infighting we've uncovered, there still was a possibility..."

"Negligible," Crouch commented with a touch of exasperation. "Did Rookwood ever give you the feeling that he might be trying to recruit you to Lord Voldemort's cause, Mr Weasley?"

Arthur flinched at the name, and shook his head reflexively. He'd never even vaguely entertained the thought of joining the Dark side, not even on that night after his father's trial when he'd-

He killed the thought as soon as it popped into his head, immediately and fearfully. What if they had one of those mind-reading charms that the Department of Mysteries was rumoured to have developed? Considering Moody's paranoia, if it existed, he'd have it.

"I don't think so," he answered slowly. "He was an acquaintance of my father's, and said he wanted to help me because he didn't think Father had been treated fairly."

Crouch frowned. "It was not a time when a major infraction of wizarding law was to be taken lightly, Mr Weasley. It would have sent out all the wrong messages to the public. So Augustus Rookwood might have been playing on your latent dissatisfaction with Magical Law Enforcement?"

"Oh, I don't know," Arthur said. "Mandy Prewett said just the same half an hour before her death, so disagreement with that particular ruling might have been more common than you think." He didn't try to keep the venom out of his voice.

"I'm not here to discuss ancient legal cases with you, Mr Weasley," Crouch pronounced, coldly enough to show Arthur that he'd probably hit a mark. "Be that as it may, we have asked you here for another reason besides checking to see if Rookwood had tampered with you." He rose. "Mr Moody will fill you in on the details." He walked over to the door, and then turned, one hand on the doorknob. "And I'd advise you to consider his proposal seriously - if you're willing to assist us, we're prepared to waive the customary security checks. And you're certainly aware of how... protracted those can be."

Oh yes, Arthur remembered from his father's trial - temporary suspension without payment while the verdict was pending, interviews, truth potion, rumours...

"I'm sure you and Alastor can come to a mutually beneficial agreement," Crouch threw over his shoulder before closing the door behind him. "You usually do."

"What was that about?" Arthur glared at the door.

"Wasn't my idea, Arthur," Moody said with as guilty an expression as his scarred face allowed. "But Barty - he's a very proud wizard, and very protective of his reputation. After the way you crossed him over Malfoy's wife..." He held up a hand to forestall Arthur's angry reply. "I'm not saying you didn't have a point then. But Barty would hate to look like he's asking you for a favour - he'd rather make himself believe he's bullied you into helping us."

"Helping you with what, for Merlin's sake?" Arthur yelled.

"Putting Malfoy away for good," the Auror replied. "And I don't think you'll need much convincing to do that."

...

Half an hour after this revelation, Arthur sat in the MLE's tiny visitor's lounge and tried to accommodate his too-long legs on a smallish chair. Moody had left him with a lukewarm mug of tea laced with Head-Soothing Potion and a promise to be back in a moment. Arthur took the fact that he'd been trusted to wait alone as a sign that he was indeed removed from the immediate list of Imperius suspects.

When Moody returned, he was accompanied by the young Auror who'd been overtaxed by Amelia Bones' baby niece, and by a tall woman with a travelling cloak and a broomstick. She pulled back her hood, and Arthur stared in astonishment at Professor Minerva McGonagall.

He was even more startled when she rushed over to him and pulled him into a tight embrace. He blushed, and received a wry smile when she let go of him and took a step back.

"I'm so glad you're... yourself. When Frank told me that you might be one of Rookwood's victims, it gave me quite a fright."

Moody pulled up a shaggy eyebrow and shook his head.

"Longbottom, you're aware about the need for vigilance? Constant vigilance?"

The young Auror nodded eagerly.

"Are you also aware that secrecy is a major part of vigilance?"

Longbottom flushed, almost as spectacularly as Arthur in his worst moments, and nodded. McGonagall chuckled, and Arthur took her hand.

"Thank you, Professor. It's good to see you again."

"Please, Arthur, call me Minerva. We've known each other too long for formalities."

"Gladly," he replied. He remembered Billy falling desperately in love with the professor's Animagus form during their refuge at Hogwarts, which had resulted in him dubbing her 'kitty' for the rest of their stay, to the veiled amusement of the rest of the staff.

"Now, enough small talk," Moody rumbled. "D'you have the stuff, Minerva?" McGonagall - no, Minerva, Arthur corrected himself - pulled a small wad of paper out of her travel cloak and prodded it with her wand. It Engorged into an armful of parchment files, bound tightly with state of the art Goblin Hands-Off-Or-Loose-Your-Claws security cord.

"Good!" Moody patted it. "This, Arthur, is what that Death Eater scum was hoping to get rid of - proof to finally convict Malfoy and many of his fellows."

"That's the third time you've mentioned him." Arthur frowned. "I thought he was locked away for good, like Black, because there was no doubt about his guilt?"

"That was when everybody was still in shock after the Black massacre," Moody spat, holding his files in a death grip. "But this time it definitely looks like there's going to be a trial. Narcissa Malfoy and her brothers have been petitioning Minister Bagnold just about daily - the last thing I heard was that they hired some hotshot Legiwizard to stir up trouble with the International Office of Magical Law."

"Andrea Zabini," said Longbottom, looking happy to have something to contribute at last. "I just found out today."

"Zabini?" Moody stared. "Of the Nimbus Broom Company?"

"The younger son," Longbottom explained and pulled a small parchment note out of his pocket. "One of the world's top Legiwizards, a graduate from the Genoan School of Magical Law. His father and older brother run the Nimbus Company, and are in business with the Lemarchand family - they supply Dervish & Banges with broom collectibles. Narcissa Malfoy must have asked her brothers to pull some substantial favours."

Moody looked as if he was about to go into conniptions.

"Just what we need! Barty is adamant about Malfoy's imprisonment being lawful under the Emergency Protection Act even without trial. But I've heard Bagnold's aide Fudge is already making outraged noises about Magical Law Enforcement going out of control, and if Bagnold gets additional heat from the International Office she's going to put her foot down - you know how she can be."

Arthur nodded. Millicent 'Old Bag' Bagnold seemed to grow ever more paranoid with age, and with the disappearance of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named her main worry was the threat of being ousted from office by the charismatic head of Magical Law Enforcement. Which, Arthur thought to himself, was perhaps not altogether that far-fetched. It was an open secret among Ministry employees how much Bartemius Crouch coveted the position.

"And the Rookwood business is grist to their mills," Moody added. "Unless we're going to lock up everybody Rookwood put Imperius on, it'll make Malfoy's defence all the more credible. You've heard the details, Arthur?"

"Only that he walked into Fudge's office and was arrested."

"A brilliant move, that," Minerva interjected.

"Oh yeah," Moody agreed, disgust pulling his scarred face into a hideous scowl. "You know Fudge - anyone with a shred of authority will bowl him over like a set of Gobstones." He looked at Arthur. "He told Fudge he'd been put under Imperius by bloody You-Know-Who and had only managed to shake it off after the bastard's fall - sorry, Minerva. Said he wanted to stand trial for his crimes. Crimes that just happen to include him putting Imperius on a handful of other Death Eaters in turn, who again just happen to be his old school friends."

Arthur rubbed his receding hairline.

"I saw him when he killed David!" he snapped. "An Imperius victim doesn't gloat like that."

Moody snorted.

"'Course not. And Malfoy's made his views on Muggles and Muggleborns clear enough, right down to funding the Society for the Reclassification of Muggles; the bastard - s'cuse me, Minerva - is as power-hungry as all get out. I'm sure Malfoy didn't even wait for You-Know-Who to approach him - he probably asked to join himself!"

"I know," Arthur said. "But why are you telling me all this?"

Moody grinned, which looked scary enough to chase off a herd of Veela.

"Because if there's going to be a trial, you're going to testify against him."

Arthur gulped.

"Alastor, no! You can't ask that of me again," he protested. "If it were just me, I'd not even think twice, but I have a family now - a large family. My youngest is only four months old!"

Moody frowned. "I know that, Arthur. But we need you - there's no other reliable witness who saw the bastard kill and lived to tell the tale."

Arthur shook his head - Moody had no family, he just didn't understand.

"Alastor, after the last time I told the MLE about Malfoy we had to hide in Hagrid's hut for half a year, and then another year at my brother's two room flat until some joker Exploded it and cast the Dark Mark above. It was sheer dumb luck that Billy came down with a touch of dragon pox that afternoon and we were all at St Mungo's to get our shots, so it only killed my brother's pet Dragonette."

Moody opened his mouth, but Arthur poked his finger at him.

"And then for the next three years we overstayed our welcome with Molly's crazy brother so badly that he finally decided an impending twin birth was a death omen and threw us out. Even Molly's Squib cousin wouldn't take us after that. And I don't think I slept peacefully at the Burrow for one night until little Harry Potter defeated Voldemort." He took a deep breath and glowered at Moody, who looked as if he was about to interrupt. "There are still Death Eaters about, and if Malfoy is locked away on my testimony-"

He shuddered, imagining the Dark Mark over the crumbled ruins of the Burrow and green light speeding towards a wailing Ginny in her crib.

Moody put a hand on his arm and, with some effort, fixed both his good and his roving artificial eye on him.

"We need you," he repeated. "And you'll have all the protection Magical Law Enforcement can provide, for you and your family. And I know you'll sleep safer knowing Malfoy is not out on the streets again and free to come after you."

Arthur looked at the ground. As much as the thought of putting his family at risk twisted his guts, he knew the danger would be infinitely greater with Malfoy out of Azkaban. There really was no choice.

"Well, if you see no other way..." he answered reluctantly. "But I really want some Ministry-issue wards on the Burrow, and before that trial starts!"

"Done!" Moody let out a deep breath and turned to Minerva. "You've spoken to Albus - will the old geezer be helping?"

The Deputy Headmistress rose and drew her cloak tightly around her body.

"No, Alastor. He considers it unethical to testify on the character of a former student. And he's determined to keep to Hogwarts as much as possible. You know the press have been hounding him to put himself forward as Minister of Magic once Bagnold retires, and the less he appears in public, the less they'll be after him. And I don't think Crouch would be too enthusiastic if he got involved..."

Moody snorted. "Right! And now get out of here, all of you. I've got work to do."

...

Even though it took several weeks to roll around, the day of the trial still came too early for Arthur's liking. He was abysmally nervous about having to face Malfoy, even in a courtroom. Over the last weeks, he'd spent far too much time brooding about the Prewetts' deaths and all that had followed.

The familiar din in the Burrow's kitchen was calming, though. Little Ronnie was perched precariously on Molly's lap, gobbling down apple-pumpkin mash. Percy was busy fighting off the twins as they tried to get hold of his new - if decidedly battered - pet rat at the other end of the table. Charlie devoured a plate of scrambled eggs, toast and sausage, valiantly ignoring everybody else. Billy was chewing on a piece of toast, studying with rapt attention the pages of Gluff the Kneazle and his Friends that was tucked inside the homework he was supposed to be checking.

There was no noise from upstairs, so Arthur judged that the Silencing Charm he'd put on the kitchen to spare baby Ginny the morning racket was working.

"Fred, George, leave Percy's poor rat alone," he called over to the twins. "It doesn't like to be dangled by its tail."

"I'll call him Scabbers," Percy announced and protectively dropped the squirming rodent into his jumper.

"It fits," said Billy, and while Percy might not have grasped the pun, he understood the tone and opened his mouth to let out an ear-splitting wail.

"Now, Billy," Molly interrupted, "don't put down Percy's poor rat. And Scabbers is a nice name, dear," she added in Percy's direction, who miraculously transformed his screwed-up face into a smile.

"It has only three legs," Billy argued. "I wish we could have a Kneazle," he said with a longing look at his book.

"Or a Dragonette, like Uncle Bilius," Charlie piped up with his mouth full.

Arthur sighed quietly. His mother had always kept Kneazles right up to the her death, and he'd be glad to have one if his paycheck wasn't just enough to put food on the table and to pay for Billy's and Charlie's Tutoring. He feared that Molly would have to teach the younger children at home; there were just not enough Galleons to send them all to Hogwarts Preparation School.

The twins poked out their tongues at Percy in unison, bounded over to Arthur and crawled onto his lap.

He was about to reach over their fiery heads to grab a piece of toast for himself when the doorknob yelped.

"Probably Longbottom," he called to Molly, and plucked the two protesting three-year-olds off him. Alastor Moody had promised he was going to send his young Auror over to improve the defences of the Burrow before they went to London.

He peered out of the window, recognised Longbottom's round face, and opened the door.

"Morning Frank. Come in. I hope you like children."

Longbottom smiled shyly.

"Oh, yes, our Neville is almost two now, and we're thinking about another one in a year or two." He looked slightly wistfully. "I really don't see him enough - first Black, then Rookwood, and now this infernal Malfoy business... my mother takes care of him more often than not."

Arthur introduced him to Molly, who offered him a piece of toast that he gratefully accepted.

"My wife told me that you've been handling Moody's interrogation far more gracefully than many others, Arthur," he remarked, munching.

"Your wife?"

"Alice," Longbottom said with a smile. "She was quite impressed with you."

"I still snapped at him," Arthur confessed.

Longbottom grinned at that.

"Well, some others went through a full-scale screaming fit involving your standard 'the Minister will hear of this and you'll be booted out of the Ministry, you brute' routine."

Arthur couldn't help but grin imagining how that would have gone over with Moody.

"So, rumour has it that your enchanted Muggle items problem seems to have resolved itself?"

Arthur nodded, keeping his face purposefully innocent. It bloody well better should have!

He'd captured the culprit, the guilty wand in hand, in a Muggle antiques shop only a few streets from the Leaky Cauldron, enchanting a French Portico Clock to declaim bawdy lines from Malecrit's Collected Plays. The villain had turned out to be one Willy Widdershins, fresh out of Hogwarts with two OWLs - in Charms and History of Magic, unsurprisingly.

The story Arthur had extracted from the youth among a stream of filthy language had made him sigh. The boy's mother, a procurer of Non-Tradable Goods in Knockturn Alley, had just been sentenced to ten years in Azkaban for purveying illegal materials to Death Eaters. Arthur knew only too well that Willa Widdershins had likely dealt with a variety of other patrons as well, among them probably some of the most upstanding members of wizarding society. It didn't make her a follower of You-Know-Who, just a terrible judge of customers. But she'd been caught in the wrong company, and had paid the price.

So her son had gone out into the world with a rabid hatred for Magical Law Enforcement, with no hope of any kind of employment, and with just enough brains to take on the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office as the most humble and seemingly toothless of all the branches in the MLE.

As far as Arthur was concerned, he'd probably been right with that estimate.

"Yes," he answered Longbottom lightly, "I guess we've scared him off with our scrutiny and our Spyspells in most of the pawnshops and antiques stores in the Greater London Area."

Bringing in Widdershins might have finally got him the salary raise he needed so badly, Arthur knew, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it. In the current climate, and with the young goon's history, a charge of simple Muggle-Baiting might suddenly turn into 'Acts of Terrorism Intended to Express Solidarity with the Goals of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. Widdershins would much deserve a heavy fine and a temporary wand-revocation instead of the stern lecture Arthur had given him, but he did not deserve to find himself in Azkaban with his mother...

Longbottom had wolfed down the toast and took a second piece that Molly Accioed for him over Ron's little red head. He bit off a corner, and gave Arthur another shy side glance.

"I'm sorry that we're asking you to do this," he murmured, his eyes wandering over the children. "It must be hard on you, taking such a risk. If only Minister Bagnold hadn't caved in to Fudge and Zabini." He pulled a face. "Mr Crouch would not have been so easily swayed by public opinion."

Personally, Arthur could do without either of them; Bagnold was close to senility, and Crouch's single-minded fanaticism often outweighed his better judgement. An objective, honourable man like, say, Albus Dumbledore would be a much better choice. He wasn't foolish enough to mention that to one of Crouch's circle, though, no matter how friendly Longbottom was being.

The Auror obviously took his silence for agreement and wiped his hands on the seam of his robe.

"Now, let's have a look at those wards Alastor was so unhappy about," he grinned.

Arthur led him over to the wall and watched the young man at his work. His face was focused in concentration, his insecurity and bumbling manner seeming to vanish as soon as he was working magic. The subdued wards shone for a moment in a bright, cheerful orange, before fading back into the walls of the Burrow. The younger man put his wand away and looked at his handiwork with a critical eye.

"That should do. I've invoked Cliodna's Shield on the outer walls, so if you start to hear Whizbees humming during the night, give me a firecall and I'll come back to fine-tune it. I did it in my mother's house once, and the sound almost drove her to distraction."

Longbottom was quite a powerful wizard, Arthur realised with surprise. His shyness had almost led him to forget that he came from a very old and respectable wizarding family.

"Thanks!" he said with heartfelt gratitude.

"Ready to go?" Longbottom asked, tucking his wand back into his belt.

No! Arthur thought. I'd never be ready, but this has to happen. We'll all be safer once Malfoy is properly convicted and locked away for good!

~ tbc. ~

(please tune in next for the Trial of Lucius Malfoy - to be out in a week)