Choices

Choices

Chapter One: Power...and those too weak to seek it

2030 - Ministry of Magic, Minister's Office

The quill scratches on the parchment, making graceful letters.

*Hi.*

There is a reply. The words are written in red ink, with a slightly messy script.

Hello, Hermione. How are you?

*I'm fine, just very tired. Did you know that both the Patil twins are on the Board now? I'd trade them with Lavender any day. At least she worked.*

It's your fault for letting the process become so democratic in the first place. Why do you think I left you in control of the Board? Besides, you don't mean that. Lavender was a meddling fool. The Patil twins are just decorations.

*Well, thank you. That makes me feel so much better.*

You're welcome. Why are you trying so hard to distribute power, anyway?

*I'm afraid of it. I'm afraid that if I remain in control of too many things, I could become Him, or - *

The writing stops. It takes the diary at least twenty seconds to reply.

Or me? Is that what you're afraid of, 'Mione?

There is no reply from the middle-aged woman, whose hair is streaked with white.

Don't be. You're better than I ever was at this sort of thing. Power corrupts, yes, but you're too analytical and intelligent to let it take its course.

Still no reply.

You worry way too much. Think about it this way. Would you step down and leave the Ministry in the hands of those fools just to have your own peace of mind?

Finally, the elegant fingers grip the quill, and start writing back. The quill presses hard into the parchment.

*No. Never.*

There. See? That's how you're wiser than I am. No matter how tired you are, you have to hold on. We cannot let all our hard work go to waste. We cannot let them wreak the world we worked so hard to build.

*You've just confirmed a theory of mine.*

Care to share?

*Those in power are afraid of giving it up because of their lack of trust in others.*

The words fade into the diary, and there is a very long gap this time before the reply comes.

I suppose so. We all have our own image of perfection, after all. Everyone will try to mould the world into his or her own version of heaven.

*Finally! I haven't had a concession from you in years.*

Feel better?

*Indefinitely.*

So, what else is bothering you this lovely evening?

*Stop that.*

Stop what, 'Mione?

*Sounding like Him.*

Ah, yes. You've met Tom Riddle before his execution, haven't you. He was quite a pleasant conversationalist, when he wasn't trying to bite your head off.

*That sounds more like you. The problem, now. Percy is the problem.*

What has our power-hungry brother done now?

*He's planning a coup. I'm sure of it. By the way, I think you better lay off the brother thing. He told reporters yesterday that you were no brother of his.

Isn't that bad for his public image? Percy never did have a good grasp of PR. Maybe he should hire Ginny.

*Ginny had a huge fight with him. They're not on speaking terms. They haven't been for a while. I think he wants to be Chief Adviser.*

If I'm not mistaken, that post has been demolished following my death. How is he going to convince the Board to reopen it? Especially for someone like him, who has never been on the Board itself.

*He's stirring up the Pureblood-activists again. That attack I told you about last week? I know for a fact that he's behind it.*

There is a sense of shocked silence from the diary. The gap is nearly thirty seconds long this time.

He plotted to kill his own brother? Even I was never that bad, and you had me labeled as the next Dark Lord. What are you going to call him? The Devil reincarnated?

*I'm sure he didn't know Bill was going to be there.*

Sure. Just like I didn't know the Malfoys were holding a Death Eater meeting when I stopped by. What's he been saying to the public? What's his vision?

*He sounds like he's repeating the Scripture of the Dark Lord. Or at least Lucius Malfoy.*

I highly doubt that he believes any of that. Just after the power, then. He wants to change the world. You know we can't allow this to go on, don't you?

The woman's hand is shaking.

We can't allow what we've built to go to waste. We can't allow all those who died to become mere martyrs of a lost cause. You know that.

The quill finds itself embedded deeply in the far wall.

It wouldn't be fair to Draco. It wouldn't be fair to Ginny, or Molly, or Bill. It wouldn't be fair to Ron.

Hermione shoves the documents on her desk around with shaking hands, looking for a new quill.

*What do you know about fairness? How dare you mention Ron?* The new quill snaps in her fingers.

I don't claim to know anything about fairness. I do know that all those I've stepped on in my ascension to power deserves for this world to last. I do know that if you can't stop blaming yourself about me and about Ron, you're going to go insane. If it makes you feel better, feel free to blame me for everything. After all, that's what dead people are for.

The woman mutters Accio and a new quill appears in her hand.

*I'm sorry. That was unfair of me. None of all was your fault. You were just trying to make things better. You didn't know that Ron would end up like this.*

I had hoped he was strong enough to take it. He really is the bravest person I know, but his perception of the world in black and white has never changed. The burden of guilt should never have been on him. He didn't kill me.

*No, he didn't. But having a hand in plotting it was really enough for him. You knew that, Harry.*

Yes, I suppose I did. No matter what you told him, it was rather difficult to believe I plotted my own death, wasn't it? Go to sleep, Hermione. Tomorrow's a new day.

*All right. I'll do right by all of you, Harry. Don't you worry about a thing. Goodnight.*