Jan. 4: People Help The People: You-Know-Who

[Arthur Weasley]

ministry --> harringay warehouse district, dusk ▶︎

Arthur's genial debate with a fellow from the Improper Use of Magic office was cut short by the dregs that were all that was left in the coffee pot and a memo-laden screech owl landing on his shoulder. "We'll pick this up next time, Klein, haven't convinced me yet that the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery is, in fact, reasonable!" He spat out the bitter crumbly bits of grounds still clinging to his tongue and got the mug washing itself in the sink before relieving the little owl of its memo, the bird leaving feathers behind as it took off. Surely there's a better way to communicate within the building, the young man thought, not for the first time, as he shrugged off the feathers and unrolled the parchment. Someone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had a tip-off about a piano charmed to pull its players inside...muggle found tangled in wires...suspect in custody named the Boyd piano warehouse as its primary target...

After running back to the office to tell his supervisor he was on it, Arthur sped through the Ministry, joined a queue and was out of a departure fireplace and within the proper London borough before, hopefully, the next shipment of pianos left the warehouse. When covering up for people who gave witches and wizards a bad name, Arthur did his best to keep his mind on the present job while he was in it. It didn't do to dwell on the horrors, the mindsets of the perpetrators, when he had a duty to complete. But back at the office, or at home with Molly...how can people be so cruel?

The wizard Transfigured his robes into a passable trenchcoat before stepping out of the shadows and heading through the loud industrial park towards the piano warehouse, wand up his sleeve. He'd need to get into the storage facility, get the workers to leave without rousing suspicion, inspect each piano...but as his mind worked out the details, Arthur's bright eyes were drawn to a shadowy figure on a fire escape up ahead. His legs slowed as his heart picked up, wand slipping down from his sleeve and into his grip, eyes locked on the other's as he approached.

Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You-Know-Who. Whatever address given to the man too foul for words to describe, it was unmistakably him. And as much as instinct told him to run, as much as intuition told him this was no good, Arthur knew in his gut that he had been set-up. For there was no logical explanation for the leader of the Death Eaters to be out on these streets, if not to confront him. As narcissistic as it was, to think that someone who wanted so much power would know him, Arthur knew his followers. The ones who'd taunted him with ridiculous insults at school, the ones who'd followed their parents into darkness, the ones who were as "pure of blood" as himself and unable to understand why he didn't think a Weasley was better than a muggle. His convictions had brought him Molly, a clear conscience, and a life he wouldn't give up. But he'd worried that they would also lead him into trouble. However - this much trouble was...hard to predict...

[Lord Voldemort]

“Well, I see you don’t need an introduction,” he said with a flash of a smile, a smile that was quickly turning into a smirk. Arthur Weasley had drawn his wand the second they had locked eyes, and Voldemort hadn’t looked away as he descended down the loud metal stairs of the muggle building. While the new arrival to the old warehouse would easily blend in with muggles, the older man was clad in black robes that swept the ground behind him as he approached. “But allow me to tell you anyway. My name is Lord Voldemort.” Sweeping his robe open, he took a bow, a cold laugh tumbling out of him as he rose to look at Arthur. “The papers say I have a flair for the dramatic, would you agree?” Voldemort took the moment to look back at the piano warehouse, smirk never fading from his lips. It was simple enough to get someone alone, particularly someone who cared about muggles. Whatever lie his faithful followers had spun to get Arthur Weasley to come here tonight had clearly worked, and hopefully this meeting would be beneficial. Weasley’s position at the Ministry wasn’t much to speak of, but eyes and ears inside was what he needed. “You can pocket your wand, I promise no harm will come to you. I simply wish to talk.”

The man didn’t comply, and Voldemort shrugged before he continued to speak. “My...friends, they tell me you have a lovely wife, Molly was it? Molly Prewett, now Molly Weasley. And a son as well, sounds like a happy little family,” he said with a step towards Arthur, allow himself to chuckle. “Little boys can be a handful. I was, one some might call, a nightmare. If only Mrs. Cole could see me now, what might she say?” The former matron of the orphanage would hardly be saying much, not within the next few weeks anyway. Another person on his list to take care of, but those were thoughts for another night. “But we aren’t here to discuss your family, not right now at least. You work within the Ministry, not very far yet but I think you’re quite bright, you’ll be running the place one day. That day could come sooner rather than later, but that’s all up to you, now isn’t it? One small decision can change fate, can change history. Tell me, Arthur Weasley, do you wish to change the future?”

[Arthur Weasley]

Arthur had never felt more alone than he did as You-Know-Who came towards him. Calm, cold, calculated. Narcissistic. The man came towards him as if they were schoolyard acquaintances instead of two people who had never met. With every passing moment it became clearer that Arthur was right in his suspicions, that for some reason You-Know-Who was here for him specifically, that the plight of the piano workers was a trap he'd fallen right in to. And he knew he could apparate away. He knew he could get to the Ministry and send a team of Aurors here. But he knew just as well that if You-Know-Who had put this much effort into meeting him here, alone, that he would try again if Arthur found a way out before he got to say what he wanted to say, do what he wanted to do. Not that the young father was planning on just laying down and letting the potential tyrant walk all over him - he kept his wand in hand against that purpose at the other’s instruction - but he knew this type, even if he hadn’t before met the man.

This was the exaggerated Lestrange, Malfoy, Black, of the fanatical pureblood world. The worst eccentricities and persuasions of them all piled into the man coming closer to him, the man who brought up his wife and child with a casual arrogance that prickled Arthur’s blood. While at school Arthur would interrupt, correct their arguments, he knew that now was not the time. He just needed to let You-Know-Who speak...however maddening said speech was. Arthur kept his eyes trained on the other’s, his wand ready, as You-Know-Who brought up his childhood, made mention of future discussions of the Weasley family, and, finally, what Arthur assumed was the point.

Bribery, is that it?

To think that You-Know-Who’s "friends" had spoken highly of muggle-lover Arthur Weasley was laughable, and part of him did want to know what in the world the likes of Lucius Malfoy had said to encourage this meeting, if only to use it against him the next time their paths crossed. To go as far as to bring up him becoming the Minister of Magic…you really are mad, aren’t you? The silence hung between them after his question, and Arthur cleared his throat uncomfortably, again acutely aware of his solitude, and the fear it brought him. There was no backup, no one to call for. Just Arthur Weasley face-to-face with the most feared man of their age. If this goes awry...I’m sorry, Molly. I’m so, so sorry. 

"You know, there's a certain motto, a creed, among folk like us." He did his best to continue without so much as a stammer, forcing his words to come at an even pace. He hadn't much ever considered himself brave in sticking to his principles, seeing it as the plain and simple right thing to do, but perhaps today was the day he truly earned the commendations of his old House. "It’s about caring for your fellow man, doing no harm where you could do good instead. I don’t expect you to understand that. But you are right about one thing - I do want to change the future. It’s not in the same way that you do, though, and my perspective on that is not going to flip. You can try to entice me, intimidate me, but my mind is my own, and my mind is made up." He swallowed and gave a quick nod, ungluing his shoe and taking a step back. "That said, I think it’s best we part ways now."

[Lord Voldemort]

Arthur Weasley’s mind was far too easy to pry into, the man’s thoughts like an open book for Voldemort to read. Did the man truly believe that Voldemort was here to bribe him? Bribes only worked on those that wanted something, and it was clear that what Weasley wanted was to not be in this situation. The next thought he caught drew a chuckle from the older man, the question of his sanity. There were plenty of people who questioned if he was sane, but it wasn’t the proper question. Lord Voldemort was quite sane, he was fully aware of all of his actions. He wasn’t some mad man acting impulsively. There was a plan - there was always a plan. Every movement, every death he ordered was calculated.

“Do you?” he laughed, slipping his own wand from his sleeve. No, Arthur Weasley may be done talking to him, but that didn’t mean that they were done talking. He trained his wand on the man in front of him, watching him closely. Hooded figures stepped from the shadows, silver mask on their faces. One of them approached Lord Voldemort, voice barely above a whisper. “My associate tells me there’s a muggle tangled in piano wires inside this warehouse. Perhaps something you should take care of before departing,” he said, nodding in dismissal to the man who stepped back into place behind the Dark Lord. “Wouldn’t want anything to go awry and upset Molly, would we?”

Here he paused, hoping his words would have the desired effect. After all, just because some things were thought and not spoken didn’t mean they were safe. “You feel that I don’t care for my fellow man,” he spoke slowly, twirling his wand in his fingers, “Quite the opposite though, isn’t it? For am I not thinking of my fellow man? There was once a world where our kind interacted with those that don’t do magic, rather peacefully for a while. But it was them who turned their fear and anger towards our kind, who slaughtered children showing signs of magic by the dozens. Ancient history perhaps, but one doesn’t benefit from ignoring history. You said I can try to entice you, try to intimidate you. But it’s much simpler than that. You will work for me, Arthur Weasley.”

[Arthur Weasley]

The man was mad. He was. You-Know-Who laughed, when nothing spoken was humorous enough to elicit that response, or so Arthur felt. He was trying to exit, peacefully, but the other's wand aimed to his chest to keep him in place, and shadows took material form around them. Robes, hoods, silver masks of anonymity. Death Eaters. You have them. Why do you want me? Arthur needed more eyes; his head swiveled as he tried to keep watch of the figures, of You-Know-Who, but his eyes trained on their leader as he spoke again, indicating that the story that brought him here in the first place wasn't false at all. His heart broke for the muggle, hating himself for considering leaving when someone was so hopelessly in danger. But would they let him work? Would they let him leave? His attention snapped to the present at You-Know-Who's wording, identical to his own thought. His kindly blue eyes narrowed in disgust at the invasion, internally frustrated at his lack of ability to keep that from happening, to not even notice until his adversary wanted him to…

You-Know-Who spoke on, using an argument that had won over many before, Arthur surmised. And with each word, he felt more and more trapped. There was no reasoning with You-Know-Who, and his mind would not be changed either. But he could not back down. Though he knew it could be wisest to relent, at least for the short-term, and his fear response was begging him to...

This may be it, Arthur. Take over and force you into his way. Or decide you're not worth the effort and…take you out of the picture.

His life didn't flash before his eyes as he gathered his thoughts.

Wishes for his wife and son we're unuttered. He hoped for their forgiveness, their knowing that he'd needed to stay himself, even in the face of the evil of their time.

"There is importance in history. But there is no fight from them now. And there won't be, unless you keep on this path against them. Even then, doing so, you're pitting wizard against wizard before the muggles would be alerted of the fight. It is your influence bringing bloodshed, danger, and I will not be part of it." Arthur prepared to cast a shield, well aware that he couldn't protect himself fully from so many. But he would try. "I will not work for you."

[Lord Voldemort]

The man across from him was upset, as many were, when he realized that Voldemort had been in his mind. His mind was an open book, still flooding with thoughts. Wishing that his wife and child would be safe, while at the same time denying them the chance at safety. Because surely the man understood that the only way to ever truly keep them safe would be accept this offer. It seemed, however, that Arthur was stuck in his ways, and Voldemort gave a shrug before he spoke. “The deaths of our kind at the hands of muggles is ancient history, so what about more recent history then? 1926, the year I was born. It was, as you might recall, a time in which one Gellert Grindelwald was on his rise to power. I graduated from Hogwarts the year he met his downfall at the hands of Dumbledore,” he said, waving his wand about as he spoke. “Quite an interesting time to grow up, wouldn’t you agree? Grindelwald was a smart man - a foolish man, of course - but still smart. He had a good thing going, but he cared a little too much for muggles.”

There were chuckles from the Death Eaters, nods to their leaders words. Lowering his wand, he took another step towards Weasley. “Arthur, you say it’s my influence that is bringing bloodshed and danger, but is it really? Or am I simply stepping into a role that was left for me?” He shrugged, before turning to the closest Death Eater to him, dismissing them all. The hooded figures left, leaving him alone with Arthur Weasley. “I’m more powerful than Grindelwald could have ever imagined. He was nothing in comparison to me. But you know that, don’t you?” The pureblood fool in front of him was absolutely scared, just as he should be. If Arthur Weasley had worked anywhere besides the Ministry, they could have both avoided this social call. “If you want to keep your family safe, you should accept this offer. Your wife’s brothers, in Auror training aren’t they? Quite noble, quite dangerous.”

The Dark Lord closed the last few inches between them, surprised when the man didn’t move away. “But your answer’s still no, isn’t it? Goodbye, Arthur. We’ll meet again. In the meantime, you have a job to do, don’t you?” With a loud crack, Voldemort was gone, leaving only the sound of cries coming from the abandoned warehouse in the air.

[Arthur Weasley]

You-Know-Who belonged behind a pulpit, on a stage, at the head of a lecture hall. The way he loved to hear himself speak and his devotees lapped up every sentiment, the slippery way of his words, the way he excused his actions by history - both of what the muggles had done in fear in centuries before, and of what Grindelwald achieved during You-Know-Who's formative years - would he not take accountability for what he himself was doing? It was his desire for power, taking the excuse in the want of a different, purer, world, that made it seem that the footprints of the past were the same size as his own, that they were left for him to stand in and continue the path of hate and destruction. A delusion of grandeur, a want to be something other than what he'd been born, a sense that he was larger than this life - something had percolated within this man's mind, through his experiences, through his learnings, through his fall into darkness, to make him feel that this was the logical way to progress. The right way. The only way. 

And maybe Arthur would have been more on board to speak of the interesting twists and turns of muggle and wizarding history had he not been ambushed and surrounded by enemies. For it was not so very long ago that muggles had had a man at the helm of a movement not so dissimilar to what You-Know-Who touted. That there were some people inherently better than others. And because of that, the better people should lord over the others. So much so that millions were callously, calculatedly, murdered by their fellow man, before the world stepped in to stop the genocide. From what he'd read of that man, he'd spoken with as much confidence and conviction as You-Know-Who did. He was a believer. And while it took time, far too much of it, he was brought down. His actions had done damage, but his words...Arthur wasn't fool enough to think that words didn't matter. That they didn't sit inside of folks, deep, subconscious, the hate of the words passed down from on high coming out in subtle or fiery acts of discrimination, racism, ableism, in acts against anyone different from what was considered the "norm." 

But how are we any better than them for that?

One only had to look through the wizarding side of history to know that they had pervasive social problems as well. The treatment of beings like house elves and goblins and centaurs and merfolk, of creatures, of werewolves and vampires, of half-bloods and muggle-borns - if one was not "pure" of blood, which so few of them truly were, you had no chance of resting easy. And for those like Arthur and Molly and Bill, his brothers-in-law, their blood would not protect them from their choices. You-Know-Who made that abundantly clear as he peacocked his greatness, emphasizing that the only way to save his family was to join, thereby sacrificing himself and everything his family stood for...

We knew this life wouldn't be easy.

While he absolutely would have married Molly Prewett the day she agreed to go out with him, when they tied the knot as graduates there was no denying from either of them that a large reason for it was so that they could live as much of life together as they could. There was a darkness encroaching on their world, one that they agreed to never give in to. And so Arthur kept his features stoic as the hateful man dismissed his followers and spoke of his family, forcing himself to stay in place as You-Know-Who came closer. He gave a short nod at You-Know-Who's acknowledgment of his choice, face pallid uncontrollably as he spoke of the future they, apparently, had to look forward to together. 

But instead of raising his wand to fight, You-Know-Who apparated away.

The screams of terror from the warehouse cried for Arthur's attention, and he felt his legs move as a wooden puppet's towards them. The fear and panic he'd tried to suppress in these last minutes threatened to overtake his mind, felt in his laboring lungs and his frantic heart, his heavy limbs and sludging brain. For while You-Know-Who had said they would meet again, the why of it was yet unclear. Was he going after every pureblood who hadn't committed himself to him? Was he targeting Ministry workers? Was he aiming to make an example of the Weasleys? More than once on his way to save the muggle did Arthur need to stop, hands on his knees as he gasped for air, struggling for clarity, for purpose, for a way out of You-Know-Who's sights...