This is my first (and likely my only) Harry Potter story. It has been percolating for quite a few years, and since no one was interested in taking on my persistent plot bunny, I finally gave in and wrote it myself. There is no Harry Potter in this Harry Potter story. It is very much about Arthur Weasley, his worries, his job, and his ability to cope.
Summary: The summer before Ron's first term at Hogwarts, Arthur Weasley finds himself at the center of a criminal plot.
Word Count: Slightly over 8,700 words, including Author's Notes.
Beta: Dale, of the snorkack Yahoo group. I'd also like to thank the group for research help, and my husband for being a sounding board.
The Temptation of Arthur Weasley
Arthur had noticed it several days before. At first he thought it was his imagination, but now he was beginning to think he was being watched. The feeling occurred only in public, not near home or the Ministry. Every time he ventured into Muggle territory, the feeling intensified. Yet he had found no one anywhere nearby. And he had also noticed the feeling in Diagon Alley, though not quite so strongly.
He wondered if he should mention it to anyone. He did not want to be thought of as mad; he was not high up enough in the Ministry to risk it. If Alastor Moody was still an Auror, he would have considered confiding in him; Moody was often thought of as mad himself, but he would not have dismissed Arthur's concerns.
Still, with no evidence that he was right except for the prickling between his shoulder blades, he would have to dismiss his own concerns about it. He had to write a report on the citation he had issued to Borgin and Burkes after finding the Muggle device known as a "hoover" which had been enchanted to fly like a broom there. And he had a lot more to worry about as well. Hogwarts...Ron would be starting this fall, and where they'd find the money to purchase what the boy needed in his first year, Arthur didn't know. Thankfully the school tuition had been laid down years before for the Weasley children through a bequest from Molly's brothers, but over the years it had begun to shrink alarmingly. From covering just about everything for Bill and Charlie, it had barely stretched to cover Percy, Fred and George. Thankfully, robes and most books could be handed down, but wands could not, and there were usually some new books each year, especially for Defense Against the Dark Arts which never seemed to have the same teacher twice. Since Fred and George were the same year, they had to have twice the books for them. Ron would have to have hand-me-downs for nearly everything this year, and looking ahead to the year after, he didn't know what they'd do about Ginny. If the Board of Governors for Hogwarts increased tuition as they'd been hinting at, the last of the tuition money would not cover more than her first two years. After that it would be gone.
The Weasley family was an old pureblood one, yet they had never achieved the wealth and power of such families as the Malfoys or the Longbottoms or the Prewetts. Bad investments by his father Septimus had further depleted the family's money. Thankfully, Molly had never cared about that, but the Prewett male line had been wiped out with her brothers' deaths, and much of the rest of the Prewett wealth had been lost during the long Wizarding War when You-Know-Who had first come to power. Yet up until the last few years, he and Molly had held their own. There were times when Arthur sometimes regretted his scruples; if he were the toadying type he might have progressed a bit further in the Ministry and be able to support the family the way he wished he could.
Well, it was still a few more weeks until the next term at Hogwarts. They'd manage somehow; they always had. He made his way from Knockturn Alley back to The Leaky Cauldron where he could floo back to the Ministry. He felt the little confiscated "hoover" he had shrunk in his pocket; once he returned to his office he would enlarge it and investigate the charms on it, before passing it along as evidence to the Aurors. Once again, Borgin would probably get away with a mere fine. It was a shame Arthur did not have the time to check for Dark Magic while he was there.
But there was The Leaky Cauldron now. He hurried in and went straight to the floo. He tossed in a handful of powder and said: "The Ministry of Magic".
He went directly to his office, giving a nod of greeting to his assistant Perkins. He took the "hoover" out of his pocket. "Engorgio!", he said flicking his wand. The object suddenly was full-sized once more, and he gazed at it in admiration. It was so nicely streamlined: gleaming silver metal, a handle of that odd material the Muggles called "plastic", and most fascinating of all, the long cord with the "plug" on the end. He knew that it somehow connected it to the energy that powered it. But he did not really understand what "ecletresticy" really was. It manifested outwardly like magic, powering many Muggle devices, but there really was no magic about it. He had tried many spells to try and understand it, but none of them registered even so much as the tiniest smidgen of magic.
But this particular device certainly did register magic. It was simple enough. Someone had used the old-fashioned charm that once had been used to make ordinary household brooms fly. It had fallen out of favour when modern flying brooms had been developed over a century ago. The caster had used a little extra power to compensate for the weight, but it was essentially the same charm. He filled out his report; he'd send it on to the Aurors after lunch, along with the "hoover" as evidence.
Just then, there was a tap on the door, and Perkins poked his head in."Weasley, Mr. Jonathon Andrews is here to see you."
"Thank you, Perkins. Send him in."
Arthur rose from his desk as a rather lanky man of his own age entered the room. His dark brown hair had a receding hairline, and his robes were of a conservative dark blue. "Arthur! It's good to see you again." He held out his hand and Arthur shook it.
"It's good to see you again as well, Jon! How are Sarah and the boys?" He sat back down, gesturing at the chair opposite of his desk for his friend to do the same.
Jon Andrews sat down as he answered. "They are doing quite splendidly. Brian did some accidental magic the other day, but Bruce hasn't shown any signs yet. How are Molly and your brood doing?"
"Oh, you know Molly! She's fretting over Ron starting Hogwarts this fall, and upset with the twins over all the lies they are telling him—in other words, everything is normal!" Arthur gave a wry grin and Jon chuckled.
The two talked a few moments about old classmates. Jonathon had been one of Arthur's yearmates in Gryffindor. It was mostly due to holiday visits with Jon's Muggle family that had sparked Arthur's interest in Muggle things. Jon's wife Sarah was also a yearmate and a Muggleborn, although she had been a Hufflepuff.
The couple were among the few Muggleborns who managed to successfully live in both worlds, and in fact, had made a thriving business in assisting other Muggleborn and half-blood families to do the same.
Since one part of their business included disguising wizarding items as Muggle ones, Jonathon would often consult with Arthur to be certain that nothing fell afoul of the statutes regarding Muggle artifacts. Arthur assumed that was why his friend was here today.
"So Jon, I know you didn't just drop into the Ministry just to have a chin-wag over old times. What brilliant idea have you come up with now?"
Jon leaned back and shook his head. "This is something different. I think I may have come across an enchanted object being openly used by Muggles."
Arthur felt a jolt of excitement. This sounded intriguing. Perhaps it would be more than a run-of-the-mill case. "Tell me about it," he said, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hands.
"It started last week when my sister's fiancé, Tim, asked me to go with him to check out a possible honeymoon site. There's a quaint little village near the English-Welsh border that he thought might be a romantic spot..."
-oo000oo-
Arthur eased the Ford Anglia into traffic, pleased to have an excuse to drive his new acquisition such a distance. This was just the sort of job he had envisioned when he talked the Ministry into allowing him to keep the confiscated vehicle. It had been outfitted with a wizard space charm on the boot to enable smugglers to bring in illegal potions ingredients such as unicorn blood and horn or unauthorized dragon parts. He had managed to convince his superiors that it would be ideal for those occasions when he had to travel into Muggle areas where it would be difficult to floo or apparate without being observed. His most convincing and clever argument, he thought, was when he reminded them that it would save hundreds of galleons in the cost of sending out Obliviators. That had done the trick!
He'd also found it convenient for family use, since none of the children still living at home could apparate, and floos were sometimes not available. Since there were no costs involved in running the car (it used magic rather than "pet roll") there were no objections to his using it for personal business. This jaunt, however, was most definitely Ministry business.
Jon had told him that he and his future brother-in-law Tim had found the village of Stowe Kilby to be just as quaint and charming as the brochures had promised, and the bed-and-breakfast had all the character and appeal of an eighteenth century cottage, and yet also had been remodeled to contain the modern conveniences that would make a stay enjoyable. After they looked the place over, Tim had made reservations for himself and Lisa for the two weeks following the wedding, and the two men had retired to the local pub for a meal and a drink before heading home.
The pub was an old one, easily dating back to at least Tudor times, and there were signs that part of it was older yet. The two went up to order their food: fish and chips for Tim, while Jon ordered the Ploughman's Special. As they looked at the various offerings of beer and ale, Jon noticed an ancient wooden barrel with a wooden tap down at the end. There was no sign on it to indicate what sort of drink it might be.
"What does that barrel have to offer?" Jon asked the barman.
The barman grinned. "That there is the finest stout brewed in Shropshire," he replied. "Made right here. But it's the barrel as makes the difference."
Of course they could not resist ordering a pint. They sat down with their meal and their drink at one of the tables. Once they had tasted it, they agreed that they had never tasted finer.
After the meal, they spoke with the barman again. "What's the story on that barrel?" Jon asked.
"Back in the day," the old man answered, "there was this saint lived hearabouts. St. Egbin. Some say it was all the way back to before the Normans came to England. He lived outside the village as a hermit, but when the villagers were sick or hurt or in need he would come and tend them; sometimes his cures seemed like miracles. My ancestors owned a small inn then, and one year it was Egbin who was ill. They kept him with them and tended him themselves all through the winter. When spring came, he was better. As thanks for their kindness to him, he laid a blessing on their beer barrels. Ever since that time the beer or ale stored in the barrels were the best. Sometime back during the Civil War, the old inn burned down mostly, though the foundations remained, a couple of walls, and just one of the blessed barrels. That's it there."
"Do you mind if I go look at it?" asked Jon.
"Of course not; you look to your heart's content," he replied.
Jon walked over, as Tim spoke to the old man, and looked closely at the famous barrel. He surreptitiously took out his wand and cast a iSpecialis Revelio/I He was not entirely shocked when it showed the glow of magic, but he was shocked at the age of the spell. It could very well have dated back as far as the ninth century!
Tim finished up his chat with the barman, and the two headed out to the car. Jon wanted badly to discuss his discovery, but Tim was a Muggle, and not officially family until after the wedding. How amazing that an object could stay enchanted for so long!
After thinking it over for a few days, he'd decided to confide in Arthur.
Arthur pulled onto the M-5 heading northbound. It would be close to a four hour journey, since he had to drive the car normally. He wished it would fly. But of course, that would be illegal. Or would it? He recalled the simple spell that had allowed the "hoover" to fly, and wondered if there were a loophole in the law somewhere. There usually were loopholes if one could figure out the right way to look at something. Still, even if it would fly, he couldn't risk it in broad daylight. Just think of all the Obliviators it would take for that! He reined in his imagination; he was pretty certain that most of the sorts of things Fred and George got up to came from his side of the family. He thought of the most incredible ideas sometimes; mostly the thought of Molly's reaction kept him from trying them out.
He glanced in the mirror, and noticed a black car pulling onto the motorway behind him. He started to get that feeling again. But no one else he knew drove a car. Of course it wasn't following him. That would just be silly! Pretty soon he would be as paranoid as Moody!
After two hours of driving, he pulled into a "pet roll" station, though there was actually no need for fuel. There was a shop selling fish and chips next to it, so he decided to get some lunch. The black car also pulled in, but the driver, a non-descript fellow in a blue jacket began to use the pump. Clearly the fellow was a Muggle, after all, and nothing to do with him. He went in and ordered some fish and chips, and sat down to his meal. He was quite hungry, and the food was good; he forgot about the following car as he ate. His mind went back to the discussion that morning before he left.
Molly had been unhappy with his decision to use the car for the journey (as she always was) but she had been more worried about what was coming in only a month. "Ron got his list from Hogwarts today."
Arthur winced. "Did he now?"
"I found Charley's old wand the other day," she said. "Since he had earned enough at his...work...to afford a new one on his last visit, he left the old one with me."
Arthur translated this in his mind: Charley was doing well at a job Molly did not approve of, since it was dangerous, but she was proud he was making a good salary. Pleased he'd visited, but unhappy he had left again. She'd probably asked for the old wand to keep with all her other keepsakes of the children. And now she was about to propose that it was more than a keepsake. "Ron is looking forward to a new wand," he said mildly. "You know a used wand rarely works very well for a new owner. It might affect his schoolwork."
Molly paused. She did want her children to excel in school. But she wasn't ready to give up. "A new wand is very expensive. You know that Ollivander's insistence that the wand chooses the wizard means we have no way to control the cost. It might be less expensive than the twins' were—but it could be more expensive than Bill's was."
Arthur sighed. She certainly had a point, and was likely to have her way on this. But he wasn't quite ready to give in. "Molly, the boy already has hand-me-down robes, mostly hand-me-down books, a hand-me-down cauldron, and even a hand-me-down rat."
"Arthur, we have to be sensible."
Arthur had nodded, and mentally had apologized to his youngest son. Sorry, Ron, I did try...
If only there was some way he could see his way out of their financial troubles. Perhaps he should have done like his younger brother, Lance, and gone into business instead of the Ministry. He knew that if he asked, Lance would help them out, but he simply could not bring himself to do it. The older should help the younger, not the other way 'round.
This brought on gloomy thoughts of his youngest brother Gawain, who'd moved to Canada with his Muggle-born wife, after the scene their mother had made when she discovered her precious baby had taken up with a Muggle-born. Arthur loved his mother, but Cedrella Weasley had been born a Black, and though marriage to a Weasley had taught her a rather patronising form of tolerance ("So-and-so is very presentable, all things considered") it had not extended to welcoming a Muggle-born into the family.
Gawain had taken his lovely bride across the sea, and they'd not heard from him since.
Goodness! He was full of gloomy thoughts today! Here he was, with a perfect excuse to drive his car, and enjoy the scenery in a way one never got to do from a broom, not to mention avoiding scenery altogether when apparating. He noticed the signs giving distances—he knew he needed to get off the M-5 before he got as far as Shrewsbury. He needed to pay some attention to what he was doing. He signaled to overtake the car in front of him and checked the mirror. Was that the same black car? Perhaps they were simply travelling from Devon to Shrewsbury? That might explain why they had been on the same route all this way.
He began to search for the signs that would tell him where to get off to go to Stowe Kilby. It should not be too much further to his destination. Before long he found the exit to the village, and headed west. He soon branched off onto a side road, a narrow two-lane thoroughfare through some very lovely countryside. What a pleasant day this was turning out to be.
He entered the village. There would be no difficulty finding The Hermit's Rest, as it was right on the main road. It was midday, a perfect time to have lunch there, have a look at the famous beer barrel, and begin to talk with people. He had a cover story he used when among Muggles, that he was a writer specializing in obscure folklore, and it worked very well. The street was narrow, and he had to park nearly a block further on and walk back as there was no nearby car park.
Arthur came in alone and sat at the bar, ordering the Game Stew and some of the famous local stout.
"Heard of us, have you?" asked the barman.
"A friend of mine was up here a little over a week ago; he told me about it. I must confess it made me curious. Tales of that sort are rather in my line you see. I look for interesting folklore and legends, write them up."
"Well, Old St. Egbin of the Grove is a legend he is. He was a genuine saint, I say, even if they took away his official title a while back. Did that to a lot of saints, y'know." Actually, Arthur did not know this before, but he nodded anyway, so as not to interrupt the flow of information. "He did a lot of miracles in his day, they say. Mostly he stayed out in an old cave just outside the village, had it all fixed up nice for back in the day. They said he had an owl and a lot of other animals living with him. But if anyone was sick or in need, he'd walk into the village and tend 'em or bring 'em food. Seems like there wasn't nothing he couldn't've cured. There's other tales about him, too, though I don't know as how they're true. The vicar knows a sight more, though. You could talk to him, he could tell you a lot." The barman turned as a small bell rang to indicate Arthur's food was ready. He turned and took the rather large bowl of stew and turned to plunk it down in front of his customer.
"Really?" Arthur asked. "Would he be available this time of day, do you think?" He took a bite, and raised an eyebrow in delighted surprise. This was delicious!
He said so and the barman grinned. "My wife'll be right pleased to hear that, sir. I suppose he'd be up at the church; he is most days. His name is David Trevor."
Arthur took a sip of his ale. "I'll look him up, then, when I've finished this wonderful meal." After eating, he wandered over to the barrel and did a quick Revellius while the barman wasn't looking. It was a somewhat older and stronger spell than Specialis Revelio. The results were the same as those Jon had told him, except they indicated the spell could be even older than originally thought.
Feeling satiated and content, Arthur exited The Hermit's Rest and turned to walk back to the southern end of the town. It was not far to the church, an old one by the look of it. He conjured a notebook and pen, and went through the wrought iron gate to the vicarage, where he knocked on the door.
It was opened by a pleasant looking man who appeared to be in his early thirties. He was not tall, and he was dressed in jeans and a casual shirt. "May I help you?" he asked.
"Vicar Trevor?"
"Yes?"
"My name is Arthur Wells. I am a writer interested in local legends and lore. I was told you could tell me some of the stories of St. Egbin."
The man gave him a wide smile. "Do come in! We can speak over tea, if you like. I've quite an interest in the old saint myself..."
-oo000oo-
After a pleasant tea and interesting conversation with the vicar, Arthur made his way back to the car. This would make an interesting report. It was not totally unheard of for an object that was originally enchanted to actually become a religious artifact not only due to the holiness of the original caster, but also because of the devotion and belief that was aimed at it. But it had been nearly a century and a half since the last time such an object came to light.
He would recommend leaving the barrel in place, since it had once been certified as an actual miracle in the centuries before the standards for what made a miracle became much tighter. If it were removed it could cause more trouble than leaving it as it was. There were too many people who knew about it to Obliviate them all. Still, Arthur was certain it would prove interesting to the Unspeakables-imagine a charm that could last through ten centuries at least!
So lost in thought was he that he almost missed the by now familiar prickling sensation. He turned, reached for his wand, but the "Stupefy!" hit him before his hand even touched his wand.
When he came to himself he was in a Body Bind from the shoulders down. He blinked, and shook off the effects of the stupefy, looking around as much as could, since all he could move was his neck. He was seated in a chair in a dim room, a large one from the feel of it. A faint light shone in his direction, and he could make out the dark silhouettes of four people about ten or twelve feet away. One was seated facing him, one was standing behind him and it looked as though that one was wearing robes and held a wand; the other two stood flanking them, clearly wearing Muggle-style clothing-at least they appeared to be dressed in trousers. They might as well have been figures cut from black paper, because with the light behind them they were mere shadows.
He licked his lips and tried to swallow. His mouth was dry; he had not been stupefied since his fourth year DADA class, and he'd forgotten how it felt. He drew a deep breath. Should he speak first, or wait until one of them said something? Well, he was a Gryffindor, after all. "What do you want with me?" He tried to make sure his voice was steady, and hoped he had been successful.
"Now, now, Mr. Weasley, no need to take that tone. We just want to have a little chin-wag with you." To Arthur's surprise it was not the wizard with the wand who spoke, but the seated man. The fellow leaned back his chair and crossed his ankle across his knee. He spoke with a slight Cockney accent.
Arthur remained silent. He hated not knowing what they wanted. It would be all too easy to give way and lose his temper, and that could be disastrous since these unknown people had the upper hand.
"You work at the Ministry, Mr. Weasley, in the Misuse of Magical Artifacts Office. You have a large family, a wife and seven children, I believe?"
His heart lurched. Were Molly and his children in danger too? What did these people want? Still he said nothing.
"We've been watching you for a while. A man like you could use a little something on the side, what with all those kids to get through Hogwarts."
"Who are you?" he finally asked. "What do you want with me?"
"Well, as to me, some folks call me Fletch. I'm what you call a Squib. No use with a wand; not much magic at all, to speak of-just enough to see me way in Diagon Alley. Couldn't cast a spell if I had a wand to do it with. But I'm useful in the Wizarding World anyhow. You see, there's Wizards who want what Muggles've got, and Muggles who want what Wizards've got. And some of those folks is rich, on both sides. Me, I'm what you call a 'middle-man'. I make deals possible. And I can always use a careful fellow in the Ministry."
"I see." And though it was not something Arthur had ever considered before, it made sense. He knew he wasn't the only wizard fascinated with Muggle things. And as for Magic, the Muggles were always telling stories about it and trying to do it with spells which were nonsense or tricks that were no more than sleight-of-hand, not realizing that even if they had a real spell, it wouldn't work if they weren't born a wizard or a witch. No amount of teaching would help a non-magical to do magic. They'd fall all over themselves for a bit of real magic and pay whatever was asked.
"We could use a fellow like you, a smart man, up and coming in the Ministry," (Arthur managed not to roll his eyes at such a description) "access to a lot of information about any charmed items that might come your way."
Now he's finally getting to the point, thought Arthur. He decided to push things along a bit. "So what's in it for me?"
He could feel the smugness in "Fletch's" voice. "To begin with, two hundred extra galleons a month in your vault; prove useful, and double the amount. Just think how far that will go to schooling them kids of yours. In addition, you come up with anything extra special, and there will be a bonus depending how valuable it is. And you get the chance to play with Muggle toys, see what makes 'em tick."
Arthur grew light-headed, thinking what that kind of money could mean to his family. But, how could he hold his head up if he turned as corrupt as most of the rest of the ministry? He wouldn't be able to look Molly in the eye. Still, he'd do what he needed to get home to his family.
"And suppose I say no? What will you do then? Put me under the Imperius, to do your bidding? Or maybe just AK me, so that I can't report you?"
"Here now!" For the first time the wizard behind "Fletch" spoke. He sounded offended. "I don't do no Unforgiveables!"
"Shut up, cuz!" Fletch snapped. "No, Mr. Weasley. I'd just have my cousin Obliviate you and set you loose. No harm, no foul. We don't need violence; nasty business; the Aurors take it serious-like. And even if he'd do an Imperius, it wouldn't help. We need someone with their wits sharp, not a mindless body. You're not the only wizard at the Ministry who might could use a little extra from time to time."
Glad there was no threat of being killed or having his mind enslaved, he did not like the idea of having his wits scrambled by Obliviation. He'd seen what a botched "Obliviate" could do; besides, he needed to be able to report these criminals. He couldn't do that if they stole his memory.
"Of course, we can't just let you go with no conditions even if you accept our offer. You'd have to swear a wizard's oath to keep our conversation private."
At least he didn't say an Unbreakable Vow or a Blood-oath. A plain wizard's oath could result in losing one's magic, but there were almost always loopholes, whereas with the other oaths, one could die from not keeping them; sometimes even an intention to break them could prove fatal depending on the circumstances. He pursed his lips as he thought, and fell silent again.
Fletch allowed him a minute or two to think. "Well, which way are you going to jump, Mr. Weasley? You're going to be late for supper if you take much longer to make up your mind."
Arthur gave an altogether unfeigned sigh of disgust. "I don't really have a choice," he said. "I don't want my memory messed with by a wizard I don't even know. I can't say extra funds would not be welcome either." It was the literal truth, though it implied something else altogether; still, he would make sure he had a backdoor out of the oath when it came down to it.
"So, you'll swear not to tell anyone about our little meeting?"
Arthur gave a reluctant nod, and Fletch snapped his fingers. The two men on either side of him moved toward Arthur; as he'd thought, they were dressed in Muggle clothing, though both wore hats, so that their faces remained in shadow. One of them aimed a Muggle weapon at him, which gave him a chill. It might be a Muggle weapon, but it was one he knew could be deadly all the same. The other bent to pick up something on the floor at his feet; when he stood up, Arthur realised he was holding his wand. He looked over at Fletch, and saw the wizard behind the Squib point his wand. "Finite incatatum!" he said.
Arthur suddenly felt his body relax, and felt he could move. He flexed his shoulders and relaxed the grip he'd had on the arms of the chair. He realised that one of the Muggles was handing him his wand, though he was giving it to him tip first, so that he was in no position to cast. And the other wizard still had his own wand pointed. There was no way he'd be able to hex his way out of here.
"So, make your oath, Mr. Weasley," said Fletch.
Arthur turned his wand to hold it properly. "I, Arthur Weasley, do swear by my magic never to speak of what happened here, in this place, at this time, to anyone not here in this place, at this time..."
Suddenly he was interrupted by Fletch. "Nice try, Mr. Weasley, but no. Say it again, but this time say 'speak or write'."
Arthur swallowed hard. His subterfuge had been noticed. Nothing for it, then. "I, Arthur Weasley, do swear by my magic never to speak or write of what happened here, in this place, at this time, to anyone not here in this place, at this time. May my magic be forfeit if I break this oath." Holding up his wand, he said "I so swear!" The end of his wand glowed as if he had cast a lumos, and he felt a tingle throughout his body. The oath had taken. He shuddered. He could not imagine being without his magic. It would be like losing an arm or a leg.
Fletch nodded. "Very well, Mr. Weasley. If you check at Gringott's tomorrow, you'll find out two hundred galleons have been deposited in your vault, a retainer, so to speak. Now for your first task. It seems that you mistakenly confiscated an item a few days ago from one of our good friends, Simon Borgin. He would like it back, as he has a rich Muggle customer who is most displeased at not being able to get the merchandise he paid a substantial deposit for."
"It's in the auror's hands now," Arthur said.
"Doesn't matter; we'd like it back. Consider it a test of your cleverness and use to us. I'll give you a week. If you manage to do it sooner, send an owl to Simon." Fletch snapped his fingers again, and the two Muggles went back to their positions on either side of him, though the one with the weapon walked backwards, keeping an eye trained on Arthur.
"You can go now, Mr. Weasley. You're still in Stowe Kilby, and your car's just down the block. Hope to see you again soon; remember we have our eyes on you."
Arthur stood up for a moment, his legs a bit wobbly from having sat so still for so long. He didn't trust himself to say the right thing, but nodded and turned to see a door behind him. With that prickly feeling between his shoulder blades and a sick feeling in his stomach, he walked to the door. He was surprised to see it was still daylight-he was sure he had been hours and hours with those criminals. He looked to his left and saw the bright blue of his Ford across the street about a block away.
-oo000oo-
The drive home had been a nightmare. The whole way he wondered was he being followed, though the feeling was no longer there. All he could think of was a way to circumvent that oath. He envisioned himself trying to use a game of charades to explain what had happened to the Ministry, and being locked up at St. Mungo's as a madman.
He reached home, and gave Molly an excuse about missing the turn-off from the road to explain his lateness. It felt very odd not to be able to talk to her; there were always a number of things that Molly didn't need to know. But they were minor things and his own choice. To be compelled to silence and not even be able to decide for himself whether she should know felt wrong. Certainly she'd be horribly worried, but he felt cut off from seeking her advice, whether or not it would be advice he could take was beside the matter. He could tell from the looks she gave him that she knew something was wrong, but she didn't pester him about it. They were both tired from long days.
He was still too shaken to think clearly the next day, and busied himself with filling out some mindless forms he'd been putting off for days. At least with those he did not really have to think much.
Near the end of the day, he pulled out the file on the "hoover". He'd the beginnings of an idea, but he needed to think it through. The weekend was coming, which included a visit to Aunt Muriel in Hogsmead. His brother Lance would be there; the kids adored their Uncle Lancelot, who made a very good living as the managing director for the line of Honeyduke's sweet shops. Molly would be busy trying to fix up Lance with one of her single friends, as she didn't approve of his brother's bachelor lifestyle. He'd had a serious girlfriend for a number of years, but she'd finally thrown him over, presumably because he would not commit to marriage and since then Lance had not tried to date any witch more than once or twice.
He would put all of this other business out of his mind until Monday. Perhaps a couple of nights of sleeping on it would show him whether or not his idea would work.
Monday, he went in to work and took his report on the "enchanted barrel" down to the Department of Mysteries. Of course, he did not have clearance for the actual department. Only Unspeakables came and went there. He went instead to the antechamber, where the liaisons for the rest of the Ministry could report things that the Unspeakables might have an interest in. He knew they would definitely be interested in such a seemingly unimportant object that could hold an enchantment for so long. He left it there with the receptionist. If they wanted to speak with him about it, they would let him know.
He returned to his own office, and talked with Perkins about other tasks for the day. He sent Perkins to investigate the report that someone had seen a Wizarding portrait in a Muggle home, and he took on the rest of the paperwork he'd been doing on Friday; he would actually be ahead if he finished them all. He had already told Molly that he might be late coming home; he needed to wait until nearly everyone had left.
Perkins returned about two hours after lunch. "It was a Wizarding portrait, but it did belong to the family in question. Apparently the last three generations had produced only Squibs, so they're now classified as Muggles; they have no idea of their heritage. I had a word with the portrait, the subject's name was Sir Mortimer Pybb, and he'd grown a bit bored with not moving or speaking, so when he saw a Wizard there visiting he couldn't resist. I reminded him he needed to be careful. He also told me the newest grandchild is probably a witch, as he thinks he saw some accidental magic from her. But it will be a couple of years until she gets her Hogwarts letter, she's only nine."
Arthur nodded. "Good job, Perkins! Write it up. You might want to contact the wizard who turned in the report; if he's a friend of the family he could keep an eye out for the little girl."
After Perkins wrote up his report, it was very nearly quitting time. Arthur told him to go ahead and leave; he had a few things to tidy up.
At a quarter after five, nearly everyone was gone from most of the Departments. He would see which Aurors were in the DMLE this evening. If it was Dawlish, he'd wait. But if it was Shacklebolt, then he would go ahead with his plan.
It was with a great deal of trepidation that he entered the office, and found he was in luck. Not only was Kingsley Shacklebolt there, so was Head Auror Amelia Bones. He briefly congratulated himself for his luck...
-oo000oo-
A week later he entered The Leaky Cauldron to meet with Fletch and his mysterious Muggle client. At a signal, he joined them at their table.
"Very prompt, Mr. Weasley. I take it you were successful?"
For answer, he reached in his robe pocket, and placed the miniaturized hoover on the table.
The Muggle with him frowned. "Can you make it big again?"
"Not in here," said Fletch. "But, yes, we can."
The man nodded. "All right, then." He reached into his own pocket, and took out what Arthur recognized as paper Muggle money. He counted off several pieces and handed them to Fletch, who grinned and stowed it in his own pocket.
"This has been very profitable," the Squib said. "I hope it's the just the beginning of things..."
Arthur smiled. "I wouldn't count on it." he said calmly.
A deep voice said "Octavius Fletcher, you are under arrest for violating the Statute of Secrecy, and for conspiracy to violate said Statute, as well as Kidnapping, attempted bribery of a Ministry of Magic official, and of using threats to extort said official into taking a co-erced oath." Kingsley Shacklebolt grinned down at him.
Fletch cursed (in the Muggle sense of the word). "Also Public Profanity," the Auror included. He signaled several of the other aurors in the pub to take Fletcher away.
Fletcher struggled, and then turned his head enough to snarl at Arthur. "Least I have the satisfaction that you're no more'n Squib yourself now!"
Arthur just raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
The as yet unidentified Muggle started to get up, but the witch standing behind him used both hands on his shoulders to keep him from rising. "Be still, Mr. Kravitz."
"You can't do anything to me! I'm not one of your people!"
Auror Shacklebolt looked down at him. "You are wrong. By the agreement with the Muggle government, there are two things we can do. The first one is this..." he pointed his wand at the now terrified Muggle. "Obliviate!" The man looked around, completely confused. "The second one is to notify your own authorities that you may have some transactions they might like to look into."
He turned to the witch. "See that he's left in a safe location in Muggle London before the Obliviation confusion wears off, Auror Montgomery."
"Yes, sir," she said, and gently guided her confused charge out of the Muggle entrance to the pub.
Kingsley clapped Arthur on the shoulder. "Now, let's get you back to the Ministry and see if we can't get that oath off you! I'm glad you were clever enough to sneak around it. Some people would have thought it hopeless and just gone along with things."
A few hours later, he was on his way back to the Burrow, relieved that the Oath had been removed and he could at last confide his adventure to Molly. It was probably better, in a way, that it was all over and done with.
-oo000oo-
"But how, Arthur, did you overcome the oath? You could have lost your magic forever!"
"Well, it was actually simple enough once I calmed down enough to think about it...
"What can we do for you, Mr. Weasley?" Shacklebolt had asked.
"I need that Muggle device I turned in week before last." Now, if only he would ask the right question.
"Why?"
Relief flooded through Arthur. It was going to be all right! "I can't tell you," he answered.
"And why can't you tell us? We can't just release evidence for no good reason."
"I can't tell you."
Amelia Bones stood up. "Can't or won't?"
"I can't tell you," he repeated calmly. They were on the right track, if only they did not get angry.
"Are you under a spell?" she asked.
"No."
"Are you under some other sort of compulsion?" asked Shacklebolt.
"I can't tell you." But he allowed his expression to show slight relief.
Amelia turned to one of the desks and picked up a piece of parchment and a quill. He shook his head sadly, and (hoping this did not backfire on him) raised a finger briefly to his head and stared at the door to the interrogation room which was to his left. "Can't write about it either," said Amelia.
"Arthur, do you think you could use the pensieve?" asked Kingsley.
He allowed himself a brief grin, and then looked apprehensive.
"You believe that will work, but you are not absolutely certain?"
Arthur carefully reached into his robes, taking his wand by the tip and offering it to the Aurors with a sad look, and sighed. Neither of them moved to take it, but looked at him thoughtfully, clearly trying to figure out the puzzle.
"Wizard's Oath!" exclaimed Amelia. "He was forced to take a Wizard's Oath on his magic!" She laughed. "Yes, Arthur, as long as you did not use a word other than speak or write when you made the oath, you should be able to share your memories in the pensieve without losing your magic. And I can't promise, but often an oath made under coercion can be annulled!"
Together the three of them went into the interrogation room, and Amelia placed the pensieve on the table. Arthur put his wand to his temple and pulled the silky silver strands down, placing them in the pensieve. The three of them watched the memory of that day together.
"Octavius Fletcher!" Shacklebolt exclaimed. "So that's what the Squib has been up to! And I would lay money that the wizard is either his cousin August or his cousin Mundungus; Squib or no Squib, he was always able to talk them into any money-making scheme!"
"I wouldn't bet against it. I hope it's August; Mundungus has always been a good informant in the past," said Amelia.
"Not enough evidence for either of them," Shacklebolt said with a resigned sigh.
Arthur was silent. Watching his memory from the outside was an odd sensation. The Arthur who was trapped in the chair gave no sign of the sheer terror he had been feeling. It was comforting to know he'd not disgraced himself. He looked every bit the Gryffindor he felt.
"I'm so proud of you, dear! There are so many who would have just taken the money and comforted themselves with thinking they were excused due to the circumstances. You were so brave!" Molly put her arms around his neck and showed him just how brave she thought he was. He willingly surrendered.
-oo000oo-
It was weeks later, near the end of September, when a witch he did not know came to his office. Perkins was out to lunch, but Arthur was taking his at his desk. Molly had packed him a splendid one. He had put the episode at Stowe Kilby out of his mind.
Just then there was a tap at the door. He quickly hid his lunch with a wave of his wand. "Come in!"
An attractive blonde witch came in. "I'm Beth Montgomery, from the Unspeakables, although I have been given leave to speak to you about this. Do you remember your report on the enchanted barrel in Stowe Kilby?"
"Yes, it was an interesting and memorable day," he said (to say the least, he thought).
"I'm authorized to tell you that you have given our researchers some valuable information about spell longevity that may have led to a breakthrough. As a result, you have been awarded a bonus." She placed a piece of folded parchment in front of him. "This amount has been deposited for you at Gringott's."
He opened it to look. The two hundred galleons deposited by Fletcher had been taken away as evidence; he never thought he would get to keep it, he wasn't entitled to it. But this was nice. It wouldn't solve all the Weasley's financial troubles, but it was definitely enough to cover the rest of Ginny's tuition when she got her Hogwarts letter! And this he had earned honestly by just doing his job. Wait till he told Molly!
-oo000oo-
Author's Notes: I did a lot of research for this story, starting with Google Maps to plot Arthur's journey from the canonical Ottery St. Catchpole (which I located near the real Ottery St. Mary) in Devon, to my imaginary village of Stowe Kilby in Shropshire, where I have located it somewhere vaguely southwest of the city of Shrewsbury. The driving estimates to various points in the area ranged from about 3 ¼ hours to 3 ½ hours. I figure with Arthur being unused to driving long distances, it might take a little longer, though not much.
I chose the name "Stowe Kilby" for the village by using place name elements from a site that shows the various prefixes and suffixes used in English place names. I created the legend of "St. Egbin" from whole cloth. However, the "miracle" of the barrel was more or less inspired by Gandalf the Grey's blessing on Barliman Butterbur's beer at The Prancing Pony in The Fellowship of the Ring. The good saint's name came from the obliging Anglo-Saxon Name Generator.
As for his not being an "official saint any longer" it is true that in 1969 ninety-three names on the roll of feast days of Roman Catholic saints were removed, as they were thought to have been more legend than fact. In this little universe, St. Egbin made that number ninety-four. (Also it is my headcanon that the Prewetts were a Roman Catholic family, although I don't imagine them having been particularly devout in the later generations. I believe that families in the Wizarding World remained parts of the various religious traditions found in Great Britain (or the area of the world where they lived). Although their society was clearly more secularized even than our own, there are clear indications of the traditional underpinnings of various religions, especially in the observances of the various Christian holidays. I wanted a way to get this headcanon into the story somehow, but since I could not do so without it being intrusive, I decided to put it in my notes instead.)
Arthur's school friend with his extraordinary story that draws Arthur away from the Ministry to investigate is one of the earliest elements of the story, although it wasn't until I began writing that I fleshed him out with a name and family. I had not originally planned to give him quite so much backstory, but that's what some OCs will do if you are unwise enough to give them a name.
"Fletch" is indeed supposed to be the Squib cousin of the Mundungus Fletcher in OotP. I wanted to leave the Aurors in doubt as to whether it was actually Mundungus or another cousin, since I did not want him arrested. I didn't want to mess with his future in canon, however—yep, it was him.
About the Cockney accent: I do not use spelling for dialects; generally I simply state what sort of accent a character is supposed to have, and then allow a little bit of grammar and syntax do the rest. With a little guidance a reader will imagine the right accent. I'd rather not butcher it with strange spellings and dropped letters.
Much of what I show taking place at his job in the Ministry of Magic is basically speculation on my part. I've also taken liberties with how the Statute of Secrecy is enforced. The idea of a "Wizard's Oath" in which a wizard swears on his magic with the consequence of losing it if he breaks the oath is one I have come across in a number of fanfics, and so far as I can tell is fanon, but it's a igood/i fanon.
The scene with Arthur trying to communicate his pensieve idea was also one of the earliest elements in the story.
You may or may not have noticed some of the names of Aurors and other characters near the end of the story having a ring of familiarity. Blame Wikipedia, as while I was trying to research spells I came across the entry for the old 1960s sit-com "Bewitched" and got somewhat side-tracked for a while. It was one of my favorite shows during its first run.