Author's Note: This story is my submission for 'Take Two Tag.' What's that? Have a look at my profile and feel free to play. The person I tagged was Jade M. Wong (~jademwong), and our task was to each write a story about everyone's favourite Muggle-loving pureblood, Arthur Weasley, sort of like 'a day in the life of.' When you're done here, please go take a look at Jade's story, too (Weasley's Work Woes)—I can guarantee you won't be disappointed. Alas, no direct links to her story allowed (grumble stupidfanficdotnetgrumble)
Weasley's World
The thunderous flap of a hundred pairs of wings turned the Ministry of Magic's atrium into a tornado of screeches and feathers as the morning post owls descended. The wheels of the Ministry's propaganda machine didn't so much turn, as fly tirelessly through the air; clasped firmly between every pair of talons was a fresh, crisp copy of The Daily Prophet, mouthpiece for Fudge and his team of bureaucrats who espoused the mantra 'All Is Well' as if merely saying it enough would make it true.
Arthur Weasley ducked as a low-flying owl came within an auburn hair's breadth of clipping his head. He straightened and smiled good naturedly at Jim, the Friday security guard, and returned greetings to those who offered them. All Is Well, he told himself. Don't rock the boat. Keep your head down and get through the day. Unlike those at the top of the power chain, Arthur did not believe that All Was Well. He also didn't believe that self-delusion was the best way to deal with the storm brewing ominously on the horizon, but he had a wife, and children, and responsibilities to the Order. They relied upon him maintaining the façade when he was in public. They needed him to smile, and wave, and pretend that the storm was just a lone cloud drifting by.
The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department was tucked away behind the Auror's Office, out of sight and out of mind. Arthur strolled in at eight-thirty exactly, ignored the mound of paperwork nesting in his In tray and picked up the copy of The Prophet which awaited him as he relaxed into his creaky wooden chair.
The headline today was not 'Massacre at Muggle Mall', nor was it 'Vampiric Vacuums Claim Victims', nor 'Electrical Goods Kill 6: Ministry Disgraced'. But it could have been. It very nearly had been. Instead, the headline was a lie.
'SIRIUS BLACK SIGHTED IN SHOREDITCH!'
Whispers spread like the Muggle chickenpox in a school full of children, and the Order had become very good at whispering, lately. Whispers worked where a shout did not. Nobody would listen to the Order, when it shouted that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back, but by Merlin's beard, they listened when the Order whispered about Sirius, rumours planted to throw them off the wrongfully accused convict's trail.
Licking his thumb to give it a little traction, Arthur flicked through the pages, scanning each article, glancing over the moving images, until he finally found what he was looking for. Page five. Bottom corner. Barely even a footnote.
'Officials from the Ministry's Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department were yesterday in attendance at the Wood Green shopping centre, where several Muggle household appliances had been bewitched inside an electrical store to attack passing shoppers. No injuries were reported, and an Obliviator Squad was dispatched immediately to remove all memories of the event from the Muggle witnesses. The perpetrators of this mischief, regarded by Ministry Officials as a practical joke taken too far, remain at large.'
Arthur shook his head and put down the paper. Mischief? A practical joke taken too far? It was a kick in the teeth. The only joke here was The Prophet itself, and whichever idiot had given them that line. The thought that the idiot in question was likely Arthur's own son, Percy, left a bitter taste in his mouth.
To disguise the taste, he drew his wand and flourished it in the direction of the cantankerous coffee machine which lived atop the filing cabinet. It had started out its life trying, under the influence of Dark magic, to poison the Muggles who worked at Tiffany's head office. Now it had been tamed, producing a fierce cup of coffee with a fruity, aromatic tang—at least, when it wasn't in one of its cranky moods.
Today there was no mood. The white mug floated straight into Arthur's hand, and he took a moment to close his eyes and inhale deeply over the top of the cup, savouring the sweet, sharp vapours. The first sip was always the best, delivered to his waiting tongue with a kick so strong that it made his eyes water. He blinked away the moisture and dabbed at his eyes, glancing down once more at the article.
Mischief!
If only that had been the case. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and let the events of the previous day replay in his mind…
To say it had been a quiet day would have been a lie. There was no such thing as a 'quiet day' for the MoMA department. Not since that storm had started brewing again, threatening to spill thunder and lightning and rain across the wizarding world.
Three bewitched sweeping brooms, a hat with a hex on it, two jinxed jukeboxes and a cursed car. And that was just before lunch. The owls were flying so thick and fast that Arthur barely had time to deal with one case before he was delivered details of the next. He'd Apparated to every country within the UK, stopping only to grab a lunchtime sausage roll from a greasy roadside catering van just outside of Wensleydale. The tawny owl found him there, halfway through the roll and contemplating buying a second. Instead, he untied the missive from the owl's leg and let his eyes skim over the words.
'Code red. Wood Green S/Ctr. 2nd flr. Electrical store. Many M's at scene. Hurry - P.'
Arthur didn't hesitate. There was no higher code than a code red. This required urgent attention. He shoved the missive into his pocket and the rest of the sausage roll into his mouth. As he Disapparated, he tried not to choke on the warm pastry flakes.
Muggles were strange creatures. When presented with unknown and potentially dangerous situations, war was declared within each and every one of them. One side, common sense, told them to run the other way and find somewhere safe to wait it out. The other side, natural and often irresistible curiosity, told them to run towards danger, to find out what was happening so they could gossip about it later. The Muggles inside the Wood Green Shopping Centre had fought their internal wars. Common sense had lost. A large crowd had gathered around the electronics store; Arthur could see them as the esk-u-later carried him up to the second floor. Inwardly, he groaned. Damage control was the highest priority in a code red, but it was hard to control damage with a crowd full of Muggles watching every wave of your wand.
"Excuse me, please move aside, excuse me, I need to come through!"
Arthur pushed his way through the mass of bodies and emerged in front of the crowd. He turned to face them and held up his hands in a triumphant gesture, whilst from behind he heard the sound of crashing, banging and bloodcurdling screaming.
"Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to the launch of the new… err… Nimbus range! The grand sale will begin in ten minutes, and for your entertainment we've come up with a short comic sketch entitled… um… When Household Goods Turn Bad. The sketch will be performed by staff of—" he glanced up behind him at the name of the store, "—Apollo's Electrical Wholesalers, and we hope this impresses upon you the importance of purchasing only high quality household items. Please, stand back and enjoy the show!"
Creative thinking was a vital asset when working for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department.
Arthur turned towards the store entrance and took a deep breath. From his pocket he pulled his wand, but reversed his grip on the handle, keeping it hidden beside his arm. Feeling about as prepared as he ever would be, he stepped into the store and into pandemonium.
The first vacuum cleaner roared towards him with a feral growl. A bagless model, it had a round barrel body, a long extendable neck and a head that housed a wide, slot-shaped mouth. It aimed low, and before Arthur could react he found his trouser leg being sucked into that mouth.
"Argh!" He kicked out with his free foot, his boot connecting heavily with the barrel-shaped body. The vacuum cleaner wheezed, and Arthur remembered the wand in his hand. "Finite!"
The spell fizzled and died before it hit the wayward appliance, and Arthur mentally cursed the wizard who'd cursed the store. He should have known that they wouldn't have made the matter of breaking the spell as easy as that.
"Alright then, you little devil," Arthur growled back. "Let's see how you like this: REDUCTO!"
The vacuum cleaner liked it so much that it exploded into a million tiny glittering fragments. A loud cheer erupted from the crowd.
"These special effects are amazing; how do you suppose they do it?' one onlooker whispered to her friend.
"Oh, it's probably that CGI stuff."
Arthur had no idea what CGI was, but if it was a plausible explanation for a homicidal vacuum cleaner coming to life and accosting hapless shoppers, it was good enough for him.
"Yes, be amazed by the power of CGI!" he called back. "More about this in our home entertainment secti—"
He leapt aside as a second vacuum rudely interrupted him. This one was larger, an upright model with a much wider, more powerful head. As soon as he saw the electrical cord rise up into the air and start to whip around like a cowboy's lasso, Arthur dove behind the cashier's desk and prepared for a heavy fall.
The heavy fall was broken by a sweaty, portly man wearing a red waistcoat which bore a small silver name-tag. 'Hello, My Name Is Dave' it said.
"Hello, Dave, my name is Arthur. Sorry for, uh, dropping in on you like this. Could you tell me what happened here?"
"E—everything just went c—crazy!" sweaty Dave stammered out. "My manager's going to k—kill me. He only l—left me in charge for the l—lunch hour!"
"Goodness. Would he really execute you over this? It's hardly your fault." For some reason, Arthur's assurance didn't seem to reassure Dave. In fact, a damp patch appeared on his trouser leg and he whimpered into his hands like a frightened child. The Obliviators would have their work cut out for them. "Best you stay here, Dave. Keep low, and whatever you do, don't move."
Not that there was much chance of that. Dave now resembled a turtle that had been flipped onto its back and couldn't turn itself over.
Arthur peered over the top of the counter, ducking back just in time to avoid the lasso of electrical cable. A cash register bore the brunt of the swipe, falling to the floor with a mighty CRASH. The register drawer split open spilling coins and notes. Another cheer erupted into the crowd when half the coins rolled into their midst.
"Yes, yes, keep the money!" Arthur encouraged. "In fact, there will be even more money given away at the end of the show! And big discounts. Huge discounts. Troll-sized discounts, as a matter of fact!" It would be easier for the Obliviators to clean up this mess if they didn't have to go hunting far-wandering Muggles. And Muggles, Arthur knew, never wandered far from their money.
The upright vacuum cleaner proved troublesome. It loitered like a lion waiting to catch a leaping gazelle in mid-flight. Struck by a moment of inspiration, Arthur reached up to the display models placed precariously on shelves behind the counter and snatched down a kettle. It was a nice kettle, as far as kettles went, full of shiny chrome, with black rubber feet and one of those ee-lek-tronic displays for alerting Muggles to its temperature. It would have made a very nice herb pot for the Burrow.
With a pang of regret, he threw the appliance over the left side of the counter and waited. The vacuum took the bait, rushing off in the direction of the bouncing kettle. Arthur vaulted over the right side of the counter and ran to the comparative safety of the aisles.
Muggles had a curious expression: out of the frying pan, into the fire. The large, industrial-sized vacuum cleaner which bellowed at him from the far end of aisle three was definitely the fire. Its roar was violent, primitive, and it set Arthur's hair on end. Fortunately, its great size made the fierce behemoth slow, giving Arthur the chance to nip down the next aisle, which was full of sandwich toasters.
The monster vacuum rounded the corner of the aisle, and Arthur stepped backwards. Then the world turned upside down as he tripped, and only when he hit the floor and lay there winded did he realise the second vacuum had lain in wait, using its power cord as a trip-wire.
You sneaky devil! he thought.
Then the vacuum cleaner was on him, the corner of his jacket already sucked up into its mouth whilst further down the aisle Vacuumzilla advanced with more menace than a vacuum cleaner ought to possess.
Arthur flicked his wand at the sandwich toasters, silently casting a spell to send them flying at Vacuumzilla, valiantly sacrificing themselves to buy Arthur precious seconds. As he wrestled with the upright vacuum, which was too close for him to cast a spell on in case the spell hit Arthur too, he heard concerned mutters from the spectators.
"Mummy, why is that man wrestling with that hoover?" asked a small child. A pair of pensioners looked on in disapproval, then man whispering to his wife, "All this nonsense, just for a sale. Come on, love, let's go and get a brew and a scone in Marks and Spencer."
"Nobody leave!" Arthur yelled, as the vacuum did its best to suck the shirt from his body, "there's, umm, a free give-away at the end of the show! Discounts of fifty percent on all items. Ninety percent off all vacuum cleaners!" Behind the counter, Dave sobbed loudly. "And extended life warranties on all items bought today!"
That did it. The crowd became more nucleated, drawing more spectators. The concept of free stuff is like a black hole, Arthur mused. It sucks in everything around it.
He got a lucky break, right then. The vacuum devouring his clothes choked on a napkin he'd stuffed in his pocket from his roadside food purchase. The plain serviette became lodged between its mouth and its body, impeding the airflow enough for Arthur to extricate himself and dash clear. Turning as he pushed himself to his feet, he flourished his wand at the vacuum cleaner and said, "Reducto!"
The appliance screamed angrily as it exploded, showering the store in a fine layer of plastic and metallic dust. There was a very impressed "Oooooh!" from the crowd, but Arthur didn't have time to engage in theatrics. As Vacuumzilla descended, he jumped back and sent one of the now-empty shelves crashing down upon it, pinning it in place. Now he had time for theatrics.
"The bigger they are, the harder they fall!" he quipped. "Reducto!"
The appliance exploded. The crowd applauded. Somebody screamed from the back of the shop. Arthur set off running.
Another vacuum cleaner had cornered a second staff member on top of a dehumidifier display, this one a white-faced girl no older than eighteen. In the manner of some Muggles, she'd poked pieces of metal through her nose and lip. She didn't look as damp as Dave, and despite her scream she was doing a decent job at defending herself; the long extension lead she'd brandished as a weapon was giving the vacuum cleaner pause for thought. Her name-tag said she was Candy.
"Accio vacuum cleaner!" said Arthur, thrusting his wand in the direction of the offending appliance. It slid towards him, and when he judged it far away enough from the girl, "Reducto!"
"What the hell's happening?!" Candy demanded.
"That's a very long story. You should stay up there for now, just in case."
"Have the police been called?"
"Goodness, I hope not!" The expression on her face told him this wasn't the correct response. "I mean, yes, of course. They'll be here momentarily. They may bring dogs."
He left Candy and prowled the aisles, senses alert for anything that sounded like a roar, or a growl, or even just a grunt. But apart from the bee-like mumbling of the crowd, and the sobbing of soggy Dave, all was quiet. The crisis was over.
Almost.
"This show's all well and good," said one burly looking bald man in the crowd. His arms were heavily tattooed with dragons and roses and a cartoon lady with very ample assets. "But where's our discount?"
This was a new sort of crisis. If Arthur had to choose between subduing cursed electrical goods and standing between Muggles and their money, he would have picked the subduing every time. At least cursed items just wanted to kill you. When you got between Muggles and their money, they didn't go for the kill; they went for the pain.
"Yes, of course, your discounts are all ready!" Arthur said, suddenly feeling as sweaty as Dave. He pointed his wand in the direction of the manager's office. "Accio customer forms!" The registration forms burst out of the manager's desk drawer and flew in a long, snaking line towards Arthur. He directed them to pile up in front of him, whilst the Muggles watched open-mouthed. Time for another distraction. "The first hundred people to register will receive a FREE TELEVISION."
A frantic scramble for pens through handbags and pockets ensued, then the entire crowd descended on the pile of forms like locusts landing on a cereal field. Arthur scrambled out of the way as shopping bags and children were abandoned in the frenetic grab for paper. Ten seconds later the silence was broken only by the sound of a hundred scribbling pens.
And that was how the Obliviators found them, a few minutes later. They came along dressed in their mismatched suits and moth-eaten bowler hats, wands at the ready. Most of them grumbled at the mess in the store, and one of them tried to comfort Dave before wiping his mind. Arthur was willing to bet they'd never come across such a quiet and easily locatable bunch of Muggle minds to wipe clean, but Arthur received only a brief mumble of, "Thanks, Weasley, we'll take it from here."
Right then, another owl had come along. Another mission. Another catastrophe to avert…
"Morning, Arthur!" chirped Perkins, stepping into the office and pulling Arthur out of his reverie. He placed a pile of papers on the 'In' tray of his desk, then his eyes fell on The Prophet. "Let me guess; page three?"
"Five."
"Five? That's even worse than last Thursday! We made page four, last Thursday."
"It doesn't matter." He picked up the newspaper and threw it at the wall. It slid down, straight into the waste paper bin, taking the raging mugshot of Sirius with it. "We're not in it for the glory. We don't need to make the headlines. We just need to make a difference. As long as we're saving lives, making the world a safer place, we can sleep soundly knowing we've done our bit." He turned his chair to face Perkins and sat up a little straighter. "So. What's first on the agenda today?"
Perkins ran his eyes down a list in his hand. "Well, we have reports of a lamp post acting strangely in Bournemouth and a small off-road vehicle which ditched its owner then went off chasing sheep in Cwms… in Cwmsych… in Wales. Mrs Dibblywood swears she saw Dark Wizards cursing the substation at the end of her road last night, but she's been seeing Dark Wizards for years, so that one probably isn't quite as urgent. We've got an unconfirmed sighting of a family of rubber ducks pestering children on the banks of the Leeds–Liverpool canal just outside of Keighley, and complaints of odd noises coming from a set of swings in a playground in Argyll."
"Tell you what, why don't you see to Mrs Dibblywood and I'll nip along to Wales before checking out the playground? The rest sounds like people jumping at shadows; we can follow up on them later."
Perkins nodded happily. Mrs Dibblywood always had a hot cup of tea and tray of freshly baked chocolate-dipped shortbread fingers ready and waiting for the Ministry officials who responded to her reports—some wizards had been known to investigate her reports even before she'd made them.
"Once more unto the breach, my friend," said Arthur, donning his coat and hat. His battered and stained armour.
"Arthur." He paused at the door, and turned back to look at Perkins' age-weathered face. "You're a hero, Arthur, whether you make the front page or not. Those closest to you know it, and one day, the rest of the wizarding world will know it too.
Arthur smiled at his old assistant. It was a nice sentiment. Something pleasant to dream about. Perhaps one day that dream would become a reality. But for now, he had a job to do.