May 16th, 1998. 10:30 A.M.
Sally-Anne and Zhu sat silently at the island in the kitchen of Zhu's house, waiting.
Sally-Anne kept running through the logistics of their plan. Well, it was Sam's plan, mostly. Although he never specifically said what they should do, his ideas were usually the ones left standing after debate. It was a good plan, she admitted to herself, but it bordered on being too complex. There were still too many ways it could fail. She hoped they weren't out over their skis already.
"How's your shoulder?" asked Zhu suddenly.
A game attempt to start a conversation, Sally-Anne thought, but not good enough.
"Sore."
More silence. Zhu was clearly nervous, shifting in her seat and fidgeting with the large, colorfully wrapped package that Sally-Anne had given her earlier along with instructions. She seemed eager for a distraction.
Zhu broke the silence again. "What did you mean, earlier?"
Sally-Anne raised an eyebrow at the question.
"When you said you'd want to be killed if you were Arthur?" Zhu continued. "That doesn't make sense."
Sally-Anne sighed. She refused to appeal to Robert Axelrod.
"We live in a society where we depend on everyone to follow certain laws. Not those of any particular culture, but fundamental laws of humanity. Someone who doesn't follow them, who exploits others who do, is a bad actor. If I showed you a list of people, from any society, with all their actions, you'd know who the bad actors were. Just with that information. You wouldn't need to know their thoughts. You wouldn't need to know what they hoped would happen as a result of their actions."
"Sounds like the Categorical Imperative." commented Zhu.
"Yes. Yes, exactly." Sally-Anne was surprised to hear that Zhu knew that, but pleasantly. She'd been thinking this through herself, almost non-stop, and Kant certainly wasn't on the Hogwarts curriculum. "Societies are built on trust. To stop bad actors from corrupting others, to stop them from acting to destroy society by themselves, you have to eliminate them. That's the 'what'. The 'how' we discussed yesterday while walking. You haven't forgotten already, have you?" She snuck in a lopsided grin at the girl.
Zhu shook her head but bit her lip.
"I'm guessing, but Arthur would probably say that what he's doing is necessary." Sally-Anne made a face. "He'll murder a few Aurors and take over the Ministry, sure, but only to prevent some future disaster. Who knows what disaster; it doesn't really matter. And his argument would sound perfectly sane and reasonable. Only, it's the same one that Grindelwald used. And Voldemort."
'That the ends justify the means."
"Yes. And their math somehow always works out so that death and destruction are not only justified, but required. I just hope Arthur doesn't have an ideology. Pragmatists like Ms. Carrow who know which side of their bread is buttered can do terrible things." Sally-Anne checked the time; it was nearly eleven o'clock.
"But the real horrors, like genocide, require an end that is absolute. Because absolute ends justify absolute means." Sally-Anne finished. She looked grim. She was thinking of the Holodomor. Stalin had been certain that collectivization would usher in a Soviet paradise.
"But, I'm sorry," asked Zhu timidly, "but aren't we using the same excuse?"
"Zhu, I don't have perfect moral certainty. I used to think I did. But I don't. Maybe that's a good thing. Certainty scares me. But society can't function with power-seeking bad actors, so it requires that they be stopped. If there were another way…" Sally-Anne shook her head. "Killing Arthur, if it is Arthur, is a bad act, in a vacuum, but this is the real world; defectors need to be punished. Cancers need to be cut out, despite the pain.
"And Arthur, if he were given the setup, but not the names, he would agree. He would — "
There was a sharp crack and Sally-Anne cut herself off abruptly. Knabby was standing on the island.
For a split-second, the house elf looked angry when he saw that Sally-Anne was also there. But then his eyes widened again and his voice, when he spoke, was thin and high-pitched.
"Knabby is reporting back as ordered, Mistress! Knabby has good news! Knabby knows where the bad wizard is!"
Sally-Anne felt sick watching his performance. She pictured all the house elves in magical Britain at that moment, bred to obedience, bound to their orders like galley slaves bound to their oars.
All a labouring race repines… like a nation in the mines.
She listened as he told them where Rookwood was: some old estate rarely used for anything these days other than tours; he'd murdered the caretakers. Rookwood had a wand and traveled frequently, but was usually home in the afternoons. The house elf couldn't guarantee the schedule.
Zhu explained the plan to Knabby, swore him to secrecy and obedience, then handed him the package with both hands. The wrapping was Christmas trees and puppies, belying its awkward, heavy weight. She also gave him an American penny.
Knabby repeated the instructions back to Zhu and, giving Sally-Anne a quick, hostile glance, vanished again. Sally-Anne breathed more easily. At least he hadn't mentioned anything in front of Zhu. Now they just had to hope that Rookwood was a man of routine.
"Excellent work. I'm heading back to the office. Get yesterday's purchase and get into position. You remember the shop I pointed out. All goes well, I'll see you this afternoon. Very briefly." Sally-Anne didn't bother mentioning what would happen if the plan went pear-shaped. She pictured Mrs. Patel.
"Focus, Sally-Anne," she told herself. She still needed to clear her conscience regarding Arthur. He should be in by now, weekend or no weekend. It was time to win that Bafta.
May 16th, 1998. 11 A.M.
Knock, knock.
"Um, excuse me, oh, hi Mr. Perkins, it's Sally-Anne from down the hall. Yes. Yes, that's right. I was hoping, um, would it be possible for me to see Mr. Weasley. If it's convenient. Just for a minute. Yes. Oh, thank you. Thank you so much."
The office that Mr. Weasley and Mr. Perkins shared was identical to the office she shared with Sam; it was tiny and windowless, with two battered desks pushed together. Mr. Perkins excused himself, allowing Sally-Anne to squeeze into his chair; his desk was completely empty. Arthur smiled affably at her and casually shifted some papers under some other papers. All she could make out was a detailed schematic of the Ministry. She reminded herself to be careful, to remember how easy it is to find confirming evidence when you're looking for it.
"I really appreciate your time, Mr. Weasley, sir. Especially for a junior employee; I've only been here for about a year."
"My pleasure," said Arthur, leaning back in his chair. His expression spoke not only of a hundred other tasks that he was neglecting in order to speak with her, tasks that were much more urgent than the questions of a junior employee, but also that, right then, she was the most important person in the world. The entirety of his attention was focused on her, and her alone. She felt very small, then very honored, then very important, and a little drunk.
"You're Mafalda's girl, aren't you? I noticed you at the Minister's meeting. You keep your head down and work hard." Arthur nodded approvingly. "I respect Hufflepuffs, more than most. You'll go far with the right attitude; I hope you know that." He spoke as though he and Ms. Hopkirk discussed Sally-Anne's enormous career potential every day.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I try to do… to do a good job, sir. But," Sally-Anne looked down and dropped her voice almost to a whisper, "recently it's been getting more difficult, sir."
"In what way?" asked Arthur sympathetically.
"We've never been this busy. I'm inexperienced, sir, so I really need your advice. Mr. Yaxley was awful, I know, and thank goodness he's safely put away but, well, he got things — bad things, certainly — done. There was order. Wizards weren't breaking the law. I love our new Minister, he's great, really, but it just seems like he's… like he's lost control, sir, and I don't know what's going to happen." Sally-Anne's eyes glistened with a silent appeal as she finished.
"Mmmm." Arthur's face was impassive for a moment as he studied her carefully. Sally-Anne hoped she'd played it right. Dressing as though for an important meeting, but doing so poorly: the pressed shirt with one collar popping out from an understated yet unattractive sweater that she'd pulled down over a long, shapeless skirt. Heavy leggings. Flats. Legs pressed together, bobbing slightly on the balls of her feet with repressed anxiety. An expression of nervous competence, with a pinch of awe-struck.
"I can't comment on the performance of Mr. Shacklebolt, you understand," said Arthur significantly.
"Oh, of course not! It's just, everyone respects you and I feel like... I feel like you're a man of action, sir. Even the Minister follows your recommendations. And I couldn't, I couldn't go to Ms. Hopkirk with this, sir, I just couldn't. So who else, who better to ask than you?"
Arthur was silent for a moment longer, then his mouth quirked, as though he were smiling and frowning at the same time.
"Tell me, uh…"
"Sally-Anne Perks."
"Sally-Anne, do you know what a power vacuum is?"
"When a strong leader dies without a successor, isn't it?"
"Yes, very good. Kingsley is a decent man. I report to him — directly, you know — and he's trying his best. Only..." Arthur blew out through his teeth, "...only he's trying to replace Albus Dumbledore. And Amelia Bones. And Rufus Scrimgeour. And, well, frankly Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy, who kept a lot of wizards in line who'd just as soon spit in Dumbledore's eye, or Kingsley's." Arthur smiled rather grimly at that, as though Lord Malfoy had walked off the job without giving his two weeks notice.
"But, but power vacuums don't end well, do they, sir?" asked Sally-Anne more confidently.
"No, they don't," said Arthur shortly. "Unless someone strong takes over, and quickly, many competing forces emerge. They tend to tear apart and destroy the society — empire or country — they hoped to rule. But I don't suppose you would have learned much about that, at Hogwarts."
"No, sir."
"What do they teach them at these schools." Arthur laughed at his own wit. "No, I didn't think so." He leaned forward, serious again. "We, here at the Ministry, have a responsibility to fill that vacuum, regardless of the…" he chose his words carefully, "personal qualities and efficacy of the current Minister. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir. But how — "
Arthur cut her off. "Your office is an important one, although I wonder if Mafalda quite understands that. Has similarities to my own. Do you know why I wrote the Muggle Protection Act and worked night and day to see it passed?"
"No, sir."
"Few do. They think me a Muggle-lover, tainted by my interactions with them, and with the tools they use." Arthur's face showed his contempt for those who took things at their face value. "But I wasn't working overtime with a family waiting at home for the sake of Muggles. I was protecting us." He thrust his weak chin at Sally-Anne. "I was protecting you. Your family. All wizards, everywhere." He drummed his fingers on the desk.
"Picture a world without that Act," Arthur continued. "A world where I failed, where you failed. Where the Statute of Secrecy was broken and Muggles, through accident or malice, learned of our existence. What then?"
"I don't know, sir. I suppose... I suppose there could be war." Sally-Anne looked frightened.
"Yes! We underestimate Muggles because they are inferior. But their inferiority has forced them to be clever to survive. They have weapons that wizards know nothing of. Perhaps some day I'll try to explain them to you. And if they discovered us, well, they're savage enough to use them on their own kind. I doubt they'd hesitate to destroy us." Arthur spoke with absolute certainty.
"But, sir, isn't it inevitable that they discover us?" Sally-Anne asked timidly. "Even with everyone at the Ministry working around the clock, the way things are now I feel like it's only a matter of time." She dropped her voice again, sharing a secret with a trustworthy ally. "I've seen what's happening out there, sir. They have cameras everywhere, now. On buildings. People can even carry them around! And the government tracks everyone, gives them each a number. We don't have those numbers! Isn't someone at the Muggle Ministry bound to notice?"
"Our governments have a working relationship at the highest levels," replied Arthur, waving away her fear. "Besides, you give them too much credit. No, if the mistake is made, it will come from our side."
"One of our teachers thought integration might be a good thing. She said almost every wizard could either work for the Ministry or play Quidditch professionally because our lives were so easy. Housing, water, transportation. She told us Muggles struggle for what we take for granted."
"I swear, half those teachers deserve the sack. Muggles do just fine on their own; I'm sure they prefer it that way. It's not like we're hurting them, and what duty do we have to solve their problems?" Arthur ground his teeth, his formerly pleasant expression distorted now with anger.
"Don't mess with complex systems!" Arthur brought his hand down hard on his desk. He was almost shouting. "Ask your progressive professor in her stone tower why we haven't integrated already! Has every wizard ever been wrong? And not just us. What about wizards in Russia, France, Nigeria, even China? What does she expect, peace in our time? No! There would be war and the death of every wizard: man, woman, and child. Until all that's left of us are the memories of the snipers who put bullets through our brains from half a mile away!"
He took a deep breath. "You don't know Muggles like I do, Sally-Anne. You're a young girl, even remind me of Ginny a bit. Trust a man with experience. We need to stay away from them. Period."
"I agree with you, sir, one-hundred percent. You are absolutely correct. That's why I work so hard. We loyal Ministry people have to stick together and prevent a disaster. But with Kingsley…" Sally-Anne left the thought hanging.
"He's making our job harder, no doubt. Not the right man for the job, I'm afraid," Arthur said with a mildly scornful smile, as if acknowledging what both of them knew but preferred not to say. "But the correct response to a more difficult problem is not to give up, but to find a better answer."
"A better answer, sir? I mean, I know we're allowed to recruit again, but is that enough? Isn't there more we should be doing, to keep our families safe?"
"Yes, there is. I'm glad to see you understand the urgency." Again he smiled his bitter smile. "Not everyone here does. That's why we need better information about what wizards are doing. All the time. And timely. Wand Screening is a joke; you must know that. A month's delay? By then, if word got out, Hogwarts would be a bloody crater. There are a lot of people here who consider themselves virtuous because they have good intentions. They think everything will turn out for the best as long as they think it should. If wishes were horses..." He trailed off for a moment, then resumed with controlled ferocity.
"They don't understand; all that matters — all that matters — are the outcomes of your actions. Deciding to do whatever has the best net result, whatever the cost." Arthur said it with a note of finality.
Sally-Anne saw two phantom boxes standing on Mr. Perkins' desk. One was opaque. The other was transparent. She had taken only one, because that rule, if followed consistently, would help everyone, if not herself immediately. It was a rule that enabled trust between strangers, and trust was what allowed society to survive. Across from her, a shadowy Mr. Weasley immediately seized both boxes, because that had the higher payoff.
"He's not ignorant," Sally-Anne told herself. "He's not stupid. He's not evil. It's a well-informed, logical, well-meaning decision. If all you can see is the worst-case scenario. But he is wrong. "
"Why?" asked the insubstantial Mr. Weasley. "Why is your certainty right, and mine the mistake? What if I'm right? How can you justify killing me to save magical Britain, when my only crime is killing a few idiots in order to save the whole world?"
"Because people like you have to be stopped, and I'm in a position to stop you. It's my duty," said Sally-Anne calmly.
"People 'like me'? I'm not a type!" spat the ghostly Arthur.
"Yes, you are. And now I know your type. You know you're right and there's no evidence that could dent that certainty. You believe you're doing absolute good, and that makes you capable of absolute evil. If everyone were like you, this world would became a hell, full of distrust and fear, betrayal and short term thinking. But if everyone were like me, well, we'd cooperate even when it seemed a little silly."
"What about the Muggles? Are you willing to gamble with the end of the world? The death of my daughter. The death of your father. You're awfully blase about risking others' lives."
"Just because something isn't certain not to happen, doesn't meet you have to act as though it will," replied Sally-Anne. "I know you can't understand that. That's why I have to kill you. I wish there were another way."
The apparition of Mr. Weasley faded away and a warm, electric feeling filled Sally-Anne. It wasn't certainty. She was still terrified of doing the wrong thing. It was trust. She trusted herself. She trusted anyone who acted based on her principles. She looked wide-eyed at the real Arthur, as though a little dazed, sitting on the forward edge of her chair.
"I trust you," she lied.
Arthur smiled. He seemed to relax.
"I trust that you know what's best," she continued. "Even though I have a difficult time making predictions, your confidence reassures me. What can I do to help? Anything. Name it."
Arthur flipped open a legal pad and studied something. "I value loyalty. But I believe it needs to be demonstrated. Let's begin with this; don't come into the office tomorrow. Stay home. And we'll talk again on Monday."
"Very good, sir." She didn't ask why, only straightened her glasses seriously and stood to leave.
May 16th, 1998. 1:45 P.M.
Sam paced up and down the small room. Occasionally, he would sit down on the short leather sofa in the corner, but inevitably his leg would twitch and, with a frustrated growl, he would spring back to his feet and start pacing again.
Sally-Anne wondered idly if he thought she was calm because she was sitting still, cross-legged on the freshly made bed. She spun her American penny again into the air, caught it, and slapped it down on the other hand. Lincoln's face looked dutifully off to her right.
"Heads."
Sam crossed over to the window again and looked down from the unbooked St. Martin's Lane Hotel's studio room they were currently using.
"If Arthur is heading back to Ollivander's today, he should be getting there soon. Unless he's already gone, and we missed him. Or Ollivander came to him, in which case…" Sam trailed off.
"Sam, have you ever had to pre-commit to doing something?"
"What kind of question is that, at a time like this?"
"I'm curious. And I'm bored. We could be here another couple of hours, easy, and you keep walking in front of the mirror. It's disorienting."
"Didn't realize you were so self-absorbed." Sam paused and checked the line of sight from Sally-Anne to the small vanity mirror that sat on the TV stand directly in front of her.
"Sorry, sorry, I'll stop." He sighed and slumped back down into the couch again. "It's just, I know I'm supposed to be the calm one, but I can't stop thinking about how many ways this could blow up in our faces."
"They would have told us if he left his shop," said Sally-Anne reassuringly.
"What if Arthur sends this Andy person, or some other new recruit we don't know about?"
"I'm hoping he's too self-reliant not to come himself. His intensity, when I talked to him." Sally-Anne shook her head with conviction. "No, he needs to be there."
"You're hoping. How comforting." Sam rolled his eyes.
"Don't try to sidetrack me, Sam. Pre-commitment."
"Like what, Cortez burning his ships or something?"
"Is that pre-commitment?" asked Sally-Anne curiously. "I thought it was more like the wedding idea. You know, stand in front of your community and declare a permanent union, and the community knows to kick your butt if you break it, that sort of thing."
"Same difference. At least in theory, since burning your ships seems more credible than promising really hard, cross my heart, pinky swear." Sam looked down at his hands.
"Credibility. Exactly! That's my point." Sally-Anne snapped her fingers.
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," said Sam irritably. "Do you really trust this house elf?"
"Zhu ordered him directly, so yes. Why is Cortez credible and the wedding isn't?"
"Because Cortez destroyed his soldiers' only other option," explained Sam. "He didn't just get them to agree to fight, he took away their power not to."
"Right!" exclaimed Sally-Anne. "Like Odysseus, tying himself to the mast! He knew if he had the choice, he'd try to swim to the sirens and drown, so he took away his own freedom."
"No, he didn't. He freely chose to be tied up, knowing he wouldn't be in his right mind later."
"So he took freedom away from someone else?" Sally-Anne sounded puzzled.
"It's your example, you tell me," said Sam. He looked over from her to the TV stand. "Are you sure you can see the mirror clearly?"
"As crystal. But that other person — Odysseus, but enthralled — would have said that he was acting appropriately, and the guy who decided to tie him up was the knucklehead."
"That's fair," admitted Sam. "So you're saying these are two different people, Odysseus 1 and Odysseus 2. Like in Dr. Seuss."
"I think so. Now-him and Future-him. And Now Odysseus tied the hands — literally — of Future Odysseus," Sally-Anne said.
"Maybe I should send my Patronus. Just to make sure they're all right," fretted Sam.
"Same with Cortez. He tied the hands of his men before they had to decide," continued Sally-Anne.
"Doesn't sound like marriage to me," said Sam sourly.
"Wait, why?"
"Just what I said. You can't destroy the freedom of your future self so easily in the real world. You might commit at a wedding, you might ask the community to hold you to that commitment, but you can still ignore your vows. They're not Unbreakable, after all." He sounded bitter for some reason, but Sally-Anne was too intent on his point to notice.
"Great, progress. Pattern's emerging. Credible pre-commitment is when you destroy the freedom of your future self. Like Unbreakable Vows. Like, what was its name, the Dead Man Switch of Dr. Strangelove. You know, nuclear war? Mutual Assured Destruction?"
"This isn't a Muggle reference, is it?" asked Sam skeptically.
Sally-Anne ignored him. She was on a roll. "Or throwing the steering wheel out of a car and making sure they see it in a game of Chicken!"
"Again, I say, huh?" said Sam.
"Oh, never mind."
"What if Arthur sussed you out?" Sam sounded nervous again. "A little weird, you just showing up at his office and grilling him. He could be on his way here right now."
"Please. I didn't grill him. I allowed him to convince me." Her expression spoke of wounded pride and Sam chuckled.
"All right, Machiavelli. I'll shut up. No, please continue rambling about credibility and destroying freedom and marriages and what have you. All your areas of expertise." He swung his legs out over the end of the couch and threw an arm over his eyes.
"Attention has a bandwidth. Don't try to distract me with the truth," said Sally-Anne in a fake scolding manner. "Anyway, the key seems to be voluntary destruction of freedom. Hmm. Not sure I'm thrilled with that, if your future self is a different person than your present self, but perhaps if she's going to be under duress, then it's OK."
"So we have Odysseus," she counted on her fingers. "Cortez. MAD. Chicken. Vows. All credible. Then making a promise, even a public promise, which isn't entirely credible because no power is destroyed."
Sam snorted.
"But we're missing something," Sally-Anne continued. Her brows knitted again. "We're saying credible pre-commitment requires limiting options. A reduction in power. But what if your future self will have more power? What if you can't pre-commit to one choice by destroying the alternatives because you're actually going to have more choices?"
"Then it's impossible." Sam's voice was muffled under his arm.
"I don't understand that."
Sam swung his legs into a sitting position again, but didn't get up. He looked unusually subdued.
"The whole point is you have to tie your hands because you know the temptation will be too strong to resist. If Future Odysseus still has the freedom to choose temptation, we know he'll swim to the Sirens," said Sam emphatically. "And drown," he added.
"So, what then?" asked Sally-Anne heatedly. "I mean, temptation is everywhere. We're always faced with tradeoffs. Passing up something tempting now, like a cookie, in exchange for maybe more health later on."
"If you haven't noticed, Sally-Anne, most people's self control is poor and sloping downwards. Just because you're not one of them…"
"Look at the comedian. So you're saying freedom's the problem? Because I don't want to believe that," she said flatly.
"Not freedom." Sam shook his head. "Freedom is something you have over yourself. You want to eat the cookie? Eat the cookie. No. Power. Power is something you have over others. Odysseus had freedom. Cortez had power, the power to make his men participate in genocide because they couldn't sail away."
"So you think power is the problem," said Sally-Anne thoughtfully.
"Power is the problem." Sam laid back down again. He checked his watch and groaned. "Past two."
"But power... I mean, somebody's got to have it," said Sally-Anne.
"In ancient Athens, political power was assigned randomly. Imagine if every wizard could be Minister of Magic, but only for a year."
"Couldn't be much worse than our system. Or its results."
Sam laughed sardonically. "And no politicking, no sucking up to the Daily Prophet, no agreeing to terrible laws because of pressure from some pureblood supremacist in the Wizengamot. I forget who said it, but it was along the lines of: 'only those who do not seek power can be trusted with it'. So come clean, Sally-Anne, what would you do if you were Minister for a year?"
"Cookies only if you finish your vegetables," she deflected. "But what you're describing is still power."
"Yes, power, but it's spread out. It's not concentrated." Sam scrambled to his feet, animated. "There's no strong man ruling for decades. No ruling class. And most decisions were put to a vote, a true democracy. So no one had power the way we think of it. Well, except for the really good speakers. That was an issue, I guess," he admitted.
"So solve the problem of power by spreading it around," Sally-Anne said slowly.
"Basically. As you said yourself, then no one is above the law and defectors get punished by everyone. Just knowing that makes people trust each other and cooperate. But your idea, of credible pre-commitment when power is going to increase? No way. That's impossible." Sam shook his head grimly.
"Impossible?"
"Yes!" cried Sam. "Impossible! Power corrupts. Don't roll your eyes at me! It's trite because it's true. Never trust anyone who tries to seize power, but promises not to use it. Increased power and pre-commitment can't coexist. Pick one. I'd pick a world where people have freedom, but little power, so their promises mean something."
"So you can trust them."
"Exactly. Incentives can create trust between us, but only if neither of us has power. How can I possibly trust someone who has both power and an incentive to use her power to hurt me? It's impossible; you can't do it."
Sally-Anne closed her eyes. She saw again the shock on Omega's face, when she'd only taken one box.
"Yes, I could," she said. "There is a way to trust someone with power, even the power to harm you: your future self, a partner, even a stranger."
"Explain that one to me," said Sam disbelievingly.
"Track record," Sally-Anne said simply.
"Is that it?" scoffed Sam. "Want to add a third word, maybe, to that extensive — "
Sally-Anne opened her eyes. Zhu's face appeared on the vanity mirror.
"Green," said Zhu.