AN: Been working on this one off and on for the past two months.
Lore
[1]
The Department of Records was a library. People could come and go as they pleased, but the records could never leave with them.
The proctor in charge of it went by the name of Wade Moore. Moore had a twin sister, Claudia who worked Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Wade took Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, when the DoR—like the rest of the Ministry—closed at 3 pm.
Today was Saturday, and Moore had just an hour left. The front desk was to the left of the main entrance. Today had been slow. Only six people had come in and that had been entirely in the morning. The department was empty now. And that was fine. He wasn't supposed to nod off, but he stayed up late last night. It was something he did often. He wasn't hungover. He was quite happy about not being hungover.
The door opened and a man came through, dark-skinned and tall. Moore didn't swing that way, but he was quite handsome, truth be told.
"Hi there. Pass card, please."
He man came over and handed it to him. Billy Zolan, the card read. The face matched. The Ministry Crest was accurate and it was in the proper position. Everything checked out.
"I've not seen you before," Moore said. "So I'm going to go over some rules. Numero Uno: everything on these shelves stays on these shelves when you leave."
"Got it." Zolan said.
"Every single book or scroll in here is charmed. If you leave this department with it, it'll start screaming. Then it will catch fire without being destroyed. Your clothes, however, will be destroyed regardless of whatever charms you have cast on them. The charms on the documents cannot be countered."
A slight smirk crossed Zolan's face. Then it was gone. Maybe Moore imagined it. He was tired after all.
Moore said: "If you try to counter the charm, the book will catch fire and start screaming. Either way, I call the guards, and they call the Aurors. One of those people will be able to stun you, especially if one of them is Harry Potter."
Zolan looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. But he didn't. Moore yawned.
"Attempting to leave with, or attempting to tamper with, any of the documents here is a five year minimum sentence in Azkaban along with a permanent ban from any department in the Ministry."
"Understood."
"And don't give us any bullshit about how you 'just forgot.' People don't forget. They press their luck. That excuse might bring you down to three years depending on the how soft the Wizengamot is feeling that day."
The other rules were boring and standard. No running. No yelling or screaming. No fights (which had actually happened once). The bathrooms outside the front doors, so no taking documents there either.
Billy Zolan went out of sight. Moore would no more follow him than he would anyone else. The man had a face of someone that would try something. Let him try something. Moore could handle himself. And this guy couldn't defeat the Aurors that would come.
Still, he needed to keep awake. For just another hour, then he could close up shop.
He closed his eyes. He was just dozing. He would not fall asleep.
[2]
Click
Moore was startled awake by a soft snapping sound.
Click
It took him a second to remember where he was. In the Department of Records.
He looked around. The sound wasn't coming from nearby.
Click.
"Hello?"
The sound echoed across the shelves.
Click.
Moore didn't make another sound. He got up from his table.
Click. Click. Click.
Moore went around the first row of shelves, to the study tables, which were more like alcoves or stalls. They gave people some privacy from the sides but that was about it. He was on the second floor.
Click.
The sound was coming from the first.
Moore didn't yell, but made quite a bit of sound as he raced for the stairs and descended to them. By the time he made it to the first floor, the sound had gone away entirely. He waited for it. It didn't sound.
Moore went to the study tables on this floor. Zolan had his nose buried in a book, not looking up until Moore reached the table.
"What are you doing?" Moore asked.
"Reading." Zolan said. "What's the matter?"
"What was that snapping sound?"
"What the hell is wrong with you? There wasn't a snapping sound."
He looked at Zolan, trying to read his face. The man merely stared back.
"Show me your wand." Moore said.
Zolan looked puzzled. "My wand?"
Moore took out his own. "Right now. I'm damn serious. And don't point it at me."
Sighing, Zolan took it out.
"Give it here."
It was handed to him. He pointed his wand at it. "Priori Incantato."
The wand spewed out a spectral image of a series of brooms at work sweeping a floor.
Zolan sat with his chin in his hand, looking up at him.
"Priori Incantato." Moore said. The spectral image was a series of brooms sliding into view.
"I could search you." Moore stated, not giving the wand back. "I could find out what you're hiding."
Zolan only grinned. "Oooh. Like a strip search?"
Moore's face burned. "Shut up. I don't go for that."
"So I'm just imagining that blush on your face?" Zolan said, smirking. He was standing up.
"Damn right you are!" Moore shouted. Much, much too loudly. It echoed through the Department.
Zolan took a bold step forward. "Don't worry about it, sweetie. It's closing time. Nobody is here. Nobody will know."
"No!" Moore shrieked and shoved Zolan. The tall dark man fell onto the table. It just made him laugh. Throwing the wand at his face made him laugh even harder.
"Get out before I call the guards!" Moore yelled. His face was a damn furnace. He couldn't face anyone like this.
He ran upstairs. He ran to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face.
He was only there for 30 seconds, 45 at the most. He didn't hear Zolan trip the alarm outside.
Moore left the bathroom. He searched the entire Department. Zolan was nowhere to be found.
This was bad. Zolan had taken something. He was sure of it.
He went back to the front desk, and hit a hidden switch. A hidden compartment came out, and in it was a giant book, a catalog of every single document in here. He charmed it, making it float. Then a pen.
"I need help to do this."
But he was afraid.
He could just lie about why he ran to the bathroom. Say that he felt threatened. But then, the guards would ask, why he didn't just ring the alarm immediately? Why go to the bathroom? Lies begat more lies and he might not be able to keep the story straight. And if he was caught lying to Ministry of Magic guards, the next one in front of the Wizengamot would be him.
As brutal as it was, he had to do this alone.
[3]
And so he did. He took out a spare notebook from the desk, and wrote down an abbreviation for every single document in the book. There were ten of thousands. This alone took him two straight hours in spite of the magic. The pen ran out of ink before he was even a third of the way in. He had to charm another pen, and then another when the second ran out.
He was burning through ink so fast, it finally occurred to him there was an easier way to do this. Each document in the catalogue was numbered, so he just wrote those down. It saved him a lot of ink.
A guard came in. "What's up Moore?"
"Nothing, Harrisman."
Harrisman obviously noticed the charmed book and pen. He realized what Moore was doing. "I thought cataloging wasn't for another week?"
"I just felt like cataloging today." Moore said flatly. It wasn't exactly a lie.
"You aren't supposed to do it by yourself."
"Watch me."
Harrisman looked like he wanted to say something else. Then left it alone. After all, it was Saturday. If Moore knew Harrisman, he'd be heading for the nearest bar so that he would have a hangover to sleep off on Sunday.
The man left and Moore was alone again. Maybe Harrisman would notify Minister Granger and let her know what Moore was doing. He'd be up shit creek sans paddle if that happened.
"He's going off to get drunk." Moore assured himself. But there was very little in the way of assurance.
He started with the second floor, even though Zolan had been spotted on the first and had probably taken something from there. He had to be thorough. Each book had its catalogue number on the spine, and they were supposed to be in order. Item 1, "Diary of Merlin" was at the edge of the second floor. Moore started there. They often weren't in order, because people moved them around even though they were told not. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the numbers.
"The numbers, Mason. What do the numbers mean?" Moore muttered and laughed frantically.
It took him four miserable hours to get through it all. It was summer and the sun wasn't even close to setting. His entire body was on fire. His feet and back felt like he'd been on the Long Walk, plodding forward with the threat of death beside him, soldiers riding on halftracks with wood and stone for faces.
And in the end, nothing had been taken.
[4]
The "man" named "Zolan" didn't go to "his" house in Godric's Hollow. "He" went to a little known house that was once frequented by Lavender Brown and her now departed aunt.
"Zolan" knocked.
"Who is it?"
"Let me in, Ernie."
Ernie MacMillan opened the door and shut it when "Zolan" walked in.
Immediately, the Polyjuice potion began to wear off and she was herself again.
"Damn it. That was way too close."
"Any trouble?" Ernie asked.
"Just some moppet who's probably still in the closet. I just gave him the Zabini routine. Cormac was right. That kind of shit really throws people for a loop."
Ernie smiled grimly. "Did you find it?"
"I hope to God and Merlin that I did. I don't know if we can risk something like that again. If this is a decoy..."
"Don't worry about it, boss. I'm sure you got it."
She gave him a playful slug. He returned it.
A woman entered the room, and beamed. "You made it!
"Let's not celebrate just yet, Hannah."
The three of them went to the living room. Ernie and Hannah MacMillan were the only sentries posted up here. The room was dark. All the rooms were dark. Hannah was providing the light source
"What have you guys been doing in here? It stinks."
"That's the smell of victory." Ernie said proudly. Hannah giggled and punched him.
"I hope there's no victory on the couch when I sit down."
"You want some cake, boss?" Hannah asked.
"Not really."
"Ron Weasley made it." Ernie said.
"Damn it! Now I have to."
The pair already had it cut into slices and plates spread out. She took one and ate. Yellow marble, about as simple as cakes could get and yet so wonderful. Ron Weasley wasn't as good a cook as his mother, but damn if he couldn't make some serious baked goods.
"It's frigging delicious." she said.
"It's because he was using the Sharingan." All three of them said at once.
She was done with the cake and put down the empty plate. She rubbed her slightly bulging stomach.
"I've got some pickles and ice cream if you need that." Ernie said, grinning. Hannah slugged him on the shoulder. "Ow!"
"Don't be a dick, Ernie."
The woman just cackled.
"You're right, Hannah." Ernie said sheepishly. "We got some seedless watermelon too. Ow!"
"Boy or girl?" Hannah asked.
"We don't know yet." she said, rubbing her tummy. "I'm thinking we'll call him James, if he's a boy. Or Lily if it's a girl."
"That's sweet." Ernie said sincerely.
She reached into her robes and pulled out the pocket Nikons.
"You got the dark room unlocked?" she asked.
"I'm almost tempted to say which one." Ernie said.
"Well don't." she said. Any hint of humor in her voice from before was gone.
"It's open." Ernie said. He knew the time for joking was done.
They went to it.
[5]
"We're behind the times." she said, as she developed the photos.
"We know, boss." Hannah said.
"In the five minutes I was enjoying that cake, a Muggle could have sent these pictures to literally all his friends on social media."
"And get their asses tracked by the government." Ernie stated, and he wasn't wrong either."
"I sometimes think we're regressing." she said.
"How so?" Hannah asked.
"I mean, that idiot proctor in the Department of Records. He was, what? 19 at the most? It really never occurred to him that I had a pocket camera on me."
"That's because wands can take pictures by themselves now." Hannah said. And they could: A Stillshot Charm. It was fairly new.
"Yeah." she said. "I watched Law and Order the other day. This kid was accusing some adult of abusing him or something like that. It was a guy with a history of doing that. The guy lured the kids in with TV or something like that. But then the cop asks the kid what kind of TV the guy had. The kid says, color, what other kind of TV would it be?"
Ernie and Hannah weren't getting it.
"Black and white." she said. "That's what kind. The kid didn't even know that kind of shit even existed. The complex machine becomes the simple answer, and the simpler machine becomes unknown. Soon the wands will doing everything by themselves."
Ernie and Hannah exchanged looks. They didn't know what to say to any of that, and that was just fine.
They kept working. She began to sing softly.
"There was nothing in sight, but memories left abandoned."
She put the first major section into its own stack.
"There was nowhere to hide, the ashes fell like snow."
She developed the second and did the same.
"And the ground caved in between where we were standing."
She remembered something. She walked over to the copy machine and fax, which were in the far corner. She turned them on and let them warm up.
"And your voice was all I heard..." she trailed off, not knowing why.
[6]
Department of Records Officer Kenneth Simon Greengrass Summary Report:
"Introduction: The purpose of this report is a cataloging of the ancestry of witches and wizards. This report is based on sources such as family trees, newspaper clippings, diaries, journals, and oral reports."
Her father's report wasn't a book with the pages stuck to a binding. It was a three-loop binder, so that he could add more pages where he needed to. The total document clocked in at 400 pages. It had taken her six cameras and the better part of an hour to take photos of them all. A Stillshot Charm would've taken care of all of it in twenty minutes, probably less. She was extremely grateful that Ministry lackey hadn't been too committed on searching "Zolan's" robes. The hidden compartments were only hidden from the outside.
Her arms were killing her, too. She'd had to hold each camera up at the right distance.
Kenneth's report was categorized by family, with the Sacred Twenty-Eight before everyone else. Their sections began with family trees, as far back as the man could find. The words "Currently updated family tree of" proceeded the family's name.
Names were color-coded: Muggle-borns were red. Half-bloods were blue. Pure-bloods were green.
She looked through these only briefly. There wasn't anything of interest there. Nothing her father didn't already tell her. The Malfoy, Parkinson, Carrow, Weasley, Abbott and Longbottom families were all distantly related. That wasn't a surprise. As she thought, not a single one of the families was "pure" to begin with.
Date: 1970
Finding: Yenna Gables, born in 1686, was Muggle-born. According to diary buried with her (at her own request), Yenna told her husband that her magical parents had died a decade before Yenna's marriage to Brutus Malfoy. Yenna's parents were Anthony and Kelly Gables, pig-farmers who lived 10 miles south of her residence.
Conclusion: Malfoy family is 80 percent magical, 20 percent Muggle.
Date: 1971
Finding: Persia Parkinson, 1897. Half-blood.
Date: 1973
Finding: Rufus Weasley, 1651. Muggle-born.
Date: 1974
Finding: Maria Greengrass, 1598. Muggle-born.
She smiled at that one.
And so on and so on.
"It's like you were telling us, boss." Hannah said.
"No shit." she said shortly. "It also really doesn't matter."
"What do you mean?" Ernie asked.
"What difference does it make?" she asked. "Draco's been married to a Muggle-born for 10 years now and they have two kids. Pansy and Millicent are married to Weasleys. They never gave a shit about purity to begin with. Theo is married to a werewolf. Gargoyle and Crabmeat are dead."
"Oh." Ernie said.
But she went on: "My sister is gay and doesn't have any kids. And in my case, there isn't a man, woman, child, dog, cat, chicken or reptile on this entire planet who doesn't understand how I feel about blood supremacy."
Ernie started laughing...but then abruptly stopped when he saw the look on her face.
"I'm trying to think of a Slytherin my age who's married to a supposedly blood purity family and still alive. I can't think of one."
"What was Voldemort?" she asked suddenly. "Pure or half?"
The question was so obvious, the two of them just stared at her. "Half-blood, of course. Everybody knows it."
"I know." she said. "That's the big cherry on top. Stalin was Georgian, not Russian. Hitler was Austrian, not German. And Tom Riddle, Mr. Blood Purity himself, had a Muggle father who probably never saw magic in his life. At least...not until his own son killed him."
She turned to them: "If Riddle Junior can lie about it, why can't anyone else? That's the question that lingers in people's minds whenever blood purity idiots start their song and dance nowadays. Just how pure are you really?"
"I get it." Hannah said.
"Then get this: The blood supremacy movement is done." she said. "It stomped around for a few centuries. Then we took its makeup off. Then we sodomized it. Then we beheaded it. We brought the body outside and put it on a pole. We raised it high, so that the whole world could see what we did to it.
"It's not dead." she said to the pair. "Ideas don't die. But it is done. There are some pure-blood parties all across Europe, but I did a headcount of those. All together, they don't even break a hundred. We see blood purity characters in cinema and literature but they're parodies. They're a complete joke and everyone knows it. Even they know it."
"Okay, boss." Hannah said, "Then what is the point to getting this report?"
She showed them the final section of Kenneth's report:
"Muggle-born Emergence"
[7]
It's worth noting that the use of the terms "pure-blood" and "half-blood" is not technically accurate. A wizard's blood has the same function as that of a Muggle, carrying nutrients and oxygen across the entire body. Magic doesn't come from the "blood" any more than an ability to play the piano.
I use the two terms for one simple reason: it's easy. It's ubiquitous. When someone says pure- or half-blooded, it is almost universally understood what that means.
What was less understood were Muggle-borns, wizards and witches born to Muggle parents. For the longest time, until the discovery of genetics, wizardfolk believed their magic was a gift from God. It was only given to specific families, who could pass the gift down to their descendants.
Passing the gift down with a Muggle partner was possible, but there was a chance that the offspring wouldn't have any notable magical abilities in spite of having the "gift." These individuals became known as Squibs. Many families took this to mean that Muggle-blood diluted the gift in some way or perhaps God didn't want them to have magic.
Likewise, there would be the case of the Muggle-borns. It was thought at the time that God would simply gift these people with magic simply because He wanted to.
Nowadays, it's understood that magic comes from genetics, passed on through DNA. In terms of inherited traits, there are dominant and recessive traits. Dominant traits mask recessive traits, which only have a chance at being "revealed" when two mates have that same recessive trait.
Although the DNA information is not known, it is widely regarded that "magic" is a recessive trait. It explains why two Squibs, generations apart, will eventually have a descendant that can do magic.
These findings are based on the theory of evolution. The dominant scientific consensus is that homo sapiens first originated on the continent of Africa, meaning that every single human being is of African descent.
"Don't tell the Americans that." Ernie said.
"Shut up." she said...and kept reading.
All human beings have a common ancestor. We are all related, no matter how distantly.
Feats of magic and unexplained phenomenon have been recorded since mankind was capable to recording anything. It leads me to believe that "magic" was with us from the beginning or very close to it.
We all have magic inside of us. Not just pures and halfs and Muggle-borns. ALL of us.
For the longest time, I thought there was no way to make it dominant in all of us. That isn't the case. I have used magic on a confirmed Muggle, in anger...and I saw him use magic back at me.