Tapping

Devlin Halpern was a short, wiry man with a shock of jet-black hair that always looked as if he had stuck his finger in an electrical socket and a tendency towards exotic neckties. He was giving Ron one of the worst brush-offs he’d ever gotten.

“You’re hardly impartial,” Halpern said, pressing the button for the elevator.

“And?” Ron asked, frowning. “What does impartiality have to do with anything?”

“I just don’t think you’re thinking clearly about all this.” Halpern waved a hand. “We’re reacting to public opinion, Weasley. It’s what we do. I realize that it steps on a few toes.”

“Steps on a few toes?” Ron struggled to keep his voice down. “Dev, the man was convicted of over a dozen crimes. And those were just the ones we could pin him down on.”

“Ron, listen.” Halpern regarded him with the kind of compassionate smile that had won him his position. Ron felt like slugging him. “I understand your concerns. Believe me, we didn’t take this step lightly.”

He got in the elevator and pressed the button for his floor. Ron stepped back and let the doors close.

“Fucking politicians,” he muttered.

The damning thing was that Malfoy and the others were going to be walking around unsupervised, thanks to the precedent set by Draco’s release. Fourteen Death Eaters were being released on their own recognizance at the end of the week, and it looked like there was nothing Ron could do about it.

“Good morning,” his secretary chirped. Ron gave her a weary look, and her smile fell. “Problem, Mister W?”

“They haven’t announced it yet, Mara, so don’t go shouting it, but they’re releasing more than a dozen convicted Voldemort supporters on Friday morning.”

Her mouth fell open when he said the name, and she blinked a few times.

“But sir, how can they do that?” she asked.

“Believe me, Mara. When you’ve worked here long enough you’ll realize they can do anything they damn well please.”

She sputtered for a moment, but eventually her ignition system caught and she roared back into secretarial mode.

“Mister W, I have your itinerary for today. You’ve got a lunch meeting at eleven.”

“Do I have anything in the meantime?” he asked, taking the folder from her.

“Well, you’re awfully early,” she said. “Normally we don’t expect you before ten.”

“I had to talk to the Minister,” he said.

“Did you want me to make an appointment?” she asked. “I could have, you know.”

“I believe that,” Ron told her, smiling. “But I knew I wasn’t going to get much from him.”

She nodded, not really understanding.

“Oh, but sir, since you’re here, we’ve been getting all sorts of owls from the Prophet. They want to interview you.”

“About what?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I’m afraid I don’t know.” Mara held up a coffee cup and he nodded; she filled it from the carafe by her desk and handed it to him. He sipped gently. “Do you want to talk to them?”

“Is the conference room empty?” he asked.

She grabbed a sheet off her desk and glanced over it.

“Yes sir. Would you like me to have them send someone over?”

“Tell them they’ve got fifteen minutes.” He held up a hand to stop her protest. “Make up something, Mara. Say I’ve got an appointment at nine.”

“Yes, Mister W.” She sat at her desk and Ron went into his office. He opened his curtain and looked out the charmed window. It was raining outside. Ron closed the curtain again and threw the folder down on the desk. Five meetings. Two of them overlapped in the late afternoon, and he grimaced. Mara had probably figured something out for him and jotted it in the agenda. He closed the folder, finished his coffee, and was hanging up his jacket when Mara poked her head in.

“They’re here.”

He sat down in the conference room across from a young wizard who looked like he’d just started shaving that morning and a similarly youthful witch. The man was obviously a photographer, but Ron gave him a hard look and he set the camera bag on the floor.

“Ronald Weasley,” he volunteered, offering his hand. Each shook it in turn.

“Bethany Harrison,” the woman said. Her companion didn’t offer his name.

“Well, Miss Harrison,” Ron said, sitting back in his chair, “What can the Department of Muggle Affairs do for the Prophet?”

“We’d like to discuss Draco Malfoy,” she said.

Ron kept his expression neutral.

“I’m sorry, Miss Harrison, but my personal life is not open for discussion.”

“But perhaps you would like to offer a statement on the incident involving Mister Malfoy and an unarmed Muggle earlier this week?”

Ron frowned.

“Excuse me, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She looked at her photographer, who nodded.

“Mister Weasley, a Muggle checked himself into one of their hospitals with a broken nose and reported that he had been assaulted. When investigators went to the scene, they located a pair of Jarausch sunglasses.”

“And?” he asked. “What does that have to do with Draco?”

“Well, as you may know, Jarausch is exclusively a wizarding brand,” she said, producing a folder. “When the police keyed it into their system, it automatically flagged in the Law Enforcement office.”

Ron gestured for her to continue, which she did with rising excitement.

“Once the computer raised a flag, the Law Enforcement boys interviewed the Muggle and matched the description to Draco Malfoy. They’re sending someone to talk to Malfoy, but I thought maybe you would have something to say about this.”

Ron pursed his lips.

“Well, Miss Harrison, I can only tell you what Draco told me,” he said hesitantly.

“So you weren’t with Mister Malfoy that night?”

“No.”

“And what do you know about the incident?”

“Draco told me he was mugged. He struck the mugger and retrieved his wallet. He then went home.”

“And why didn’t he call the police?”

Ron felt his chest tighten.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” he said softly.

“Is it true that he has a history of violence, dating back to his time at Hogwarts?”

“I’m sorry, but I really can’t comment on that,” Ron said. He knew the answer to that question, and it worried him.

“And is it true that the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry agreed to pardon him for numerous violent crimes in exchange for information on the Death Eater organization?”

“Now wait just a minute,” Ron protested angrily. “Draco was pardoned because he was innocent.”

“So you’re saying that Draco Malfoy did not commit any of the numerous crimes for which he spent time in Azkaban?”

“He did commit them,” Ron said, “But he was under the influence of the Imperius Curse.”

“Now, Mister Weasley,” she chided, smiling sweetly, “Was he in fact cursed for all of those crimes?”

Ron ground his teeth.

“No,” he admitted. “But he was under serious duress.”

“Is it also true that he has refused court-ordered psychiatric evaluation?”

“An order which was later overturned,” Ron said, but he knew he was swimming upstream.

“And has he refused doctor-recommended medication?”

“Is that a crime?” Ron asked weakly.

“Of course not, Mister Weasley,” she smiled.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, Miss Harrison,” he said.

“We just want to get to the truth.”