How To Save Wizard Society: Telling the Weeds from the Roses
Tom Riddle, also known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who, and in some circles 'the Dark Lord' brought forth an interesting situation in our world today. Our way of life is in danger. But the lengths he went to fix it, in the end turned out to be a power grab for his own narcissistic ends.
I intend to shine light on those facets of our life that are in danger of being destroyed, and what we really should be doing about them. I come at this not as someone who followed Riddle, but as someone who easily swallowed his rhetoric when it became easy to do so. Especially when doing so rewarded me.
To understand where these problems come from we first have to look at the man who was Tom Riddle, and why he did what he did. In my research I discovered Riddle had grown up in an orphanage. His mother, Merope Riddle nee Guant, perished giving birth to him. It is believed that she had given up on magic after Tom Riddle's father left them. According to my source Riddle would later kill his father and muggle grandparents, and use memory charms to foist blame onto his Uncle, Morfin Gaunt.
Riddle discovered at a young age that he could do magic, and according to records I could find, terrified the children at the orphanage. Albus Dumbledoor, who had been sent to explain the wizarding world to the young boy attempted to put a stop to this. He continued to teach during the time Riddle attended Hogwarts.
From there Riddle was sorted into Slytherin, and became obsessed with his lineage. Riddle eventually unearthed his connections to the Gaunts and Salazar Slytherin. He opened the chamber of secrets and murdered Myrtle Warren when she was alone in the bathroom where her ghost now haunts on the second floor Hogwarts.
Riddle blamed muggles for his time at the orphanage, and later for his mother's death. He believed that only those who had wizarding heritage should be allowed to benefit from it, something that earned him followers and interest in certain pureblood circles. Even disenfranchised half-bloods would find themselves welcomed by Riddle. And so once again our world was plunged into war.
A war against those who we brought into our culture. A war where magic equaled might. A war where the threat worked in the shadows and didn't have a specific front like the war against Grindelwald.
This war, coming off the heels of the war against Grindelwald has exacerbated the problems in our own society. Our misunderstanding of Muggles makes muggleborns feel alien and separated from some of their own families. And our disregard for those who are new to our world endanger the very same traditions we wish to save.
I'm going to cover many topics in this book, once again from someone who was seduced by the same arguments used to originally breed the sentiment that brought about the Dark Lords in Europe's new history, with the hope that those of you out there will think on what can be done. Before the next Dark Witch or Wizard rears their ugly head over blood.
In Percy's Past
The apartment above the shop in Diagon Alley was dimly lit by enchanted lanterns. Burning with bluebell flames shining a hazy blue light over the mostly empty apartment. In order to keep their business up and running Fred and George had only given themselves the bare necessities in their apartment, two beds, a table with two chairs and a small kitchen. One of the chairs was upright with a small tipped over glass at its place, the liquid spreading over the bare table. The other chair was turned over, an empty glass in front.
Percy tasted the blood trickling out of his nose. George had one mean right hook, and his heavy labored breathing above him told him that there was more where that came from. George's left hand was clutching his wand, shaking. Percy had only meant to share a drink and convince George to come to Sunday dinner. Something to help him through his grief.
"It Isn't fair, he should still be here," George's voice growled as Percy met his younger brother's bloodshot watery eyes. "We all made sacrifices, while you pretended nothing was wrong with what was happening. I lost my ear moving Harry. Fred lost his life next to you fighting an imperssed man. How is it that you get to survive on the right side of history?" The scent of fire whiskey was on George's breath. He'd been drinking before Percy had gotten there.
"You're right," Percy told him, "It isn't fair." George turned back towards his tipped over chair and righted it, pouring himself another shot. He turned over the other glass and filled it, a silent spell setting the alcohol in the glass on fire.
"Get out," George told him levely. "I don't care what you told Mum. Leave me alone."
Percy turned on the spot, glancing out over Diagon Alley, the twins' storefront casting a multicolored shine on the pavement below, before allowing apparition to take him to his own flat.
In the Present
Percy slowly unwrapped the brown parcel, the handsome blackbook sliding onto the table. The front showed A bunch of roses, one for each color in an arrangement, the vines with thorns tangling in glittering green embroidery. There was no author named on the front. The book didn't deserve to be associated with him.
Hours of endless research, mountains of paperwork, and many journeys into the muggle world had led to this book. Percy hadn't really spoken to George beyond family gatherings since that fateful night. It didn't matter that the twins had welcomed him back at the beginning of the fight. What mattered was the results of that fight. A Weasley had died that night, because he put his trust in the wrong wizard to duel beside him.
He stood up and set the book on his shelf, in the spot he had saved for it. He checked his locks of his apartment before he apparated directly to the Ministry's atrium. He walked purposely to the office of the Minister of Magic. Shaklebolt had promoted Percy to Senior undersecretary under the Minister because of his knowledge of how the Ministry worked. A job he could have gotten through hard work, but he got there riding the coattails of victory. He was well aware that Shacklebolt may not have kept him on, and may have spent extra time trying to convince Arthur to leave his department if Percy had not been available.
He sat at his desk in his office, a few memos zipping around his head. Maintenance had set his window so a light grey rain hit rhythmically, with just enough light that he wouldn't strain his eyes if he decided not to brighten the lights. He reached up and grabbed the first memo, something about Britain's Quidditch teams needing private port-keys to matches before the season began. While the paperwork was finished between the department of Transportation and the Department of Recreation and Games they still needed the Minister's department to sign off. Percy waved his wand and pulled the documents out of his inbound stack to go over. On and on the day went, with Percy granting approval to things that needed the Minister's knowledge, but not necessarily his signature.
"Percy, why do you insist on this dreary space?" the rich voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt pulled Percy out of his work induced haze. Kingsley always managed to sneak up on him. He wasn't as boisterous as Fudge, direct like Scrigmore or as personable as Pious Thicknese had been. Instead he seemed to sneak up on Percy to ask questions that he always tried to have the answer for.
"It helps me, its not as rough as being in a brightly lit space day after day. Did you get my memos about the portkeys? I went ahead and approved them but there may be changes coming through the office when the schedule gets changed," Percy changed the subject off of his office space.
"I got the Memos. Thank you for informing me. I have something important that I need you to do," The old Auror glanced around Percy's office. "Come join me for lunch. This is more than just a quick approval based on the Ministry rules and regulations."