My dear boy, congratulations on reaching the quarter century mark. While I know that's an accomplishment all on its own, growing up in the Burrow (between the danger of Quidditch accidents out in the orchard and the odd explosion coming from the twins' room), I'm even more delighted that you've grown into a fine young man that any father would be more than proud to call his son.

You're a credit to your mother and me, my boy, and especially over the past year, it's been a joy to see you come into your own.

I'll see you at lunch, and I know your Mum will be working hard all day on an extra special feast for dinner.

Bill and I met for dinner and raised a private pint for Emmeline and Benjy. Then, since I had yet more reports to plow through before tomorrow's 8:00 am meeting, I came back in to work for another hour or two.

And that's when I received the worst news of the day. I might as well tell you now, because the Prophet will be trumpeting it tomorrow. There have been more reprisals.

But...how I came to find out--that is worth sharing, as well.

Bill and I have talked, often, about knowing when The Moment comes, when you're cultivating possible collaborators. You have to identify someone right when they're at that tipping point, when their gorge finally rises at the Protectorate's cruelty or lies, and what you say at that crucial instant can make or break any chance that they'll ever throw their lot in with you at all. Sirius' Grim Truth posts are meant to lay the groundwork. Bill's very good at this; he's pulled in a large proportion of our forging and analyst network by patiently observing people's subtle facial expressions at water cooler conversations. He knows exactly who to hit up for a pint in the pub after work and he'll offer endless seemingly casual conversations for months. Waiting for that golden moment.

The way I think of it, all the lessons I gave him in chess and angling are finally paying off.

I'm a bit less skilled at it than Bill is, I think. I waited too long to speak with Norma Brownmiller, to my infinite regret. I do think I could have saved her if I had been more proactive and recruited her for the Order. Which is partly why I rue her death so bitterly.

But tonight, I had a piece of great good luck and I think I caught the Moment with Nick Towler.

I found him ducked into a small office when I went in there to check a cabinet. Not his own office, which was my first clue. He was bent over a report, and he turned his head away from me as I drew near, trying to be subtle about it. I suddenly had a suspicion he was doing it to keep me from seeing how red his eyes were.

'What is it, Nick?'

Wordlessly, he shoved a report over for me to read and covered his face with his hands. After reading the first paragraph, I collapsed into the chair across from him.

The report in dry, bureaucratic euphemisms blandly chronicled how today the entire population of the camps between Sixmilebridge and Bunratty were all removed, by Selwyn's and Malfoy's orders, to the ruins of the Shannon Airport, where they and it were simultaneously sunk into the Irish Sea. Over four thousand men, women and children died.

'Revenge,' he whispered. 'For that bomb that was defused at the school in Sixmilebridge.'

I sat there in absolute shock and then looked up at Nick, aghast.

'How can you do it?' he said, his voice shaking. 'How can you work for them?' He shook his head. 'Listen to me. I'm part of it, too.'

I looked at him and realised it; he had arrived at The Moment, and I might never have a better chance. I made a split second decision. 'Actually, I don't work for them.'

He stared at me, confused.

'Nick, do you know why you were hired?'

His eyes widened and he shook his head.

'You were hand-picked to be my assistant.' I smiled. 'By my sons. Ron, George, Fred and Bill Weasley.'

'They picked me?'

I nodded and pulled out my wand. 'If you want to know the rest, I'll tell you, but I'll offer you the chance to be obliviated afterward. All right? Or you can go away now and we'll say no more about it.'

He licked his lips, and to his credit, thought about it for almost a minute. Finally, he whispered, 'Tell me.'

I cast a Muffliato charm.

I did.

I did not obliviate him afterwards.

I had picked the right moment.

I have convinced Agam Japra's parents to release him to Moddey Dhoo, on one condition. His father is a muggle healer here at the camp (what they call a 'doctor'), and they insisted that the boy be vaccinated, using the traditional muggle method. I believe it involves sticking needles in the arm. I confess I am rather hazy on how this method works but the father was quite insistent.

Once I heard his story, I could see his point. It seems that little Agam had two older sisters, and they lost them both in the measles epidemic of '95.' The parents are quite bitter about this, particularly the father, saying that the deaths were totally unnecessary; if only they had been vaccinated, they would have survived. Of course, since they lost their two older children, it was even more of a wrench to give up Agam. But they are willing to make the sacrifice in hopes that he might have a better life.

Poppy, this is the sort of thing I would have asked Norma Brownmiller about, were she still alive, but alas, of course that is no longer an option. Do you know anything, or do any of your contacts know anything about vaccine stocks?

I met with Neal's mother, and came back this evening to speak with his father, too, after his work shift was over. Neal's mother is a seamstress, and his father works in a gravel quarry.

They're willing to consider letting us take Neal, but on one condition: they want his brothers to be told, too. Neal has two older brothers, aged ten and fourteen, and the mother, especially, is very firm that she doesn't want to have to pretend to them that the boy has died. I warned them that if the boy manifests his magic and the authorities find out before we come back, the decision may be taken out of all of our hands. That made her waver, but in the end, she stuck to her position. But on the other hand, if we tell the boys, and they let the information slip, then all of the children and adults at the sanctury, as well as those of the Order who work to shelter them, could come under great peril. Are children that age able to keep the secret, no matter what?

Well? Are we willing to do this?

I do suspect that there are other parents of children at Moddey Dhoo who have ended up telling siblings some of what is going on, after we have taken the babies and left. I've had hints of this when I've done the yearly follow up visits. Yet we have not yet had a whiff that the authorities suspect anything, and after all, the knowledge that the sanctuary exists is protected by the fidelius spell. I suppose the greatest danger may be to me and perhaps Bill, as well as the rest of us who do camp visits.

Fred and George invited Lee Jordan over for dinner last night, as the day before was his 17th birthday. With Percy moved out and Ron and Ginny off with CCF, this was an ideal opportunity for sounding him out as a candidate for the Order, pursuant to our vote at the last meeting to allow him to join. Lee's been at the Burrow for dinner many times before, so he was entirely comfortable with Molly and me. He was, however, a little puzzled to hear Fred and George openly discussing their plans for the joke shop business they want to start. Apparently, they had told him last year that Molly was quite hostile to the whole idea. (That, of course, was before Messrs Fred and George Weasley had finessed their way into creating the R&D department of the Order of the Phoenix--meaning that Molly is rather more tolerant about the occasional explosion coming from behind their bedroom door.)

George timed it perfectly, saying brightly just as Lee took a big gulp of pumpkin juice, 'We'd like to talk with you about the wand smugglers.' The result, of course, was a mouthful of juice sprayed across the table (fortunately just missing the shepherd's pie).

Once Lee had quit laughing and mopped himself up, he cried, 'I knew it!' He was totally surprised, however, to learn that Fred and George were already members and very eager to hear all we were willing to tell him. We limited explanations, to begin with, to Fred and George's role, and he could immediately see how some of the products they were developing (the Extendable Ears, etcetera) could be useful for an organisation such as ours.

He said that he wanted to join, but he did ask for a night to sleep on it, 'because of course it's a big decision, Mr Weasley. You'll want to know I've taken the time to think it through carefully.' I told him that was indeed right and proper, but he wouldn't be allowed to leave until he had given us his decision. He pleased me even more with his quick understanding; he said matter-of-factly that he expected we would have to obliviate him if he refused. Fortunately, Lee has stayed over many times before on the spur of the moment, and so his mum wasn't surprised in the least to receive a floo call asking if he could spend the night. His toothbrush and pajamas were passed through the fire, and he settled down on a bedroll on the floor in the twins' room. He even suggested that we lock him in for the night and set up an anti-apparition ward.

The boys stayed up quite late into the night talking, and Lee was heavy-eyed at breakfast, but he cheerfully assured us he hadn't changed his mind, and he wanted to join. So I took his oath at the breakfast table over a platter of eggs and sausage, and he is now a fully-fledged member of the Order. Just before I left, he suggested that he might be useful for approaching Nick Towler. He knows my new assistant even better than the twins do, and he felt sure he would be the right person to sound Nick out about his political opinions. It was a good thought, and would be extremely useful information to have as I weigh whether it's safe to approach Nick about doing some of the dangerous Order-related work I do in my department.

He spent today with the twins, reviewing the Order-related posts that have now appeared in his journal. Molly is now off at Moddey Dhoo. Alice and Frank, I hope the clean up is going well.

Fred and George, apparently Nicholas Towler was heartened by your conversation with him, because his application to my department is now in the works. He's scheduled to interview with me and a couple more of my coworkers in the next week.

Good thing, too, as we are both shorthanded, both here in Purity Control, and Muggle Domestication. Several people have been summarily sacked: Gweneth Hughes was one, from Purity Control, and William Wadcock from Muggle Domestication. No one's breathing a word to speculate whether it's because they might be involved with Dogstar. I think, instead, that they somehow ran afoul of the increased investigations from the D.I.R.R.T. initiative. Whether it's that they left documents about that were supposed to be locked up or were embezzling small amounts from the petty cash account, I have no idea. And several others have also announced their 'retirements,' retirements that have been a great surprise to the rest of us, given that they were fully expected to work another ten years or so.

It has everyone on edge, as you can imagine. And our regular work is backed up. People are dusting off the department protocol/regulation books and studying them avidly, to ensure that they don't somehow step a single toe out of line.

I'm trying to locate Terry Boot's file without actually asking anyone for it. Given Alecto and Amycus's almost simultaneous deaths, his legal status is currently uncertain. It would be best if we could head off any attempt to reassign him to a new owner. And I have the file, I do have ways to 'lose' it, which might also be helpful. Terry, do you recall which camp you were at when you were assigned to Amycus Carrow? Perhaps that might help me with the hunt.

I wonder if any investigation into Amycus' death might mean that someone at MLE has it. Minerva, have you been informed of anything about that, i.e., whether there has been an investigator assigned?

I dropped by Laszlo's at midafternoon today, and frowning in my very best obnoxiously officious Ministry manner, I proclaimed loudly that I was there to interview the mudblood Ellie Summer, to determine how she was settling in. (Thank you, Remus, for not laughing. Very heroic of you; I'm sure it must have been difficult.) Tonks ushered us to the small back office and snapped her fingers to coax 'Sinbad' to leave, but he just cocked his head and gave her a look of total doggie incomprehension. Bea obligingly set up a convincing wail right at that moment (wonderful timing; I suspect that Remus stuck a pin in her) and so I waved Tonks off irritably, saying that I supposed the hound could stay. And so Sirius sat in on the meeting too, curled up at Ellie's feet, just as we hoped.

I started out with the sorts of intake questions she has been forced to answer for years: name, place of birth, age her magic first manifested, date of her removal to 'proper' Ministry custody, age of first menses, what was known concerning her family history, confirmation that she has not had any contact with them, etcetera. I had brought along as props my briefcase stuffed with parchments, a clipboard, and one of the more intimidating department forms to fill out. That allowed me to play on her nerves a bit by taking long pauses to make reams of incomprehensible notes in indecipherable shorthand (it's actually a form used to requisition workers by blood type for various assignments, but Ellie naturally didn't need to know that). The give and take of familiar questions seem to steady her somewhat, although I noticed that when I took particularly long pauses she reached out absently to stroke Sirius's ears. At which point I was hard put not to laugh myself.

I then asked her about her present assignment, doing my best to make the questions as insulting and condescending as possible. ('How long after your masters eat are you permitted to eat? Is the food they give you spoiled in any way? Are you allowed blankets for sleeping? Have you acquired any infestations of lice or other vermin since your work assignment began? Where do you toilet? You DO? They actually allow you to share the family's facilities rather than use a chamber pot? Hmm' [a stern look and more copious notes]. 'Have you ever soiled your sleeping quarters at night before they unlock it in the morning? You haven't? My goodness, you're quite well-trained then, aren't you?') She merely blinked at every question, no matter how impertinent, and answered each in the mildest possible voice.

I turned a page over on the form, looked down my nose at her, and asked her to tell me about Mr and Mrs Ponds. What was her impression of them?

She stared off into space for a long moment, and her expression changed not a jot, but I noted her fingers tightening a bit on Sirius's collar. She muttered something about how of course it's not her place to judge her betters. 'Yes, yes,' I said impatiently, 'but the Ministry prides itself on making the best possible placement for all Mudbloods placed within its custody, and so we must take your impressions into account of course. How else can we learn whether your masters were the right sort or not? The Protectorate naturally must make use of every pair of eyes and ears, even the most insignificant, to monitor what happens within its borders.' I let the pause spin out even longer until she licked her lips, looked down at her feet and mumbled that she was sure that Mr and Mrs Ponds must be the right sort, because Mrs Ponds beat her when she broke a glass, so she knew that they wouldn't stand for any stupid mudblood nonsense.

It's a good thing she wasn't looking at me right then, because I'm afraid my face would have scared her. Fortunately, Sirius grabbed her attention at that point by suddenly sitting up and starting to lick her hands. (Good save, Sirius). When I had regained control of my expression, I probed a bit more, but she adamantly resisted all my lures to be a talebearer. Mr and Mrs Ponds were model citizens, she was sure, 'quite strict, really.' I asked her whether they have put her in charge of Bea, and she said no, because of course she has to prove herself trustworthy first.

So, anyway, that's what I gleaned from our meeting. She showed some 'tells' of nerves, which would probably be apparent to an experienced interrogator, but despite significant pressure from me she stuck to her story in the most inoffensive way and defended you.

Sirius, can you add anything more?

Minerva, can you name some day or evening I can stop by Hogwarts, where you can give some excuse that requires Hermione to attend you, and together we can lift that Unbreakable Vow on her? I would like to get this taken care of as soon as possible.

I have the four of us home again. I've put Molly to bed, who's rather the worse for wear. Well, after she sicked up all over George, who I must say probably deserved it. He's the one who spiked her drink after all.

I tried to tell the boys that I'd come simply because I'd received a message from Bill that their mother was feeling ill. They gave me pitying looks and told me not to treat them like they were daft. 'We know perfectly well Mum wouldn't do anything unless you were in on it, too.'

Confound it, they're right.

I must say, I'm giving the idea of allowing them to join very serious thought. Minerva, as Bill told you, they're offering to take an unbreakable vow. Do you think that's necessary?