Order Only: Nick Towler

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.