Chapter 7
I hated myself more and more each day I didn’t quit. I was beginning to fear I never would. I’d just let myself put up with anything.
Weasley asked me about Quinctus Carrow. There was the main file, of course, and at least seven more where he was mentioned that I knew off the top of my head. They weren’t in the database yet so I provided just the one. A small rebellion to prove I was still me somewhere under my shattered spirit.
He complained about me after. Everyone was so quick to complain. My responding smile was this side of cruel.
Leadership hauled in Potter again for another scolding. No one could quite articulate what I was doing wrong. Or maybe they could but they weren’t willing to admit I had improved their system and was withholding my expertise.
What I had learned about Potter was, while he was shit at details, he was very good at solving problems. The problem was not all the information was in the database. They just needed to hire that assistant he’d already recommended and have them go through my index to do “data entry.” The suggestion was met with more skepticism than it deserved, either because they hated spending money that much or they really hated admitting I had created something good. Potter had that spark in him though that told me he wasn’t going to give it up. He’d hound them a few weeks, two months tops, and then he’d have another set of hands at my kiosk, going through all my things, putting them in the computer.
It was so stupid of me to care what they did with any of it. None of it was mine. But it felt like he was stealing from me. If I had any pride left to steal I’d say he’d done that already, and it was a dick move to come back for more.
Something came over me. I was a man possessed. I had been spending evenings transcribing bits of data but now I gave it everything I had. Potter had solved the problem of confidentiality by having Mr. Weasley install something called a shredder. After each record was entered I got to destroy my own hand written work before someone else did it for me. I’d pause my work from time to time to watch the papers torn apart. I’d let myself get maudlin about it. Compare the bits of paper to what was left of me. I imagined when I ran out of notecards every bit of me would be gone. Maybe I’d finally be willing to end myself.
Potter had to empty it out himself because I didn’t have a wand to cast a burn charm on it. He took to swinging by each morning because it was always full.
I didn’t understand the looks he gave when he emptied the shredder. Not until one day he suggested I ease up a bit. How late did I work, anyway? When did I go home? I never answered his questions before so I didn’t think he found my current silence suspicious.
Weasley asked me about Francis Louvrex. I remember entering that card into the database. What struck me wasn’t how searching for his name would reference eight files. That was nothing. Easy work, simple reward. There was just something nagging in the back of my head… I ruminated on it instead of collecting the files pulled up on the screen. I said the name Biggins out loud without meaning to.
What was Biggins? Who was Biggins? Biggins was not in the database, she didn’t exist. Francis Louvrex was, and that was that.
That should have been that. Only Weasley threw a fit because he knew I was doing data entry and surely I got through the Bs by now. He was wrong, of course, because I was not going in order. Each night I entered random bunches of cards in a small attempt to create chaos. Weasley was indeed being chaotic. He demanded I go check the index, and when I refused he badgered Potter into it. I should have mixed up the cards, too, so it wouldn’t have been so easy to find the Bs. Maybe if the pieces of me weren’t shredded apart I’d have come up with the idea. There were three Biggins. Potter and Weasley had to cross check each one against Louvrex, but they found her in the end. Then Weasley threw a tantrum until I pulled all of Biggins’ referenced files, and then he went through them right there at the kiosk until he found the link to Carrow.
Possibly the most upsetting thing to Weasley was how Potter didn’t understand what had happened. There was a long queue of aurors waiting their turn with records listening to Weasley howl about my eidetic memory and how I kept fucking around. I had been helpful, once. Why wasn’t I being helpful anymore?
With the calm of someone who had plenty to lose and would like to lose it already, I rolled up my left arm sleeve. The Mark was obscene and unmarred. I made sure Weasley had a good view of it when I suggested he go ask his wife why she put me here instead of having me killed like she should have done. They thought it was caustic humor. That I didn’t mean it.
Potter slammed the records window closed between me and his best friend. He had to shove up right next to me to do it. Crowd into my space.
You’re not okay, Draco, was what he said. He kept saying it, demanding confirmation. I didn’t answer him. I never answered any of his questions.