‘What is this?’
Draco cleared his throat. ‘One of my ancestors ��� a distant great uncle of my father’s, I believe ��� was a historian. He made that book.’
‘Wrote it, you mean.’
‘I guess he wrote some of it, but most of all he jinxed it. It’s a book on the history of wizarding families, and it writes itself.’
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. ‘Seriously?’
‘Whatever information you may need on anyone in the wizarding world, you will find it in here.’ Draco produced a golden key and went on to open the glass display. Then he shot her a slightly sheepish look. ‘You may object to the tone, though.’
She understood only after a few seconds. ‘Oh, I see. Your great uncle was a blood supremacist and this book reflects his world view.’
‘Um ��� yeah.’
‘So I won’t find any Muggle-born wizards in there?’
‘You may find their names, but the article going with it will probably not be very enlightening.’
Elena put it to the test right away, turning the pages with careful hands and looking up Hermione Granger.
Hermione Jean Granger, the article said, *19.09.1979, Muggle-born witch, member of the so-called ‘Golden’ trio. Known as nerd and smart-arse.
In spite of herself, Elena blurted out with laughter. Draco grinned a little self-consciously at first, then joined in.
‘I’d better not look up myself.’
‘I doubt you’d be in there. You’re not even British.’
He turned out to be right; his great-great uncle’s book had either not taken notice of her existence or was of the opinion that she didn’t deserve a mention. She didn’t care, however, as she immediately saw the merit of the book and started to frantically leave through it, searching for the Crowleys. Aeneas Crowley was easy to find, the article on him huge, detailing the stations of his career and even offering a detailed family tree. Elena made herself remember the most important dates, but she searched in vain for any information on Magrathea Crowley. In fact, she was only mentioned once in connection with Aeneas, namely in the family tree where beside his name and the familiar symbols of the two rings that signified marriage, she was simply rendered as Magrathea. No birth date, no maiden name. Elena pointed this out to Draco who frowned.
‘That’s strange’, he admitted, ‘normally you would find much more information on spouses of pureblood wizards ���’
‘Maybe she’s a Muggle-born?’ Elena suggested, though doubtful.
Draco shook his head determinedly. ‘She’s Barnabas Cuffe’s daughter, isn’t she? The Cuffes are purebloods, so she must be in here.’
‘Let’s look up the Cuffes, then.’
With flying fingers, Elena leaved again until she found the article on the Cuffe family. Barnabas Cuffe had got a generous one, being an important figure in the wizarding world as the owner of the Daily Prophet. His family tree was depicted with the same amount of detail as had been the case with Aeneas Crowley.
‘There!’ Draco put his finger on the page.
Elena looked, and there it was: Magrathea Cuffe, daughter of Barnabas Cuffe. However, what was written beneath it made her inhale sharply: *13.04.1953, + 11.11.1956. She and Draco exchanged looks, then went on to find the article on Magrathea Cuffe. It was very brief, only mentioning that Magrathea Cuffe, only daughter of Barnabas Cuffe, had tragically drowned in infancy.
‘It must be a mistake’, Elena murmured.
‘My father says the book doesn’t make any mistakes’, Draco held against, but he seemed uncertain.
‘It must have’, Elena objected, ‘we know that Magrathea Crowley is very much alive, and the daughter of Barnabas Cuffe. Plus, the birth date seems right, too. From the way she looks, she must be in her forties. It fits.’
Confused, she looked over the Cuffe family tree again. According to it, Barnabas Cuffe didn’t have any other daughters, only sons. He did have a sister, by the name of Dorothea, but she was born in the early 1930s which didn’t fit at all, apart from being the wrong name.
‘Well, I guess this book is not as great as my father claims’, Draco said with a sneer on his handsome face. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’
A smile ran away from Elena’s face. She had a peculiar feeling inside her guts, but couldn’t nail it down. On top of that, she was a little disappointed, and yet still fascinated by this very special history book. She found that she couldn’t resist turning its pages some more. Draco watched her, then guessed what she was looking for and grinned. ‘Snooping a little, are we?’
She gave him a wicked smile. ‘I’m a spy now, am I not? So I might as well ���’
Of course, she hadn’t been able to resist looking up Daysen’s family. It invariably led her to an entry on the Princes, which was quite substantial. Within minutes, she learnt more about Jack’ ancestors than he would ever have told her on his own free will. They were part English, part Irish, from county Sligo. Elena found this faintly amusing, as the stereotypical image she had on the Irish of merrily carousing people was not easily brought into accord with Jack Daysen and his drawling English accent; but then again, it might be where his capacity for drink came from. The Prince family had also produced a number of notable potioneers, particularly one by the name of Jack Alixus Prince, a great-grandfather of her surly teacher (or ex-teacher, to be precise). The article on Jack Daysen himself was substantial, and while she read it, Elena noticed the changing tone. At first he was praised as unusually smart, equipped with all the characteristics of a true wizard and destined for great things. Only towards the end of the description did terms such as ‘turncoat’, ‘abominable’ or ‘blood traitor’ start to surface. Apart from that, the major events of his life were rendered correctly, although there was not a single mention of Lily Potter. Obviously, the sentient history book had been too embarrassed of a wizard turning against his kind for a mere Muggle-born to mention her.
Finally, she looked up Eileen Daysen, n��e Prince, born on 28th October 1930, Hogwarts student from 1941 to 1948, and during that time captain of the Hogwarts Gobstones Team and president of the Hogwarts Gobstones Club. There was also a mention of her talents as a potion maker and, of course, of her marriage to a Muggle by the name of Tobias Daysen, which had subsequently led to her being disinherited by her family (the tone of the book conveyed approval and sympathy with her parents’ chagrin) and shunned by her relatives.
All in all, there was nothing really new. Of course, there were the gobstones again, but Elena already knew from Finn McVey that Eileen Daysen had been an accomplished player. Again, Elena thought of Magrathea Crowley and her very special set of gobstones, as well as of McVey’s suspicion that Eileen might have the missing red stone. Something was growling inside of her guts, put she couldn’t put a finger to it. In fact, she felt as if a revelation was imminent, but couldn’t come through a thick, obscuring fog. Eventually, she shook herself and signalled to Draco that she was finished with the book and ready to go.
‘Interesting thing, though’, she remarked to him as they left the library. ‘Your great uncle must have been a stickler for details.’
‘Aren’t most historians?’ Draco wrinkled his nose a bit. ‘No profession for me, I can tell you that. I don’t understand obsession with history, anyway, since it’s constantly rewritten, anyway.’
Elena smiled. She could imagine what he was alluding to. The history he’d been taught all his life was being rewritten as they spoke. Closing up to his side, she looked up and down the hallway, hoping to find Jack and Narcissa. However, there was no trace of them. Draco picked up on her disappointment and made an indulging face.
‘Like I said, they’ve a lot to talk, so don’t ���’ He broke off.
Elena looked up curiously and followed his pale grey eyes. They were on the nearby staircase leading up to the next floor. On top of the staircase stood the figure of a man, completely still. It was quite a ghostly appearance, yet, this w
as no spectre but a man made of flesh and blood. Elena found his age difficult to tell, but he had long pale-blond hair, an immovable face and red-rimmed eyes with dark shadows beneath them. He stared at them, but gave no sign of recognition, no sign even of interest. Realizing that this could be none other than Malfoy senior, Elena went into one of her confused little curtseys. She felt Draco beside her stiffen, and then he put his hand to her elbow.
‘Let’s go’, he murmured and led her away, towards the gallery and the wide staircase that would bring them back to the hall. Elena followed, but couldn’t help looking over her shoulder repeatedly until the still figure was out of view.
‘Was that ���?’
‘My sorry father, yes.’
Elena glanced sideways at Draco. His face was suddenly stony, a marked sneer around his mouth. ‘You’re angry at him’, she stated.
‘How could I not? You saw him. Acts like he’s a goddamn walking corpse.’ The words were spat out in disgust.
Elena didn’t reply. It was difficult to express what was on her mind, and to Draco of all people.
‘You should have seen him a few years ago’, Draco went on in a cold voice. ‘He used to be an impressive man. Knew what he wanted, what to do. ��� Now he’s just a wimp.’
He wasn’t just angry, Elena realized. Most of all, he was disappointed. She took courage from that.
‘Honestly’, she started, ‘to me he looked depressed.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. He looks like someone with a really bad case of depression.’
Draco frowned. ‘Are you saying he’s mad?’
Elena scoffed. ‘That’s the same thing to you wizards, isn’t it? Anything that’s beside standard mentally you’ll file under either madness or idiocy!’
He looked at her in surprise because her voice had become fierce. He had no idea that she’d been reminded of Stephen Periwinkle.
‘I’m just saying that my father should buck up’, he growled.
‘A person who’s depressed can’t just ‘buck up”, she started lecturing him, ‘a person who’s depressed needs someone to talk to, someone who’ll ���’
‘He has my mother! Should be enough, don’t you think?’
Elena realized how Draco became ever angrier, but decided to ignore it. ‘This is not a joke, Draco! This can be dangerous. He might get suicidal, he might ���’
‘Come off it!’ His eyes flashed at her. ‘This is family business! Take your Muggle ideas elsewhere!’ He increased his pace to get a few steps ahead of her.
‘Wow’, she thought, ‘I hit a nest of wasps.’
It was obvious that saying more would have no effect on Draco, so she quietly followed him down the stairs, making a mental note to mention what she had seen to Jack instead. At the same time, she sympathized with the young wizard. Hearing things such as she had just said about someone you ��� how ever grudgingly ��� cared for was difficult. And as it turned out, Draco’s anger only lasted until they had reached the bottom of the staircase. He turned around to her then, looking slightly sheepish, and began telling her a joke he’d recently heard from a friend. It was a wizarding joke, so he had to tell it twice until she understood and it helped her to forget the ghostly encounter.
When they arrived in the salon, everything was well again.
Jack Daysen’s world was swaying. The elegant salon around him, its Versailles-styles furniture and the large blue eyes on the face of the woman in front of him ��� all of it bathed in an enchanting haze, swinging back and fro. Damn it, he shouldn’t have gone at the wine like that, the elven-made was stronger than the Muggle variety, he should have known. Nevertheless, he found his present state faintly pleasant, soothing even. Plus, it complemented his original mood which, right from the get-go, had been swaying as well, changing between extremes. He’d wanted to come to Malfoy Manor because he’d always been welcome in this place; but there was, of course, the memory of recent years, specifically the night Charity Burbage had met her demise. All during dinner, flashes of her suspended above the table, moaning, pleading, and finally the shape of the gigantic snake slithering over the table’s surface to claim its dinner had come back to him, and those images were now inextricably linked to everything that had happened to him here before, in a life that now seemed decades away. In this very salon he’d often sat with Lucius, comfortable in front of the fireplace, talking and, yes, drinking. Maybe that was the reason he’d overdone it, some perverted form of nostalgia. But he couldn’t be sure and didn’t matter much, anyway.
He hadn’t missed Lucius tonight, though. His erstwhile friend appeared to live in a world of his own right now, one of indignation and self-pity. Jack was happy with him staying there, felt no guilt towards the man. He acknowledged that he had tricked Lucius, lied to him on numerous occasions. It had been inevitable. And while Lucius apparently failed to see that, Narcissa didn’t, and that was an immense relief to Jack.
He had always liked her, to the limited extent he allowed himself to develop affection for anyone. Narcissa had been a good influence on Lucius, had turned a vain and wayward young wizard into a faithful husband, loving father and a better friend; for that he respected her. Jack was aware that Narcissa had always liked him, too ��� it was the reason why she had come to him when she couldn’t stand the worry over Draco any longer ��� although before the Unbreakable Vow, their relationship had been one of friendly distance. After that, of course, there had been her offer. He had turned it down, of course, he wasn’t that kind of man, would never even think of touching a friend’s wife, no matter how strong the temptation. At the time, Jack had told himself that it had been no more than an act of desperation on her part because she’d felt deeply indebted to him. Now, however, he knew that it hadn’t been like that, or not entirely. She’d turned the incident into a compliment and it had the effect of him warming to her even more. The embarrassment had ebbed away. He was also strangely turned on, not by Narcissa herself so much but by the underlying sexual tension her admission ��� that she would have wanted to, that she wouldn’t merely have suffered it ��� had triggered. So in a different life, perhaps, they might have had a thing. Only a year ago, he would have dismissed such thoughts as insignificant vanity. Now that he knew what could happen between a woman and a man, it gave him a pleasant shiver. He felt impressive, manly, even. And he was drunk. He might have laughed.
Anyway, it was all a nice break from the week he’d had. His Hogwarts duties were particularly bothersome these days, what with being obliged to patrol the Forbidden Forest every other night in search for prowling satyrs and teaching the tykes how to protect themselves (which, in his view, they didn’t take nearly as seriously as they should have). In addition, any attempts of him and Hermione Granger in taking a crack at the encrypted papers found in Leshnikov’s car had been futile. The code was more complex than he’d expected and he hated nothing more than a dead end. Plus, his search for Abelard Ainsworth had gone nowhere. The Dementors appeared to have left him with enough brain to go underground and until the pointer Narcissa had just given him, he’d been without any substantial lead.
Apart from all this, there was the worry for Elena. During the day, he tried to suppress it; but by the evening he found that he couldn’t find any rest until he saw that Chinese lampion lit in her window. Every day upon finishing his duties, he went faithfully back to Spinner’s End, endured his mother’s nagging questions and cutting remarks; in actual fact, he didn’t even hear them because he constantly found himself wondering what he would to if one day the lampion wasn’t lit. What indeed? He wouldn’t even know where to find her! Somehow he had to find a way around the curse that had been put on her, but as of yet he had no idea how to do that and it irritated him to no end. However, it also made him all the more grateful for the Malfoys’ interest and support, specifically Draco’s who was all set on helping and getting involved. Jack knew, however, that until this happened, peace of mind w
ould be hard to come by.
As if on cue, the salon doors sprang open and Draco barged in with Elena in tow. Through the blur in his mind, Jack noted their happy laughing faces. Draco had a marked swagger, it was obvious that he felt important in the role of Lord of the Manor. In addition to that, the boy demonstrated a certain, though probably unconscious, possessiveness towards Elena, felt in charge of her somehow. And while Daysen realized that he had no reason to resent that ��� he had, after all, created the situation ��� he found that he did. His drunken mood swung once more and he couldn’t help glowering at Draco a little. However, the young wizard seemed completely oblivious of it while was regaling his guests with some story or other that completely escaped Daysen’s impaired attention.
With the outside world out of step, Jack found it soothing to rest his eyes on Elena. She’d been smiling when coming in, but now she stared ahead of herself, looking pensive. He allowed himself to wonder what was going on in her mind, and before long, she noticed his gaze and returned it slightly self-consciously.
With interest, Daysen observed how the sexual tension in the room somehow attached itself to her. Elena’s cheeks were flushed which made the green of her eyes come out. In her snug black dress, she was all sweet curves, body and face. He was unable to look away. Again, memories surfaced in his mind, but entirely different ones this time. And as if she was able to read them, her blush deepened while a very fine smile appeared on her lips. Immediately, he felt his own mouth jerk into a grin, it was quite beyond his control. Bloody alcohol! It made those facial muscles so damn hard to control ���
He heard Narcissa’s voice engaging Elena into a conversation; the sounds reached him, but not the meaning. He was, however, acutely aware of a spell in the room which had, of that Jack was certain, little to do with magic. He saw how the Lady of the Manor was being gracious and did her utmost not to let her young guest feel anything about her true feelings towards Muggle-borns (because no matter how much of an effort Narcissa Malfoy might recently have been making, she certainly wasn’t able to blow over all her innate stereotypes within a few months). And while he was grateful to her for such efforts, he suddenly became acutely aware of how much Elena must feel like an outsider. He’d had that realization earlier tonight, during dinner, when she had told the story of her week at the academy. Quite out of the blue, it had occurred to him that whatever he knew about her was invariably linked to himself. When they talked, it was always about him, about his world and the problems he faced in it. He only knew about her life in so far as it related to his. The mention of her parents earlier in the evening had driven that point home. He knew nothing about these people apart from what Elena had volunteered. If truth be told, he hadn’t been interested ��� they were clearly Muggles and thus beyond his comprehension, anyway. However, Muggles or not, they were part of her life, her other existence that she’d left behind in Austria and about which he’d never asked her.
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