Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. I do not own the plot nor story of The Talented Mr. Ripley, which is trademarked by Patricia Highsmith.
Thanial glanced behind him and saw the man coming out of the Cobb & Webb's, heading his way. Thanial walked faster. There was no doubt that the man was after him. Thanial had noticed him five minutes ago, eyeing him carefully through a cabinet of crystals, as if he weren't quite sure, but almost. He had looked sure enough for Thanial to get this item in a hurry, pay and get out.
At the corner Thanial leaned forward and trotted across Diagon Alley, leaving Knockturn. There was the Junk Shop. Should he take a chance and get the next item? Tempt fate and all that? Or should he beat it over to Annie's Haberdashery and try losing him in a few dark doorways? He went into the Junk Shop.
Automatically, as he strolled to an empty space at the back-end, he looked around to see if there were any person he knew. There was the shopowner; the big man with the bald head, whose name he always forgot, standing behind the counter whilst helping a customer. The bald man waved a hand, and Thanial's hand went up limply in response. He started to browse the shelved inventory whilst facing the door challengingly, yet with a flagrant casualness.
'I placed an order last week, could you see if it's arrived?' he asked the owner. Was this the kind of man they would send after him? Was he, wasn't he, was he? He didn't look like an Auror or a magistrate at all. He looked like a politician, somebody's father, well-dressed, well-fed, greying at the temples, an air of uncertainty about him. Was that the kind they sent on a job like this, maybe to start chatting with you in a shop, and then bang!- a hand on the shoulder, the other hand displaying an Auror's badge. Barthanial Botts, you're under arrest. Thanial watched the door.
Here he came. The man looked around, saw him and immediately looked away. He removed his top hat and took a place around the curve of the counter.
By Merlin, what did he want? He certainly wasn't a pervert, Thanial thought for the second time, though now his tortured brain groped and produced the actual word, as if the word could protect him, because he would rather the man be a pervert than an incognito Bluecloak. To a pervert, he could simply say, 'No, thank you,' smile and walk away. Thanial pretended to browse the shelf again, bracing himself.
Thanial saw the man make a gesture of postponement to the owner, who'd just returned with his package, and come around another shelf towards him. Here it was! Thanial stared at him, paralyzed. They couldn't give you more than ten years, Thanial thought. Maybe fifteen, he was still a minor after all, and with good conduct-In the instant the man's lips parted to speak, Thanial had a pang of desperate, agonized regret.
'Pardon me, are you Barthanial Botts?'
'Yes.'
'My name is Rabastan Lestrange. Antonio Lestrange's father.' The expression on his face was more confusing to Thanial than if he had focused a wand on him. The face was friendly, smiling and hopeful. 'You're a friend of Antonio's, aren't you?'
It made a faint connection in his brain. Anton Lestrange. A tall dark-haired lad. Pureblood. He had quite a bit of money, Thanial remembered. The bewilderment must have clouded his memory - everybody knew the Lestrange name. 'Oh, Anton Lestrange. Yes.'
'At any rate, you know Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. They're the ones who told me about you, that you might-uh-Do you think we could sit down at a table?'
'Yes,' Thanial said agreeably, and picked up his package, leaving four galleons on the counter. He followed the man out of the shop and towards an empty table across the lively cobblestone-street. Reprieved, he thought. Free! Nobody was going to arrest him. This was about something else. No matter what it was, it wasn't grand larceny or tampering with the Dark Arts or whatever they called it. Maybe Rabastan was in some kind of jam. Maybe Mr. Lestrange wanted help or advice. Nevermind the sumptuous surname and vast fortune - Thanial knew just what to say to a father like Mr. Lestrange.
'I wasn't quite sure you were Barthanial Botts,' Mr. Lestrange said. 'I've seen you only once before, I think. Didn't you come up to the house once with Antonio?'
'I think I did.' He hadn't. Thanial would have remembered visiting the Lestrange estate.
'The Malfoys gave me a description of you, too. We've all been trying to reach you, because the Malfoys wanted us to meet at their Manor. Somebody told them you did errands in Knockturn now and then. This is the first night I've tried to find you, so I suppose I should consider myself lucky.' He smiled. 'I sent you an owl last week, but maybe you didn't get it.'
'No, I didn't.' Annie wasn't forwarding his mail, Thanial thought. Damn her. Maybe there was a cheque from an employer. 'I moved a week or so ago,' Thanial added.
'Oh, I see. I didn't say much in my letter. Only that I'd like to see you and have a chat with you. The Malfoys seemed to think you knew Antonio quite well.'
'I remember him, yes.' But mostly from pictures printed in the Daily Prophet, Thanial thought.
'But you're not writing to him now?' He looked disappointed.
'No. I don't think I've seen Anton for a couple of years.'
'He's been studying at Hogwarts for two years. The Malfoys spoke very highly of you and thought you might have some influence on Antonio if you were to write to him. I want him to get his act together and come home. His name bears certain responsibilities-but just now he ignores anything that I or his mother try to tell him.'
Thanial was puzzled. 'Just what did the Malfoys say?'
'They said-apparently they exaggerated a little-that you and Antonio were very good friends. I suppose they took it for granted you were writing him all along. You see, I know so few of Antonio's friends any more -' He glanced down at the empty table, as if he would have liked to offer him a drink, at least, but Thanial was a barely old enough.
Thanial remembered going to a ball at the Malfoys' with Anton Lestrange. Maybe the Lestranges were more friendly with the Malfoys than he was, and that was how it had all come about, because he hadn't seen the Malfoys more than three or four times in his life. And the last time, Thanial thought, was the night he had cataloged Lucius Malfoy's cursed artifacts for him. Besides being a respected member of the Wizengamot, Lucius was also a collector of strange treasures, and he had been in a complete muddle with what was actually dangerous and whatnot; a house-elf had apparently lost its life trying to dust of a medallion - it had presumably been a messy affair. Lucius had thought he was a genius for having given additional pointers and providing original charms to keep his family secure. Maybe that was what had prompted Lucius' recommendation of him to Mr. Lestrange. Judging him from that night, Lucius could have told Mr. Lestrange that he was intelligent, level-headed, scrupulously honest, and very willing to do a favor. It was a slight error.
'I don't suppose you know of anybody else from Durmstrang? Anyone close to Antonio who might be able to wield a little influence?' Mr. Lestrange asked rather pitifully.
Durmstrang! Thanial was still wearing the pin with the school's crest - he'd transmuted it with cheap metals a couple of years back, acting as a student and being a means to enter upper-class society. It had worked, though slowly. He'd met the Malfoys and Blacks that way, though he did avoid causing unnecessary attention to himself - it would be easy for a man like Lucius to check with Durmstrang's administration. It was more than a slight error.
"Well?" Mr. Lestrange asked again.
There was Victor Krum, Thanial thought, but he didn't know him personally and frankly he was unsure whether they had been friends at all. Thanial vaguely remembered an article some years back, showing Anton and Victor having a hearty goodbye. That would correlate with Anton transferring to Hogwarts two years back. 'I'm afraid I don't,' Thanial finally said, shaking his head. 'Why won't Anton comply?'
'He says he prefers the company of muggle-born. But his mother's quite ill right now-Well, those are family problems. I'm sorry to annoy you like this.' He passed a hand in a distraught way over his thin, neatly combed grey hair. 'He says he's playing Quidditch. There's no harm in that, but he hasn't the talent to be a professional. He's got great talent for broom-crafting, though, if he'd just put his mind to it.' He looked up at the sign above which displayed an ice cream cone with vividly colored balls. 'Could I indulge you in some ice cream?'
'No, thanks,' Thanial said.
Mr. Lestrange looked at Thanial apologetically. 'You're the first of Antonio's friends who's even been willing to listen. They all take the attitude that I'm trying to interfere with his life.'
Thanial could easily understand that. 'I certainly wish I could help,' he said politely. He remembered now that Anton's money came from a broombuilding company. Intermediate training brooms. No doubt his father wanted him to get a proper education and take over the family firm. Thanial smiled at Mr. Lestrange, meaninglessly, then nestled the packages under his arm. Thanial was on the edge of his chair, ready to leave, but the disappointment across the table was almost palpable. 'Who is keeping him company at Hogwarts?' Thanial asked, not caring a damn who it could be.
'Muggleborns and half-bloods, not nearly any Slytherins. He won't confirm nor be bound by any tradition, he tells me. Divides his time between flying and studying runes. He's bought a house in Hogsmeade. Antonio has his own income-nothing huge, but enough to live on in Scotland, apparently. Well, every man to his own taste, but I'm sure I can't see the attractions of the place.' Mr. Lestrange smiled bravely. 'Can't I offer you anything, Mr. Botts?' he asked when a waiter had come out to check on the patrons.
Thanial wanted to leave. But he'd hate to leave one of the wealthiest wizards in Britain alone at an ice cream shop. 'Thanks, I think I will,' he said, and asked the waiter for a strawberry and vanilla.
'Lucius Malfoy told me you were in the insurance business,' Mr. Lestrange said pleasantly. "And you have your education at Durmstrang as well?'
'That was a little while ago. I -' But he didn't want to say he was working odd jobs around the city, not now. 'I'm in the accounting department of a trades agency at the moment. Just a summer job.'
'Oh?'
Neither said anything for a minute. Mr. Lestrange's eyes were fixed on him with a pathetic, hungry expression. What on earth could he say? Thanial was sorry he had accepted the ice cream. 'How old is Anton now, by the way?' he asked.
'He's sixteen.'
So am I, Thanial thought. Anton was probably having the time of his life up there. An income, a house, friends, and an education at the most prestigious school for wizards. Why should he want to give that up? Anton's face was becoming clearer in his memory: he had a big smile, darkish hair with crisp waves in it, a happy-go-lucky face. Anton was lucky. What was he himself doing at sixteen? Living from week to week. No bank account. Dodging Aurors now for the first time in his life. He'd never been allowed a wand, so he had a talent for wandless magic and transmutation in particular. Why in hell didn't they pay him for it, somewhere? Thanial realized that all his muscles had tensed, that the spoon in his fingers was mashed sideways, nearly flat. He was bored, God-damned bloody bored, bored, bored! He wanted to be back at the Haberdashery, by himself.
Thanial took a lick of the ice cream. 'I'd be very glad to write to Anton, if you give me his address,' he said quickly. 'I suppose he'll remember me. We shared a lot of classes together, I remember. Anton and I went out and flew often, it was freezing but everyone still watched us play.' Thanial smiled. 'A couple of us got sick, and it wasn't a very good week. But I remember Anton talking that weekend about transferring to Hogwarts. He must have left just -'
'I remember!' Mr. Lestrange said. 'That was the last weekend Antonio was at Durmstrang. I think he told me about the freezing weather.' He laughed rather loudly.
'I came up to your house a few times, too,' Thanial went on, getting into the spirit of it. 'Anton showed me some broom models that were sitting on a table in his room.'
'Those are only childhood efforts!' Mr. Lestrange was beaming. 'Did he ever show you his working models? Or his own rune system?'
Anton hadn't of course, but Thanial said brightly, 'Yes! Sure he did. Coal and chalk arrays. Fascinating, some of them.' Thanial had never seen them, but he could see them now, precise draughtsman's runes with every line and number and word marked, could see Anton smiling, holding them up for him to look at, and he could have gone on for several minutes describing details for Mr. Lestrange's delight, but he checked himself.
'Yes, Antonio's got talent along those lines,' Mr. Lestrange said with a satisfied air.
'I think he has,' Thanial agreed. His boredom had slipped into another gear. Thanial knew the sensations. He had them sometimes at meetings, but generally when he was having dinner with someone with whom he hadn't wanted to have dinner in the first place, and the evening got longer and longer. Now he could be maniacally polite for perhaps another whole hour, if he had to be, before something in him exploded and sent him running out of the door, or perhaps apparating on the spot. 'I'm sorry I'm not quite free now or I'd be very glad to go to Hogwarts and see if I could persuade Anton myself. Maybe I could have some influence on him,' he said, just because Mr. Lestrange wanted him to say that.
'If you seriously think so-that is, I don't know if you're planning a trip to Scotland or not.'
'No, I'm not,'
'Anton was always so influenced by his friends. If you or somebody like you who knew him could get a leave of absence, I'd even send them over to talk to him. I think it'd be worth more than my going over, anyway. I don't suppose you could possibly get a leave of absence from your present job, could you?'
Thanial's heart took a sudden leap. He put on an expression of reflection. It was a possibility. Something in him had smelt it out and leapt at it even before his brain. Present job: done, finished. He might have to leave town soon, anyway. He wanted to leave London. 'I might,' he said carefully, with the same pondering expression, as if he were even now going over the thousands of little ties that could prevent him.
'If you did go, I'd be glad to take care of your expenses, and a scholarship as well, that goes without saying. Do you really think you might be able to arrange it? Say, next month?' The bustling street drowned out the silence between them. "I'll even have somebody make the necessary paperwork, and get you transferred from Durmstrang to Hogwarts should you wish," he added.
It was already the middle of August. Thanial stared at the gold signet ring with the nearly worn-away crest on Mr. Lestrange's littlefinger. 'I think I might. I'd be glad to see Anton again-especially if you think I might be of some help.'
'I do! I think he'd listen to you. Then the mere fact that you don't know him very well-If you put it to him strongly why you think he ought to understand this seriousness of the matter, he'd know you hadn't any axe to grind.' Mr. Lestrange leaned back in his chair, looking at Thanial with approval. 'Funny thing is, Perseus Parkinson and his wife-Perseus is my partner -they went by Hogwarts last year when they were visiting their daughter Pansy. Antonio promised he'd come home at the holidays. Last winter. Perseus' given him up. What boy of sixteen listens to an old man sixty or more? You'll probably succeed where the rest of us have failed!'
'I hope so,' Thanial said modestly. 'In regards to the necessary paperwork I'll manage on my own, but thanks for the offer.' He followed that with a calculated smile.
'How about dinner? How about a nice firewhiskey?'
