8

Father, My Father—Chapter 7

1 July 1947

Abraxas read over the list of names of people who'd come on the journey; they'd come from all over England, one from Scotland, another from Wales. He didn't recognize any of them except Frank, though he didn't presume he ought to. Besides, he'd not recognized anyone by face, either. Maybe it was for the best; when they wrote home to tell their families where they were, Horatio Malfoy wouldn't be afforded the opportunity to finagle information from the unsuspecting family members. It had been less than twelve hours since he'd escaped from the prison he called home, yet it seemed so long ago. He handed the list back to Clive with a crisp thank you.

He attached the nametag Clive had given him to the front of his robes—or more aptly, his high-necked tunic shirt, for long robes were discouraged here due to the heat. Though he wore trousers and boots whilst some others wore shorts, he still felt almost naked in public without an over robe. He turned around and bumped right into a petite young lady passing by, knocking her off kilter. He snatched her arm to keep her from landing in the dirt.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going," he gushed sincerely, righting her and swiftly backing off, his eyes scanning her nametag. "Thalia. I'm sorry, Thalia." He pronounced her name with the 'th' as in 'thing'.

"It's alright," she said softly, smiling. "And it's pronounced without the 'h'—it sounds like Talia. Like Thomas, you know…it has an 'h' but you don't hear it…" She drifted off. All her life she'd been explaining it, and it grew wearisome.

My God, she had a beautiful smile, and he couldn't stop himself from smiling with her. "You mean Thomas," he teased, enunciating the 'th' sound again.

"Very clever…Abraxas," she said, reading his tag. "Or should I say 'Brax'?"

"Abraxas will be fine," he answered, unable to stop smiling. Her voice was like lilting music.

"Brax it is," she said. "Well, I've got to pack my tent, we leave in five minutes." She nodded and swerved around him.

With an odd feeling growing in his chest, he watched her as she headed across the field, most of which had been cleared, the participants of the journey huddled in a mass waiting for the portkey that would carry them to their first destination. He hadn't realized he'd stood there observing her the entire time she packed up her tent until he heard Frank clearing his throat behind him.

"She's cute, huh?"

"What?" Abraxas spun around, flushing to the roots of his white-blond hair. "I—I guess. I'm not exactly in the market for a woman, I wouldn't know."

"Just because you can't touch doesn't mean you can't look," Frank advised him sagely.

Shame washing over him, and not entirely sure why, Abraxas swiftly picked up his suitcase and the tent poles and joined the rest, who were now forming a giant ring. Clive took a long, coiled rope that was set at his feet and began passing one end along, and each person in turn passed it until it came round back to Clive, leaving a circle of rope that every person held onto tightly. When he gave the signal, they all braced themselves, and a second later they were portkeyed out.

They landed on a hot, arid plain, some standing, others knocked to the ground. Waves of heat radiated up from the dry earth, even so early in the morning. Clive began rolling the rope into a coil once more. "Alright, people, we're here on our first stop. Within the hour the elders of the nearest villages will be leading their sick to us. If it goes the same as every year, we've got a long day ahead of us, so everyone get into your respective groups. I've already set up numbers for your stations. Number one for broken bones, sprains, things like that…number two for contagious illnesses, and so on." He clapped his hands loudly. "Let's go, get those tents up and then attend to your stations."

There was a general scuffled pandemonium while everyone hurried to find a good spot and do as they were told. Abraxas and Frank, tent mates, selected a spot near an old, twisted dead tree—more for identification purposes than actual shade—and had their tent up in a matter of seconds, thanks to a spell Clive had taught them all the prior evening. They set their belongings inside, then Abraxas shot a spell inside the tent, went outside, and circled the tent while reciting an archaic chant.

"What are you doing?" asked Frank.

"To keep out scorpions and other creepy-crawlies," Abraxas explained shortly. "You may like them, but I don't."

"If you're done, come on. I don't want to be late on the first day."

"We've got like twenty minutes," Abraxas argued, though he followed his friend over the long stretch of nothingness to where large numbers floated in the air over stations set up with makeshift tables, equipment, and supplies. Here in Africa, where the general populace believed in and revered magic, there was no need to hide their true nature from the muggles.

Next to Station Three—Congenital Problems—sat a young woman on a low, flat rock using aguamenti to fill a canteen with water. As the two wizards approached, Frank said, "Abraxas, have you met Thalia? She's assigned to our unit." Frank nudged the young lady in the buttocks with the toe of his boot. "Hey, Thalia, this is Abraxas, he's in our group."

The young woman flicked her long blond hair off her face with a frustrated air. She glanced up at the men and said, "We've met." Standing up, she looked Abraxas up and down. "So, we're going to be together every day, Brax? I guess we could do worse." She smirked as she closed her canteen and hung it from the pole supporting the awning.

"You could try to be a little more enthusiastic, Thalia," he returned, smiling smugly, emphasizing the 'th' sound again.

"Is this everyone?" An older witch walked up, frowning, her white hair pulled into a tight bun on her head. With her was a middle-aged, unassuming man who seemed perfectly content to let her do the talking. "Young lady, put that hair up out of the way—that goes for any wizards with long hair as well," she added when a dark-haired man with streaming locks that any woman would envy came running up. Both Thalia and the wizard quickly secured their hair out of the way. "My name is Doctor Hodgins. You may call me Doctor Hodgins. I don't hold with that 'young people addressing their elders as equals' malarkey." She motioned to her companion. "This is Healer Spencer. You will call him—"

"Healer Spencer," they all intoned with her, and the witch nodded with satisfaction.

Frank raised his hand, which Abraxas was almost tempted to slap down. This witch didn't look like she wanted questions. "Ma'am? Will we be with you the entire year, or…" Her withering glower made him trail off.

"If you'd read the brochure, you'd have noted that one doctor and one healer are assigned to each station, and that you will remain in each station for three months. At the end of one year, you will have completed all four stations, encompassing every type of treatment. Therefore, you will be with me for three months, and I expect you all to work to your full potential. If you weren't capable, you would not have been selected. Are we clear?"

Every head nodded, including the young witch who'd slinked in as she was speaking.

Dr. Hodgins fairly growled, "You will all be on time from now on as well. And put your hair up!"

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"I told you, Horatio, I didn't know anything about it!" Nicolette shrieked, running across the room to escape him. "You read this note he left, you can see he didn't tell me!" She frantically waved the paper in front of her.

Horatio paused, his brain stuck on blind rage. His son had sneaked out of the house in the middle of the night and run off to go on that African trip after being forbidden to do so. It just didn't quite register. Abraxas had never, ever defied him so openly, and he simply couldn't get his head around it. And the fact that the whelp obviously hadn't even told his mother…well, it didn't sound like Abraxas. He wasn't that inconsiderate. Huffing, Horatio paced up and down the room. Oh, he'd get hell when he got home, that's for damn sure! But in the meantime, could he let this stand? Let his brat of a son flout his authority this way? On the other hand, what alternative did he have? He didn't know where Abraxas was.

"Dr. Cullin!" he burst out.

"What?"

"Dr. Cullin's son was going on that trip. Maybe he knows where they are." Horatio snapped his fingers for his cane with the wand inside and headed for the fireplace in Nicolette's room, where they'd been quarreling.

"Horatio, wait!" Nicolette shrilled. "What about what Abraxas said in his letter? Even if you find out where he is, you can't very well haul him away in front of everyone." Not that she believed the good doctor had any more knowledge of the specifics than she did, or that he'd tell Horatio if he did know. But she'd rather he not get himself into a row outside the family.

"He deserves to be dragged away like a cur," Horatio snarled.

"And if you did, do you honestly think all those people wouldn't have their tongues wagging, owls flying, maybe even pictures snapped? The newspaper would have a holiday at our expense!" she retorted. "They'd paint you as an ogre, they'd have the front page filled with recriminations against the Malfoy name. Is that what you want?" Though they'd be right about the ogre part, she added silently.

Panting through his flared nostrils, he slammed the cane down on the floor. "What do you suggest, Nicolette?"

"Do nothing," she said simply. "I know you're angry that he disobeyed you, but it was only one time in his entire life, and for a good cause. When he comes home, he will explain himself. He'll be a degreed healer by then, he'll get a respectable job at the Ministry, get married and settle down, have an heir."

"I will not be treated with disdain by my own son, dear wife," Horatio said in a dangerous murmur. "Abraxas had better pray very hard that I get over my fury before he gets home. And that means you had better not set me off, either. I'd so hate to take out my anger on you." He threw a sneer her way and stalked from the room.

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2 July 1947

Evening had fallen, the villagers had long since gone, and Abraxas rested in his tent with Frank, his tent mate. He'd almost drifted off on his cot when he heard a very familiar call—an owl, but not just any owl: one of the Malfoy parliament. Sleepily he sat up, listening. There was a scratching at the door of the tent, and he crawled over to untie the laces. Sure enough, there stood Flynn, a huge white owl with black-tipped wings and spotted belly, tucking his beak into his wing to dig out an irritant. Seeing his master, he cawed and squawked, and did a little dance.

"Flynn, how the heck did you get all this way so fast? You had to have been sent yesterday morning…" About the time his parents discovered him missing. He brought the bird into the tent, released the parchment from its leg, and sat on his bunk to read it. "Frank, can you give Flynn something to drink and eat? Thanks."

Warily he unrolled the letter, used a lumos to light the area, and read:

My Dear Son,

Perhaps I cannot find you, but this owl undoubtedly will. Be entirely clear in your mind that you have severely disappointed me and made your mother very distraught. Without you here, she suffers so.

Since I'm certain you didn't bother, I have taken the liberty of sending an owl to your betrothed, under the pretense of your own hand, explaining that your father magnanimously agreed to permit you to follow this fantasy of yours. You're welcome. If you have a brain in your head, you'll continue corresponding with her, or better yet forget this foolishness and come home. The more quickly you forsake your insubordination, the more lenient I shall be with you.

When you tire of playing in the wasteland, your mother and I await your homecoming.

Your father, Horatio Malfoy

Abraxas let his arm drop as if the bones had gone from his body. "I can't believe this. I have to go home."

Frank took the letter from his lifeless fingers and rapidly read it through. "Are you insane? He'll kill you! Can't you read between the lines?"

"I'm not stupid! That's why I have to go—he's hurting my mother because I left!"

"He's baiting you," Frank answered, his voice low and taut.

"And if it's genuine?"

Long pause, then Frank said, "Nothing against your mum, Abraxas, but for years she let your dad pound on you—"

"Shut up!" he replied hotly. It may be true, but this was his mother and he'd defend her. "Don't you talk about her."

Frank clucked his tongue in disgust. Maybe if screwed up families tried a little harder not to protect the wrongdoers, they wouldn't be so freaking screwed up! "I don't believe he's hurting her any more than he normally does. He's trying to trick you into returning home. And there is no way on Earth he'll be lenient or merciful with you, not after you rebelled against him and disobeyed him like this. He's livid, he feels like you made a fool of him."

"I have to know if she's alright," Abraxas said softly, his tone pained.

"Then send an owl and ask her."

Abraxas gave him a withering look. "Because he'd never intercept the owl, right?"

"Then owl Eileen." When Abraxas sat up straight, looking hopeful, Frank went on, "Ask her to meet your mum and give her the letter. You have to write to her anyway, so why not?"

"That's actually a really good idea, Frank. Thanks." Abraxas got on his knees next to his suitcase and dug through until he found his writing utensils and stationery. Holding the feather of the quill to his lips, he thought long and hard about what to say.

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4 July 1947

Exhaling with the utmost joy, Eileen lay back on her bed hugging her two letters to her chest. Yes, perhaps she ought to be sad that Abraxas had gone to Africa, but at least he was writing to her, which was kind of more conversation than she usually got from him. She took the first letter, dated the first of July, and unrolled it to read once more:

Dear Eileen,

I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to tell you goodbye. I don't want you to worry. Last night I finally wore my father down with arguments and nagging until he agreed to allow me to go on this trip I have my heart set on. I had to leave right away, with no time for visiting.

While I'm gone we obviously won't see each other, but rest assured you remain in my mind. I'll write you when I can. If I find I don't like Africa, I may be home much sooner than expected.

Your betrothed, Abraxas

Eileen sighed, rolled up the parchment, and unfolded the second one, sent apparently the following day, but not reaching her until today. She had to make note of that, the letters took at least two days by owl. This way she'd know that when she wrote, she ought not expect an answer for four days…possibly more if they went even further away.

Dear Eileen,

I know I just wrote to you, but this is important. I must ask you for a favour, and you mustn't tell anyone about it. Can you please find a reason to visit my mum—maybe get invited for tea or something—and give her the attached letter? You've seen what Father is capable of, I think you understand when I say he might keep it from her. I'm trusting you to help me, I have no one else to ask.

Thank you in advance, and I hope all is well with you and your family, and that you are content.

Abraxas

Eileen smiled to herself, sighing again. How romantic was this, to be part of a conspiracy between her betrothed and his mother, to be the liaison between them? The real danger of Horatio finding out made it all the more exciting. Of course she'd do this for Abraxas, she'd do anything for him…well, maybe not things her mother said good girls don't do before marriage, but Abraxas didn't seem interested in that anyhow. Tomorrow she'd owl Nicolette, ask to see her; after all, she had a right to get to know her soon-to-be-in-laws.