Chapter 07

Chapter 07

Terry apparated from the Ministry building, out to the local pub in the village of Nottingham on Wood, the connection secured by Kingsley Shacklebolt as a favour. The village was a mixed wizard and Muggle community and a nice place to live, he thought, as he waved to the bartender before wandering out into the car park. No one even blinked at his flowing navy blue Ministry robes as they billowed in the breeze. Elizabeth kept a Muggle style Volvo Golf car which he drove with an abandon that often terrified other motorists. She had customised the paintwork with bright clouds, birds and flowers. However, when Terry started to drive it, she added a vivid orange roof so that other road users could always see him coming. He didn't need to drive but he liked to, flooing being a very painful way of travelling which caused his knee to buckle under him every time he tried to exit the floo system, and apparating into a werewolf's house was not always safe.

The house he shared with his mate was at the end of a picturesque country lane with huge chestnut trees overgrowing the narrow winding road. There was a turn-around at the end of the lane and a five-barrel gate made of moss covered old wood that opened automatically for the Volvo but not for any other vehicle unless the ward on the lane recognised it. A large stone wall enclosed the one hundred acre property, looking as old as time but spelled and warded to be all but impregnable. Nothing went into or out of the property unless Terry or Elizabeth authorised it, not even a bird. The cottage had taken a long time to renovate to look as old as the stone wall, but the extra pains the workmen had taken were well worth it. Terry thought there was no place as warmly welcoming as Sanctuary Cottage.

A lazy curl of smoke spiralled from the chimney as the Volvo pulled into the cobbled forecourt and Terry hopped out, leaning on the door for a second. The hint of herbs and roasting meat meant that Elizabeth had had a good day and dinner would be spectacular as well as interesting. When Elizabeth was working, meals were a bit haphazard but when the work went well, she could cook like a dream. If it went badly then burnt offerings were the theme of the day.

Pots on the gas powered stove gouted shots of scented steam into the air while a joint of beef rotated itself over the living flame in the fireplace. A knife industriously chopped up fruit on a board unattended while a bowl of cream whipped itself by the refrigerator. Terry dipped his finger into the kirsch-laden cream then grinned as a growl sounded from behind him. Turning, he winked as he very deliberately sucked his finger and rolled his eyes in appreciation. The tall, heavy boned woman rolled her eyes and shook her hip-length plait of hair in resignation.

"Hi, did you have a good day?" Terry asked as he leaned in and kissed her sweetly.

"Wonderful," she murmured against his lips, wrapping her arms around him. "Martin Singer called to say Viviane DeLong has accepted all the drawings for her book; all of them, without change!" The woman's low smoky voice rose to a shriek of glee as Terry pulled her close and swung her in a circle until his bad knee gave out. "Careful, Clawboy, nearly overset us both there," she teased lightly, kissing his nose as she held him steady.

Terry snorted then relented, letting her lead him to a chair with one arm wrapped around her waist for balance. "That's fantastic! Ms DeLong must be more intelligent than I gave her credit for." He grinned, remembering the fluttery Muggle woman who spoke in the same soft, sugary style as she wrote her children's books. Terry hadn't liked her as she had reminded him of a cross between Bellatrix Lestrange and that toad woman Dolores Umbridge, but she loved Elizabeth's work and that was the most important thing.

As Elizabeth was excited and happy, Terry packed the unsettling conversation he'd had with the Archivist away in his mind and simply enjoyed her upbeat mood, and the delicious food she had prepared. By the time they turned in Elizabeth was exhausted and curled up, going straight to sleep in seconds. Terry lay there wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling and gently stroking her hair. How on earth was he supposed to tell her that she was classed as a dangerous animal and he was not allowed to marry her for that very reason? In Merlin's Name, she was as human as he, more sensitive and far gentler in a lot of ways. Hell, hadn't this room seen a few encounters that were living proof that his werewolf was a better, more modest person than he.

He smiled into the dark when he remembered his first night here, of Elizabeth coming to bed in what amounted to a flannelette tent that covered every inch of skin except her hands and her face. When he had boggled at the sight, she had blushed and told him to extinguish all the lights as she had so many scars and she didn't want him to be disgusted with her. Terry's temper had exploded as his amazement turned to fury, not at her scars but at the attitude that he might have been put off by something so shallow and stupid.

"Do you think you are the only one with their history recorded on their skin?" he had bellowed. "Damn it, Elizabeth, do you think I haven't got any scars? Do you think any of us have survived this war scar free and perfect? Christ, Elizabeth, you've seen me in nothing but a centaur's nest and you know how many scars I have. Does it worry you?"

"No, of course not," she had replied in shock.

"Then why do you think I would be any different?" he demanded, unsure if he was hurt or angry at this point.

She had sighed and removed the horrible gown, revealing some horrendous scars, true, but Terry had managed to convince her, by the end of the night, that each and every one was precious in his sight and neither of them had been fit for work the next day.

Now he absently played with the tip of the raised scar that literally chopped her in half from left shoulder, down over her breast, and stomach and finished on her right hip. How could anyone class Elizabeth, with her fine sensibilities and artist's temperament as a mere animal to be disposed of, if possible? How could he not fight to change her status and make her legally back into the human being she truly was? But how? Where would he start? Perhaps with the general legal standing of the non-humans at this point in time and then, if he worked back through the history of those laws… Paper and pencils flew to his hand and he carefully sat up to make a list of things he would have to do, steps he would have to research and how they would fit into the general shape of the problem he would have to solve.

Satisfied with his progress, he finally extinguished the last candle at four am and tried to grab a little sleep before he could go to work in the morning. He was eager to get started!

oo0oo

"Al, I'm going into the Archive for a while, do you need me for anything specific?"

The Archivist studied the determined set of his assistant's chin and sighed deeply. "You take care, there's something off in the Non-Human section of the Archives but I have never been able to put my finger on it," he warned softly then dug in his untidy desk drawers before tossing something over.

Terry caught the piece of chalk and frowned before glancing up. "Chalk?"

"You never know when it might come in handy."

Terry snorted and limped off determinedly, slipping through the plain door into the stacks where the semi-sentient archive was stored.

As soon as his eyes had adjusted to the low bioluminescent light, Terry smiled, feeling the Archive's feline presence weave a circle around him. Elizabeth had a thing about the Archive but would not admit that she was a tiny bit jealous no matter how Terry teased her. The cat-like presence stalked beside him as he began to wander along, not really concentrating on where he was going. Often, if he had a research problem and he didn't know where to start, such inattention led him to key factors or some hint. In this case he ended up in a section dealing with semi-sentient demons and hauntings, which were about as far away from werewolves as he could get.

Shaking his head, he squared his shoulders and clearly thought about werewolves and non-human law. The shelves and floors slipped past and up as he was born along inexorably to the correct section of the archives. A few minutes later he began to recognise the texts and tomes that made up the law and order section, a well-used part of the Archives that even let assistants access it as the Aurors and Wizengamot were always calling for references from this section.

Shaking his head, Terry glanced around and frowned slightly. The Archives cat had deserted him as it always did in this well trafficked part of the stacks. Even the bioluminescence was dimmer and had to be substituted by magical, non-flame lanterns set at intervals on carved posts driven into the corridor. The shelves never moved here, the place was static and pinned in reality with little magic to assist the seeker in their quest for knowledge. Pausing, Terry frowned as he was suddenly struck by the realisation. This part of the Archives was dead. How had it died? Was it dead because the subject matter was so dry and painfully tedious or was it dead because of the amount of human intrusion in the form of law clerks and Aurors tromping through?

"How odd!" Terry murmured, stepping backward and nearly levitating as he bumped into a warm body that said 'oomph.' "Holy Merlin and Morganna! You scared the life out of me!" he hissed, clutching a shelf for balance.

"And my toes are never going to be the same again!" Lucretia moaned, rubbing the offended digits ostentatiously. "Where were you off to so deep in thought?" she asked curiously as the young Archivist leaned on his cane and pulled a face at her comment.

He snorted. "I was wondering where the magic went," he replied honestly then smiled at her with such open calculation she had to laugh at his wily expression.

"What do you want?" she asked, straightening her robes.

"Want to help me with an experiment?" he asked. "Shouldn't take but a couple of minutes."

Lucy bit her lip then nodded, her errand wasn't that important, not as important as this young war veteran's contributions promised to be. Kingsley had told her about Mr Terrence Boot Esquire and how much he had contributed to the war efforts. If the young man had an idea, it was to be encouraged as he had an almost intuitive grasp of the current situation even if he didn't consciously seem to know what was going on. That didn't seem to make a whole lot of sense to Lucy, but her boss thought it was important enough to tell certain members of the Auror force to keep an eye on Terry and look after his interests.

"So, what are we up to?" she asked, falling into step as he began to limp away to the left.

"We're looking for the magic and where it is bound."

"Huh? I mean, this is the Archive; it is magical all on its own, isn't it?" Lucy was truly puzzled by his statement.

"Well, in a sense that is true, but in places the magic is… worn out. It is thin and worn down and no longer supports the information on the shelves; its just books, if you see what I mean."

"Frankly, no, I don't," she muttered, shaking her head as Terry continued to hurry along. After a while, she stopped, blinking hard as the darkness seemed to become darker and the floor almost shaky. "Er, Terry… where are we going?"

The young man stopped and glanced back at the Auror who was holding onto the bookshelf closest to her and groping around as if in the dark. "What's wrong?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Master Boot, it's as dark as a pit in here and I can't see a hand in front of my face," she complained querulously, trying not to sound a little panicked.

Terry glanced around at the foxfire dripping down the shelves and limning everything in light. "Oh," he said flatly. "For you it is dark in here? Really? Cast lumos if you like."

She did and the small ball of light seemed dim and pale to Terry's eyes in comparison with the beauty of the Archival light. Shaking his head, he joined her in the dim circle, studying her carefully. "What?" she asked, taking in his intense, piercing study of her face.

"For me, it is as bright as day in here. So, you can't see the light and you can't feel the magic. Can you feel the Archive's presence?"

She considered. "There is definitely something here in the dark with us, not really friendly but definitely interested in us. Its… disconcerting."

"Interesting. And you don't feel the presence when you are in the law section of the library? Humm, no wonder no one noticed the death of the magic in that area. It would be as if the section had been… exorcised, instead of killed. Right, let's get you back to your preferred environment then," he said in a more business-like tone, brushing past her and returning the way they had come.

oo0oo

"…and there she was covered in foxfire but she couldn't see it, feel it or even sense it apart from a vague feeling of interest." Terry complained as he sat across from his boss in their office.

"Told you, you have to be special to work in the Archives," Al reiterated smugly. "Look, Lad, only you and I - and one or two others - can detect the Archive's presence and even then, she only manifests for you and I at this point. The Law section is dead, no magic left, as you discovered; it has been that way as long as I have been Archivist. There are a couple of other sections that are dead like that, not as highly used of course, but still dead. I don't know what caused it and I don't know how long they have been dead for, they just are and always have been."

Terry looked mutinous then sighed and nodded. "Okay, looks like I have a project all of my own," he mused then grinned. "Don't you love a mystery?"

Aeolian shook his head and chuckled.