7
Father, My Father—Chapter 9
5 September 1947
Dear Dad,
This letter is only for you, I don't want to worry Mum, okay? I'm fine, it's Abraxas I'm really writing about. The truth is I'm concerned about Mrs. Malfoy. Remember how I told you that Eileen Prince was giving her letters from her son? Well, Abraxas got a tearful letter from Eileen yesterday saying Mr. Malfoy had learned of their secret and threatened to dissolve their betrothal if she continued as liaison. Needless to say, Eileen refuses to be party to the deception any longer, but that isn't the issue. Mr. Malfoy wouldn't let something of this magnitude go, he's undoubtedly confronted his wife about it, which is why I'm writing. Is it possible for you to find an excuse to see her, to check up on her? Abraxas is beside himself with apprehension, and at the risk of sounding melodramatic, I'm afraid if he goes home now we may be burying him summarily. Thanks, Dad.
Love, Frank
Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo
10 September 1947
Dear Abraxas,
I'm sorry I haven't written for a while, my dear son. Your father discovered that I was receiving letters from you on the sly, and as you can imagine he was not happy about it. I am well now, please don't worry about me. Dr. Cullin came by the other day for a short visit, tended my wounds, talked to me. I got the impression you or Frank was behind it. Thank you for your concern.
I'm not forbidden to write you, and I do so freely now whilst your father is out of town, but you must start sending your correspondence home, addressed to both of us.
" 'Like a proper son,' I can just hear him saying," Abraxas complained bitterly. "She's probably got my father standing over her, telling her what to write."
"I don't think so," Frank countered, pointing at the parchment. "Would she dare mention that you might be behind my dad visiting her?"
"No," Abraxas admitted, glancing down to continue.
He must see you trying to extend the olive branch, as it were. That said, you'd do well to watch what you say, since he will be reading the letters. I suggest burning those I sent you before you return home, in case there may be anything of an incriminating nature…I'll let you be the judge of that.
Eileen, as you surely know, has been bullied by Horatio into doing his bidding. She is so afraid to lose you. Was I ever so enamoured of your father? I believe I was, once…
Abraxas pulled the letter away from the light, out of Frank's line of sight. "It looks like she's just talking about personal stuff now. Thank your dad for me, will you?"
"I will," Frank assured him. "And I wouldn't put it past him to keep making excuses to run into her, to call her into his office, and so on to keep tabs on her and make sure she's alright. Don't worry, he's pretty good about being circumspect—I'm the outspoken one."
"Yeah," said Abraxas distractedly. "Listen to this:
"I think your father is up to something, son. I don't know what, but he seems suddenly more chipper, less brooding than he's been since you left. Maybe he's simply made a good business deal, I can't say. I'd like to think it's a good sign, but I know him too well. Oh, listen to me, making a mountain out of a molehill."
"So your dad being cheerful is a bad sign?" asked Frank seriously.
The other young man shrugged, sighing. "I wish I knew. He's not cheerful by nature, that's for sure…wonder who he's torturing with me gone." And then his thoughts immediately returned to his mother, along with massive doses of guilt.
"Abraxas, she's okay. She just told you so," Frank insisted.
"Yes, I suppose you're right," Abraxas murmured. Father wouldn't dare hurt her too much, not when he needed her for public events and such. Besides, when it came down to it, he was mostly pissed at his son…that was what Abraxas ought to be worried about, right? What was going to happen to him when he got home. It wouldn't be a happy homecoming, he'd be willing to bet on that. "I'm going to bed. I'll write her back tomorrow. Goodnight, Frank." He lay down heavily on his cot and pulled the thin blanket up over him, his eyes staring out into the dark.
13 September 1947
Nicolette stood at the vanity in her bathroom, studying the vast array of jewelry in the cases on either side of the expansive mirror. She wasn't in the mood for the Avery Ball, but that was irrelevant. Their son Milton had come of age, the respectable thing to do was to be there, as they had been at Malfoy Manor for Abraxas' party. Milton's party should have been months ago, and would have been except for the illness of the little Avery girl. She was well now, that was one good thing.
Nicolette picked up a heavy ruby necklace and held it to the hollow of her throat. It was the first piece of jewelry Horatio had given her after they were wed, the day after he struck her for the first time. They'd been married only six months, they'd been indulging in intimate relations constantly, and she was tired this time, not in the mood. To her horror, he'd railed at her, called her foul names she'd never even heard before, and had lashed out. Once. The bruise it left on her cheek brought abundant apologies that evening and the next day, when he'd presented her with the necklace as a peace offering and his vow never to do it again.
She sighed sadly. But it had happened again, so many times she'd long ago lost track. Horatio had behaved like the ideal husband for months after that first time, showering her with praise and small gifts…until she'd upset him over a tea date with some old friends, when he'd planned an outing for them as a couple. That had been the second time. Again he'd apologized profusely, and because she wanted desperately to believe him, she let it go. Her pride—and his threats to her person and family should she shame him by publicizing their dirty laundry—refused to allow her to let friends or family in on what was happening; now she didn't even have many of those anymore. Horatio had methodically cut them out of her life, isolating her with him except at public functions and the odd date with Marie Prince. In public he played the doting husband…it was preferable to the monster at home as the abuse escalated in intensity over time, the bouts occurring with ever more alarming frequency.
Now, all these years later, she wondered if perhaps she deserved it. Ten years into the marriage, after two miscarriages, Abraxas had been born. By then she'd been too beaten down and submissive to cross Horatio, too cowardly to stand up for the boy when he needed her. And still Abraxas had managed to grow into a fine young man who made her so proud, a powerful, talented wizard who wasn't afraid to be his own person no matter the cost to himself.
Sighing again, she set the necklace onto her vanity. She was so tired. Horatio's curse from several years ago was taking its toll, robbing her of vitality, aging her before her time. Try as she might to discover the curse in hopes of reversing it, hours upon hours of digging through the expansive collection of Dark Arts books in his library, had all proven for naught.
She observed herself closely in the mirror as she applied a glamour charm to hide the sunken eyes and bruises on her arms. Maybe if she was lucky Marie and George Prince would be there with Eileen. She could use the friendly company…and if Abraxas had sent another letter, waiting for her when she got home, it might perk her up considerably. Selecting an opal pendant, she slipped it around her neck, looked herself over once more, and plastered on an amiable smile. Time to go pretend again.
Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo
Abraxas and Thalia strolled alongside the shore of the Indian Ocean on the coast of Somalia, both gazing out over the water as Thalia's hand slid into the wizard's larger one. He grinned shyly and clutched her little paw, reveling in the touch. This was the eighth stop the entire group had made since beginning their journey, they'd seen plains and deserts and even a nasty swamp where two of their number had acquired malaria, necessitating magical treatment to prevent its ill effects from grabbing hold. To date this was the prettiest scene to him, beautiful enough almost to match the lovely creature at his side.
"It reminds me a bit of England," he said suddenly. "The water, I mean. I'm from Wiltshire, but we often go to the coast; I'm used to a lot of water nearby."
"Me, too," she said, slipping down to sit on the sand. He followed suit. "In America I lived right near the Pacific Ocean. I miss the sound of it, the wildness of it."
Astonished, he gaped at her before managing, "You don't sound American."
"I'm not." She sighed and leaned on him, and his arm naturally draped over her shoulder to cradle her close. She loved the feel of his hard body, his strong arms, the warmth coming not only from his presence but from his heart. He made her feel…safe.
He waited for her to continue, and when she didn't he prompted, "We've been slipping around, seeing each other for six weeks now. You don't talk about yourself like most girls; I'd love for you to tell me about yourself."
"Abraxas, I don't like to talk of it much."
"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," he assured her, squeezing her shoulder and hoping there was nothing nefarious in her background that he'd come to regret later. Then suddenly, "You called me Abraxas."
"It is your name, isn't it?"
"Well, yes, but…I kind of like it when you call me Brax. No one else ever has." That made it all the more special to him.
She shifted, brushing her hair out of her face, but the breeze immediately flung it right back, stinging her cheeks. "I like it, too. I just thought, you know, since you use my proper name now, that I should…" She drifted off, then all of a sudden she blurted, "I'm from Southampton. When I was eleven and away at school, the German muggles bombed it pretty badly—that big war they had. My family were all killed."
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, holding her even tighter, to the point she squeaked a little.
"Thank you."
For a long while she said nothing more, and he couldn't bear to disturb the uneasy silence with questions. She would go on when she was ready. They sat quietly, the roar of the ocean tide and splashing of the waves on the beach the only sounds. Thalia dug her bare toes into the sand over and over.
"Where did you go to school?" she asked out of the blue.
"Me? Durmstrang. Well, for most of my schooling. My last year was at Hogwarts. What about you?" Now that she mentioned it, why hadn't he seen her at Hogwarts? She was the same age as he was, they ought to have graduated together. There was no way he'd have failed to notice her if she'd been there.
"I went to Hogwarts for five years," she said softly, looking up into his face. "Then my guardian became terribly injured. He was an American enlisted in the Royal Air Force for the war—don't look like that, he was a wizard, pureblood like us! He just couldn't stand what was happening. Anyway his wife was British, my neighbor…she died of tuberculosis three years after my family, so when Papa got hurt too badly to fly he took me to his home in America. I attended the Olympia School for Witches and Wizards on the west coast, then after graduation I enrolled in this program, and here I am. End of story."
Abraxas paused, then haltingly pressed on. "You said 'he was a wizard'. What became of your Papa?"
She swallowed a lump rising in her throat; unbidden tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "He died last summer, just before I left for this trip." Her head fell and her body began to shake with sobs.
"I'm sorry," he said , feeling like a broken record. Clasping her to his chest, he let her cry, overwhelmed himself. What could he say? Dealing with such a vast amount of emotional pain must be devastating. For several minutes she wept as though her heart would break, then the sobs came slower and softer until she lay silently in his arms.
Without thinking about what he was doing, he lowered his face to her and kissed her brow. She lifted her face to his, and he planted his lips on hers, gently at first. She crushed her lips to him with a ferocity matched only by his own amorous feelings. Soon they were snogging like the teenagers they were, not thinking of anything but each other, hands roaming through hair and down backs, though out of respect Abraxas vigilantly kept his hands away from regions they had no business exploring. All his life he'd had it pounded into him that wizards do not take advantage of witches before marriage. He'd learned the lesson well.
After a while, when the ocean had grown dark, he said quietly, "We should probably get back. They'll be wondering where we are."
"Are you afraid they might deduce that we're together?"
"No!" he replied quickly, though it was a lie. All he needed was for word to somehow get home. He required time to work on this, figure out what to do. "We just don't need the hassle, people claiming we're not pulling our weight or something."
"Alright." Thalia stood up and shook the sand off her. She smiled at him; he was so adorable. "Wouldn't want Doctor Hodgins to bawl us out."
Abraxas leaned in for another kiss, lingered, then pulled back. "You go first. I'll apparate to the kitchen area, and we can meet outside our tents to say goodnight."
"I miss you already," she said seductively, or at least he was pretty sure that's what she was going for. If she wasn't, it was still a spot on imitation. A moment later she apparated away.
"I miss you every second you're gone," he said into the empty air surrounding him, then disapparated himself.
Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo
Hidden by a strong disillusionment charm, Gouge hunkered down in the thin line of brush separating the tents from the medical area. He swiped at a twig that kept brushing his sole good eye. It had taken him only two days to research programs of this type, then to narrow it down to two possible groups, break into their offices and steal a course outline detailing locations to be visited, and be on his way. He'd been unable to secure a list of names, but he felt fairly certain he was on the right track. He'd gone from place to place over the past six days searching for signs of the medical teams, and now he'd hit the jackpot.
Careful to make sure that no one was even remotely nearby, he drew the picture of Abraxas out of his pocket. It was truly a family portrait, with the boy sitting on the sofa beside his mother, the father standing behind them with a hand on each of their shoulders, looking genial, if a bit arrogant. A very handsome family. For some reason Gouge found it to be false. Horatio seemed like an alright bloke, but something rang hollow—not that Gouge cared. Either way, he had a job and he intended to be paid for it. All afternoon and evening he'd been scanning the faces of the young men strolling by, rapidly discounting each one in turn until, hours after he'd planted himself in this spot, a very blond young man walked into view. Gouge mentally compared his face with that in the picture, and a broad smile broke out. This was it!
Very cautiously he followed Abraxas across the field to a tent, where the young man entered and didn't come back out. Night fell and still he didn't emerge…either it was his tent, or he was having a sleepover with one of those pretty girls frolicking about. Gouge snickered softly. Slowly, carefully he backed away from the encampment until he was far enough away to disapparate without being noticed.
