68. Caught
"Sit," Mrs Highbury said, pointing to the chair opposite her desk.
He hesitated because she remained standing.
While she cleared a teetering stack of brochures off the desk, he took a furtive glance around. So far, he had only seen the interior of her office through the glass panels. There wasn't much to impress visitors – a narrow filing cabinet, a potted ivy, two chairs, and the desk laden with papers. The desk looked like any other in the library. On top of it sat one of the foe-glass-like computer devices and the sundry plastic items that usually accompanied them. There was nothing special, nothing refined, nothing costly.
First and foremost, it was a Muggle office, and that fact helped Draco to compose himself. Whatever was going to come, it wouldn't involve Cruciatus curses.
"Be seated, Mr Malfoy. There is something I wish to discuss with you in private," the head librarian said, sitting down behind her desk.
Once he had sat down as well, she continued, "I talked to Professor Ballantyne. Do you happen to know him?"
"No, I'm afraid I don't."
"He doesn't know you, either," she said gravely. "I met him yesterday, in late afternoon. It was a mere coincidence, but I thought it to be a good opportunity to inform him of the first-rate work of one of his students. To my surprise, he knew you neither by name nor by description. That seemed odd indeed because Professor Ballantyne has always prided himself on knowing every single one of his students. I think he was almost a bit miffed. At any rate, he went to check his files and came back, stating that there was definitely no Draco Malfoy studying History this term. He suggested I should try the Arts College as they have there a newly established course called History of Arts. Well, the Arts College sounded plausible to me for my staff and I had seen you doing sketches often enough. I was already on my way there, when I thought better of it. I had mentioned you to Professor Ballantyne with the intent of commending on your good work. That is an entirely different matter than going to an administration office, making inquiries."
She paused, scrutinising him.
"Maybe you can help me here, Mr Malfoy. What subject are you studying?"
"I'm sorry," he said. Telling further lies would only serve to worsen matters and quite frankly, he was tired of lying.
"What for?"
He took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry for making you believe I was studying History."
"So what are you studying instead?"
"Nothing. I'm not a student at this school, err, university."
She was silent. She only looked at him, shaking her head slightly.
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I thought I could find answers here, at least to some of my questions. There are so many of them. There is so much I don't know, so much I would like to learn."
"Naturally. Wanting to learn is why young people enrol at universities. But they enrol. You on the other hand... well, I don't see what your approach to learning should be good for." She paused again, making an apologetic gesture. "Alright, you may say it is none of my business whether you waste your time and your talents. But please, let me point out that you are wasting them. No matter how diligently you study and how much you teach yourself, you won't get a degree this way, be it in History, or Romance Languages, or any other field of science. No matter how much you actually know you will have difficulty finding a well-paid job because potential employers tend to be doubtful if you can't present some piece of paper that looks official. So what hampers you from applying? If you missed the deadline last year, you could have applied this January."
She had talked herself into passion. Obviously realising that, she leaned back and took several calming breaths.
"I'm sorry," she said in quieter tones. "It's not my place to lecture you about what you are supposed to do with your life. It's your life. You make the decisions."
Her last statement floored him completely. The telling-off he had expected. But he had also expected some very definite instructions about how he was to conduct himself henceforth.
"Why will you not tell me what I am supposed to do?" he asked. But then, why would she care? "Or is it all the same to you what I'll do now?"
"It's not all the same to me; I'd be lying to say that." She sighed. "Seeing a talented young man waste his chances grieves me. However, it doesn't give me the right to nag you into doing things you don't wish to do. I cannot make choices for you and let you suffer the consequences. I'm aware of the hidden irony: If I see a problem but say nothing about it, you will also be the one who suffers the consequences. I might feel guilty either way. So, let us say I'm offering information rather than advice. It is your decision whether you make use of it or not."
He wasn't sure as to what she actually offered. The repeated remark about having to suffer consequences had drawn his attention, though.
"Will I be punished?" he asked. "For sneaking in here without permission?"
"Well, two years ago things would have been simpler. I would have told you my opinion about the matter, but I would have left it at that. Unfortunately, students have to pay tuition fees since last autumn. Please, answer truthfully, Mr Malfoy: How many lectures did you attend? I mean any lectures in any field of study here at the university or at the Arts College."
He shook his head.
"I only came to the library. I didn't attend lectures."
"Well, then..." She relaxed visibly. "The library is still a public place. The city council has always insisted that at least the basic services should be available to residents. Whereas you can't check out scientific books, you have the right to come in and read everything you find on the shelves. The regulation is still valid although it is up for debate due to plans of installing a newfangled access system that works with electronic ID cards. As far as I understand the purpose, your quest for knowledge would have ended at the entrance door if the new system was already set up."
What in the name of Merlin was an electronic idee card, and how would it prevent him from entering a building?
"If the people you are referring to follow through with their plans, I won't be allowed to come here anymore?" he asked.
"Possibly. They aren't yet done arguing. The city council wants exceptions, and the university will probably relent. But citizens will most likely have to pay more than the five pounds a month as they currently do. After all, the students have to pay the new fee-" She stopped short. "That's it, right? The fee? One thousand pounds a year doesn't sound too unreasonable to people who are well-off. To families with low income, one thousand pounds may pose a real problem. Mr Malfoy, you can take out a student loan. Don't let lack of money impede your career."
One thousand pounds a year didn't sound too much indeed. If this was the price for using the library, he could afford it. Maybe he wouldn't even have to touch the money he had put away for his mother.
"My grandfather left me some money," he said. The clerks at post offices and bank houses usually contented themselves with that explanation. He hoped she would accept it as well and refrain from prying further into the matter. "To whom do I pay the required fee?"
"I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with all the details. You have to pay up-front, and I think you have to transfer the money into an account. So if you have the funds for studying, what keeps you from enrolling?" She appeared to be genuinely baffled. "You seem gifted. You don't seem a lazybones. Where is the catch?"
...
69. Muggle N.E.W.T.s
The catch was that he was an intruder, a disgraced wizard who didn't belong in her world, a convict on probation who used her snug, little library as a hidey-hole.
And he mustn't tell her any of this.
"I owe you forty-five pounds," he said instead.
She looked at him strangely.
"You said using the library was five pounds a month, and I've done that since January," he elaborated.
"You have to pay for twelve months in advance, actually," she said, still bewildered. "I'll fit up a Resident's Library Card dated back to January for you, and you will promise to keep quiet. I'd rather the matter didn't become the news of the week. Jeff Oldfield is an awful gossip."
"I won't tell him."
"Good. Since that is settled..."
She gave him another searching look. Then she turned a bit to the side and started pressing buttons on the grey plastic panel on her desk. Her fingers moved with amazing swiftness. She didn't even look! Other people, Jeffrey for example, were a good deal slower. They had always to search for the buttons they wanted to press, which wasn't very surprising. Those panels – one of them sat on the desk assigned to Draco, and he'd had plenty of opportunity to study the strange contraption – featured one hundred and two buttons of various sizes, and only few of them were marked with a single letter. There were also ones with punctuation marks, arrows or bizarre letter sequences like ctrl on them. Some buttons bore three different signs at once, and except for those showing digits everything was arranged in a fanciful way.
"The vacancies list has been up since Monday," Mrs Highbury said while her right hand moved frequently to a smaller piece of plastic that Draco had heard being called a mouse. Well, the thing was grey in colour and did have a tail, but that was where the similarities ended. "Let's check what's still available..."
He couldn't see the screen from where he sat, but he had noticed on earlier occasions that such screens could display writing or pictures – occasionally even moving ones. How these devices worked was a complete mystery to him.
"You are lucky, Mr Malfoy," Mrs Highbury announced without taking her eyes off the screen. "There is a vacancy in History. Let's see... You need at least two full GCE A-levels passed with an A, preferably in History and English Language. A Subsidiary Course in Latin Language or Classical Civilisation might help. What courses did you do, Mr Malfoy?"
He had never heard the term G.C.E.A. levels before. The context, however, made it all too clear what it meant.
"Mr Malfoy? What courses did you do?" Mrs Highbury repeated, still not looking up.
He cleared his throat.
"None," he said.
She turned to face him full on.
"I beg your pardon?" she said in a low voice. Her eyes bore into his.
"I do not have such qualifications," he said, feeling heat rise to his temples.
She pushed the mouse thing away and leaned back in her chair. He could tell she was angry.
"Mr Malfoy, just for your information," she said with poorly faked poise. He averted his eyes, unable to stand the look on her face. "I do not appreciate having my legs pulled."
"I'm sorry," he muttered.
"For wasting my time or for yourself?"
Feeling sorry for himself was a definite understatement. He was so done for...
He had left that damn castle with empty hands – no formal qualifications, no knowledge that was of any use under the circumstances, no friends, no prospects. All he had gained were an ugly branding on his forearm and a suspended sentence.
"I'm sorry for wasting your time, Ma'am," he said, getting up. "I've wasted so much of mine... seven years, eight by now. I don't know. I still can't explain why things went wrong the way they did. And I have absolutely no idea where to go from here..."
Mrs Highbury said something, but her words didn't register with him. He felt like crying out in frustration. Random thoughts surfaced and vanished in rapid succession. He could spend his days in the pedestrian precinct. He would find a means to cope with wintry weather; he could go back to Trethwyn in late spring. He could do sketches; he could walk. He would survive, somehow... He had no plan, and there were no answers. All he knew was that he had to get out of the office before he went to pieces in plain sight of the woman.
"I said: Sit down, Mr Malfoy."
Her voice was gentle again, softer and calmer than it had been a minute ago.
He slowly turned back. If he broke down in front of her, so be it. He could hardly embarrass himself more than he already had.
"Come on, sit," she said, gesturing to the chair. Her tone had taken on a soothing quality.
He complied, and she produced a package of paper tissues from somewhere and put it down in front of him.
"Just in case. You look a bit agitated," she said. "So, what did happen? As the why seems the most complicated question, we could start with the easier ones – what, when, where, how. That is, if you wish to talk."
Did he wish to talk? Oh yes, he did. His desire to spill all the heavy thoughts that weighed him down surpassed even his ache for answers. But he mustn't. He mustn't tell her about magic and monsters and Death Eaters.
It wasn't fair.
It simply wasn't fair.
"Hiding from your problems will not make them go away," Mrs Highbury observed.
"I know," he said tonelessly.
He didn't exactly hide from his problems. He didn't know how to solve them. What was worse, he couldn't think of anyone from the wizarding world who might be willing to help him. His mother was unable to see what his actual troubles were, and as for everyone else – he was a traitor to his erstwhile allies and a despicable ex-Death Eater to all the rest. They probably wouldn't even listen.
He reached for the little package and crushed it between his fingers.
In all likelihood, talking to Mrs Highbury was his one chance – the only chance he'd ever get – and he mustn't seize it. How was that supposed to be fair?
...
70. Not of this World
"My parents educated me at home," he said at length. "When I was eleven, I went to a boarding school in the north. I doubt you've heard the name. It's situated in a remote place, and they are very selective about whom they accept. Both my parents attended Hogwarts in their time, so I went there too. In fact, my parents are of the opinion that only such students should be allowed in whose parents went there as well.
"I was a good student, but my father expected me to be the best in my year. Hard as I tried, I never managed that. There was this girl, a real teachers' pet. I can't recall whether I ever beat her in a single test. Maybe my father would have been less annoyed if she had been from an acceptable family..."
How would his father have reacted if Zabini or some pure-blooded Ravenclaw had been top of the year? And was that really the point?
He let out a small sigh. Perhaps he should have asked – at least once – how often a certain Lucius Malfoy had come top of his year. But he hadn't done that while he was eleven or twelve or thirteen years old, and later it had been too late. Such trifles hadn't mattered anymore.
He heaved another sigh. He was wrestling with the same regrets over and over again. It was so utterly futile – what had been done, had been done and couldn't be helped. Nor could be helped what hadn't been done.
"So your father was not pleased," Mrs Highbury broke the silence. "What did he do? Take you from the school?"
Draco shook his head.
"He rather wanted the girl expelled."
"For what reason?" she asked. "For the nerve of outshining his son?"
He shook his head again.
"This is difficult," he said. "Her parents were not our kind. In my father's opinion, their daughter shouldn't have been allowed to attend Hogwarts in the first place. But since she was there because certain people with different notions about the purpose of the school insisted she did have a right to, it was my duty to prove that pure-bloods like me were better than those... those outsiders who don't belong in our world."
"Let's see whether I got this right," she said, frowning. "Your father wanted you to be living proof of his racist prejudices?"
The conciseness of her summary stunned him.
"Well... maybe it could be put like that."
"But you couldn't live up to his demands. So what happened? Did you, in the end, collapse under the overload of work?"
"No, in the end..." In the end, he had been lucky to get away alive and in one piece. But he couldn't tell her that. Fiendfyre, Killing Curses, Werewolves – he mustn't use any such term here. "I never sat my" – he mustn't say N.E.W.T.s, either – "exams."
"I see."
"Look, I cannot explain to you what I don't understand myself."
"Maybe not," she conceded. She looked pensive. "To be honest, I'm not sure whether I would really be able to help you to sort out such problems – the differences you seem to have with your father or the troubles you had back in school. I'm no psychologist. In cases where the cuts run really deep, it might be wiser to seek professional aid. But that aside, I'm willing to help should you decide to complete your education."
It seemed to him that she was changing the topic slightly, but he wasn't sure where the conversation was going now. It was as so very often – there were words he'd never heard, metaphors he couldn't place and innuendos he didn't understand.
"Well," she said when he didn't respond, "have you ever considered sitting the exams belatedly?"
Once more, he shook his head. You could repeat a year at Hogwarts, even more than one if necessary and your parents were willing to let you. Flint had done it, and Crabbe had come close several times. But he had never heard of somebody taking belated N.E.W.T.s.
"There are many people who opt for vocational training when they are sixteen and change their mind about education a few years later," she went on. "Courses for studying subjects at A-level usually start in September or October so there is still a chance for you to get in this year. The range of available subjects may be limited, though. And, of course, your choice will depend on your GCSEs. How many GCSEs do you have?"
"But I already told you I had none," Draco said, feeling utterly confused.
"No, you said you had no A-levels – wait, are you saying you don't have GCSEs, either?"
He said nothing. He just sat there and stared at the grey plastic panel on her desk. There was no explanation he could give her, nothing he could say save I do not have such grades because I'm not your kind.
"Well, I think..." She paused, and he looked up. He didn't see disappointment this time. She seemed strangely sober. "I think even that can be helped, Mr Malfoy. And I'm beginning to see your predicament – it's probably pretty embarrassing to have to admit that you don't have GCSEs. But, please, don't let shame cloud your decisions. You can still have a decent career; it's not yet too late."
A career – he shook his head for yet another time. This exchange was becoming vain. He wasn't going to have a career. He didn't need one in her world, and he wouldn't have one in the other. He had ten O.W.L.s, yes, but the idea of being allowed to sit his N.E.W.T.s after the end of his probation was downright laughable. But certain N.E.W.T.s were required for any average job in the wizarding world. People who aimed at exploring a field of Higher Magic and becoming a master thereof needed top grades. And this was all beside the point, actually, because no Malfoy had ever pursued a career that involved paid jobs or acknowledged mastership in any science. His mother would never stand for such ideas.
He started at the noise caused by somebody knocking on the glass of the large window to his left. One of the library assistants stood outside the office and gestured urgently to her wristwatch. Mrs Highbury nodded in response.
"My apologies, Mr Malfoy, but I must be off. I'm expected at the bursar's office in less than five minutes," she said, getting up. He followed suit. "I suggest you give the matter some serious thought," she continued while she hastily gathered papers. "Time spent in learning is never wasted. Once you have GCSEs, you can decide whether you want to study for A-levels or get a job. Maybe you didn't have – for whatever reason – the most perfect start, but there are still lots of opportunities. It's up to you how well you use them."
She hurried away, but not without reminding him to come back for his library card the next day.
He stared after her. Although he wasn't completely out of favour – she would write him a permit for using the library – things wouldn't be the same anymore.
He resorted to his usual means for coping with inner turmoil. He went jogging.
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to be continued
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Author's note:
Many thanks to my beta readers Kevyn and TheMightyKoosh. :)