Chapter 40: I Never Read Books – I Write Them.
'Yes, Master Ron, as much as it pains me to say this, no wizard, not even the great Dumbledore or someone as caring towards my people's rights as your good wife, the Lady Hermione, understand this. Yes, it is hinted at in 'Hogwarts: A History' but it is then quickly forgotten and not mentioned again. We have not the time to go over this; let it suffice that a great deal of the lore and legend that makes up your magic has actually come from other peoples and not always voluntarily.'
'How do you mean?' asked Ron.
'Well, your good wife has focused on the abuses my people have suffered over time and has sort to address these in her legislation – and we are grateful for it but perhaps understandably she has not inquired too deeply – like the great Dumbledore she suspects that wizards' magic is not simply a human creation but is in fact a bringing together of a great of other lore and knowledge.' Here Sir Stephen paused. 'The good Mistress Hermione at her best is always discreet and diplomatic. To aid her legislation she has done great research into the real history of wizard kind and the other magical races of Britain: but if she suspects what I tell you, she has never let on to anyone, not even you, good sir – I imagine for the simple reason it would open, as muggles say, a whole new can of worms that could make her Elf Welfare Bills impossible to pass, what with the inevitable recriminations and accusations flying around.' He looked at Ron. 'Can you imagine the more conservative elements that still exist in wizard society having to take the idea of the long-forgotten fact that so much of their power derives not from their ancestors – but from the ancestors of beings who often were forced to part with said knowledge.' He paused again, for effect, to let his words sink in. 'No, Master Ron, being told you owe a lot more to your servants would not, I think, do. Mistress Hermione is the best of people and she has done a great, great deal for us – we are content. No, I think the person who since those early times knew the truth or guessed it was the great Dumbledore, a wizard who rightly we revere because he did what he could: I feel sure he suspected much but as was his way, said little or nothing.'
The Elf took a sip of his coffee. 'Excellent coffee, Master Ron.' He levitated the cup carefully back to the table. 'Now, let me explain. No, the fact remains that in the first wars between wizards and the other magical races, humans did not fare well, partly because their magic had not yet grown yet in scale and power but it would; but also because the other races were not united against them, the wars happened piecemeal, first one conflict then another would break out then die down whilst war would suddenly erupt elsewhere in the world and so the cycle continued – constant tension for generations. And all the time, the legendary figures of your history, the Merlins, the Salazar Slytherins, the Ravenclaws and so on, developed human magic further and higher. We Elves are not a warlike people by nature, whatever part we rightly played in the Battle of Hogwarts. We were not meant to serve but we are naturally a cooperative people who wish to help and sustain; that was how we were enslaved by your ancestors. Human magic by that time had reached unheard of heights and we lost. We were forced to pass on as much of our magic as we could not save from the commanding spells of the victors – hence the Great Tomes.'
'I see,' said Ron quietly.
'Do you, Master Ron? Perhaps. Perhaps not. There is more. It was from these times that wizards in Britain date their ascendancy – other races were put below them; my people became servants and we were made to enjoy your ascendancy but humans built their own downfall with their arrogance.'
Ron sat up. 'How so?'
'Dumbledore perhaps guessed but that is perhaps why the Great Tomes were hidden away in Hogwarts and people pretended that they were lost for ever; just portions to be found in later works. It was because the Great Tomes were cursed by my ancestors: we were enthralled, we were coerced but we still could control some of our own magic – which you know is still the case today.'
'Yes, you can apparate in and out of Hogwarts and other places with no problem – unseen and undetected.'
'Indeed, our ancestors looked for any way we could retain some independence whilst not risking ourselves against the magic that controlled it. We can apparate almost anywhere, we can break Gamp's Laws also – we have retained some of that independence.'
'If so, why did you ancestors remain as our servants, right up to the present day?' Ron asked, shocked in this realisation.
'Ahh, again, I think the great Dumbledore, of all wizards, realised this ahead of his time; that was why he was so kind to us – he understood sacrifice.' Sir Stephen looked now very hard at Ron. 'Our ancestors felt that to fight now, to rebel against our magical captivity would result in a catastrophe – we might win the resulting war but at what cost? What cost to us? To wizards? To those wizards who actually supported our case and thought our enslavement was wrong? Must countless innocents die as well as the cruel and guilty? The powerless and the powerful? No, Master Ron, we determined to not pay such a price, to serve and wait. It was the hardest thing my people have ever decided but unknown to wizards a choice was made that saved many from a certain death in a terrible war. Prophecies spoke of a time to come when wizards and all other races would live in a time of a kind of peace and we would be able to choose our way of life – well, so it has come to pass and Elves are free to choose.'
Ron was struck dumb for a moment: what could he say? 'I don't know what to say to this.' He said slowly. 'I know you would not lie to me, Sir Stephen; but it is a great deal to take in and I need to be away and at my work. I cannot find words – we wizards seem to owe you a very great deal, more than just generations of unquestioning servitude.'
'Perhaps so, Master Ron; but we do not seek or want any redress. The Elf Welfare Bills are enough – we can choose now. Plus, my tale must be brief but it is not complete yet. You do not know your peril.'
'So, there is more?' Ron asked. 'And it involves Fothergill?'
'Oh, indeed,' replied the elf. 'We need more coffee, I feel.' The mugs floated over, refilled and floated back. They both sipped deeply. 'Ahh, excellent,' hummed the Elf. 'Now for the last part.' Sir Stephen turned a serious look towards Ron even as he nestled the coffee mug in his hands. 'Our ancestors were not quite as self-sacrificing as perhaps they seem. Yes, we surrendered in a way and accepted our new position in life but we made sure humans could never achieve ultimate power with magic; at least, not with our means. We cursed the Great Tomes in secret. They would serve humans but they were dependent on being –'
'Pure in spirit?' Ron interrupted.
'Indeed, just so,' answered Sir Stephen. 'Yes, a wizard may use a great deal of magic for evil purposes – but the entirety of the Great Tomes – of the Book of Affinities and the Great Index? No, they cannot. It wasn't the Founders who set the non-apparation at Hogwarts, for example – it was us and they could not unlock it! Hah, a piece of last mischief before our long servitude. We, the Centaurs, the Giants who were magical, the Merfolk - any race that had been coerced to give of their knowledge, for most of the Great Tomes is Elvish magic with human enhancements but there is magic also in parts from other races – well, our ancestors joined together as perhaps they should have done before defeat overtook them and in secret they cursed together the books: if in the end, so much of our joined magic was used for evil, then in that very end, human magic itself would end – completely.'
Ron simply stared at Sir Stephen.
The wall clock had a tick and Ron now noticed this for the first time that morning.
'You are silent, Master Ron.'
'I am … bloody flabbergasted …'
Sir Stephen leaned forward more, his empty coffee mug floating almost lazily back to the room's table.
'Then I shall un-bloody-flabbergast you,' replied Sir Stephen. 'We and the other races have held this knowledge in secret now for hundreds of your years; perhaps amongst some of the other peoples it has been forgotten, possibly amongst the Giants but not us and not the Centaurs. Our spells were secret but could not be totally overpowering – your magic as derived from the Great Tomes can work for both good or evil, we could not completely block your use but the Tomes will not work in their entirety for one who is evil in spirit. It is said that Riddle tried to find the books but the curse is powerful – the Tomes themselves are 'alive' if I may put it that way – they can 'hide' themselves, they can use their powers latent within themselves to … to …' The Elf paused, looking for the appropriate word.
'You are telling me these books almost have a sense of being, that they can be almost alive?'
'Yes, precisely, Master Ron!' answered Sir Stephen. 'Have you never felt it in the Library at Hogwarts and in the other great collections in Britain? That feeling of immense powers of magic coming together? We Elves can feel it constantly. The Tomes however are not ordinary books of magical knowledge: they are the sole copies of what we defeated peoples agreed to contribute to human mastery and to your victory – the magic is both different and similar to your magic; it is both a force in nature and it is captured in the parchment of these Great Tomes.'
'So, how do they work?'
'Well, the other Great Tomes are general repositories of knowledge; great magical power but they can be used generally as books once the spells to do so are known and they have been copied in parts and a lot of their wisdom has been passed down – though I may add, possessing them now would make the owner the possessor of a great deal of other magical knowledge now long forgotten by wizards but still retained by others.'
'Fothergill,' Ron gritted out.
'Yes, he has possessed three of the Great Tomes and has used them, no doubt.'
'We had breaches yesterday in central Birmingham where no non-licensed apparation can happen.'
'Yes, Master Ron: that would be a prime example of what I am talking about,' answered the Elf. 'Without a doubt, he has done enough to use this knowledge and he will exploit this.'
'But he has only three of the Great Tomes and he's never possessed the Affinities or the Great Index – you spoke of a danger, a grave danger.' Ron looked again at the clock: 4.50 a.m. 'If this can help me defeat him then please tell me now. Why could Parry possess them – why did he know about them yet Fothergill could not ascertain they were there, for years, right under his own nose? I still cannot buy into the idea that Parry is 'pure of heart' or 'spirit' or whatever? But I suppose I must!'
'Indeed, you must; so much depends now on Jacob Parry. Understand this, Master Ron; he is part of our prophecies – of that we Elves are now sure. Deep within him there is still some purity of spirit, of heart – of a willingness, indeed, an eagerness or deep desire to do good. You must use that to your advantage and you must understand why. The Affinities and Great Index were meant to be found by Fothergill but there is no doubt they wished to be found by a more wholesome person so they latched to Jacob – he sensed them through his charms, he instinctively understood they must not fall into Fothergill's hand, understood at last Fothergill meant to betray him in the end. We Elves and other peoples do not seek for the end of wizard magic but the curse would have destroyed your ability to even create the simplest spell.'
'What in Merlin's … really!?'
'Yes, I am afraid so – the Tomes have always sort to be separate in some small way; if they had been brought together and truly understood then the curse becomes completely enacted; the Tomes become useless and magic – stops.'
'But …alright, they are the Great Tomes but how can the books themselves …?'
'Because they are more than simply 'books' as I think you now begin to understand; they are not only the greatest collection of wizarding lore from the first great age of wizarding craft but, because of our commitment to put so much of our knowledge at the behest of wizards, we had to know that in the end this knowledge could not be used for our complete destruction and they became a kind of covenant between us and you, at least one that you didn't know about, but which in its twisted way, protects you from all this knowledge falling into too-overmighty hands and protects us from complete annihilation. And the keys to it all, are in Jacob's hands.'
'Parry's? You mean the Affinities and Great Index?'
'Yes, those Tomes are the absolute pinnacle of all we gave your kind those centuries ago – it's very simple really: the Great Index is in a way just that, it is a forever expanding glossary, a listing of all magical books in Britain, all spells and charms – it goes without saying it lists all books that have been in the Library at Hogwarts or any of the great collections – and it is so created that it will continue to expand into the future, thus bringing all wizarding magic under its influence – it's almost like a kind of talisman of our curse, our protection – as long as the Great Index exists, the magics of our races are held in balance and no great evil can overcome us. Of course, that does not mean that great evil cannot succeed! Grindelwald and Riddle both showed how lost was our hope with that – but – but – ', Sir Stephen held up a finger in front of Ron to emphasise this point, 'they cannot hope to bring the Great Tomes together for evil purposes. They do this, ALL wizard magic ends.'
Ron said nothing but looked intently at Sir Stephen: he could sense the Elf was building to the grand point of his explanation.
'So, at least, the curse says but wizards are nothing but ingenious and Grindelwald and Riddle are rightly known for their experimentation and risk-taking in spell-creation: they forged new forms of magic – they did not know exactly what held them up but instinctively they both knew something incredibly powerful held them back – the Tomes themselves always remained beyond their reach, in particular, they were denied to Riddle. How Fothergill managed to collect five of the Great Tomes together, I do not yet understand. Nor do I understand how he managed to hide them together – even at such a young age. But he is a brilliant wizard whatever his faults as human being; perhaps he has found a new way.' Sir Stephen fell silent, musing for a moment, his gaze upon the cold fireplace.
'And the other Tomes?' asked Ron.
'Somewhere in one of the great collections of Britain – probably Hogwarts,' replied Sir Stephen, 'but be assured, the Tomes are guarding themselves – they are, as I have said, not normal magical books by a long stretch of the imagination, as muggles say. The curse works for us: they will know Fothergill has three of them; they will know that Affinities and Great Index are with one of 'good spirit' who has guarded them for some years – they will be aware that the prophecies are partly fulfilled – thanks to your wife, the other magical peoples of Britain have equality and a choice – so the question remains: what does Fothergill want and what does he want with the Great Tomes?'
'Indeed,' said Ron, almost about to rise and get up from his chair, 'and we are nearly out of time to discuss this, Sir Stephen – it is nearly 5 a.m.' He glanced at the wall clock. 'I need to get going; we must take action and I must confront Fothergill – so what to do?' He looked back at the Elf as he perched on the edge of the armchair. 'I must decide my next course of action now, Sir Stephen: I am meeting Fothergill at 6.' He paused again. 'By 7 a.m. we will be at war.' He added simply. There didn't seem anything else to add or to use to elaborate on the seriousness of the situation.
Sir Stephen gave no reply for several moments. Then he smiled a little and nodded his head in agreement.
'Yes, you are right, of course, Master Ron. Well, understand the last part of all. As I said, the Affinities and the Great Index are the keys: the Great Index is a great self-cataloguer, cursed or blessed depending on your viewpoint to draw nearly all wizarding magic into its pages to be controlled by the curse and the Affinities …? Well, the Book of Affinities is perhaps even more important – its qualities are just that – it gives its user the ability to link together with all the other Great Tomes … You have 'affinity' with all – these are the great binding charms…' He stopped again. 'Perhaps that is what Fothergill wanted Parry for; he suspected he had the books? He'd known he lied to him – and he made Parry surrender some of the knowledge of the Affinities for his projects – perhaps that may explain what happened to you yesterday?'
Ron tensed. 'But that suggests he has begun to work out what is going on? Or even worse, he doesn't understand and he is potentially risking all of magic just to achieve his aims?' Ron was suddenly up and pacing up and down in front of the fireplace. 'That would be just like Fothergill! In his way lies the whole of the magical world of Britain and he will see no problem with just destroying everything – invoking the curse and thus rendering everything magical obsolete.'
Sir Stephen remained seated. 'Perhaps, Master Ron but rest assured that House Elves will stand with you.' He looked at Ron pacing up and down. 'No, wait, Master Ron!' Ron stopped pacing and looked at the Elf. 'Perhaps, perhaps not. If he invokes the curse, he will utterly destroy all his power too and will be at a complete disadvantage - it would be tactical suicide. No, I do not think he intends to do that but what he does have in mind, I cannot fathom at the moment…'
'But he wants Parry; this suggests he could be wanting to reunite the five Great Tomes he found all those years ago?'
'Perhaps Master Ron; or perhaps he wishes to reunite himself with Parry's great skill and knowledge … Or …?' He stopped.
'Or what, Sir Stephen?'
'Perhaps he wants Parry because he knows about 'purity of spirit, of heart' and knows Parry has it?'
Ron mused for a moment. 'Yes, perhaps – whatever, in just under an hour, I am going to meet him.' Ron stopped again and then sat on the coffee table, facing Sir Stephen. 'I am planning to buy us some time, if necessary, with my own capture, Sir Stephen; can I ask you a favour?' Ron looked hard at the Elf, weighing his words of support from earlier.
Sir Stephen seemed to guess the meaning of Ron's look. 'You need not fear, Master Ron: ask your favour and if it is within my power, I will happily render it to you, most gladly.'
Ron breathed out a long sigh. 'Sorry, Sir Stephen, I meant no insult or misunderstanding – I just need to be absolutely clear where everyone will stand on this with me – by me or not. Thank you. So, I need you to side-along me to Parry's safehouse, I need to see him as soon as possible – it's imperative I need to find out what he has told Fothergill – perhaps you can help me to persuade him. He said yesterday that he couldn't tell me everything – he said he was covered by that many anti-revelation charms! But surely, with your help and Elvish magic there must be a way around this?'
'Perhaps, perhaps not – I have never gone directly against the Tomes but maybe we'll find a way, Master Ron.'
Ron thanked the Elf again and stood prepared to leave almost immediately; there was something else he needed to ask Parry but he wouldn't bother the Elf with it now; they could ask Parry in a few minutes. Just then something caught his eye: the postcard he had brought back with him from Manchester Art Gallery – 'Derby Day', the bustling, energetic crowd scene at the famous muggle racing event. He picked the postcard from the mantlepiece where it lay, partly hidden behind a porcelain figurine and handed it to Sir Stephen, who had now stood up, ready for their departure and had come over to stand by Ron.
Sir Stephen took the card from Ron and immediately Ron noticed a difference come over the Elf. He held the print gingerly in his left hand whilst tracing the fingers of his right hand over the surface. Ron noticed that his lips moved but no sounds came forth. The Elf's eyes remained riveted to the print's scene.
Ron waited but after only a few moments felt the need to interrupt, time was pressing and he was still without enough answers before going into battle – he didn't like it one bit.
'What? What is it, Sir Stephen?' The Elf made no reply but his mouth stopped its moving and as he did so he lifted his right hand from the print's surface and then, moving it with fingers splayed in an almost smearing motion, he passed it over the surface of the print but this time without touching it.
At once, what was a normal static muggle image came to life, full of animation and life; noises and smells emanated from its surface. Ron looked incredulously as the clouds in the painted sky background moved with a stately slowness, in contrast to the busy human scenes in the middle and foreground.
'What!?' he cried. 'I tried various charms on this yesterday, when I had a spare five minutes; something didn't seem right but it seemed perfectly normal. Nothing like this happened!'
'Well, there is no cause to blame yourself, Master Ron,' replied Sir Stephen, 'and this perhaps answers one or two of our questions. This is Elvish magic but it has been used with the signature charms of a wizard and a powerful one at that – he or she has tried to disguise themselves in doing so but it has taken all the charm's potency to make the Elvish magic obey their wish. It is a potential portal, a potential gateway.'
'Really!?'
'Yes, Master Ron; it is a mirror, if you like, or an echo of a greater portal and also a great magical disguise. The wizard who created this harnessed the Elvish magic to create the original portal but he had not enough power to stop some of that magic seeping away into other things. Did a muggle create this image?'
'Yes, it's one of a range of prints the muggles sell in the Gallery – they make them of the various paintings and so on in the collection, to be sold in the Gallery's shop to create extra income.'
'Yes, so muggles have used their photographic technology to copy this, unbeknownst that the copying has drawn some of the Elvish magic into it: I imagine any image made of any such portal in the collection will have this magical seepage and be an echo, a potential portal. Plus, the wizard's magical signature is proof, if any were needed – it's Fothergill's.'
'You're sure?'
'Yes, and it further confirms my fears about his use of Elvish magic. You remember the paintings at Hogwarts?'
'Of course!' Ron stared in sudden horror and understanding of what the Elf was saying. 'You mean…?'
'Yes, most definitely – like so much at Hogwarts, the basic magic behind the magical portraits is Elvish and it seems Fothergill has developed this idea further.' He held the print up for Ron to see more clearly, pointing at it with his right index finger. 'This picture is part of the collection at Manchester Art Gallery?'
'Yes, in the gallery I am going to meet Fothergill in, Art of the Victorians – it's quite a large canvas.'
'Ha!' laughed the Elf, almost triumphantly. 'So simple yet so effective – quite brilliant really!'
Ron looked even harder at the print. 'So, this has the quality of … the power …?'
'No, Master Ron; simply look.' Instructed the Elf and held the print closer up to Ron's face. 'Look closer.' And he moved his index figure to pick out a figure, in the centre middle ground of the picture, standing lounging against a carriage; dressed in stylish garb of the era, top hat, long light-coloured frock coat, white shirt, waistcoat and cravat, a look of bemusement and relaxation painted on the face … except now Ron's gaze met the eyes of the figure and instantaneously he was caught in its stare.
'Shit …' he breathed out. He broke the stare and looked down to Sir Stephen who was nodding his head in an unspoken answer to Ron's yet unsaid question.
Finally, after what seemed an age but could only have been a few moments, Ron forced the words out. 'No, it can't be … it can't be that simple …?'
'Yes, Master Ron, it is - as simple as that,' answered the Elf. 'Did you find his main hiding place?'
'No. No, well, at least not Fothergill's main base – we have found all the neo-Death Eater bases and infiltrated them but we've never found the key position – but we know it's centred on three potential possibilities: Manchester Art Gallery, Birmingham City Art Gallery and Museum or the Parrish Hotel and Conference Centre, London.' Ron looked again at the print and then back to the Elf. 'My hunch had been Manchester but the others were connected somehow – we just couldn't figure out – till now …'
'Yes, now you know and yes, before you ask for further confirmation, he's done this with Elvish magic.'
Ron looked back at the print and locked eyes with that central standing, lounging figure.
How could he be so blind?
Even with the Elvish magic, it was so bloody obvious a child would have guessed it or a least imagined it. And that was it: hide in plain sight. Or do the thing you think they'd think you'd never try but it was just too bloody obvious.
Suddenly Ron was rubbing his hands over his scalp and back down his face – perhaps to lessen the shock, as he carried on glaring straight at the print.
It didn't work.
And, even as he stared hard at the central figure's face, it seemed its head moved ever-so-slightly to its right, so it was staring straight out of the picture, straight at the viewer.
Straight at Ron.
And its mouth seemed to twitch up, into the merest, most subtle of smirks …
It was as if he could taste metal in his mouth … something dry, bitter …cold … the taste of defeat?
'He's in the paintings.' He said simply. He looked out into the room and saw the copy of 'The Haywain' by John Constable Hermione had enchanted to move like a real scene from Suffolk life. 'He's in the fucking paintings.' He repeated. He turned to Sir Stephen. 'Bring the print with us. We need to see Parry – now!'
He shook his head as if to clear it of any surprise from the last two days.
'He's in the fucking pictures!' he said one last time. Enough!
Time for action.
Hidden and deeper.
Beachcomber.
Find them and grind them to dust…
Then he and Sir Stephen were gone in a side-along pop.
