III. Memoirs
Mercifully, the next four days of the week were devoted to practicing reacting intelligently in stressful situations. As far as Hermione could tell, to Mad-Eye this meant seeing how fast you could whisk your wand out of your pocket and hex something. Anything, really. He wasn't picky.
Moody was a strict instructor, so they had little time to talk, another thing Hermione was grateful for. Emma seemed quite eager to discuss Azkaban experiences; she would tell anyone who cared to listen about the many gruesome nightmares she had that were inspired by the stories the Chester convict had told her.
Though Hermione was averse to discussing her notes and experiences, in private she reviewed them avidly, and Lucius captured her mind more and more. He was possibly the most enigmatic man she had ever met – save Professor Snape, and he was another unpleasant Slytherin type.
After much time spent poring over the sentence in which Lucius had hinted that his disgust for Hermione disguised other feelings, she finally concluded that it was a statement intended to perplex her further. Many stark contrasts could be found in the labyrinth that was Lucius Malfoy's mind, but Hermione was certain he could never have any remotely positive feelings towards those who were not pureblooded.
With what information she had garnered so far, Hermione was able to write up around three feet six inches' worth of material for her report. That was where the advantage in choosing Malfoy lay. From what she heard of others, no one else had even hit two and half feet.
When she thought that, she snorted. At least there was one advantage.
Saturday finally came again, and Hermione paid her third visit to Lucius. Remembering his dreadful touch on her neck, she wore navy robes with a high collar, and kept her hair down. However, she also recalled his distaste for touching her, and realized that the chances of it happening again were low. Still, she wasn't going to take chances.
This time, the burly guard was waiting in the front room, and Hermione recognized several others from her group. Evidently two o'clock in the afternoon was a popular visiting time.
"Here to see Mr. Malfoy?" asked the guard in a business-like manner.
She nodded.
"How good to see you again. I thought you had given up on me," Lucius remarked pleasantly when she entered, as if their last meeting had not ended with him in hysterics.
"What, no apology this time?" Hermione raised her chin imperiously.
"You and I both know my apologies are completely insincere, so why bother?" A grin spread over pale lips.
"True," she acquiesced, setting up her quill and parchment again.
"I know you are the one supposed to be interrogating me," he began, and his voice was quietly sneering, "but I desire to ask a question."
"Yes?" Hermione raised her eyebrows.
"Is this the last visit you will pay me?"
"No, this assignment lasts for six months," Hermione replied with surprise.
"May I call you Hermione then? If you don't like that, I can come up with other things to call you, you filthy Mudblood bitch." His tone, which had been conversational, suddenly turned darkly malevolent.
Hermione's mouth formed an O of surprise at his abrupt viciousness, but she recovered quickly. "Fine," she said curtly. "Provided that I may address you as Lucius."
"Of course," he agreed serenely, all trace of his former ferocity suddenly gone.
"You know, one day I will get it through your thick, aristocratic skull that Muggle-borns are just as good as purebloods," Hermione muttered to the table.
The corner's of Lucius's mouth twitched.
"Such a privilege it is to be one of Hermione Granger's pet cases," he said lightly.
"I thought we'd spend today with you telling me your life story," Hermione told him briskly, pretending she had not heard his last words. "I'd be your biographer of sorts," she indicated the scratching quill, "if you will."
His curled lip informed her that he didn't care much for this idea. "I'm sure the Azkaban authorities would allow you access to my file. An approximate biography is included in there."
"Oh yes, but I'd really like to hear it from your lips," she objected, trying to sound as kind as possible.
Lucius's scowl did not lessen, and he breathed, "And if I refuse?"
Hermione shrugged. "I think that the Azkaban authorities would allow me to administer Veritaserum for my research."
A pause followed, during which Lucius stared hard at Hermione. Before long, she was forced to look away. He chuckled softly and began to talk.
"I was born November 11, 19--, to Lysander and Alexandra Malfoy. From birth to age three, I spent my time comfortably. On my third birthday, my father hired a renowned tutor to teach me various subjects including English, mathematics, etiquette, and later, riding, flying, and rudimentary magic. This changed only when I entered Hogwarts. Father ensured that I was brought up properly, but that was the most my parents had to do with me."
Hermione was having trouble visualizing Lucius as a child. His voice had a calm, hypnotic quality to it – he spoke too easily and freely, though his sneering undertones were to be expected. She guessed that he was probably lying about some things, and made a mental note to check his file.
"I was Sorted into Slytherin, as you know; I befriended Crabbe, Goyle, and Mulciber, among others in my House whom I felt would be useful to me or entertaining to have around, and I consistently excelled in class. Oh, and if you care, I was given the position of Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team in my second year."
"Did you earn it, or did your father buy your way in for you?" She just couldn't resist asking.
Lucius gave her a thin-lipped smile. "Unlike Draco, I obtained my position with my talent."
"Ah."
"Right after I graduated, I followed in my father's footsteps and became a Death Eater. My first task, to prove my loyalty, was to kill my father."
Hermione jerked upright. She knew of the appalling duties given to Death Eaters, but could not believe that Voldemort would give such personal orders.
"Did you do it?" she demanded.
Lucius laughed. "How easily you are shocked, Hermione! Yes, I did it, and I took his place within Voldemort's inner circle. Father was a bit over-ambitious. He fancied that he would make a better Dark Lord."
"I suppose Voldemort was quite fond of you from then on."
"He certainly liked me better than Father." Lucius smirked.
"How did your mother react?"
"Mother left me the Malfoy estate and departed for Spain with her lover. I hear he poisoned her later for infidelity," he said with amusement.
"Of course, everything is more complicated than I have let on. Father suffered a tragic mishap, and it was made out that Mother's grief was so great that she could no longer stand the country she married Father in, allowing her to slip out of England without comment."
"The Malfoy family image is flawless as always. Go on," she ordered, disgusted at the picture she was getting from Lucius and not sure how much of it was true. He was skilled at dissembling; Hermione did not doubt that, and she was certain that he would have made an invaluable PR rep.
He made a dismissive noise. "There is not much more to say. I acquired the post of Sr. Undersecretary to one of the Hogwarts governors – one of the older ones. He died when I was around thirty, and I got his job."
"So what about your wife?" Hermione prompted hesitantly.
He didn't explode again. "I held the title of 'most eligible bachelor in the country' for quite a few years," he reminisced, smiling nostalgically. It was uncanny how evil he could make a nostalgic smile look.
"I expect you bedded half the young women in England," Hermione remarked tartly.
His smile widened. "And not just the young women," he corrected. Hermione sniffed, which he took as a sign to continue.
"Narcissa and I were introduced at a mutual friend's party one night when I was twenty-four and she nineteen," he recalled, sweeping a long hand through his gleaming blond hair, which was so out of place in the dingy cell. Hermione followed his hand's progress like one hypnotized.
"I courted her for a year, married her, and then we had Draco the year after the wedding. I was twenty-six then. There is nothing else that you do not at least have an idea about," Malfoy finished.
"You don't have much of a dramatic flair, do you, Lucius? I expected you to embellish to some degree," Hermione observed, tearing her eyes from his exquisite hand, which had probably never done any manual labo in his life. It was especially odd that his story had been so flat when his behavior otherwise had been decidedly colorful.
"My dear Hermione, not all of us can steal the show quite as effectively as your good friend Potter. That little brat has quite a gift for the dramatic," Lucius teased, those white fingers now stroking lightly at his arm. It couldn't be termed scratching because they moved with his characteristic grace. Hermione absently thought it very funny that Lucius didn't scratch his itches; he stroked them.
"I want to ask one last question," Hermione began reluctantly. "How many people would you estimate you have killed in your lifetime?"
"That is an interesting question," Lucius sighed. "I would say about a hundred," he murmured lovingly, examining his ivory, blue-veined hands. He looked up at her.
"Well, I think that's enough for today," Hermione averred, turning her gaze away. "I'll be seeing you again next week, Lucius." Hermione took the quill and parchment and placed them inside her bag.
"Not so much as a 'thank you for your time'?" Lucius looked highly amused. "You seem to have forgotten all your manners today, dear girl."
"At least you're being polite, with all your endearments. 'Dear Hermione', 'dear girl,'" she shot back.
"Today is the first day that we will have parted where I have not been Stunned or Petrified. I think that we ought to be able to say goodbye on civil terms, Hermione." He smiled coldly, but his eyes were included this time, which was rare.
"You're right." She rose and extended her hand. The irony and humiliarion of Lucius trying to teach her manners was not lost on Hermione. "Goodbye, Lucius. Till next week."
Those ghostlike eyes flickered with amusement at her formality. Lucius stood, but instead of taking her hand, he bowed very slightly.
"They took my gloves," he murmured again smilingly, and not sounding at all apologetic.
Hermione's face contorted briefly before she regained control and forced it into an indifferent expression. So. She was so far beneath him that he would not deign to touch her hand, and if he were following Japanese customs, the infinitesimal degree of his bow reinforced his belief that she was vastly his inferior.
"Goodbye," Hermione repeated frostily, moving towards the door.
"Au revoir," he called pleasantly in return.
The door slammed loudly on her way out.
Once outside, she said a perfunctory thank-you to the guard, who looked relieved that he hadn't had to subdue Lucius again and nodded in return. At first, Hermione was going to leave quickly, as her anger had not yet boiled down, but as she saw the guard locking Malfoy's cell with multiple spells, she recalled that she wanted to see Lucius's records.
"Excuse me, Mr. . . .." Hermione trailed off uncertainly.
"Seward, Miss." He indicated a plastic badge with his name engraved on it (John R. Seward), which Hermione had somehow missed before. She couldn't think how; she was noted for her keen observation. Azkaban and Lucius must be affecting her mind, she thought, and she shuddered.
"Oh - Mr. Seward. I want to ask whether I have permission to access Malfoy's files. Having background on my subject would help greatly with my research, so could I . . .?"
Seward considered her request for a moment, then said, "I think that since you're from the Ministry, it'll be okay. You'll have to sign out a copy up front, because you want to take it home, right?"
"Yes."
"Okay," he said, starting to walk. Hermione followed him.
In the front room, the thin receptionist was dully flipping paper clips around.
"Smith," grunted Seward. "The lady here's from the Ministry; Auror training with Moody, remember?"
Smith's head snapped up to stare at Hermione. She displayed her visitor's badge from the Ministry as verification, and he nodded jerkily.
"She wants access to Lucius Malfoy's file. The prisoner in cell 289."
"All right then," said Smith, speaking for the first time in a voice as thin as his figure. He bent down and shuffled around, looking for a bunch of papers, which he placed on top of the counter. "Fill these out," he directed, giving Hermione a battered quill and inkpot.
Hermione frowned as she bent over the papers. She hated paperwork, and this stack seemed to ask a lot of pointlessly suspicious questions, such as Have you ever been tried for any criminal misdemeanors in the last five years? The next one stupidly asked Have you ever been tried for any criminal offenses in your life?
Meanwhile, Smith pulled his wand out and pointed it towards a stack of file cabinets in the back.
"Accio file of Lucius Malfoy, cell 289!"
A slim report zoomed out of a drawer and neatly into his hands.
Hermione scrawled out an answer to the last question and pushed the stack of papers towards Smith, who didn't even look at them, but placed them inside a drawer under his desk.
"Thank you," she said, taking the report from him and carefully stowing it in her bag.
She bade the two an automatic farewell, and walked out without waiting for their responses, her mind plagued by thoughts of Lucius.
Later, when Hermione was safely ensconced in her flat with a cup of hot tea, she opened Lucius's file and began to read.
She discovered that he had not actually lied about anything, but he had glossed over certain aspects and certainly left out a lot of details. It also appeared that his estimate of a hundred murders was slightly imprecise.
Disinclined though Hermione was to admit it, she was glad that Lucius had not told her the full details of his life in that cell. However, she would have thought that he'd have taken delight in seeing her squirm at the sordid parts.
So she refused to be grateful.
A/N: Hugs to everyone who's reviewed! Special shout-outs to Ale-Bloody- Roses and Mook: your reviews are helpful and so encouraging! I love constructive criticism and want to become a better writer, so you know the drill. ^_~
Oh, and I read Red Dragon (by the same author who wrote The Silence of the Lambs). Couldn't find Silence at my stupid local library. Grr. Maybe next time.
About Red Dragon: I thought it was a great book and ran out to rent the movie (didn't rent Silence 'cause I'm leery of watching movies without reading the books first). I thought that it was good - had great performances. Liked Dolarhyde. Of course, that wasn't entirely unbiased - I blame Ralph Fiennes. ^_^
And now to continue my quest to find Silence . . .
Mercifully, the next four days of the week were devoted to practicing reacting intelligently in stressful situations. As far as Hermione could tell, to Mad-Eye this meant seeing how fast you could whisk your wand out of your pocket and hex something. Anything, really. He wasn't picky.
Moody was a strict instructor, so they had little time to talk, another thing Hermione was grateful for. Emma seemed quite eager to discuss Azkaban experiences; she would tell anyone who cared to listen about the many gruesome nightmares she had that were inspired by the stories the Chester convict had told her.
Though Hermione was averse to discussing her notes and experiences, in private she reviewed them avidly, and Lucius captured her mind more and more. He was possibly the most enigmatic man she had ever met – save Professor Snape, and he was another unpleasant Slytherin type.
After much time spent poring over the sentence in which Lucius had hinted that his disgust for Hermione disguised other feelings, she finally concluded that it was a statement intended to perplex her further. Many stark contrasts could be found in the labyrinth that was Lucius Malfoy's mind, but Hermione was certain he could never have any remotely positive feelings towards those who were not pureblooded.
With what information she had garnered so far, Hermione was able to write up around three feet six inches' worth of material for her report. That was where the advantage in choosing Malfoy lay. From what she heard of others, no one else had even hit two and half feet.
When she thought that, she snorted. At least there was one advantage.
Saturday finally came again, and Hermione paid her third visit to Lucius. Remembering his dreadful touch on her neck, she wore navy robes with a high collar, and kept her hair down. However, she also recalled his distaste for touching her, and realized that the chances of it happening again were low. Still, she wasn't going to take chances.
This time, the burly guard was waiting in the front room, and Hermione recognized several others from her group. Evidently two o'clock in the afternoon was a popular visiting time.
"Here to see Mr. Malfoy?" asked the guard in a business-like manner.
She nodded.
"How good to see you again. I thought you had given up on me," Lucius remarked pleasantly when she entered, as if their last meeting had not ended with him in hysterics.
"What, no apology this time?" Hermione raised her chin imperiously.
"You and I both know my apologies are completely insincere, so why bother?" A grin spread over pale lips.
"True," she acquiesced, setting up her quill and parchment again.
"I know you are the one supposed to be interrogating me," he began, and his voice was quietly sneering, "but I desire to ask a question."
"Yes?" Hermione raised her eyebrows.
"Is this the last visit you will pay me?"
"No, this assignment lasts for six months," Hermione replied with surprise.
"May I call you Hermione then? If you don't like that, I can come up with other things to call you, you filthy Mudblood bitch." His tone, which had been conversational, suddenly turned darkly malevolent.
Hermione's mouth formed an O of surprise at his abrupt viciousness, but she recovered quickly. "Fine," she said curtly. "Provided that I may address you as Lucius."
"Of course," he agreed serenely, all trace of his former ferocity suddenly gone.
"You know, one day I will get it through your thick, aristocratic skull that Muggle-borns are just as good as purebloods," Hermione muttered to the table.
The corner's of Lucius's mouth twitched.
"Such a privilege it is to be one of Hermione Granger's pet cases," he said lightly.
"I thought we'd spend today with you telling me your life story," Hermione told him briskly, pretending she had not heard his last words. "I'd be your biographer of sorts," she indicated the scratching quill, "if you will."
His curled lip informed her that he didn't care much for this idea. "I'm sure the Azkaban authorities would allow you access to my file. An approximate biography is included in there."
"Oh yes, but I'd really like to hear it from your lips," she objected, trying to sound as kind as possible.
Lucius's scowl did not lessen, and he breathed, "And if I refuse?"
Hermione shrugged. "I think that the Azkaban authorities would allow me to administer Veritaserum for my research."
A pause followed, during which Lucius stared hard at Hermione. Before long, she was forced to look away. He chuckled softly and began to talk.
"I was born November 11, 19--, to Lysander and Alexandra Malfoy. From birth to age three, I spent my time comfortably. On my third birthday, my father hired a renowned tutor to teach me various subjects including English, mathematics, etiquette, and later, riding, flying, and rudimentary magic. This changed only when I entered Hogwarts. Father ensured that I was brought up properly, but that was the most my parents had to do with me."
Hermione was having trouble visualizing Lucius as a child. His voice had a calm, hypnotic quality to it – he spoke too easily and freely, though his sneering undertones were to be expected. She guessed that he was probably lying about some things, and made a mental note to check his file.
"I was Sorted into Slytherin, as you know; I befriended Crabbe, Goyle, and Mulciber, among others in my House whom I felt would be useful to me or entertaining to have around, and I consistently excelled in class. Oh, and if you care, I was given the position of Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team in my second year."
"Did you earn it, or did your father buy your way in for you?" She just couldn't resist asking.
Lucius gave her a thin-lipped smile. "Unlike Draco, I obtained my position with my talent."
"Ah."
"Right after I graduated, I followed in my father's footsteps and became a Death Eater. My first task, to prove my loyalty, was to kill my father."
Hermione jerked upright. She knew of the appalling duties given to Death Eaters, but could not believe that Voldemort would give such personal orders.
"Did you do it?" she demanded.
Lucius laughed. "How easily you are shocked, Hermione! Yes, I did it, and I took his place within Voldemort's inner circle. Father was a bit over-ambitious. He fancied that he would make a better Dark Lord."
"I suppose Voldemort was quite fond of you from then on."
"He certainly liked me better than Father." Lucius smirked.
"How did your mother react?"
"Mother left me the Malfoy estate and departed for Spain with her lover. I hear he poisoned her later for infidelity," he said with amusement.
"Of course, everything is more complicated than I have let on. Father suffered a tragic mishap, and it was made out that Mother's grief was so great that she could no longer stand the country she married Father in, allowing her to slip out of England without comment."
"The Malfoy family image is flawless as always. Go on," she ordered, disgusted at the picture she was getting from Lucius and not sure how much of it was true. He was skilled at dissembling; Hermione did not doubt that, and she was certain that he would have made an invaluable PR rep.
He made a dismissive noise. "There is not much more to say. I acquired the post of Sr. Undersecretary to one of the Hogwarts governors – one of the older ones. He died when I was around thirty, and I got his job."
"So what about your wife?" Hermione prompted hesitantly.
He didn't explode again. "I held the title of 'most eligible bachelor in the country' for quite a few years," he reminisced, smiling nostalgically. It was uncanny how evil he could make a nostalgic smile look.
"I expect you bedded half the young women in England," Hermione remarked tartly.
His smile widened. "And not just the young women," he corrected. Hermione sniffed, which he took as a sign to continue.
"Narcissa and I were introduced at a mutual friend's party one night when I was twenty-four and she nineteen," he recalled, sweeping a long hand through his gleaming blond hair, which was so out of place in the dingy cell. Hermione followed his hand's progress like one hypnotized.
"I courted her for a year, married her, and then we had Draco the year after the wedding. I was twenty-six then. There is nothing else that you do not at least have an idea about," Malfoy finished.
"You don't have much of a dramatic flair, do you, Lucius? I expected you to embellish to some degree," Hermione observed, tearing her eyes from his exquisite hand, which had probably never done any manual labo in his life. It was especially odd that his story had been so flat when his behavior otherwise had been decidedly colorful.
"My dear Hermione, not all of us can steal the show quite as effectively as your good friend Potter. That little brat has quite a gift for the dramatic," Lucius teased, those white fingers now stroking lightly at his arm. It couldn't be termed scratching because they moved with his characteristic grace. Hermione absently thought it very funny that Lucius didn't scratch his itches; he stroked them.
"I want to ask one last question," Hermione began reluctantly. "How many people would you estimate you have killed in your lifetime?"
"That is an interesting question," Lucius sighed. "I would say about a hundred," he murmured lovingly, examining his ivory, blue-veined hands. He looked up at her.
"Well, I think that's enough for today," Hermione averred, turning her gaze away. "I'll be seeing you again next week, Lucius." Hermione took the quill and parchment and placed them inside her bag.
"Not so much as a 'thank you for your time'?" Lucius looked highly amused. "You seem to have forgotten all your manners today, dear girl."
"At least you're being polite, with all your endearments. 'Dear Hermione', 'dear girl,'" she shot back.
"Today is the first day that we will have parted where I have not been Stunned or Petrified. I think that we ought to be able to say goodbye on civil terms, Hermione." He smiled coldly, but his eyes were included this time, which was rare.
"You're right." She rose and extended her hand. The irony and humiliarion of Lucius trying to teach her manners was not lost on Hermione. "Goodbye, Lucius. Till next week."
Those ghostlike eyes flickered with amusement at her formality. Lucius stood, but instead of taking her hand, he bowed very slightly.
"They took my gloves," he murmured again smilingly, and not sounding at all apologetic.
Hermione's face contorted briefly before she regained control and forced it into an indifferent expression. So. She was so far beneath him that he would not deign to touch her hand, and if he were following Japanese customs, the infinitesimal degree of his bow reinforced his belief that she was vastly his inferior.
"Goodbye," Hermione repeated frostily, moving towards the door.
"Au revoir," he called pleasantly in return.
The door slammed loudly on her way out.
Once outside, she said a perfunctory thank-you to the guard, who looked relieved that he hadn't had to subdue Lucius again and nodded in return. At first, Hermione was going to leave quickly, as her anger had not yet boiled down, but as she saw the guard locking Malfoy's cell with multiple spells, she recalled that she wanted to see Lucius's records.
"Excuse me, Mr. . . .." Hermione trailed off uncertainly.
"Seward, Miss." He indicated a plastic badge with his name engraved on it (John R. Seward), which Hermione had somehow missed before. She couldn't think how; she was noted for her keen observation. Azkaban and Lucius must be affecting her mind, she thought, and she shuddered.
"Oh - Mr. Seward. I want to ask whether I have permission to access Malfoy's files. Having background on my subject would help greatly with my research, so could I . . .?"
Seward considered her request for a moment, then said, "I think that since you're from the Ministry, it'll be okay. You'll have to sign out a copy up front, because you want to take it home, right?"
"Yes."
"Okay," he said, starting to walk. Hermione followed him.
In the front room, the thin receptionist was dully flipping paper clips around.
"Smith," grunted Seward. "The lady here's from the Ministry; Auror training with Moody, remember?"
Smith's head snapped up to stare at Hermione. She displayed her visitor's badge from the Ministry as verification, and he nodded jerkily.
"She wants access to Lucius Malfoy's file. The prisoner in cell 289."
"All right then," said Smith, speaking for the first time in a voice as thin as his figure. He bent down and shuffled around, looking for a bunch of papers, which he placed on top of the counter. "Fill these out," he directed, giving Hermione a battered quill and inkpot.
Hermione frowned as she bent over the papers. She hated paperwork, and this stack seemed to ask a lot of pointlessly suspicious questions, such as Have you ever been tried for any criminal misdemeanors in the last five years? The next one stupidly asked Have you ever been tried for any criminal offenses in your life?
Meanwhile, Smith pulled his wand out and pointed it towards a stack of file cabinets in the back.
"Accio file of Lucius Malfoy, cell 289!"
A slim report zoomed out of a drawer and neatly into his hands.
Hermione scrawled out an answer to the last question and pushed the stack of papers towards Smith, who didn't even look at them, but placed them inside a drawer under his desk.
"Thank you," she said, taking the report from him and carefully stowing it in her bag.
She bade the two an automatic farewell, and walked out without waiting for their responses, her mind plagued by thoughts of Lucius.
Later, when Hermione was safely ensconced in her flat with a cup of hot tea, she opened Lucius's file and began to read.
She discovered that he had not actually lied about anything, but he had glossed over certain aspects and certainly left out a lot of details. It also appeared that his estimate of a hundred murders was slightly imprecise.
Disinclined though Hermione was to admit it, she was glad that Lucius had not told her the full details of his life in that cell. However, she would have thought that he'd have taken delight in seeing her squirm at the sordid parts.
So she refused to be grateful.
A/N: Hugs to everyone who's reviewed! Special shout-outs to Ale-Bloody- Roses and Mook: your reviews are helpful and so encouraging! I love constructive criticism and want to become a better writer, so you know the drill. ^_~
Oh, and I read Red Dragon (by the same author who wrote The Silence of the Lambs). Couldn't find Silence at my stupid local library. Grr. Maybe next time.
About Red Dragon: I thought it was a great book and ran out to rent the movie (didn't rent Silence 'cause I'm leery of watching movies without reading the books first). I thought that it was good - had great performances. Liked Dolarhyde. Of course, that wasn't entirely unbiased - I blame Ralph Fiennes. ^_^
And now to continue my quest to find Silence . . .