Nym placed a hesitant hand on the library door, worried that Madam Pierce would appear once again. Despite her aunt's assurances that she was free to go anywhere, it seemed that any time she ventured too far down a lonely passage, the housekeeper would appear to lead her back to the more frequented parts of the house, her face dry and pinched. Anton had seemed not to mind that she visit, though, and taking heart from this, Nym pushed on the door. Despite its size, it swung open easily, closing behind her noiselessly after she stepped inside.
Anton looked up. "Ah, Miss Nymphadora." Suddenly she seemed to cease to exist, as Anton entered his own private world. "From nymph, a creature of great beauty from Greek mythology, and 'dora', meaning gift in Greek. Indeed, a beautiful gift for this lonely house." The bookish ghost seemed to realize Nym was still there, flushing. "Now, Miss Nymphadora, is there something I can help you find? A subject of particular interest, perhaps? Or would you prefer just to browse?"
"Something on Charms, perhaps?" Nym said a bit hesitantly.
Anton seemed surprised. "Charms, Miss Nymphadora? You will have to be more specific than that, I'm afraid. There is an entire section devoted to Charms." His focus seemed to fade again. "Consisting of nine thousand, four hundred and twenty six volumes, arranged by subject matter, difficulty and author, published between the year one thousand ninety two and nineteen hundred fifty five." He shook his head sadly. "Scholarship in this household has fallen into a sad decline, Miss Nymphadora, since the days of Master Lucius's late father."
"Could you maybe suggest something for me, Anton?"
A smile crinkled the ethereal lines of the old ghost's face. "A suggestion, Miss Nymphadora? I would be delighted. But please, follow me. It has been so long since I could move books even a fraction so well as I must." He sighed, like the wind whistling through the pages of a book.
The Charms section had no distinguishing marker. Nym had to wonder how
Anton kept track of anything, without signs or notes to help him, but he
seemed to have been here long enough not to need them. Under his direction,
she climbed a thin stair to a catwalk about halfway up the high wall. The
Charms section, between two high windows, had its own ladder that rattled
from one end to the other when Nym bumped into it. "Careful Miss Nymphadora.
Careful," Anton cautioned. His ghostly fingers trailed along – or perhaps
through – the spines of the books meditatively. At last he settled on a
thin red volume, wedged between two much thicker books at the very edge
of one of the highest shelves.
"A rather specialized book," he commented as she wrested it free. "But
I think you'll find it quite appropriate. It was composed by a Malfoy,
you know. Mistress Morgan Magdalene Malfoy, as she was." Indeed, two ornate
'M's precluded the name Malfoy in embossed gold on the cover. Despite its
apparent age, the book was in fine condition. "Composed around, oh, I don't
remember, my memory does fade with the years, hmm, February, I believe
it was, eighteen hundred forty-seven. For her young daughter, Agnes Mary
Malfoy." Nym settled herself on the ladder to hear the old ghost lecture.
"Girls weren't taught magic back then, oh my no, not even the proper witches
from all magic families. A little house magic, maybe, for the poorer girls,
but it was only a few charms for the young ladies. Oh my, but Mistress
Morgan did not approve. A fine witch, she was, equal to most any wizard
in the world. A pity her daughter never showed much aptitude for magic.
I dare say she was quite heartbroken when she found Agnes preferred a pretty
dress to a properly transfigured kettle. I shouldn't wonder at the tale
that says she turned the girl to stone. Not permanently, my dear, never
fret," he added, seeing Nym's horrified look. "Only as a lesson in the
powers of magic. Mistress Morgan had quite the Malfoy temper." He sighed
nostalgically. "Go now, shoo, find yourself a proper armchair to read that
in. There are quite enough in here, lord knows, never mind that they take
space from the books. No need to be sitting on a rickety old ladder." He
waved his crinkled hands at her, and floated back to his desk, where he
returned to poring over the same tome that had been there when Narcissa
had shown Nym the library.
Hugging the book to her, Nym climbed down the staircase and made her way to where a large green armchair sat in the full light of one of the library windows, hidden deep in one of the sheltered alcoves of the library. When the clock on the mantle chimed some three hours later, Nym tucked the book carefully into her robe pocket, equal parts angry at the schedule that demanded that she put the book away for supper and amazed that she could find it so absorbing.
Following her discovery of the library, the days passed quickly for Nym. After reading through Mistress Morgan's book twice, she decided to attempt one of the charm bracelets that seemed to comprise the majority of Mistress Morgan's magic. Until, that is, she realized she wasn't allowed to do magic. Her disappointment must have been easily read on her face, because Lucius noticed it at dinner that night.
"What's upsetting you, Nymphadora?" he asked. "You'll make it rain outside if you go around looking like that."
"At least it would be a change from this blasted fog," commented his guest that night, a heavy set man who breathed through his mouth like a winded rhinoceros. Lucius sent him a scathing look that he covered so quickly Nym hardly registered it. Mister Godfrey Goyle didn't notice at all, so intent was he on his braised salmon.
Narcissa spoke up, a rarity when Lucius had guests. She was not fond of many of Lucius's guests, and particularly disliked Mister Goyle. "Oh, don't say you're unhappy here, Nymphadora. You aren't feeling sick, are you?"
Nym had to smile at her aunt's worry. She'd grown used to Narcissa's brainless comments, and now understood that, whatever Andromeda's relationship with the rest of her family, Narcissa truly did care about Nym, and wanted to help her. "No, Aunt Narcissa. I'm feeling fine. It's foolish for me to be upset. Please don't pay it any mind. I hate to distress you." She still had trouble 'speaking correctly', as Lucius put it, but even he had remarked on the improvement in her conversation skills. Which did not mean much, since he had originally classified them as atrocious.
"Come now, Nymphadora. What distresses you?" asked Lucius, putting a delicate piece of fish in his mouth.
"Only, I was hoping to try some of the spells from the library, but I'm not allowed to do magic at home over the summer."
"Posh!" It was the first time Nym had seen Lucius look anything besides mildly interested or politely bored. "That was always a stupid rule." He leaned closer to Nym. "We have an exception to that, here at Malfoy Manor. The ministry looks the other way for us, because we have been training our youth here ourselves for centuries." He laughed heartily, and Mister Goyle joined in, although he didn't understand the joke. "And if there's one thing the ministry will not contradict, it is tradition. Am I not right, Goyle?"
"Yes sir," Mister Goyle said dutifully, smiling at the joke that still
caused Lucius so much amusement.
"But come, Nymphadora, you spend too much time indoors anyway. Would
you not rather play outside?"
"I'd rather fly, sir, but I haven't a broom."
"Haven't a broom?" Lucius asked. "Has no one shown you the broom shed?"
"No sir."
"Nor the quidditch pitch?"
In her excitement, Nym forgot all the manners that had been so precisely drilled into her and dropped her fork with a clatter. "You have a quidditch pitch? Awesome!"
Narcissa smiled to see her niece so excited, and even Lucius seemed caught up in the general excitement. "Yes, yes. My great grandfather had it built. He hoped to host a World Cup match, you know, until it became apparent that that would mean allowing spectators onto Manor grounds. Quite unacceptable. I shall show you first thing in the morning. Should you like that?"
Nym remembered her manners in time to reply. "Oh yes, sir. Very much
so."
Lucius smiled indulgently. "Not really a girl's sport, quidditch. Wouldn't
you say, Goyle?"
"Yes sir."
"But such a top notch sport, I cannot find it in me to fault anyone
for wanting to play."
"Me neither, sir."
"Good, good." With the promise of a quidditch pitch and the freedom to do magic, Nym felt her spirits soar. She had found, lately, that it was nice to have clothes that fit her properly, and were well made. She felt less like an imposter, trying to fit into someone else's place, and more like Nym, who really was a witch and really did belong at Hogwarts, or anywhere else she chose to go. And though Narcissa took forever on their shopping trips, and tended to flutter at anything made for a baby, she still respected Nym's taste, and didn't try to force her to buy anything she didn't like. She was even finding that her aunt made some good suggestions for purchases she would never have thought of herself, and which she had ended up falling in love with. Even the enforced good manners didn't rankle so much as they once had. Something was bound to go wrong. That something arrived Sunday.