Dennis told his parents the following morning Mr. Odpadki gave him the day off because the work the previous day became a grueling twelve-hour slog. He did not arrived home until sunset, and it felt as if a gang of errant house elves beat him with heavy ladles for a few hours. His entire body ached from a combination of extended magic use, the likes of which he never endured, and some serious manual labor. Not only did Mr. Odpadki pay him the promised wage, but he threw in an extra galleon citing Dennis' persistence throughout the day. When his parents saw the way he moved, they accepted his explanation.
"Three bleeding hours it took to get that nasty ooze into the tanks," he said while toying with his breakfast. "What bloody fool mixes that many spells together? Huh? Surprised the stuff didn't explode."
"I thought you said this wasn't dangerous?" His mother bridled, and his father nodded in agreement while chewing on a mouthful of porridge.
"Not dangerous, Mum, just… fiddly, I guess. After what I saw yesterday, I think it'd be a good idea if witches and wizards got sent back to school for refresher courses every once in a while. It's like they've forgotten everything they once learned!"
His parents gazed at him with uncertainty.
"I'm not kidding," Dennis said and exposed his ire. "This older couple charmed an armoire so it could hold as much as a house. It took everything me and Mister Odpadki had to move it… and not just with magic. Feels like an ogre dropped a boulder on my shoulder."
His father smirked, and Dennis realized his unintentional rhyme. The grin, however, also revealed other thoughts in the man's head.
"Yeah, yeah. 'Bout bleeding time I put in an honest day. Right?"
"Your words and not mine, Denny," the man said in a smug manner.
"But is Mister Odpadki is happy with your work?" His mother intoned and asked a very parent question.
"Yeah. Taking me to Essex tomorrow to help with a pretty big job. We might stay overnight," he stated in as offhand a fashion as he could muster.
Dennis spent what free time he could manage the day before thinking up ways to get to Essex without raising the suspicions of parents. Given he now worked for a waste hauler who specialized in extremely exotic refuse, it presented itself as a natural cover story. Furthermore, Mr. Odpadki stated his satisfaction with Dennis' performance and style of thinking. His employer told him it usually takes up to eight hours to move the sludge from Silas Youngman's pits. Thus, the quick disposal allowed them to do more jobs that day, and somewhat to Dennis' regret. It also earned him the extra galleon.
"What's on the agenda?" His father inquired in a socially inquisitive tone.
"Got some magicked muggle artifacts…"
Then he saw their expressions change. His parents learned over the years the term muggle could carry negative connotations. Neither he nor Colin ever used the word as such, but it served as a reminder their child lived in a different world. It also recalled the fact they never continued their conversation from two days before.
"Okay, witches and wizards are really curious about everything we see as normal. Part of the problem is magic and electricity doesn't get along to well… as you know," Dennis said in an effort to alter the sudden tension.
"I miss that television," his father bemoaned.
"Dad, how many times do I have to apologize 'bout that? Besides, Colin's the one who got it started. Who knew exploding snap would, well, make other things explode?"
The elder Creevey male gave his son a long stare.
"I'm working now, so I can help pitch in for a new set. I actually get paid a good wage," Dennis confessed because he knew it would ease the moment.
"You don't say. What rate?" His mother took the bait and asked.
"Getting two galleons an hour… around… let's see… just over eight and half quid an hour."
His parents' eyes went wide, and his father noted: "That's a good bit above the national youth development rate. You sure this work isn't dangerous?"
"It's hard work, but not really dangerous if you keep your wits firm. Mr. Odpadki is a smart man, and he really knows what he's doing. I don't think he'd put me in any danger 'cause it'd be the same for him," their son said in a thoughtful manner. "Besides, he did give me the day off to recover, so I'd say he's got a fair mind about all of this."
"Alright, but, Dennis, do send word if you know you're going to be working late. I got worried when the sun started going down," Jill Creevey requested.
"Sure, Mum. We can use the old chalkboards."
In his first year, Dennis and his brother teamed up to charm two small chalkboards while at school. During the holiday break they brought the chalkboards home and told their parents what they planned. The boards gave them a means to send simple, small messages back and forth. A demonstration proved the utility to their parents, who did not like to traffic in owls. Since the magic got applied at school, it did not trigger a violation of the under-age magic restriction nor the misuse of muggle artifacts law since chalkboards got magicked at Hogwarts all the time. It provided a neat little loophole, and the chalkboards got used until Dennis graduated. It also sparked Dennis' nascent interest in charms that would blossom throughout the rest of his school years.
"What's your plan for today other than laying around?" His father inquired and reverted back to form.
"Got some paperwork I need to fill out at the Ministry to register my job, plus I need to open an account at Gringotts Bank so Mr. Odpadki can just shift my wages to it. Makes it easier for me, too," Dennis rattled off the plans he made the night before as prompted by his employer.
"Good lord! He's talking like an adult!"
"Dad!"
The small family shared a brief chuckle together. After which his father announced he needed to head to the dairy and took his leave. Dennis finished his breakfast, cleaned the dishes with magic (and wondered where he actually sent the waste), and then went in search of the chalkboards used while at school. He also took the opportunity to take a shower and ease some soreness from his muscles. He found relief in another way as well. After drying off, Dennis put on a different pair of dark brown cargo shorts, a polo shirt, but the same trainers with clean socks. Once settled, Dennis returned to the dining area dressed and with his backpack slung over one shoulder.
"Don't you look fresh?" His mother absentmindedly remarked.
"Need anything from London while I'm there?" Dennis graciously offered.
"Not that I can think of right now. Got your chalkboard with you?"
"In my pack."
"Check it every once in a while if you don't mind. I might think of something," she suggested.
He said he would as he walked to the middle of the living room.
"Does that hurt, Love?" His mother asked.
"Yeah, my back still feels kind of squished from yesterday," he replied as he gripped his wand and prepared to disapparate.
"No, I meant traveling like that. It looks like it pulls you inside out and into knots," she clarified.
"It kind of does feel like that, but it's not painful. Just uncomfortable for a few seconds. Also gets the stomach turning."
"Oh, that I would believe."
"Would you like to try it sometime? You could side-aparate with me to the Ministry and then go into London for a few hours," Dennis offered as he twisted his head around to look at her.
"No, I think I'll stick to autos and the bus for the time being. Not that I don't trust you, but it looks so… so… worse than a roller coaster," his mother declined with a tiny shake of her head.
"Not far off from that to be honest. You get used to it, though. Hardly bothers me anymore. Believe it or not, Mum, it's one of the safest ways to travel. No collisions with anything. No falling out of the sky. Doesn't pollute. Might get splinched once or twice, but that's sorted out easy enough," he told her.
"I honestly don't want to know what that last bit is. Sounds dreadful," she said with a wave of her hand. "You go take care of your business. I thinking of picking up a half shift this afternoon, so dinner might be late."
"Don't forget to send me a note."
"Smart alleck," his mother rumbled at him through a grin.
"Okay, I'm off," he announced.
"Already knew that, son," she replied with one of his father's favorite puns.
Dennis rolled his eyes as he started to concentrate. He heard her snicker as he began to twist through the space where magic resided. Three seconds later he arrived at the Ministry. Not one thing seemed to change from two days before. Dennis followed the usual procedures and made his way to the library. This time he made a very unique request to one of the librarians that sent them scrambling for ten minutes. One even commented that Dennis may be first to ask for such reference material.
When he took a seat at one of the long, highly polished reading tables, a short stack of books faced him. Dennis began with the one volume on notable families in the wizarding world. It covered the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but they only received a scant twenty pages or so. The rest got dedicated to families of less prestigious bloodlines who contributed far more to the magical world. However, the directory also listed families with ties to the muggle aristocracy. Given that one could hardly separate magical from muggle, it seemed a reasonable research resource. Dennis plied himself to the oddly arranged book.
"Well, got a start at least. Looks like I'm heading to Colchester. Let's see where," he mused aloud to himself.
Dennis proceeded to peruse the telephone directory for greater Essex. Although it seemed a long shot, he decided to simply look up the North family. Much to his surprise, he found Essex loaded with people bearing the last name North.
"I really shouldn't be surprised now, should I?" He asked no one in particular.
However, further scrutiny revealed a small estate located on Abbot's Road in the southern half of Colchester: North Guilford Hall. It matched several pieces of information Dennis unearthed in his earlier research. He noted the address and a general hall phone number. Further reasoning told him he could do research in Colchester when he arrived to make certain he contacted the right people.
"Next," he said as he shoved the Essex telephone directory to the side.
Dennis returned to the peerage book. The Thomas Lester North of the East Midlands became trickier to trace. Fewer Norths existed in the area, and the ones he found did not appear to be part of the muggle gentry. He returned to peerage volume to refresh himself on what few facts he could locate. In an almost throw-away sentence, he learned the Norths of East Midlands lost their peerage when the last North daughter married into the Hicking family. The baronage passed to the Hickings in the 1814. Thus, Dennis shifted his focus.
Despite the new facts, the Hickings did not appear much better off than Norths in the region. The East Midlands shifted from agriculture and animal husbandry to industrial and manufacturing concerns, and that seemed to deplete the authority of the ancestral families. Unlike the Norths of Essex, Dennis could not locate any estates, grand or otherwise, for the Hickings despite the numerous times they appeared in the telephone directory. It seemed he would need to do more research when he actually went there. His plans began to solidify.
"Time, please," he whispered to the tip of his wand.
The numbers 1037 hovered in the air for a few moments. Although the magical world tended to view time as something they could bend and violate at will, a woefully dangerous assumption in Dennis' view, knowing the actual time muggles followed became handy. Dennis recalled a number of muggle-born students, including his brother, who consistently wore wristwatches. Magic, of course, meant they needed to reset the chronometers every single morning. By the end of the day, Colin's watch could be off by up to three or six hours depending on the classes he attended. As a result, Dennis concocted a charm during his second year for his wand to read the time alignment waves sent out across the world to keep the magical world in step with itself. He also adjusted it for the universal time coordinate and the time zone he occupied, and then truncated the reading to a twelve-hour setting displaying only hours and minutes. He always planned on refining the charm, but it worked well enough for his purposes. Hence, Dennis knew the local time stood at just after half-past ten in the morning.
"I could pop off to Essex for a few hours and get some more research done," Dennis pondered as the numbers vanished. "Maybe even get lunch there."
Dennis remembered Colchester as one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in England, and it once served as the capital of Roman Britain. It also served as a market city, and that meant he could find any number of exceptional meals. The notion swayed him. Dennis decided he would head to Colchester after completing his paperwork and a visit to Gringotts. It did not take much effort to stow his materials and notes.
Two and a half hours later, a rather irked Dennis Creevey arrived on the apparating dais in Colchester. He earlier suffered the insufferable need for the Ministry to send its constituents on a seek-and-find game in order to file paperwork. He spent an hour shuffling around finding one piece of paperwork only to discovered he needed another complimentary form. It seemed unreasonable given he only needed to inform them he found work. Then came dealing with the goblins at Gringotts. Opening an account with their bank seemed tantamount to declaring war against one or all of the many goblin tribes. Even the goblin trying to lend marginal assistance freely admitted many of the procedures to be outdated, worthless, and wholly obstructionist, but the goblins loved their processes and refused to relinquish a single one without a protracted fight of many decades. As a long-lived humanoid species, they tended to win through simple longevity.
Leaving Ministry property and setting foot in the city caused a near immediate change of mood. Long ago after Colin's first year at Hogwarts, his parents decided to take a holiday to Frinton-on-the-Sea. Getting there required they pass through part of Colchester, at least according to their father's theory. Although the A112 to the A120 provided a direct route around the north of Colchester, the Creevey patriarch decided the A124 to the A134 would offer better sights to see. While they did get to see some of the city through the windows of their auto, they got treated to better views of traffic and traffic lights. The A134 turned and twisted through the southern side of the city. The tour of Colchester cost them an extra hour in travel time before they reached the A133 and a sensible path. Despite that rather unpleasant memory, Dennis hummed in appreciation when his foot stepped onto the streets of Colchester.
Ancient in England depends on two factors: first, where one stands, and, second, when one's family took up residence on the Isles. Although they traced their roots to both Ireland and Scotland, Dennis felt certain they came from European stock sometime in the last fifteen hundred years. That meant he came from an established family, not the oldest but firmly rooted. Then came the Gaels and Picts who roamed the through Ireland and Scotland for three or four thousand years at the very least. Their families became foundational and challenged the Romans when they took a turn at invading Briton. Finally, anyone who could claim lineage to the Druids dismissed everyone else as mere interlopers. With a history dating back between five and seven thousand years, likely more, the Druids claimed to be the original inhabitants of the islands. Moreover, several families continued to practice an ancient and arcane, even by wizarding standards, form of magic that generally spread terror in the uninitiated. They called upon earth forces so primal it defied the imagination. Dennis always wanted to go to a Druid Moot.
Colchester seemed ancient in its own rights. The stones underfoot thrummed with life that tread those grounds for over two thousand years. Roman mages garnered a reputation for charming and cursing everything in sight, and some of the old magic continued to linger. Centuries upon centuries of various wars led to wide assemblage of ghosts, some of whom could not communicate with the living due to language barriers. Hence, a now happy Dennis Creevey went off in search of a lunch that he hopefully could not pronounce. A bus ride from The Octagon to the Colchester Town train station, the bus driver assured him, would land him a place where he could find multiple sources of food. Dennis took his chances and took the woman at her word.
Half an hour later he sat on a street-side bench noshing on African fare that both puzzled and tantalized his taste buds. He walked into the eatery and asked the waitperson to give him what the dark-skinned man considered to the most pleasing dish. The grin on the man's face indicated Dennis possibly asked for more than he bargained. After the Styrofoam container got delivered to him, Dennis took it outside. He never asked for a description of the food. As he started to eat, and it woke his olfactory senses like few other dishes, Dennis could care not care less if it happened to be jerked panda bear. He loved it. Both the meat, whatever its origin, and roasted root vegetables oozed with unique flavor. The flatbread reminded him of naan, but not entirely. It did not take long before he sat contemplating if he should lick out the last remaining juices. Dennis sadly decided it would draw too many stares from passers-by, and his recent wizard training told him to avoid drawing attention to himself. Hence, he searched for trash bin to deposit the container. The flavors continued to swirl in his nose and along his tongue.
A real search then began that required walking. Dennis found a map of the local area, and used it to locate where he needed to go. The slightly less than two kilometer distance did not encourage him to walk since the afternoon grew progressively stickier and warmer. Trying to wiggle information out of people while a sweaty mess did not seem a good idea. Thus, he spent more of his money taking a bus to Abbot's Road. When he arrived at North Guilford Hall, Dennis' face fell.
A wide empty field with the fenced in remains of ruins awaited him. He crossed the street and approached the small building erected next to what seemed to be the last bits of a large stone manor house. A sign announced the building as a visitor center, so he went in. He found what looked to be two rooms: a main display room and a private room cordoned off by a wall and a door. The building stretched roughly six meters in breadth and about twelve meters in depth. On the righthand side a counter stood occupied by a woman dressed in cheery shades of blue, green, and yellow.
"Good morning," the elderly woman happily called to him.
"Um, hi. Good morning," Dennis replied as he walked toward the receiving desk feeling grateful for the air conditioning. "I, ah… wasn't expecting this."
"And what would that be? Precisely?"
"Ruins, I suppose. I thought the North family resided here," he frankly admitted.
"Oh, heavens no! The old manor got bombed to pieces during the war, so they relocated to their residence up near Horkesley Heath. Sad, really. It was a beautiful Georgian villa modeled on a French regency style, as you can see from the pictures on the wall. This is all that remains, and the grounds are now open to the public. They kept the northeast wall – well, what's left of it – as a reminder of the cost of war. Plus, it still gives them claim to the land," the woman explained in a single breath that left Dennis panting for her.
"I see. You seem to know this history of this place, but… well, I guess it is your job," Dennis replied with an apologetic grin. "Got a question, then: how, ah… how would one go about maybe getting an audience with Lord North?"
"Oh, shouldn't be too hard, I imagine. Most of his concerns are run by a board of directors, although he likes to keep his hand in. His granddaughter oversees most of the day-to-day operations, so you might want to talk to her… about what?"
"I guess their family line," Dennis truthfully stated. "I came across an odd occurrence while researching some family business up in Scotland. I found a reference to a Thomas Lester North from the mid-eighteenth century, except then I found another Thomas Lester North from the same time period. One lived in the East Midlands, and one here. I'm just trying to sort out who is who, so this way I don't go chasing up the wrong tree. If you take my meaning."
"I most certainly do, and isn't that strange. Two Thomas Lester Norths! I dare say they're quite likely related, but… well, the family line got consolidated by eighteen-fourteen in Nottingham… something of a to-do over with land and titles," she told him in an excited and pleased tone.
Dennis smiled as she spoke, held out his hand, and said: "Nice to meet you. I'm Dennis Creevey, and you'll never see my name in any of those histories."
"A pleasure, Mr. Creevey. Evelyn Llewelyn, by marriage and not by choice," she stated with a chuckle and accepted the handshake. "Not many people show an interest in the North family these days, and especially one as young as you. I must say you've stumbled on an interesting little piece, haven't you?"
He nodded.
"Well, I may just be able to help so you don't have to go trotting up to Horkesley to make an appointment. Give me a moment if you'd be so kind," Mrs. Llewelyn requested.
"Sure. Thanks," he agreed.
The apple-shaped woman with graying auburn hair bent down into a crouch. He could hear her muttering as she shifted objects under the countertop. Dennis took the opportunity to glance around the small building. Many reprints of enlarged grainy old photographs lined the walls. It shocked him for a moment when the people in the pictures remained frozen in place. The old manor house appeared nice enough and seemed fitting for the modest side of nobility. No one smiled in the photos, but they appeared pleasant in every other aspect. Here and there small pedestals got placed to display artifacts both from the building and the family. Nothing about them seemed at all magical.
"Ah!" Mrs. Llewelyn crowed and made Dennis jump a bit. "Here it is."
The woman surfaced like a behemoth from the sea, struggling to lift a heavy and apparently old book. The leather cover, a goldish-yellow, looked scratched and worn. Dennis could not make out the lettering on the cover or spine when it got unceremoniously dumped on the counter.
"This is a copy of what they have up at the house. Full record of the North family going all the way back to the thirteen hundreds," Dennis' current curator exclaimed in a happy voice. "Now, in what dates did these two Thomases live?"
Dennis fished out his notes from his backpack. He did not want to appear too eager, so he made a show of looking for the data. After half a minute he said: "Both born in seventeen-twenty-nine. Don't know when the one up in Midlands died, but I found some bits saying this one from here died between seventeen-sixty and seventeen-sixty-three."
"That is odd. How would you not know the date of death? I can understand if someone forgot to record it, but peers tended to be quite careful with such information since it could affect inheritance. One sec while I take a look."
"Sure," Dennis agreed and watched her read.
Following two minutes of flipping through pages and dragging a finger down tables of text, Mrs. Llewelyn suddenly stabbed her finger downward and proclaimed: "Here he is. Yes, born in seventeen-twenty nine. Married seventeen-fifty. Sent to the British regulars in India in sixteen-fifty-eight after severing in Prussia as a military attaché for three years. Fought in the battles of Pondicherry. Returned to the Seven Years' War after that. Died in battle in seventeen-sixty-two during a raid along the Russian front. Buried there. Left a wife behind, but no children. He was second in line for the title."
In less than a minute he learned more from Evelyn Llewelyn than his hours of research at the Ministry of Magic library. While he felt frustrated on one hand, Dennis also felt a new sense of excitement. He managed to winnow down the number of men named Thomas Lester to one in particular. Dennis smiled at the woman.
"I take it this answers some questions for you," the woman intoned.
"More than a few, but it raises a whole bunch of others. Looks like I'm off to the East Midlands tomorrow. I hope I can run into someone as helpful as you, Missus Llewelyn. You're better than a library!" He rejoined.
"Oh, says you!" Mrs. Llewelyn demurred. "Really, it was nice to see someone interested in the old family lines. They're dying out, you know, and there's a been a push to let the letters patent expire."
"What's that?"
"The decree used by a king or queen to bestow a title on a person and family. Most of the old peerage by writ of summons are immune and don't expire unless the family dies out. Even then it gets shifted to someone else, but the newer patent ones can lapse if the remainder clause is uncertain."
She spoke a language Dennis did not understand, and she spoke with unmitigated certainty.
"So, which one gave the Norths their title and lands?" He further inquired.
"Oh, this is a writ of summons peerage. This is old nobility, Mister Creevey, and a member of the House of Lords since the end of the Lord Protector period," Mrs. Llewelyn further expounded.
Dennis made a show of scribbling down the information, some of which he did legibly copy. However, it differed from his knowledge of history. Once in the magical world, he learned an entirely different set of events concerning England that only sometimes touched on muggle events. Moreover, magical history tended to be colorful in ways muggle history could not imagine, regardless of how hard Professor Binns tried to make it as boring and lifeless as his earthly remains.
"So… if Thomas died in battle, then who got the title and the lands?" Dennis asked since it seemed a relevant question.
"Oh, like I said, Thomas was second in line. James, the oldest, assumed the title and lands when… " and then Mrs. Llewelyn glanced at the page in the ledger, "when Jonathan died. It was quite common for second and third sons in big noble families to become lifelong military officers. Good ones or national heroes could earn their own peerage. Daughters got married off to try and strengthen the family's revenues and political positions. All quite calculated, really."
"Sounds like it."
Dennis started to put his materials away.
"Tell me, Mister Creevey, what is your real interest in all this. Are you related to the North family?" The woman inquired as she watched him and sounded more guarded.
"No, not even distantly related. Like I said, I was looking up family business from centuries ago, and I saw Thomas Lester North mentioned without any details. When I looked him up, I found more than one, and couldn't figure out who was who. It all struck me as sort of odd, and… to be honest, curiosity got to me. Couldn't let it go, so I did more research. That's how I wound up here," Dennis told her, and his recounting more or less fit the truth.
She smiled and said: "Sound like you caught the curiosity bug. It'll get you and lead you places you never expect. Mister Llewelyn is something of a train spotter, and now he's got a whole room of books dedicated to trains that run on the lines in England. We've gone looking for train tunnels in the silliest of spots. Plus, he can go on and on for hours and hours about trains. Gets to be a bit much at times, between you and me."
Dennis grinned at her last statement because she infused her comment with obvious affection for her husband.
"Well, I sincerely hope you find out more regarding your Thomas North," the woman continued in her cheery demeanor. "If it touches on this branch of the family, could you be a dear and drop me a note giving some details? Might fill in some of the records that got lost during the bombing raids."
"Yeah, sure. I can do that," he readily agreed as the sound of the zipper on his backpack growled in the air. "Honestly, you were more help than I could've expected and gave me a lot more information than I could've asked for, so I owe you at least that much."
"Oh, be off with you," Mrs. Llewelyn coyly responded to the compliment.
Dennis held out his hand again and said: "Thanks, Missus Llewelyn. I appreciate you talking to me."
"And I appreciate you coming in to ask some fine questions, young man. Been a while since someone your age stopped in. Rather exciting, really."
They smirked at one another.
"Alright, got a trip to make to London, so… thanks again," he gave a final good-bye.
"You take care, Mister Creevey," Mrs. Llewelyn offered.
Dennis nodded. With that, he turned and headed out of the small visitor center. The humid, warm day wrapped around him like a wet blanket pulled from a muggle clothes dryer. It made both his clothing and skin feel heavy and sticky. Dennis made his way to the bus stop while he considered all he learned from the very helpful Mrs. Llewelyn. Even when he sat in the covered bus shanty, he could not believe his luck. It slowly began to dawn on him that the woman possibly reacted to his demeanor. The ghosts and portraits at Hogwarts always appreciated a somewhat deferential approach, and he naturally adopted the posture with Mrs. Llewelyn. Moreover, if his mother ever found out he got cheeky with an older adult, she would box his ears without any thought of his wizard status.
"Ooh, Mum'd do me a good one," he mumbled and shuddered. Then he checked the chalk board for good measure, and it remained blank.
Dennis took his time going home. He returned to the Ministry library for a second check of the phone directories for possible relatives of Thomas Lester North of the East Midlands, and Nottinghamshire in specific. It seemed very likely the two Thomases shared a common if not recent ancestor in their times. However, fortune smiled on the North's of Essex more than their possible cousins in the north. He recalled the titles the East Midlands got assumed by the Hickings, so he again scanned for that surname.
Dozens of the name faced Dennis. Randomly selecting an appropriate point of contact did seem a good tactic. It appeared the haphazard plan he used in Essex could not be employed in the Midlands. As Dennis scribbled down names and street addresses, he also breezed through the business section. The name Hicking appeared dozens of more times in various light industrial concerns. While the North's of Essex faced a gradually and persistent erosion of their status, parts of the Hickings branch became a major force and moved with the times. Despite that, Dennis found himself at a loss on where to begin. The time for desperate measures arrived.
"Finally," Silent Thom sighed the word following fifteen minutes of Dennis' rather aimless discourse on what he learned. "The name Nottingham hasn't crossed my lips in two-hundred and forty years. Although your method of discovery befuddles me, I am extremely grateful, Mister Creevey."
"Thanks, but the job isn't done yet," Dennis conditionally accepted the gratitude. "Still got to find out who did you in."
He watched as Thomas' jaw grew tight. The curse only got partially broken. It renewed the anger in the living young man. However, other questions emerged.
"Thomas, you might not be able to answer, but… don't get mad, but you didn't deserve this, did you? Somebody wasn't getting revenge for something awful?"
A quiet fury rose in Thomas Lester North's face, but then it subsided in the same rapid order. It let the ghost of the man looking sad and worn. Dennis admired Thomas' self-control.
"I suppose it is fair of you to both ask and think that. I can assure you I did not comport myself in an unseemly manner deserving this type of retribution. This was the result of…" the spirit said and attempted to say.
The curse took hold again. Dennis patiently waited until Thomas could continue. The sound of the water lapping at the stones rose up the side of the cliff. Once more, the birds squabbled over the limited real estate down below. The minutes passed while the curse effects faded.
"Small though it may seem, Dennis, what you accomplished is more than I could have hoped. You returned to me my name and something of my home. Although I cannot return there, I am given a sense of ease not mine these past two and half centuries. It is no trivial matter, and you are to be commended."
On that hot very late spring afternoon, Dennis got to watch Thomas smile for the first time he could recall. Although his style of dress never changed, and the younger of the two men assumed Thomas died in those clothes, the ghost appeared brighter. The sunlight did not wash him out of visibility. The victory got overshadowed by the fact so much more remained to be uncovered. Dennis turned his mind to the task.
"Thomas, what do you know about the Hicking family?" He inquired.
"In my day they ran a small foundry lying halfway to Grantham. They made and poured moulds for two- and four-pounders. They sold to any who asked, and long before my time it bought them favor with William of Orange. My family still held vassal papers with the Hickings from before the time of Cromwell…"
"Hang on. Missus Llewelyn told me the North's became nobles after Cromwell."
"There in lies the flaw of teaching only magical history at this school. Events in the non-magical world play a crucial role in our lives, Mister Creevey, and woe be to the mage who fails to take note of it," Thomas cautioned.
The two stood and locked gazes for a moment. In an unusual fashion, Dennis found Thomas a rather handsome man. Firstly, his jaw looked much firmer than the ones he saw in paintings and wood prints concerning other nobles. A rather high and square forehead tapered down to a cut jawline and square chin. The nose, while aquiline, did not appear too hawkish. Dark eyes gleamed with intelligence even in the after-life. The man also appeared fit.
"Mister Creevey, why do you observe me as you do?" The dead man asked.
"You're not a bad looking bloke, Mister North," Dennis honestly answered.
"Lord North. I was titled."
"Fat lot of good it did, huh? Titles don't keep a person from getting murdered."
"It…" and Thomas' mouth snapped shut.
Dennis did not spend two years virtually alone in a school getting tutored by others who passed on long before Thomas and not walk away with some real education. Many of the ghosts and paintings tried to shape his style of thinking. Several succeeded.
"Hold on. This is part of it, isn't it? You being Lord North and all?" Dennis vocally pursued his line of thinking.
Thomas became an insubstantial statue.
"That's yes if I ever saw one from you," Dennis remarked and then quipped, "Bet you owned a few horses then, did you?"
"Ah… yes," the spirit of the man heaved out the words as if denied breath for too long. "If I may, and perhaps you will take meaning from this, my full title is… was Thomas Lester Jonathan, Lord North, Earl of Nottingham. Before you ask those silly questions, we had nothing to do with one Robin of Hood. Those myths are like a plague."
Dennis grinned, but he did take Thomas' hint. He sat down on the short, stiff grass of the promontory while unslinging his backpack. After fishing around on the inside and taking note the small rectangle of a chalkboard remained blank, Dennis withdrew his research notes parchment and a ballpoint pen. While others might chide him, quill and ink often became difficult to use without a desk and rather messy. Besides, he privately thought, ballpoint pens could hold a greater number of charms, and that made them superior to quills. He wrote down Thomas full name and title.
"Huh, what do you know? Another puzzle. Thomas Lester North of Essex was the second son of Jonathan North in Essex. They were earls, too. So, you were related to royalty?" Dennis mumbled the question.
"Through James the Fourth of Scotland, but more by marriage than by blood. We were part of the seventh creation, and, actually, a reestablishment of the line. Although we possessed heredity claims previous to the Lord Protector… and this means nothing to you?" Thomas began and unceremoniously wound down.
"Not a lot. Wizards and witches do have much to do with royalty… 'cept you said you were a wizard. Right?"
"Indeed. My mother came from a long line of witches. Although frowned upon for primary heirs, there is quite a bit of magical blood in the royal lines. Victoria denied her magical roots to an obsessive degree from what I heard, and obscurials emerged too frequently in the Hapsburgs, but more than few of royal blood quietly studied the craft. One does not remain king or queen without exploiting all avenues of power."
Dennis gaped at the man. No one ever talked about the mingling of magical and royal blood, much as people tended to view magical-muggle unions with disdain. It did not make a lot of sense to Dennis. He thought again of Hermione and Séamus. However, here stood a man – or perhaps floated – with real connections to royalty who freely confess to not only his magical mother, but the fact he lived as a practicing wizard. It caused a few moments of cognitive dissonance in Dennis.
"You appear surprised, Dennis?" Thomas queried.
"Do we do ourselves any favors by ignoring all of this?" He questioned in return.
"In my case, it partially led…"
Dennis frowned as he watched Thomas become completely inert. The he reacted as he did minutes before and asked: "Did a lot with sheep up in the Midlands?"
"Uh… some," Thomas said and again appeared as if he got suffocated. "There was always a need for wool and mutton. It served more of a staple than an outright commodity.
"Thomas, what's it like when that happens?"
"Awful. Terrible. I cannot move. I cannot speak. There is a horrible sound inside of my head, and I cannot even think for the most part. It is only when I completely dismiss… those thoughts that I am released from my stricture. Were it not for your timely and distracting questions, I could spend a considerable amount of time locked in that condition."
The day grew colder around Dennis as tried to imagine what Thomas endured. It seemed completely and wholly unfair to the ghost. Even if Thomas did something in the past that required atonement, two and a half centuries of torture exceeded all limits of decency and probity. Dennis made up his mind he would not cease his investigations until and at least when he found a way to free the ghost from the curse. Thomas deserved that small kindness.
After a lengthy silence, the specter turned toward the living young man and said: "Mister Creevey, may I inquire as to what you will gain from pursuing this matter? It does not involve you in even the remotest sense."
Dennis cocked his head upward and stared into the semi-transparent visage of Thomas Lester Jonathan North, the late Earl of Nottingham. True, he thought, the issues did not involve him. Yet Dennis felt some kinship with the ghost.
"Thomas, I know what it's like to be left out… excluded… for no good reason. I know what it's like to feel alone and nobody cares for you. I know what it's like to have people look down on you for something that's not your fault," Dennis laid out part of his reasoning. "But that's really not what got under my skin."
"Then what?" The man asked when Dennis paused.
"It's just not fair: this, what happened to you. And what would it say about me if I felt all that, know all this, and did nothing about it? It'd make me a right prat. Worse, it'd make me monster. I can't just stand by while you're suffering like this, Thomas. If I don't help, who will?"
"You are a decent and honorable man, Dennis Creevey," Thomas said with clear emotion. "Alas, even in my day people of your… personal inclination did not receive just treatment. I dare say life is better for all in this age."
"Maybe," Dennis said, shrugged, and then sat more upright. He wanted to return to the original subject. "So, um, Thomas, can you think of anyone I might go talk around Nottingham that could help?"
"Alive? No one. Have you consulted with record keepers in the parish?"
"Muggle or magical?"
"Both, I would imagine. However, it would seem logical to being with the non-magical records. Are you conversant with the rules and regulations of the non-magical?" Thomas suggested and then asked.
"Born and raised in a muggle house, remember? So, yeah, I know my way around," Dennis replied and tried to keep the sarcasm to a manageable level.
"Yes, yes, as you told me in the past. Forgive my lapse of memory," the man replied and rolled his ghostly eyes.
"Not a problem, Thomas. You are old after all."
"Quite."