105. Clocks and Debit Cards
As promised, Mrs Bates relayed messages from Mr White. She told Draco that there had been a phone call about a debit card being ready to be picked up. Draco had no idea what a debit card was, but decided to ask Mr White rather than his landlady. Maybe the man would even volunteer an explanation.
The next morning, Draco made a little detour on his way to the library and went to the bank office. As he couldn't spot Mr White anywhere in the counter hall, he walked up to the only clerk not engaged in conversation with a patron.
"Good morning, sir," the young woman beamed before he could say something.
Draco felt somewhat strange at being called sir, but also encouraged.
"Good morning, Miss. I was looking for Mr White. You wouldn't know where I could find him?"
"I'm afraid Mr White isn't in today," she said. "Maybe I can help you?"
"I'm here to collect my debit card."
"Well, there shouldn't be a problem," she said and smiled broadly. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't catch your name."
"Draco Malfoy."
"Mr Malfoy, yes, that was it," she said, still smiling. "I'll see to your new debit card immediately. If you will please wait for a moment?"
She walked over to another clerk and conferred with her. Then both women went to a roller shutter cabinet at the back of the room. Draco couldn't make out what they were doing there because a potted plant blocked his vision, but he didn't have to wait long for the young clerk to come back.
"There you are, Mr Malfoy. Your debit card," she said cheerfully and gave Draco a small, rectangular piece of plastic with his name and two long numbers on it. In the upper right-hand corner, there was the logo of the bank house, "Keep it safe. Don't let anyone else use it. Don't leave it lying around. Make sure to phone us immediately should you lose it despite your utmost care."
"Yes, Miss. I'll keep in mind what I shouldn't do with this card. But what do I do with it?"
The smile on her chubby face wavered.
"I'm not sure I understand your question, sir," she said.
"What am I supposed to do with this card?" Draco asked. "What is it good for?"
"Are you trying to tell me that you do not know what a debit card is?" she asked very carefully.
"Yes, miss."
"I see," she said slowly and looked Draco up and down, probably searching for signs that made such ignorance plausible.
Draco didn't like the way the exchange was going. He was about to tell her that he had only been joking, when she suddenly started to speak.
"A debit card is an electronic card issued by a bank. It allows bank clients access to their account to withdraw cash or pay for goods and services at all times. Debit cards remove the need for card holders to go to the local bank office during opening hours to remove cash from their account because they can use cash machines with their debit card or pay electronically at merchant locations. Debit cards are considered a safe form of payment because a code is required to access the account funds."
She sounded like a student reciting a well-rehearsed answer in class, and she wasn't done yet. After taking a deep breath, she continued, "Debit cards also remove the need for checks because they transfer money from the client's account to the account of the business immediately. This is also the main difference between a debit card and a credit card. Debit cards take money directly from the client's account, whereas credit cards borrow the money from the issuer of the card. The major benefits to debit cards are convenience and security."
Her smile came back with the last words, and it was a triumphant one.
"Er, right," Draco said, "Thanks."
"You're welcome," she beamed. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Yes, I would like to know where you intent to put my money."
The big smile slid off her face.
"You're here to test me, aren't you, sir?" she asked in a small voice.
"No, I'm not. Why would I do that?"
"Because it's my first day today. The management sent you to check on me, right?"
"Most certainly not," Draco said, finally noticing the badge on her jacket. Trainee it read. "I was just wondering because I don't have a vault yet."
"A vault?" All of a sudden, she looked pitifully confused. "I'm not sure how we proceed with vaults, sir. I'm very sorry. I'll ask Mrs Cox-Robinson. I'll ask her right away if you wish, sir?"
"No, please, don't bother her," Draco said quickly. The conversation was becoming precarious, and he didn't want anyone else involved.
"It's no bother, sir. Not at all!"
"No, please, I need to go. I'm scheduled for work," Draco said, backing off. "It was a pleasure talking to-"
"No, sir, wait!" the trainee cried urgently. "I have to brief you on the PIN!"
"The pin?"
"Yes, your PIN. It will be sent to you by mail within the next three workdays. Please never and under no circumstances keep your PIN in the same place as your debit card. The best course of action would be to memorise the PIN and then destroy the letter."
Draco wasn't able to make head or tail of this, but the girl looked like somebody who had just performed a difficult task with smashing success.
"Thank you. I'll commit that to memory," he said curtly. "If you will please excuse me now."
"Thank you for doing business with us." She was beaming again. "Have a nice day, sir!"
"And you," he said, retreating.
The clock above the exit told him that he was indeed running late.
Three years ago, during the first months in Trethwyn, his main problem with time had been having too much of it. He remembered the ordeal of having to spend twenty-four long, unoccupied hours each day. Back then, he had contented himself with telling the time with the help of the compass points and the sun or, at night, the constellations. The margin of error was somewhere around one half of an hour and, needless to say, the methods learned from Sinistra didn't work well when the sky was clouded. They had nevertheless been good enough because he'd had neither duties nor appointments.
Now he did. When the rota said he was to be in the library at nine o'clock sharp then he had to be there at nine o'clock sharp.
It wasn't just a question of not dallying. Working six hours a day, he could no longer muddle through in the same way as he had done so far. So far, turning up anywhere on time had only been necessary for lessons and exams, which had never been a big problem since he knew how long it took him on average to walk from Hind Green Close or from the library to the respective school buildings. He'd usually set out a bit early to be on the safe side, and to determine when "a bit early" was he had used the clocks available to him. One was in his room at Mrs Bates's and one in the breakfast room. There were clocks on every floor in the library and in or just outside the classrooms. A number of other buildings in the city featured clocks as well, and there was also the lone sundial in the park near the citadel.
Now things were different. Knowing that it was approximately one hour past noon didn't suffice anymore. Now it did matter whether he returned from the dining hall at half past twelve or at a quarter to one and whether walking back to the library took him five minutes or six and a half. For the first time since he had left the manor, he missed his emerald-studded pocket-watch for other than nostalgic reasons.
...
106. Remarkable Books
Before long, working six hours a day led to new tasks for Draco.
Mrs Shaw had him check returned books for damage and sort them onto trolleys, or she had him run errands, for example delivering periodicals to the offices of professors.
Miss Thompson, who was a senior staff member and often in charge of the late shift, taught him to operate the photocopier. He learned quickly, and soon he spent whole afternoons on making xerographic copies. It was a task he didn't like much, though. It was boring, and the machine got hot after a while and emitted strange fumes.
Thanks to his work in the library, Draco also made a marvellous discovery: The Encyclopaedia Britannica. The books were positioned on the third floor in a glass cubicle that resembled Mrs Highbury's office. Although there was no sign saying so, Draco had always considered it the counterpart of the restricted section in the library at Hogwarts and, consequently, never entered it. His assumption had been wrong – the compartment was open to all patrons, and the multi-volume encyclopaedia could be used without explicit permission.
In the following weeks, he spent every minute he could spare on reading up on things that had puzzled him during the past three years. It was like slowly unearthing a treasure. He tended to get lost in the maze of cross-references, and some of the entries were difficult to understand and left him with five times more questions than answers, but he finally found postcodes explained and got at least a general idea about the purpose of debit cards and National Insurance Numbers. To himself, he sometimes referred to the set of tomes as The Worthwhile Guide to the Non-Wizarding World.
...
His work in the library notwithstanding, Draco continued to attend the Biology lessons. They had always been reasonably interesting without being too demanding. This changed at the end of April. The teacher suddenly introduced topics that were pure Chemistry.
Draco had to deal with a confusing variety of digestive processes that broke down ordinary food into basic nutrients and, barely a couple of weeks later, with photosynthesis. Try as he might, his attempts to understand the processes that went on unseen in subcellular areas met with next to no success. The textbook wasn't much help, the entries in The Encyclopaedia Britannica stretched over several pages and were brimming with chemical equations that went right over his head, and his search for books that described the matter in simpler terms remained futile.
While he was still stuck with the particulars of the Calvin cycle and all the other convoluted reactions, the sole lesson about genetics came and went. Nothing was said during this lesson that Draco hadn't already known for months. He should have felt disappointed, but he was almost glad. Genetics was the one topic he definitely didn't have to worry about. On photosynthesis, however, he would have to give up altogether. Considering its mindboggling complexity, he couldn't even hope to learn the facts by rote. Mrs Shaw had promised to give him time off, but the examinations were merely a week ahead, and he needed to revise for everything from monads to multifaceted ecosystems.
The situation worsened further at the end of the very last lesson. The teacher apologised for not having covered all relevant topics and named two extra books that the students were to read in order to prepare for the examinations. The announcement caused the class to erupt into chaos.
Ignoring the angry complaints around him, Draco noted down the titles of the two books and left. He couldn't believe it – two more books to read with only three days to go until he had to sit the first paper! How sensible was it to tackle entirely new learning material at this point?
Then again, "Eels & Snails & Puppy Dogs' Tails" sounded like a compilation of former topics. The second book was called "Sugar & Spice & All Things Nice". The choice of words hinted at food and digestion processes, but he'd rather not waste any more time on glucose and amino acids or whatever else a sandwich became after you had eaten it.
Instead of looking up the two books, he sat down with the exam papers of the past five years. They were a gift from Mrs Highbury.
The support that people showed him astonished Draco. Mrs Shaw gave him almost two entire weeks off, Mrs Highbury provided helpful material, and his other colleagues wished him good luck when they happened to meet him.
He'd rather they didn't. Unbeknownst to themselves, they partook in a sham. If they were less eager to help and to cheer him on, he might be better off because their friendliness and honest well-wishing constantly reminded him of his own insincerity. The bitter truth was that he was still doing what he had always done – he hid who and what he really was behind a carefully maintained facade.
But what else could he do? In order to pass for a citizen of this world, he had to act like one. He had to sit exams to protect his cover. He had to pass these exams to keep Mrs Highbury placid.
Besides, his thirst for knowledge wasn't entirely faked. He did want to learn. He had to admit that he was intrigued by the ability of plants to produce sugar from light. Food was the first of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, and photosynthesis was a bit like conjuring food from thin air. He would like to understand how it worked, and he was resolved to delve into the science that described it – at a later time and at his leisure.
...
He used the remaining days to work his way methodically through the old exam papers. Moderately pleased with the outcome – his performance would be far from perfect, but he was confident that he would pass – he decided to have at least a glance at the last-minute reading material that the teacher had recommended.
The books looked very similar and were by the same author. According to the subtitles, one book was aimed at female readers and the other one at male ones. Draco took the latter to his desk, wondering why such a distinction was made.
The reason became clear pretty quickly. If he hadn't been holding it in his hands, he wouldn't have believed such a book existed. He couldn't imagine anything remotely similar sitting on a shelf in the library at Hogwarts, restricted section included. Finding such a book anywhere at Malfoy Manor was even more unimaginable. Enthralled by the topic, Draco couldn't stop reading even though he knew he had to sit the first paper at eight o'clock the next morning.
The book was detailing – and detailing was indeed the word – childbirth, pregnancy, and conception. The amount of presented facts was overwhelming. There was even a whole chapter on how to avoid conception if pregnancy wasn't desired! More astounding still, if that were possible, were the moral considerations frequently woven into the text. The author emphasised on nearly every second page that people involved in any type of intimate relationship should make sure they were happy and comfortable with whatever they did. Draco wholeheartedly agreed. Nobody should be forced to share his bed with a woman he couldn't stand.
It wasn't before closing hour that he returned the book to the shelf. His mind was reeling. And now, with the option of clinging to the scientific aspects gone, he couldn't ignore any longer how his body reacted to the subject matter. Maybe he could have coped with mere text, but the author had added illustrations. Some of the pictures bypassed all higher brain functions and appealed straight to instinct.
The air was chilly and the wind sharp when he walked up Hind Green Close. As unpleasant as the weather was, it did absolutely nothing to quench the throbbing hotness that spread out from his pelvis region. So, without worrying much whether anyone in the house might notice, he ran himself a bath at a quarter to one in the morning. He added a generous shot of fragrant bath soap before he did what the book had called masturbation.
Relief came within seconds – much more quickly than usual and much too quickly for his taste. Feeling nonetheless a bit drowsy and also still dazed from the quantity of information he had tried to absorb in the space of a few hours, he lounged in the bathtub for a while longer.
Among other things, he had learned the correct technical term as well as a number of vulgar expressions for what he had just done here in this bathtub instead of bathing. Even so, he would stick to simulated intercourse. It felt right to have a private phrase for something as private as this.
...
107. Another Adventure at the Bank Office
His stock of valid money had run low. By the time Draco had sat the last of the six papers required for an A-level in Biology, there wasn't enough left to pay Mrs Bates the next rent. That was why he had to solve the problem quickly.
Preparing himself mentally for the inevitable trips to the post and bank offices all around the city, he took out the stacks of Michael-Faraday-banknotes from the bottom of his wardrobe. When he removed the layer of plastic bags that covered them, he came across the letters from the bank.
Five such letters had arrived since February. Using the unwonted lack of time as an excuse, he had simply put them aside, unopened. The truth was that he hadn't felt like dealing with them. Now he sat down to read.
The oldest letter notified him about his PIN. Yes, it was the PIN, not a pin. A personal identification number was a surprisingly simple affair. It consisted of a couple of prime numbers, twin primes to be exact, and was perfectly easy to memorise. Following the trainee's advice, Draco destroyed the letter on the spot.
The other letters contained a bank statement each. By the look of it, Mrs Shaw had been as good as her word. Money had been transferred at regular intervals.
He gazed at the four-digit figure on the statement for May for several minutes, wondering where the actual money was stored. He was the rightful owner of this money, wasn't he? There had to be a way to claim it.
Prodding himself into action, he slipped his debit card and the folded-up bank statement into the breast pocket of his shirt and went to the branch office in Queens Street.
...
Mr White was in, but busy. While Draco waited for the man to finish the conversation with a patron, he watched people operating the cash machines.
From nearby, these machines resembled computers. There was no mouse but some sort of keyboard and a screen. Whenever one of the machines was unoccupied, its screen read Please insert your debit card.
Perhaps he should just try. After all, he had made a telephone and the lift work for him. Judging from what he could observe, the modus operandi here was a similar one – you had to press keys.
The next time one of the machines became unoccupied, he stepped up to it. Emulating what he had seen people do, he put his debit card tentatively into the slot on the upper right-hand side. He jumped with surprise when the machine all but ripped it from his fingers.
The inscription on the screen changed to Accessing, please wait.
For about thirty seconds, nothing happened. Then the card came back out, and the display reverted to Please insert your debit card.
He made a second attempt. The card was pulled out of his hand like before. The display changed to Accessing, please wait. The machine took half a minute to decide that it wasn't in the mood for work and spat the card back out.
Draco pulled the card back, counted to ten, and inserted it again. Things went as before, and the result was also the same – the card protruded from the machine. It rather looked as if the damn thing was sticking its tongue out at him.
Just what had he expected? The device looked like a computer, so it behaved like one.
Especially annoying was the fact that the other two machines seemed to have a better sense of duty. Draco glanced furtively at his neighbours. To his left, a podgy woman keyed in instructions. To his right, a tall bespectacled lady did the same. The machine delivered a large number of banknotes to her. The other woman was lucky as well; she got about two hundred pounds. She left and a businessman – three-piece suit, gold-and-burgundy striped necktie, posh briefcase – took her place. He casually slipped the debit card in and operated the keyboard without really looking at it. Something that he read on the screen made him curse under his breath, but the machine let him have a couple of banknotes nonetheless.
In the meanwhile, a woman had started to use the cash machine to Draco's right. She was tapping her foot impatiently while she glowered at the screen in front of her. No sooner did the money emerge than she grabbed the rather thick wad with one hand and pulled her debit card out with the other. She turned on her heel and hurried off, almost breaking into a run.
Just as quickly, Draco moved over to the seemingly less obstinate machine. He put his debit card into the slot. It was sucked in. The screen read, Accessing, please wait. For thirty seconds, nothing happened. Then the card came back out.
Suppressing a sigh, he tried again.
It was no use, though. He and computers just didn't get along.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that somebody was about to use the machine he had abandoned. He turned and watched – rather overtly – how the wayward device accepted the man's debit card straight away. The sigh that he had held in a minute ago escaped him.
"Did you want something?" the man asked sharply.
The sudden question startled Draco even though the other was hardly older and almost a foot shorter than he was.
"The machine keeps rejecting my debit card," he managed to say.
"Then use this one here. It works perfectly fine," the man said with a shrug.
Draco stayed where he was when the man left with the small stack of banknotes that the machine had delivered to him. Going back to the first machine wouldn't help. He was doing something wrong, that much was certain. But what?
He let his gaze travel through the room. Unfortunately, Mr White was still engrossed in conversation. The other clerks seemed busy as well.
Not willing to accept defeat yet, Draco resorted again to watching a neighbour, a dark, grey-haired lady clad in an abundance of multi-coloured silk. The elegance of her attire almost distracted him enough to miss what happened. The machine rejected her debit card!
He waited with bated breath how the woman would coax the device into cooperating.
The solution was spectacularly unspectacular. The woman turned her card around one hundred and eighty degrees before she inserted it again.
Draco looked at his debit card. So that was the nifty trick? The side that bore the logo of the bank house had to face toward the slot?
He tried it. The machine snatched the card from his fingers, told him to wait – and came up with a new request: Please enter your personal identification number (PIN). Confirm with green key.
Carefully, Draco typed in the two prime numbers and pressed the green key.
The machine was apparently pleased. It now addressed him – via the screen – as Mr Draco Malfoy and asked whether he wished to see the balance of his account.
He pressed the key for yes; Mr White had told him to keep track.
A second later, the balance appeared on the screen. However, there was no other information than that of the statement in his pocket. Draco confirmed that he had seen enough whereupon the display listed a variety of possible further actions for him to choose from. He selected withdraw money. After all, this was why he was here.
He decided on five hundred pounds when the machine asked him how much money he would like to have. There weren't only the daily expenses and the rent to pay. He also needed a haircut and a new pair of trainers.
Once more, the display told him to wait. At this point, it seemed reasonable; the money had to be fetched.
Perhaps the money was stored in a room beyond the wall Draco mused. Was there a servant who could read what was wanted from the back of the screen, or did the machine do everything by itself? Either way, it was more comfortable for the patrons than to sit in an unpadded cart and hurtle at breakneck speed though underground facilities.
Nothing at all happened for quite a while, and Draco started to worry whether he had made yet again a mistake. Then, completely out of the blue, an ominous rattle set in somewhere in the bowels of the machine. Almost panicking, he looked around whether somebody was there he could turn to for help. Unfortunately, the other two cash machines stood deserted, and all clerks were far away behind their counters.
He swivelled back to the machine when the noise stopped as abruptly as it had begun. He looked at it just in time to see the display change to Thank you for using our service. A heartbeat later the money appeared, and his debit card re-emerged.
He exhaled in relief and reached for both.
He had done it. The machine had obeyed his orders, he held his first self-earned money in his hands, and – all of a sudden – the feeling of relief transformed into one of triumph.
"Yes!" The shout was out before he could stop himself.
People throughout the room looked at him curiously. Somebody behind him giggled.
He knew he should be embarrassed by his behaviour, but he wasn't.
He put the debit card back into his shirt pocket, shoved the twenty-five Sir-Edward-banknotes into a pocket of his trousers, and went to the dining hall to celebrate with a cup of hot chocolate and a scone.
...
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to be continued
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Author's note: Many thanks go to my beta readers for their help and support.