108. Summertime
There was much to do in the library even with the majority of the university students having gone home for their summer break.
Draco got long lists of seldom-used materials from Mrs Shaw or Miss Thompson. He had to remove the specified items from the shelves and carry them to storage rooms that weren't open to the public. He also had to replace dated textbooks with copies of more recent editions.
He became good at retrieving misplaced books. He found them shoved behind larger tomes or on the shelf exactly opposite of the one where they belonged. A surprising amount of books turned up in an entirely wrong section or even on a wrong floor – he located books on Civil Engineering on the shelf reserved for Oceanography and a Compendium of Hydrogeology between dictionaries, for example. Once, he detected a couple of books that had been camouflaged with wrong dust jackets. This, at least, couldn't have happened by accident.
"Well, it's the doing of some really selfish students," Mrs Shaw said when Draco asked her. "Maybe sometimes it's just due to haste or nervous tension, especially close to the exams. But more often than not, books are hidden on purpose. It's a sly way to secure a copy of a much sought-after book for one's own use and to stop others from finding it."
To Draco, the method sounded rather Slytherin.
He devised a search tactic and then, mainly outside his regular working hours, he sifted through the shelves. It was curiously satisfying to outwit the nameless cheats. Recovering supposedly lost books also earned him commendation from the staff. He soaked up the praise without ever saying a single word in return.
...
The letter from the examination board arrived in the middle of August. Draco had scored a B, which was more or less what he had expected. That night, while jogging a number of extra laps, he told himself that it was about time to come to terms with reality. He was mediocre, and this wasn't going to change. He would never excel at anything.
...
Time passed quickly. Soon, the holiday season was drawing to its close. Most staff members were back from their trips to various parts of the world. Miss Thompson had visited Paris and couldn't stop rhapsodising about it. Mrs Shaw and her family had holidayed in the Lake District. Others had been to Spain, Scotland, or even the Caribbean.
Mrs Highbury looked tanned and happy when she returned from two weeks of cycling in Flanders. One of the first things she did after her return was summoning Draco to her office.
She reminded him that he, too, was entitled to paid leave and suggested he should take the next two weeks off.
"Get a bit of rest and fresh air," she said. "Be back when term starts on September 17th."
Draco nodded almost too eagerly. The prospect of a fortnight in Trethwyn was very appealing after a whole summer spent indoors.
"Speaking of the upcoming term," Mrs Highbury said, switching from the prelude to the main purpose of the meeting, "would you mind telling me what your plans are for the foreseeable future?"
"I think I'll study Mathematics as it was one of my better subjects at GCSE level. I'll also apply for Astronomy and Latin."
"Why Latin and not French?" Mrs Highbury wondered.
"French is descended from Latin, and I'd like to broaden my knowledge," he said, hoping she would see this as a sufficient explanation.
The true reason for choosing the three subjects was that he had, to a degree, some insight into them from his former life, and that they would therefore come more easily to him than, for instance, Chemistry or computer stuff. They were also fairly theoretical fields of study. With them, he wasn't in too much danger of outing himself as the alien he was.
On the other hand, he'd like to learn something that was useful for everyday life.
"What subject would I have to study in order to understand General Conditions?" he asked.
"General Conditions? What are you referring to?"
"I got three pages of tiny print called General Terms and Conditions when Mrs Shaw sent me to have the bank people create an account for me. I'd like to know how transferring my wage exactly works, and where they actually keep my money."
The puzzled look on her face dissolved, and a small, slightly impish smile took its place.
"You want Business Studies," she said. "Or Economics. Let's see what is on offer, shall we?"
She swivelled her chair to the right and started to use the keyboard on her desk. Draco watched her reading information off the screen and typing in more words.
"There's a short course called Economics and Accounting. Short course means you can only get an AS grade doing it," she said, swivelling back. "The same goes for Astronomy and Latin. They're only available as short courses."
"I'm not sure I understand the implications," Draco said slowly.
"Well, I'm not entirely sure myself; the new system allows for greater flexibility than the old one. Short courses will contribute to your tariff points. So, taking one or two will probably be fine. However, the problem is elsewhere. You cannot do both Economics and Latin. The lessons will take place at the same time."
"Then I'll take French," Draco said. He would muddle through, someway.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, either. I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, for berating you for studying only Biology last year. You couldn't have attended another full course if you had wanted to. They all take place simultaneously. I'm sorry; I didn't know that," Mrs Highbury said. "Of course, offering evening classes while many people are still at work doesn't make much sense. And starting lessons at ten in the evening? Well, I for my part wouldn't like to study that late."
"So, what do I do?" Draco asked.
"Have a look for yourself," Mrs Highbury said and turned the computer screen so that he could see the large, multicoloured timetable displayed on it.
"The full courses – Maths, natural sciences, modern languages, History, Health Care," – Mrs Highbury gestured with her biro to indicate the relevant areas on the display – "start without exception at half past seven. See? Most short courses overlap as well."
While studying genetics, Draco had become good at analysing complex charts. The timetable was simple by comparison.
"Here," he said, cautiously pointing a finger at the screen, "that will work – Economics and Accounting doesn't conflict with Astronomy because the Astronomy lessons on Wednesdays start at half past ten. Maybe that is because it has to be dark for watching planets or constellations."
"Well," Mrs Highbury said, leaning back in her chair, "Maths is always a good choice, and Economics can't do any harm, either. Make sure you don't miss the deadline. And then pack your suitcase and leave for the beach. Or do you prefer the mountains?"
"I'll stay at The Merry Fisherman in Trethwyn," Draco said, rising. "I've spent the entire summer in this building here, and I haven't been swimming once..."
He trailed off when he noticed that the woman was giving him one of her probing looks.
"I like working here, of course," he amended. "I like your library – the smell of books and wood, the soft purr of the air conditioning, the carpets that dampen the footfall. I like the way how it is always quiet and peaceful in here."
"But?"
"I haven't really contemplated this until now, but this summer has been different than the ones before. Last year, for example, I walked to Land's End and St Yves and then all the way back."
"Well then," she said, the smile back in place, "enjoy your holidays!"
...
109. A Grey Day in September
To make the most of his short holidays, Draco went swimming even in the daytime.
The Cliff Sun Club had put up new signs. The caption Naturist Resort was followed by a warning in three languages – English, French, and probably Dutch – You are entering private property. The proprietor will assume no liability for physical damages, bodily injury or emotional distress and discomfort. Draco couldn't help but smirk at the phrasing. He minimised the risk of experiencing emotional distress or discomfort by having a little interlude of simulated intercourse before he went to the beach.
When he didn't go swimming he sat somewhere near the Coast Path, sketching the landscape with its rolling hills and overgrown hedges, or the cliffs and the sea.
He hadn't lied to Mrs Highbury; he did like the library. But now, as he actually was in Trethwyn, he realised just how much he had missed the sound of the waves and the taste of salt in the air. It felt good to be outside from dawn to dusk.
The village was quieter than the year before. The garish umbrellas in front of the baker's were gone, and the shop was closed. The building on the site where Mr Penwith's home had been looked exactly as it had done twelve months ago. It still had no roof, and no workmen were there.
Mr Webster had gone bankrupt. Draco heard the whole ignominious story from the owner of the convenience store where he bought his sunblock. The baker was ruined as well because he had invested all his money into the ventures of his son-in-law and had also co-signed a credit agreement.
...
The weather was splendid throughout the first week. At the beginning of the second one, the temperature dropped and the wind picked up. Sitting outside and doing sketches became rather unpleasant. So, Draco decided on a long walk on Tuesday morning.
He set off right after breakfast. The sea had been rough during the night and had washed ashore big quantities of seaweed and algae. Draco carefully negotiated his way around the piles of squishy, greenish-brown stuff lest he ruin his new trainers.
The piles became larger near the cliffs. Heaps of algae interspersed with jellyfish had been caught among the boulders. There, disaster struck. Draco slipped on something slick.
A sharp pain ripped through his right leg, making him cry out.
Clutching his ankle, he waited for the agony to subside. When it had lessened a bit, he lowered himself cautiously onto one of the boulders and examined the injured foot. It looked all right, but it hurt like hell, and he couldn't put weight on it.
What was he do? He couldn't cast a pain-easing charm, let alone heal the foot. Hover Charms, broomsticks, Lightweight Spells, Portkeys – nothing was available to him. He didn't even have a non-magical means to bandage the ankle.
He was completely out of options. The village was two miles away, give or take a few hundred yards. He couldn't walk, not a single soul was anywhere in sight, and there was next to no hope that anybody would come to the place for the rest of the day. Maybe situations like this one were the reason non-wizarding people had invented mobile phones.
He sat on the boulder for a while longer, trying to come up with a solution. The wind ripped at his clothes, and he soon started to feel cold.
He had to get to the pub. Somehow, he had to.
...
Hopping awkwardly on his good foot, he struggled along the beach at a snail's pace. The injured joint protested nearly every move, and his strength waned quickly. He had to pause and rest at increasingly shorter intervals.
Whenever he put the damaged foot down – by accident or even at will because he tottered and was in acute danger of falling and suffering more injuries – the result was a fresh wave of pain that shot up his leg. The agony drove tears to his eyes. He'd have given anything for a Lenio Dolorem. Well, perhaps not anything. Enduring the pain was still better than going to Azkaban.
Around lunchtime, drizzle set in. When he finally reached the village, the streets lay deserted. However, when he hopped past the tourist office, the woman who worked there came out to ask what his odd behaviour meant.
Thoroughly exhausted, Draco slumped down onto the low outside sill of the shop window before he told her about his mishap.
"Such things are not to be trifled with," she said. "How bad is it?"
Instead of answering, Draco lifted his right trouser leg.
The woman blanched at the sight.
"Good gracious, you need to go to the hospital!" she exclaimed. "They'll have to do an X-ray on that foot!"
"I'm afraid I won't go anywhere but back to The Merry Fisherman," he said wearily. "I don't even know where the hospital is."
"Don't worry, dear, I'll call the paramedics."
She hurried inside to make the phone call.
Once he was alone, Draco lifted the trouser leg again and risked a look. The ankle was purple in colour and had swollen to twice its normal size.
He leaned against the wooden frame of the shop window and closed his eyes. He felt queasy. The ankle throbbed in a dull fashion even if he didn't move. The thought of how crude medicine was in this part of the world didn't make him feel any better. He all too vividly recalled cardiac massage and the needles stuck into Mrs Smith's arm.
The ambulance arrived in no time at all. Draco's heart hammered as the paramedics hoisted him onto a stretcher and strapped the injured leg down. He let it happen; they probably knew what they were doing, but being restrained didn't help him in the least to calm down.
The ride was short, but dreadful. He needed all his willpower to keep himself from being sick. Unfortunately, the nausea didn't abate once he was in the hospital because the strong smell that lingered everywhere threatened to turn his stomach as well.
While he was wheeled on a trolley from room to room, his surroundings became a blur of bizarre silvery contraptions, computer-like equipment and lots of shiny surfaces. People clad in white checked his pulse and measured his blood pressure. His leg was subjected to X-ray photography. Afterwards, somebody wrapped a plastic bag filled with cold blue jelly around the swollen ankle.
One of the nurses asked his name and address. She reappeared three times, complaining about medical records that she couldn't locate or access or whatever it was she was trying to do with them. He wished she wouldn't trouble him with her problems. His ankle hurt, and he didn't know how to answer her questions about a general practitioner. He wasn't acquainted with such a person and repeatedly told her so. She downright refused to believe him. To her, it seemed absolutely impossible that he had never consulted a medical doctor before.
But it was true, and not only in her world. Seeing a healer or going to St Mungo's had never been necessary. His mother's skills had always sufficed. When, where, how and why she had learned healing magic, he didn't know. She was good at it, maybe even on par with Pomfrey.
The school nurse he had seen often, especially during his seventh year. Lack of sleep as well as injuries due to both hexes and physical attacks had made him one of her most frequent patients. She had mended whatever the damage was, but she had always been cold and taciturn with him. Only once, when it had been blatantly clear that the blame for his injury lay with the Carrows rather than with Longbottom's bunch, she had offered a word of consolation.
Here in Southside County Hospital, everybody was friendly to him. Not even the nurse in charge of medical records was altogether unkind. The fourth time she showed up she gave him a leaflet about the National Health Service and told him to get registered with a general practitioner as soon as possible because he would benefit from such an arrangement.
...
110. Time Out
He sat on the trolley, waiting for the physician. He knew Doctor Polkinghorne worked elsewhere, but the man was Draco's only example of a medical doctor. That was why he subconsciously expected to meet a similarly overweight and authoritative man in his late fifties. He wasn't the least bit prepared for the woman who walked into the room. She wasn't a day older than thirty, and her white lab coat did a poor job at hiding how shapely she was.
"The good news is that nothing is broken," she said, smiling at Draco through rimless glasses.
She showed him the X-ray photographs. He knew, in theory, what X-ray photography was. Actually seeing the bones of his leg and foot was amazing, even though they were only depicted in various shades of grey.
"However," the gorgeous woman went on, "you've severely sprained the ankle. It may take more than two months for the ligaments to heal completely. Keep that in mind and don't put too much strain on the foot too soon. Rest the leg until the swelling diminishes. Best is resting it higher than the heart. Ice will help reduce the swelling. Apply it for half an hour and wait for about the same amount of time before you apply it again. If you don't have an ice pack, a bag of frozen peas will do nicely."
She pulled up a chair, sat down in front of Draco, and proceeded to fit an ankle brace around his swollen foot. While she worked she explained in minute detail how he could take the thing off when he wished to wash the foot, and how he was to adjust the inflatable pads when the swelling diminished.
He wasn't able to focus on her instructions, though. One thing that distracted him was the pain that flared up at the slightest disturbance, but he was also acutely aware of her hands on his bare calf. He suspected it was due to the latter that he had difficulties breathing.
"Done," she said, her hands leaving his leg. "Sorry if it hurt. I'll give you a pain reliever."
Dumbstruck, he stared at the woman.
He watched her rummage around in a glass-fronted cabinet and fill a glass with water from the tap. He let his gaze travel from her wide hips to her round breasts, then down to her tanned legs and upwards again until it reached her nape and the dark brown hair that was done up in an elegant chignon. She had touched him. She had touched him! His brain seemed out of control. It spun a tale for him, a tale of her hand on his calf, sliding ever so slowly towards the hollow of his knee and then along the inside of his thigh and further on... It spun a mesmerizing tale of her hand wrapping itself firmly around his member.
He was completely and utterly enthralled – and also scared. This wasn't one of his usual bedtime fantasies. This was far too real. The woman was here, in the same room as he was. She had actually touched him... and in a rather private area, too.
She suddenly closed in on him. His pulse accelerating even more, he glanced down at his crotch. Mercifully, his clothes concealed all evidence of his thoughts.
The embarrassment burned in his face nevertheless, and he didn't dare raise his eyes to meet hers. Instead, he stared at the badge she wore on her lab coat. Doctor V. Prewett it read.
She was talking again, but he didn't comprehend what she was going on about.
"Mr Malfoy! Do you hear me, Mr Malfoy?"
He cleared his throat. As his tongue seemed to have forgotten how to form words, he settled for nodding.
"Are you all right, Mr Malfoy?"
He nodded again.
"I said you could take one tablet right away. Here you are."
She held out a blister strip, containing ten round, flat pebbles. Other than the ones Mrs Bates had given him when he was ill, these were pink.
He took the strip and fumbled with it to extract a tablet. It didn't work.
All of a sudden, he felt oafish and inadequate. His eyes stung. A low groan escaped him.
"Push it through the aluminium foil," Doctor Prewett said kindly. She had a melodious voice. "You may take up to three tablets a day, but be careful. The most common side effect is sleepiness. Hence, these tablets impair fitness to drive. Don't drive a car while under the influence of that pain reliever."
Finally, the foil broke. He reached for the glass that she had put next to him on the trolley and washed the tablet down. At the same moment, the door opened. Somebody Draco couldn't see yelled, "An apoplexy in number four! Come quickly!"
Doctor Prewett excused herself and was gone before Draco could say a word.
...
"Mr Malfoy!"
Draco blinked as the bright light of fluorescent lamps hit his eyes. He was still in hospital. The nurse who bent over him looked concerned.
"Wake up, Mr Malfoy," she whispered. "The police are here for you."
"Police?"
Alarmed, Draco sat up on the trolley.
Worry was unnessecary, though. He relaxed the moment he spotted the two men in uniform. Hovering by the door were Jory and his younger colleague.
Jory introduced them, and Draco and Alan shook hands.
"I'll give you a ride back to the pub. Lowenna arranged for it," Alan grinned. Pointing to Draco's bandaged foot, he added, "And today, you won't run."
"No, I won't," Draco said softly.
He remembered well the morning three years ago. Insanely afraid of the offered ride, he had fled despite the many blisters on his feet. He was still uneasy about climbing into a car, but there was no other option.
Jory and Alan showed Draco how to use the crutches that the nurse had brought. Flanked by the two men, Draco made his way slowly out of the building and toward the police car. Alan helped him get into the backseat, and Jory buckled up Draco's seatbelt. Draco didn't protest; he had read somewhere that it was compulsory to wear such a strap.
The car rushed through the night. Alan, who sat behind the steering wheel, was busy driving and didn't say much. Jory asked Draco how he felt.
"Exhausted," Draco admitted. The day had been taxing. He was tired even though he had napped. "Thank you for taking me back to the pub."
"Not at all. We have to patrol anyway," Jory replied. Then he asked where Draco lived when he wasn't in Trethwyn, how he usually got there, and when term would start.
Draco was taken aback at the open curiosity but answered the questions truthfully.
"It's obvious that you can't walk back," Jory said when Alan brought the car to a halt in front of The Merry Fisherman. "But don't worry. We'll get the problem sorted out."
The men helped Draco climb the stairs to his room. Mrs Gill, concerned and trying to be helpful, joined them almost immediately. She had already heard of Draco's accident; Lowenna, the woman from the tourist office, had seen it fit to inform her.
Jory and Alan didn't dally; they had to carry on with patrolling. Upon parting, Draco got an encouraging pat on the shoulder from Jory and a grin and playful wink from Alan. Draco was too weary to care whether or not that man was making fun of him.
Mrs Gill proposed to bring Draco a Ploughman's Lunch, but he declined. He wasn't hungry.
He dragged himself to the bathroom after she had left, and when he came back half an hour later, he found a cup of cocoa sitting on the bedside table.
...
Mrs Gill brought him plastic bags filled with crushed ice several times a day. Following her instructions, he put them on the injured foot.
She also brought all of his meals to his room.
He poked at the food listlessly. He was too tired to eat. In fact, he was too tired to do anything at all. Only travelling to the loo he couldn't avoid. In between these journeys and washing down another pain-relieving tablet, he slept. He was even too lethargic to wonder why he was so sleepy all the time. Lulled by the steady tap, tap, tap of the rain against the windowpane, he nodded off before any clear thought could form in his brain.
He felt considerably better on Saturday. The swelling, and with it the pain, had abated. That was a good thing because he had used up all the medicine.
He shaved for the first time since Tuesday and spent an hour on adjusting the bandage. He remembered well how gorgeous the physician had been but, unfortunately, very little of what she had said.
In the evening, Mrs Gill told him to pack. Jory would take him to the city the next day.
...
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to be continued
...
Author's note:
(1) Tariff points are used by The Universities and Colleges Admissions Service (UCAS) to compare the various qualifications of people who apply for undergraduate courses in the United Kingdom.
(2) Thanks go to my beta readers for their help and support.