111. Sunday Morning in a Car
Draco didn't sleep as soundly as the previous nights. He was wide awake long before dawn.
He had breakfast in the parlour – descending stairs with crutches was a tricky thing, but he managed – and settled his bill.
Jory arrived at eight. He waved away Draco's thanks, saying that he had to go to the city anyway in order to fetch his daughters, who had stayed over at a close friend's house.
...
Jory's car was smaller than the police car. Draco sat in the front seat and gaped at how the landscape streaked past. To his right, Jory operated not only the steering wheel but also a variety of levers and switches. Driving a car seemed to be a complex activity.
Nonetheless, Jory found leisure to chat.
"I'm sorry for not dropping by all week," he said. "Things have been very busy since Tuesday."
"It's all right, Jory. You don't have to apologise. I slept most of the time anyway."
"Seems some people have all the luck. I had to work overtime for four days in a row," Jory said. Despite the apparent complaint, his tone was light. "So, how are things aside from the sprained ankle? Doing well at university? It's genetics that you're studying, right?"
"I gave up." Draco listened to his own words with something close to astonishment. He wouldn't have thought he could make this kind of statement with such ease. "At some point, the subject matter went right over my head."
"I'm sorry to hear that. What are you doing now?"
"I work at the library of the university. I signed an employment contract in February."
"Well, look at the bright side: you earn your own money," Jory said, shifting the lever that was situated between him and Draco. "Studying, on the other hand, costs money. They ask fees nowadays, don't they? So maybe it'll be best to back out before the debts start mounting if you feel you're not likely to pull it off."
"I suppose so," Draco said guardedly. "Perhaps that isn't the point, though. I can pay for the courses; I've got money from my grandfather. It's rather..."
There it was again: the perpetual need for lying.
He didn't want to lie to Jory.
He thought about what he would like to tell Jory if he were allowed to: I'm a fugitive from a hidden world that is very different from yours, Jory. I'm an alien here, and even after more than three years, I'm just muddling through. What I have learned there is completely useless here, and what I'm learning here will be pretty useless there. Instead of machines and electricity, my people use wands and spells. Our sciences are different and so are our rules. I'm stuck here for the time being because I have to live without magic as punishment for my misdeeds. I believed in my parents' time-hallowed concepts of blood-purity and the pre-eminence of the old families. These concepts turned out a stinking heap of lies, but I realised that too late. I got a suspended sentence, and I am at a complete loss when it comes to planning my future.
Draco surfaced from his musings to see that they were rushing along a very large road with two lanes in both directions and a barrier in the middle.
He cleared his throat.
"May I ask you something, Jory?"
Jory glanced at him for a split second.
"Of course, go ahead."
"Can a man become whatever he wants? Is it only a question of determination and perseverance? Or are his limitations already encoded in his genes, and the goal will stay beyond his reach no matter how much he strives?"
"That's pretty philosophical, isn't it?" Jory said. "I'd say play to your strengths, Draco."
"Yes, but..." Draco paused to organise his thoughts. "Are you saying I can only succeed where my true talents lie? I can't overcome deficiencies no matter how hard I try?"
"Well, yes... and no. I don't think there is a universal answer to that." Jory took a hand off the wheel and scratched his neck." I can give you an example, if you like. Do you know what dyslexia is?"
"No, I don't."
"It's also called word-blindness. Word-blind children are unable to read and write properly. They keep messing up the spelling, and they can't tell, for example, the difference between male and meal or lame. They think there are the same letters so it's got to be the same word. Not surprisingly, they have difficulties in school. Reading the textbooks is nigh on impossible for them, and their homework is just one big unreadable mess."
"I see," Draco said. The description fitted pretty well Vincent Crabbe.
"Lowenna's brother, Ken, suffers from dyslexia. He got special schooling when he was little. Learning to read took him twice as long as other children. He managed it eventually and was able to understand the textbooks. He was never overly brilliant at theory, but he got five GCSEs and went on to become a window fitter. He's good in his job, and he now runs his own small business with his wife doing the paperwork.
"Ken is one of the good examples," Jory went on. "There are the bad ones as well. Occasionally, you'll hear of people who think their child should become the next Mozart and be a famous piano virtuoso at the age of ten. They make the poor dears practise for hours on end, and that's all entirely futile because you can't bring out a talent that isn't there. What I mean to say is that determination and perseverance can get you somewhere, but not everywhere. You may be able to overcome deficiencies to some extent, but you won't become a child prodigy by practicing."
Jory was silent for a few seconds, and then he stated quietly, "Draco, being a librarian is nothing to be ashamed of."
"Thanks," Draco said, unsure what else to reply.
"You're welcome," Jory said. "Are your parents disappointed because you dropped out?"
Draco tensed. Disappointed didn't even begin to describe the reaction of his parents if they ever learned about him living in a rented room with a slanted wall, studying non-magical sciences, taking up paid work and, worst of all, working for people who were subhuman in their eyes. They would despise him.
He had to take care they'd never wise up. Already the lecture on how much he debased himself by talking to Jory would be dreadful.
"I'm afraid it can't be helped," Jory said. He sounded almost apologetic. "Parents tend to have high hopes for their children. I do, anyway. Look, Isabel will come of age soon. Legally, I'll have neither the right nor the obligation to tell her what to do. But of course, I'll still care. I want her to be both successful and happy, which is not necessarily the same thing. She says she wants to become a tax adviser, and my wife and I think that's a good choice although Isabel discussed her decision more with her friends than with us. Betsy, in contrast, hasn't been able to shut up about possible careers lately. She puts forward a new plan every other week, and each one is sillier than the one before. The most recent idea is make-up artist. I don't even know what that is."
Jory fell silent, and Draco realised with a start that they already were in Hind Green Close.
The car slowed down as Jory steered it further to the left. It came to a halt in front of Mrs Bates's lodging house and quietened down abruptly. Jory unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face Draco.
"Draco, are you happy working in a library?"
"Happy?" Draco said slowly. "That's not the right word I'm afraid. Maybe I could say shelving books is a task I'm capable of. It doesn't exceed my abilities."
"Maybe sometimes we have to settle for what is available. Sticking to library work, you'll have at least something solid to rely on," Jory said while he helped Draco with the seatbelt. "Don't get me wrong; I don't mean to discourage you. Just don't ruin your life chasing after goals that will forever stay out of reach. Not having a university degree doesn't make you a worthless person."
Draco swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.
Jory hesitated for a moment before he said, "Let's get you to the house, shall we?"
Draco climbed cautiously out of the car and stood on his good leg while Jory fetched the crutches from the boot. Carrying the rucksack, Jory escorted him to the door.
"Thank you for bringing me here," Draco said.
"Don't mention it," Jory said kindly. "Do you still have my phone number?"
"Yes, I kept it safe." The small piece of cardboard on which the number was printed lay at the bottom of the wardrobe right next to his Birth Certificate and the banknotes.
"Good. Draco, you know, sometimes all we have to go by is gut feeling. If something feels right than maybe it is right no matter how hard put you are to explain it."
"I think I see what you mean. I'm resolved to stay away from things that feel wrong."
"That's the spirit," Jory said and grinned. "Now, could you put these props aside for a sec?"
Knowing what was to come, Draco shifted his weight to his left foot and leaned the crutches against the door.
He reciprocated Jory's hug without hesitation. It didn't feel wrong.
"Take care, Draco."
"And you."
...
112. Consequences of a Sprained Ankle
He missed jogging.
Now that he couldn't have it Draco realised how used he had become to his daily dose of tranquilliser.
Jogging was also a fairly reliable substitute for a Sleeping Draught. He had discovered another such substitute about a year ago and had made use of it since then, but not as routinely as he used jogging. Now, with jogging being out of the question for weeks to come, he indulged in the alternative every night. His bedtime fantasies featured no longer anonymous beauties from the beach, but the attractive physician. He imagined her hands on his calves and thighs and mimicked the imaginary touches with his own hands. Caressing himself made simulated intercourse more delightful than ever. In the short interim between orgasm and sleep when his mind was oddly adrift, he thought up first names for her – Doctor Verena Prewett, Valesca Prewett, Viola, Verity, Valerie...
...
Studying three subjects at advanced level, even though two of them were short courses, entailed a heavy workload, and Draco's days were filled with learning right from the start of term.
Half of his six working hours at the library were dedicated to learning as well since Mrs Shaw decided, upon seeing him hobble on crutches into the staff area, that he couldn't shelve books. Instead, he should work with the computer! To Draco's consternation, Mrs Highbury fully agreed.
Mrs Smith, who had just returned from convalescence and worked only three hours per day, was assigned to instruct him. The elderly woman embraced her new task with amazing enthusiasm.
Explaining every step in minute detail, she taught Draco to use the Library Management System. The key idea was that each item in the library as well as each patron had a unique identity number that allowed the software to keep track of which book was stored where and of who had borrowed what.
Using multi-digit numbers to protect information or to restrict access seemed the means of choice in the non-wizarding world. It made sense. Long numbers were certainly more difficult to snoop out than passwords like forest troll or chizpurfle excrement. Hence, they were safer.
Mrs Smith often digressed and talked about the acquisition and cataloguing of books or the purpose of cross-referencing rather than about the various software modules. Draco didn't mind much; Ranganathan's Five Laws of Library Science were easier to understand than tricky computer operations. Encouraged by Mrs Smith, he even took notes. She also showed him how to make a reading list, using photosynthesis as the topic.
Nobody called off these tutorials when his foot got better and he started shelving books again. In effect, he was studying a fourth subject in addition the three ones he had chosen.
Said three subjects didn't turn out entirely the way he had expected.
Initially, he had impressed the Astronomy teacher with the ease with which he mastered his practical assignments. Whereas other students struggled to find the most common constellations, Orion for instance, he could pinpoint them in his sleep. The practical aspect aside, though, Astronomy soon became a huge intellectual challenge. The non-magical version of it wasn't limited to a few planets and a bunch of moons circling them. There was so much more! Each star had its individual biography, and some of the bright dots in the night sky weren't even stars, but neighbouring galaxies that contained stars – millions of billions of them. The textbook presented bizarre theories of Big Bangs and of multiple universes that simultaneously existed at the same time and in the same space. Some astrophysicists went as far as to speculate that all matter and energy was made of super-tiny nothings called strings.
Draco didn't get half of that theoretical stuff. However, if he had learned one thing from his mistakes, it was to never dismiss a matter as pure nonsense just because he didn't understand it.
Any of the theories on Astronomy could be true or contain a grain of truth. Like with genetics, the scientists weren't yet done researching. Another similarity was there as well – the ability to do magic had to be encoded somewhere on the DNA molecule, and magic itself had to be woven somewhere into the fabric of the universe. Regrettably, non-wizarding people weren't able to see it. In fact, this disability could be the very reason for their weird hypotheses. They had to construct their theories somehow around the black hole that magic was to them.
Economy and Accounting was less demanding than Astronomy and comprised, as the name suggested, two fields of knowledge. The teacher said she would focus mainly on Accounting and provide only as much of economic theory as necessary. Draco thought this to be a sensible decision because Economy struck him as a rather debatable science. Only one-third of it consisted of solid facts such as labour standards or tax laws. The other two-thirds appeared to be a mixture of wishful thinking and time-hallowed, yet unproven beliefs. Accounting, in contrast, was straightforward. He could see the difference between money gained and money spent, and the rest was totalling and calculating percentages.
Draco had always been good at calculating. When it came to mental arithmetic, he could effortlessly outdo even the Maths teacher. He knew the prime and square numbers up to one thousand by heart, he was well versed in both short and long division, and he could determine square roots with the help of the Babylonian algorithm.
The teacher demanded more than square roots, though. He wanted cubic roots and fourth, fifth and fiftieth roots as well. He wanted binomial coefficients and logarithms.
Logarithms were creepy. It took Draco weeks to grasp the concept in full and to realise that knowing either the natural or the decimal ones by heart would be enough to estimate all the others. Unfortunately, that still meant he'd have to waste his time on memorising one thousand mantissas, a prospect that was anything but appealing.
Draco's fellow students didn't have such problems. They owned tools that allowed them to carry out complex calculations in a trice. Draco always lagged behind, and all three of his teachers reprimanded him repeatedly for not bringing an electronic pocket calculator to class.
Maybe they had a point. Not using such a tool had cost him a considerable amount of points in the part of the GCSE exam in which calculators had been necessary. He had barely scraped a B. The regulations for the A-level exam were similar, and the use of a calculator was explicitly required for some of the papers. Without one, he was probably going to score this world's equivalent to "Troll".
Still, he hesitated to buy one. With their many keys and the small screen, electronic pocket calculators looked like baby computers. Considering their purpose, they were some kind of miniature computer, and computers were just not his cup of tea.
He didn't change his mind until the week before Yule when he made a complete botch of an Astronomy test. He had to calculate the velocity of a geostationary satellite and came up with slightly more than three hundred million metres per second. That couldn't be right; the satellite would be outrunning the light. He tried again, but the new result was worse than the first – the satellite now ambled through space at a leisurely pace of less than one metre per second. Before he could finish his third attempt, the time allotted for the test was over.
That was why he finally let go of his reservations. Having a calculator could hardly make things worse.
...
The shop assistant of the stationery shop in the pedestrian precinct was delighted to be of service and showed Draco a wide variety of calculators, but only the two most expensive ones featured logarithms.
Draco chose the one that came with a two-hundred-page manual – one page for each pound he had to pay. He hoped the investment would pay off as it rather reduced his stock of valid banknotes, the modest pay raise he had got in October notwithstanding.
As electronic calculators fed on electrical energy he had also to buy a set of batteries. The shop assistant kindly demonstrated how to insert the four metallic cylinders into the device.
When Draco left the shop, he heard singing. Feeling curious, he walked towards the music.
A children's choir was praising the newly born king of Bethlehem.
Draco wasn't quite sure what to make of this. The song ended soon, and the choir launched into another one. This one surprised him even more than the hymn to a foreign king. Firstly, it was in Latin. Secondly, and that was the most astonishing thing about it, people around Draco suddenly slowed in their tracks and fell in with the singing. The tune was simple and the lyrics consisted of a single line. The message of that line tempted Draco to join as well. He didn't dare, though, because he had never learned how to sing.
Instead, he stood and listened to more than a hundred people singing, dona nobis pacem.
...
113. Trouble With Technology
Draco was fascinated. A simple touch of a key prompted his electronic pocket calculator to return the sine of an angle or the natural logarithm of a ten-digit number. More complicated operations required touching several keys in correct order, but committing these sequences to memory was a piece of cake compared to memorising scores of tabulated values.
He spent the free days – the library was closed from Yule to the first Monday after New Year – studying the manual and acquainting himself with the various features of his new tool.
The calculator worked without fail – until Draco took it with him to class. It still gave the correct answers most of the time, but every now and then, it would display oddly distorted signs that blinked in an erratic way.
Over the weeks, Draco discovered a pattern. The touchy little apparatus disliked haste! It started malfunctioning as soon as he became nervous because he was pressed for time. Thus, the capricious thing threw him straight into a vicious circle. All he could do in such cases was turning it off and allow it to rest or to cool down or whatever it was that it needed to do before it would work properly again. He never scored more than a B in any test. However, without the calculator, he wouldn't even achieve that much.
...
Working with the Library Management System went slightly better thanks to Mrs Smith's patient teaching. She never once raised her voice no matter how stupid the mistakes he made were. His mouse handling was clearly substandard, and he also kept confusing the hot keys, but she would calmly explain even for the fifteenth time how he could retrace his steps or cancel the operation in question.
One of the things she taught him was sending out reminders for overdue books. Only a few of the letters were printed on paper, put into an envelope, and stamped. The better part of them had to be dispatched by e-mail.
Draco had never truly understood why Jeffrey had created an e-mail address for him. Now, at long last, he discovered purpose and function of such addresses. A sent message arrived instantly at the computer of the addressee and could be read by her or him. Distance didn't matter. A message would be as fast in Falmouth, Cornwall as in Melbourne, Australia.
Using an e-mail programme was similar to communicating with the help of enchanted Galleons, only more sophisticated because supplementary files in the form of spreadsheets, texts, or pictures could be attached. Perhaps it was more accurate to say that using enchanted Galleons was similar to sending e-mails, only less sophisticated. It was neither a coincidence nor a surprise that Granger had invented that method. Draco could see were she had picked up the idea.
...
After the snow had thawed, he went jogging again – tentatively at first and only for one or two laps combined with intervals of brisk walking. When he was sure that the ankle had fully healed, he extended his jogging time gradually to half an hour. It was almost an extravagance, considering how tight his time budget had become.
Caught up in his daily routine of working and studying, he took next to no notice of his surroundings. The sudden change of atmosphere in the library after the end of the spring term he couldn't ignore, though. This time it wasn't just Mrs Highbury slamming doors. The entire staff seemed furious. People frowned openly at the workers who were installing turnstile barriers and card readers at every entrance of the building.
"What's going on?" Draco asked Mrs Smith. "Why is everybody upset?"
"They want us to work from six in the morning till an hour past midnight, Sundays and Bank Holidays included," the woman sighed. "I'm sorry for you, Mr Malfoy, but I'm resolved to go into retirement as soon as possible. My health is fragile as it is. The last thing I need is working at such unreasonable hours."
"I might quit too," Mrs Kentridge, who happened to stand nearby, joined in. "I can always work at St Thoralf's."
"I suppose so," Mrs Shaw said, appearing out of nowhere, "but they pay less."
"Maybe, but they aren't slave drivers," Mrs Kentridge retorted.
"Don't fool yourself. There's always a catch," Mrs Shaw said. "Anyway, I'm about to set up the new rota and-"
"So it's final, is it?" Mrs Smith interrupted.
"Emma fought tooth and nail," Mrs Shaw said, "but to no avail. I'm sorry."
"It's an outrage!" Mrs Kentridge cried. "The ID card access system was meant to save us time and dull paperwork so we can do more real librarian's work. By the look of it, we're off worse than ever!"
"I can't help it," Mrs Shaw told her curtly, and then she turned to Draco. "Mr Malfoy, I meant to ask you whether you'd be willing to work late shifts on weekends until your exams come up? Saturdays and Sundays from three pm to one am with a thirty minute's break for dinner? I know it's long, but look at the bright side – the less working hours during the week, the less distraction from your studies."
Draco could tell that she was trying to persuade him. Both other women were also looking at him in a way that suggested he should say yes.
"Where is the catch?" he asked Mrs Shaw. "You just said there usually was one."
Mrs Shaw gave him an appraising look.
"All right, I might as well admit it," she said. "I'm trying to take advantage of your single status. Look, Mr Malfoy, most colleagues have family, and mothers like to spend the weekends with their children."
"You see, it would be only fair," Mrs Kentridge seconded Mrs Shaw. "You can't work any late shifts on weekdays due to the lessons you attend."
"Does this mean I'll have to work alone?" Draco asked, alarmed.
"No, of course not! There'll always be at least one of the seniors," Mrs Shaw assured him. "So, can I count on you?"
Draco weighed the pros and cons.
Working nearly twenty hours on weekends meant he had only about ten left to work on weekdays. This gave him plenty of time to read up on Maths in between two consecutive lessons and to do his homework. If there was a downside, he didn't see it. So, he agreed.
"Thank you, Mr Malfoy. This is really very nice of you," Mrs Shaw said, obviously glad, and left.
"You know, Mr Malfoy," Mrs Smith said very softly so only Draco could hear, "you'll make a fine librarian one day."
Then she started explaining that the new library cards had to be distributed within five workdays to both staff members and patrons. She showed Draco how thousands of e-mails could be sent out in one go. They spread the message of where, when and how people were to obtain their electronic ID cards.
...
Draco got his cards from Mrs Highbury. They resembled cash cards and, yes, he got two.
"Make sure the time your staff card is logged in matches your working hours – on average, at least," the head librarian said. "We both might get into trouble if the software recorded you as working twelve hours on every day of the week. Convenient as the new system may be in some respect, it also provides quick and easy means for monitoring. I'm afraid this was the argument that suddenly drew the money after years in which the plan had been put on hold due to cutbacks. But that's just by the by.
"As I was saying," she continued, "I do know you practically live in this library. That's why I offer you a new Citizen's Library Card, which can stay logged in for any amount of time during the opening hours. Please, keep in mind that you mustn't log in both cards simultaneously. Well, and I'm afraid I have to tell you that the fee has risen. You'll have to pay eighty pounds per year from now on. I'm sorry."
Draco also learned that paying in cash was no longer permitted. Instead, a standing order for a direct debit was necessary.
He had heard enough about cashless transactions in Economy and Accounting to know that this was standard procedure. So, he simply took the partly filled-in form that Mrs Highbury gave him, added his name and account number, and signed.
...
The card readers were activated at the beginning of the summer term.
The morning Draco used his card – it was the staff card – for the first time to let himself through the turnstile he thought back to the cold afternoon in January three years ago when a downpour had chased him into this very building. He had walked in unhindered; nobody had questioned his presence. He remembered the girls who had giggled at him, the supposed fresher who didn't know how to put a parka into a locker. Well, he hadn't known. There were a great many things that he hadn't known back then. He wondered how limited his knowledge would still be today if he hadn't found this place while it was accessible to everyone. He should probably consider himself lucky.
Just how lucky he was he learned a short time later.
...
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Author's notes:
(1) Dona nobis pacem is Latin for Give us peace.
Please note that the first known flash mob gathered in Manhattan two years after the event I describe here: In December 2001, Draco witnessed a number of random Christmas shoppers joining spontaneously in a prayer for peace.
(2) Thanks go to weeping-angel-2spooky for beta reading.