130. Compliments

Draco spent Saturday in the repository of the library, poring over photocopies of medieval Latin handwritings to prepare for an exam he didn't need preparation for.

By Sunday morning he had worked up the nerve to go to the telephone box in Hind Green.

He lifted the handset to his ear and listened to the continuous ringing for almost a minute before he put five one-pound coins into the slot. Then he dialled the landline number from Jory's card.

The subsequent intermittent ringing was cut short by a single word.

"Penhaligon."

Draco exhaled in relief.

"Good morning, Jory," he said. "This is Draco Malfoy speaking."

"Draco!" Jory's voice was full of surprise. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks. How are you?"

"Fine, too. What's up? Why are you calling?"

"I wanted to let you know that I won't be able to come to Trethwyn this summer. Perhaps you could tell the Gills for me so they won't be wondering why I don't show up."

"Sure, I can do that," Jory said. "Is there a particular reason you cannot come?"

"Yes, there is," Draco said quickly. He thought he noted a hint of worry in Jory's question. "I will be working at the library in Twin Mills."

"You've got a new job? Congratulations!"

"Thank you," Draco said slowly.

There was a pause before Jory asked, "What's wrong? Are you afraid you'll miss the beach?"

"No, I'm not. Twin Mills is situated only one mile off the Jurassic Coast."

"The Jurassic Coast!" Jory exclaimed. "That's great. I'm sure you'll like it. Great vistas, ideal for sketching. The first time I went there, I was still a schoolboy. We went fossil hunting with our science teacher."

"Fossil hunting? How does one hunt fossils?"

"Well, you don't hunt them, of course," Jory chuckled. "But you do need the keen eye of a hunter to spot the worthwhile stuff. That is, unless you're willing to crawl on all fours."

The mental image came out of nowhere – a cheery group of twelve-year-olds frolicking around on the beach. They held out to each other in triumph the ammonites or nautiloids they found. The sun warmed their backs as they searched on, passing their finds from hand to hand, admiring them. Then the fossil-filled baskets stood forgotten, and there was just running and splashing and laughing. The laughter mingled with shrieks, joyful and carefree ones, that erupted whenever the spray of the surf hit them.

"Draco?" Jory's voice broke in on the vision. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here," Draco assured him. "That's the weird thing about telephones. Being able to see the person whom you are conversing with is much easier. Somebody should invent a more sophisticated device that allows both talking and seeing."

"I believe they already have," Jory said. "I've read that somewhere. It involves the Internet somehow, but I'm not very knowledgeable in that area. Computer technology seems to evolve faster and faster by the year. I'm about to lose track, if I haven't already. It's probably easier for young folks like you."

"I'm afraid I'm not exactly a computer expert, either. I know how to send e-mails, but I'm not aware of other communication methods for which a computer could be used."

"Maybe the technology hasn't hit the market yet. As a rule, any kind of newly invented stuff is terribly expensive. It usually takes a while before it becomes available to the masses. Take mobiles, for example. When they first came out, you had to pay several thousand quid just for one of them, so it's not very hard to guess who could afford them. I paid three hundred and ninety-five for mine. That was five years ago. My wife had a fit about it. She said I was completely off my rocker, spending so much money on some swanky status symbol as she called it. She kept berating me about it for months, but I wanted my girls to be able to reach me at all times, regardless of where I was. My daughter bought a mobile for less than fifty earlier this year, and it has about twice as many features as mine has."

Draco seized the opportunity to change the topic.

"How are your daughters?" he asked.

"They're fine, thanks for asking," Jory replied. "But what about you? Are you looking forward to your new job?"

"I think I'll manage."

"Forgive me, but you don't sound overly enthusiastic to me. Do you have second thoughts about having applied for a new position?"

"I didn't apply. Mrs Highbury – she is the head librarian here at the university – asked me to substitute for the man who runs the library in Twin Mills. He is severely ill and won't be able to work for months."

"You're going to run a library? All on your own? That's amazing. It would seem that your boss has great confidence in you, Draco. I'm sure she wouldn't have asked you if she thought you weren't up to it."

"This is, more or less, what she said, yes."

"But?"

"I'm not worried about my duties. It's just... " Draco breathed in deeply and then, he took the plunge. "Jory, I'm not used to telling people how I feel. I'll try, though.

"The downside of working in Twin Mills is that I won't be able to go to Trethwyn this summer. Going to Trethwyn, at least for a couple of weeks, has become a pattern. So, until a few days ago I assumed I'd go there this year like I did the ones before. I would see the changes and search for the things that didn't change. I'd see you, Jory.

"Curious as it may seem, our conversations have become a source of comfort and inspiration to me. It doesn't matter that you know next to nothing about my background. Meandering between topics as is your habit, you'll unwittingly touch upon one pertaining to my life.

"Actually, I've come to see your ignorance as an advantage. You have nothing to gain from my achievements, and you won't suffer any harm if I fail. So, I can be reasonably sure that you do not wish to manipulate me. You say whatever you say because you think it's true, and good, and morally right.

"I haven't had much of this growing up. Truth and honesty I mean. My parents told me a lot of untruths and-" He paused, swallowing to fight off the lump that was forming in his throat.

He had grown up with lies. He had repeated them without realising he was helping to perpetuate a bloody big sham. In fact, he had done worse than that. He had lied deliberately and purposefully to achieve his goals, and he hadn't felt the least bit guilty about it because he had been brought up to consider such behaviour adequate, if not desirable.

Worst of all was that he had to shame himself further. He wanted nothing more than to be completely open with Jory, but his wish didn't matter because there was a blasted law demanding concealment, a law forcing him to deceive people who had never done him any harm. All he could tell Jory was a carefully edited version of the truth.

He swallowed again to clear his throat. It didn't help much.

His voice was embarrassingly thick when he continued, "I wanted to tell you that you've been of help to me. Maybe I only realised this last year when we had only very little time to talk. Now we won't meet at all this year and this makes me, well... sad."

...

131. Compliments Returned

"Wow, Draco," Jory said after several long seconds of silence. "I'm... Maybe it's just as well we haven't 'see-phones' yet or else you'd see me blushing now."

"My apologies, Jory," Draco said quietly. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"No need to apologise, I'm not embarrassed. I'm flattered, I suppose. Maybe I should return the compliment – the one about the unbiased opinion," Jory said. "Draco, do you recall Dave Webster and his dirty little schemes?"

"I've never met him, but I recall you describing him as a rude man who provoked you in public."

"That he did. Pushy git was always showing off as if he was loaded like Onassis. He turned out to be a rather pathetic fraud in the end," Jory said. "Anyway, jumping from topic to topic like you just put it, I came to talk about the Cliff Sun Club once. When I asked you whether it might be unsafe for a young girl to go there, you didn't go all defensive like the members of the Naturist Society usually do. They hasten to deny any sort of sexual motive before anybody brings up that question, an odd habit that only adds to the suspicion. I'm a policeman, you see. I've learned that people defending themselves without being accused is often a telltale sign."

Draco remembered the conversation well, albeit for other themes. Jory had talked about his father, about parenting, and about how much he wished for his daughters to be happy.

"You were... well, it seemed to me," Jory continued a little awkwardly, " it seemed to me the potential for acts of indecency had never occurred to you. Your attitude reminded me of the artlessness of a child. No offence."

"None taken," Draco said. What Jory had perceived as "artlessness" had most likely been lack of insight.

"Your words made me think," Jory said. "I realised two things. Or maybe I should say I saw them more clearly. The basic idea wasn't all that new.

"There's first bathing habits as such. One hundred years ago, people went swimming in silly outfits that covered their arms to the wrists and their legs to the ankles, but those with a more conservative mindset frowned upon them all the same. Another hundred years or so back, bathing in public would have been completely out of the question. Perhaps one hundred years into the future skinny-dipping will be the norm, and our great-grandchildren will laugh at us backward folks who put on clothing for swimming in the sea. The definition of decent bathing habits has changed over time, and it probably will keep changing, which leads onto the second thing: How do we know what decent bathing habits are? Or decent behaviour in general?"

There was a brief pause, in which Draco caught himself nodding to indicate his unbroken attention. He also noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a stooped woman outside the telephone box, waving at him. He turned his back to her.

"We aren't born with a set of moral values installed," Jory went on. "We learn them. Our parents tell us what is good and proper and what isn't. School and peers come later; in the beginning, it's just the parents. Toddlers mimic what they see and repeat back what they hear. That's why I think lecturing children about good behaviour isn't enough. They get older and become more perceptive, and then there will come the day when they start to compare your words to your actions. That's why I say the most important thing is setting your children a good example. I wish more people would understand that. There are, regrettably, parents who insist on retaining double standards and don't see how this makes things difficult for their children. In some cases, parents even refuse to acknowledge their own share in the mess when their child does something truly stupid and ends up in our holding cells. I know far too many sad stories about children drifting off into the wrong direction just because nobody gave a damn while there was still a chance to pull them back to the right path."

There was a minuscule pause before Jory added, "I'm glad you were able to cope better than those unlucky children, Draco."

Draco was utterly lost for words.

"Draco?" asked Jory.

"Yes, I'm here. I'm merely unable to think of a reply."

"It's not just your father losing money in dubious business deals, right? Forgive me for being blunt, but I do remember seeing you reduced to tears because of a letter from your mother. Draco, please believe me, I'm truly sorry your parents didn't set you a very good example. It must be a real shock to discover you have been lied to by the people you trusted most."

Draco breathed in deeply and let out the breath very slowly before he answered.

"Jory, I don't even know where to start. The trouble is... The real trouble is that I believed my parents. I believed in them, and I took their teachings for the quintessence of wisdom. You called me artless a minute ago, but I think naive and gullible would be a more fitting description. I'm afraid I was absolutely blind and unwilling to see the truth even if it was dangling right in front of my nose."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Draco. Obviously, you did wise up."

"Well, yes, eventually."

"Did you confront your parents about the matter?"

"I tried. A little. It was futile," Draco said carefully. He knew he mustn't let on very much. "My father is quite the pretender, although he perhaps lacks the subtlety my mother has. She has perfected lying into an art."

He was a fine one to talk, he thought with bitterness even as he spoke. Didn't he pretend twenty-four hours a day? Didn't he tweak the truth right in this very moment?

"So your parents wouldn't hear about your dismay. What happened then?" Jory asked.

Then everything came apart like the bloody house of cards it was, Draco thought.

Out loud, he said, "In the end, I ran. Literally. I slipped out of the backdoor in the middle of the night, leaving only a short note in my room. I ran, boarded a train at random, got off when it didn't move anymore, and ran again. Well, at that point, I only walked. I walked on until I wound up on a beach and didn't know what to do next. Do you remember catching me sleeping near Maiden's Cliff? That was the morning after my flight."

"I had no idea," Jory said. He sounded upset.

"It's all right, Jory. I don't hold a grudge against you or Alan."

"Goodness, Draco!" Jory exclaimed. "Did you really think we were going to arrest you?"

"I'm not sure what I thought, " Draco said. "I believe my very first thought was that you two were robbers and wanted to steal my rucksack."

Jory burst out laughing.

Draco didn't see where there was cause for such merriment, but was somewhat pleased to have lightened the mood, if inadvertently.

The woman appeared in his vision again, gesticulating wildly. He shook his head and turned around to block her out.

"I can just see the headline – Thieves Disguised as Police Officers Make Away With Luggage of Sleeping Tourist. The tabloids would have a field day with something like that," Jory said, still chuckling. In a more sober way, he added, "As a matter of fact, we did have a problem with vandalism during the late nineties. You can't have the place all messed-up and littered with all sorts of rubbish when you're advertising the untouched nature of your neighbourhood. That's why we were keeping a close eye on what was going on along the Coast Path. Actually, we still do. Trethwyn depends on tourism."

"I understand," Draco said as the old woman appeared once more. This time, she hammered on the glass wall with her small fist. She was also mouthing something in a frantic attempt to gain Draco's attention. "Jory, please excuse me a moment. There is somebody here, making a fuss."

Holding the handset in one hand, he pushed the door open with the other.

"This is an emergency!" the woman cried as soon as the door was an inch ajar. "I need to phone my neighbour! I just locked myself out! She's got the spare key, but she's at her daughter's. It's urgent! The stew is on the cooker! Please!"

"A minute, if you please," Draco said curtly. "I have to finish my phone call."

He let go of the door. It closed behind him as he raised the handset back to his mouth to explain the situation to Jory.

"All right," Jory said simply. "I'll have to get ready, anyway. That's the downside of being with the police – you often have to work on weekends. Then again, I do like my job despite the occasional hard day. Life can't always be sunshine and sparkles. I keep telling myself to enjoy the good times and to take the not so good ones in my stride. On the whole, I have never regretted becoming a policeman. I hope you will be able to say the same one day, Draco. Perhaps thirty years from now, you'll look back at the present day and say 'Yes, deciding on library work was the right thing to do.' Enjoy your stay at the Jurassic Coast."

"Thank you. Give my regards to Mrs and Mr Gill."

"I'll do that. Take care, Draco," Jory said. "I hope I'll see you next summer."

"So do I. Good bye, Jory,"

Slowly, Draco put down the handset.

He ignored the strange clanking and clattering inside the machine's belly and went out, holding open the door for the frenzied old lady to enter.

...

132. Two Letters

Draco spent the rest of Sunday and the bank holiday going through his belongings.

He collected his documents – his Birth Certificate, his National Insurance Numbercard, the work contract, the bank contract, the report sheets from the exam board – as well as Jory's card and the one from Mr White in a folder. The notes he had taken about Twin Mills and the copied map he put there, too.

Then he gathered all notes concerning library work and everything he found about Geography.

Sifting methodically through the entirety of his notes to see what else might be useful, he came across the reading list he had made nearly two years ago with Mrs Smith's help. He slipped it into the Biology folder. Trying to understand the complicated process of photosynthesis would have to wait for a later time.

All in all, there were more than twenty heavy folders filled with notes, ranging from his earliest attempts at grasping non-magical sciences to the most recent translations of contemporary French texts. He carried them down to the basement and stacked them in one of the two lockers for which Mrs Bates had given him the keys.

After returning to his room, he pulled out the outdated money from under the layer of old plastic bags at the bottom of the wardrobe. The packages containing the original banknotes with the playwright Shakespeare on the reverse he bundled up in his old dinner jacket and stuffed the jacket into a large plastic bag together with all other pieces of clothing that had become too frayed to wear. He went down to the basement with this bag, put it into the second locker and arranged his winter clothes on top of it.

For the newer Michael-Faraday-banknotes he hoped to find opportunity to change them. The clerks in the post offices along the Coast Path were often inclined to help, and Twin Mills wasn't far from the Path. The small, carefully wrapped stacks went into the rucksack, followed by crayons and other stationery.

After everything was packed, he cleared out the remaining plastic bags from the wardrobe and found something almost forgotten – the letter to his mother.

He sat down to read.

Mother,

I turn to you with a plea for help – help, not just advice. Please help me to find answers to my questions...

He no longer hoped for such help from his mother. The urgent need for answers that he had felt when writing those lines wasn't there anymore, either. He had figured out a few things on his own and, most importantly, he had learned that searching for answers took time and patience – and the willingness to accept unpleasant truths.

One particular question caught his eye as he skimmed the letter – How do I know whether something is true or whether the speaker only believes so?

With a sigh, he folded up the pages.

He went down to the basement, opened the first locker and shoved the letter into the topmost folder. Then he went jogging.

...

Was truth the same as honesty?

The picture his parents had painted him was by no means true to life. The ten centuries of glorious pure-blooded ancestry were a lie. The likewise glorious future in which he would succeed his father in being a man of influence and means was never going to happen. Throughout his childhood, his parents had made him believe that status and wealth were a birth right – his birth right.

It must be a real shock to discover you have been lied to by those you trusted most.

Well, it had been a series of blows rather than one big, shocking eye-opener, but fact was he had been deceived by the two people he had trusted unconditionally.

Then again, his parents had been brought up the very same way as they had raised him. This was what being part of the old families was all about – to never stray an inch from hallowed tradition. He had no doubt that, as children, his parents had soaked up the very same lies they had told him later.

So, were they guilty?

He certainly felt betrayed. However, did his parents lie to him knowingly and with complete disregard for the consequences, or did they genuinely believe their view of the world to be correct?

The last time he had seen her, his mother had given the impression of still firmly adhering to the old misconceptions. He wondered whether she had ever experienced doubt in her life, whether she had ever questioned even a single one of her convictions.

She had probably been seven or eight years old when she had learned her family tree by heart, no older than he had been when she had made him memorise the names and dates. It was understandable that a child of this age didn't become suspicious of equivocal phrasing or abrupt ends to rather short lines, but she had been an adult when teaching him, and an educated and perceptive one at that. Shouldn't she have realised that something was amiss with the data?

He knew no answer to that, but it couldn't be argued that, whether on purpose or due to lack of common sense, his parents had misled him. Young and credulous, he had gaped in awe and wonderment at the dazzling picture they had conjured for him. Reality had smashed it, and now he was left with the task of rearranging the fragments. There still were pieces that didn't fit anywhere and some empty spaces where there should be something, but wasn't.

Maybe he should write down the facts he'd found and the suspicions he wasn't yet able to prove. Confronting his mother with this new list and watching her face for her reaction might provide more clarification than asking questions that she would only deflect or side-step.

...

Back in his room, he opened the door to the would-be balcony to let in some fresh air. Something brushed by his face. He swivelled around to see a barn owl discard a letter in full flight.

The bird swerved and shot back out into the gathering twilight.

Backing off in blind panic, Draco bumped into the wardrobe.

This letter was going to blow up! The owl had practically fled... there was no cover...

Nothing happened.

Even so, he was barely able to calm himself. It took him nearly a quarter of an hour to muster the courage for a cautious inspection of the roll of heavy-duty parchment that lay on the carpet next to his bed. Alarm soared again when he spotted the seal.

They had left him alone for years. What did they suddenly want of him?

He contemplated destroying the damn thing unread, but couldn't think of any safe method to get rid of a piece of parchment that was most likely reinforced with several anti-damage spells.

Besides, he had better learn what was going on so he could take precautions.

He took a pencil out of the rucksack and poked the letter. When all stayed quiet, he gingerly reached for it.

Holding his breath, he broke the seal.

Still nothing happened. He exhaled slowly and took another moment to steel himself before he unrolled the parchment.

Draco Ophiuchus Malfoy,

It is my duty to inform you about your time of probation expiring today.

Starting from tomorrow, you have the right to apply for permission to buy a wand for personal use. Note that you have to present yourself in person at the Restriction of Access to Wands and Improper Use of Magic Office (RAWIUM) in order for your application to be processed. Any request sent by owl will immediately be disposed of.

Be advised to mind our office hours:

Tuesdays to Fridays from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. with a lunch break from half past eleven to a quarter to one o'clock.

Call at your convenience.

Mafalda Hopkirk

Restriction of Access to Wands and Improper Use of Magic Office (RAWIUM)

Ministry of Magic

He stared at the letter for an indeterminable length of time, waiting for the rush of joy.

It didn't come.

...

To be continued

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Author's note:

Thanks to Imo97 and Pendragon2601 for beta reading this chapter.