WARNINGS for this chapter: transactional sex, drug abuse.

Chapter 24: The southern sky

When Draco entered the library the next morning, Potter was balancing a dictionary on his lap and poring over a volume with pictures of jewels that sparkled enticingly, turning and showing themselves from all sides, like fashion models on the runway.

"The Annals of Applied Magic. The Louberts are listed with thirty or so 'medaillons'."

"It's Loo-BEAR, not Lowbert, Potter." Draco didn't even try to correct his pronunciation of 'médaillons'.

"I'm trying to figure out what those meda— lockets did. Half of the words are not in the dictionary."

The number of books on their desk had tripled. There was the wizard genealogy book and the Muggle trade book from yesterday, now joined by the Applied Magic that Potter was reading and a couple of French and Latin lexicographic reference works. On top of the pile lay a Comprehensive Guide to the Night Sky by Odilia Stoeck-Blinde, the only book in English so far.

"How did he manage to bring this here?" Draco said. Yesterday Videl had not even been able to turn a page.

"He didn't," Potter said with an apologetic note in his voice, "I thanked him for his help with translation, asked if we could do anything for him, and he made me promise that we'll read the guide and tell him our opinion."

"As long as you give no Unbreakable Vows." Draco flipped the pages to the first image, and saw what all his astronomy books had always started with—Draco curling his tail protectively around Ursa Minor, the Little Bear, behind the broad back of his big brother. Mother always used to correct him that ursa was feminine, but the idea refused to stick with him. In the picture that he'd drawn in his childish mind when he had first looked at his celestial surroundings, the little bear was always male. He wasn't so sure about the big one, but the little one should certainly have been an ursus.

"Between the fourth and the second millennium BC, Thuban, alpha Draconis, used to be the north pole star of our Earth," Videl's voice sounded above their heads. "The Egyptians even used to align the north entrance of their pyramids so as to have a clear view of it."

Draco slammed the astronomy book shut, opened a Latin dictionary, and tried to look busy.

"Our modern Polaris, the brightest star of Ursa Minor, took Thuban's place as sailors' orientation point around three hundred BC, but Thuban will be back! We just have to wait another nineteen thousand years."

Draco wasn't sure if humanity would still exist in nineteen thousand years, but Monsieur Videl would probably still be around, waiting.

The time that Videl took to go on about circumpolar constellations would surely count as immeasurably short from a stellar perspective. Luckily, Potter started bombarding him with questions about the meanings of French words from the Applied Magic book and finally induced him to translate a few more passages for them.

Some of the lockets sounded interesting. There were a few activated by touch, and there were a couple that created bonds. One of them would pass all the charms from one person in the bond to the other. There was one locket that worked like Polyjuice, but only for one person. And there were at least three that would cause simultaneous death of two or more people, but that would happen immediately upon contact.

Bonding effects were more common in Loubert rings, but those were designed almost exclusively for marrying couples. Moreover, there was no option to break the bond, it was forever, full stop.

In the next few days, they moved from one catalogue of enchanted artefacts to another, from more famous specimens to more obscure ones, from well-known establishment to the darkest corners of wizarding France, and from lockets, to rings, to chains, locks, and keys, then back to daggers and swords, and back again to lockets. At some point they showed their locket to Videl, but he only shrugged.

"Viking style. A bit old-fashioned for ten sixty-six, I suppose."

The name 'Loubert' kept popping up in every book they opened. 'Malfoy' was nowhere to be found. Not among the makers, not among the renowned owners, not among thieves who had been caught. The Malfoy locket might not have anything to do with the Louberts at all, for all they knew. They might just as well start investigating all lockets in human history.

"Here's another bonder. A pair of necklaces made by one Antlia Loubert in ten thirty-three. That's about the time when—" Potter said, but went for the dictionary on his lap again, and forgot to finish the sentence.

The book Sang Sorcier had been open at 'Loubert' for three days now. Draco pulled it to his side. The Loubert family tree stretched over four pages and was set in script so minuscule that Videl had to lend them a magnifying glass to stop Draco from inadvertently setting his quill on fire—which happened every time he burst out in rage when his hand slid from the line he was trying to read.

Draco found the section of the tree that mapped the early eleventh century and was pulling the lens horizontally across the numerous branches, in search for Antlia.

All the Louberts had weird Latin names Draco had never heard before. Fornax, Equuleus, Follis... When a word that looked like a normal human name swam into the focus of the magnifying glass, Draco halted. Cecilia! Equuleus P. Loubert had married a Cecilia. Draco pushed the magnifying glass a tiny bit to the right and his breath hitched. Equuleus P. Loubert had married a Cecilia Malfoy.

"Antlia's necklaces were—"

"Potter! I've found a Malfoy."

Potter moved over and peered over his shoulder. Draco lowered the magnifying glass a little. Equuleus and Cecilia had five children. Their oldest son was born in 1022 and was named Circinus. He married his distant cousin, whose name was Norma. Their first child of four would have been twenty-three by the time William set off to England. Unlike his parents and siblings, he had no year of death. His name was Herman Loubert.

"See? That's what I thought! Herman was a Malfoy like I am Drake."

"Well..." Potter stared at the three generations of Louberts that just about fitted into the circle of the magnifying glass. "Well..." He made a move to adjust his non-existent glasses and rubbed his temple instead. "Not quite. He had a Malfoy grandma." He shifted closer to the book. "If this is our Herman... If this is our Herman and if your father was right and the locket had literally always been in the family, then it must have been made by one of these Louberts," Potter said, sliding the lens up the tree, tracing Herman's ancestors up to the period of Viking invasions. The spelling of the name had changed. Draco was not sure how to pronounce the cumbersome array of consonants Herman's great-great-and-so-on-grandfather used to call himself.

"If my father was right and the locket had never left the family, that means that it had never been sold or exhibited, and that means that we can read all these annals from cover to cover, and we won't find anything about it."

"Shame we cannot ask them." Potter stared dreamily at a nineth century family member. "Any chance one of those Loo-bears stayed around as a ghost?"

"People like the Louberts don't stay," sounded Videl's icy voice. They must have touched a sensitive string. Videl hung above the railings, his arms crossed. "People like the Louberts leave their unfinished business to their children."

Was the locket the unfinished business they'd left him? Draco couldn't say he was grateful for that part of his legacy.


In the meantime, the winter holidays were nearing their climax. The remaining Beauxbatonians were preparing for New Year's Eve, and judging by the amount of explosives that had been brought down to the lake, they weren't thinking small.

Seba, with a mysterious look and a casual nudge on Draco's shoulder, had urgently advised him to fetch his broomstick, and after a celebratory dinner and another feast before midnight, Draco found out why.

The small but wild and increasingly loud crowd spilled out of the Palace, flew whooping across the park, and landed in a circle around the mountain of fireworks at the lake. The brutal ritual that followed was called Exploding Dodgeball. It involved shooting skyrockets in quick turns, and those who were too slow were turned into human targets on broomsticks. Draco was knocked out in the third round, Seba followed shortly after. The ice below them was in pieces and the shot-down losers were being fished out of the lake. When the minute hand of a huge glowing clock above the park clicked upright and a deafening gong sounded over the mountain tops, the air around them exploded in a myriad of colours, and Seba pulled him out of the mayhem to the side.

"Want to see how it looks from above?"

Draco made a move to go up.

"Wait," Seba pulled a vial out his pocket, "the air will get thin." He took a sip and pressed the vial into Draco's hand.

Draco's mouth filled with tasteless liquid and as he gulped it down, his lungs filled with air, and his mind with a feeling of boundless power.

"Merlin, that's Q!"

Seba winked, as Draco's body leaned forward and his broomstick took over. Seba surged forward at his side, as if chasing an invisible snitch. They cut through the sweeping wind like iron through warm butter. The thunder of the celebration was sinking in the transparent ocean of the Earth's atmosphere, until it was no more than shining flowers that burst into bloom under their feet.

Seba grabbed the handle of Draco's broomstick, they slowed, and then stopped. Here at the top of the world there was nothing. Draco saw Seba's smile in the faint gleam of the moon, wet sparkles in his eyes, and his cold grey shape barely distinct from the emptiness around them.

"Beautiful."

Seba's hand found Draco's. Through the thick gloves Draco could only feel the muffled pressure of his fingers, but in that pressure there was promise of more.

"Yes. Beautiful."

They turned their back to the stars and rushed down beating free fall acceleration, whooping along the way, looking straight into the blue face of the glacier that was coming so close so fast, until they levelled out inches above the mass of soft new snow and set off an avalanche.

Beauxbatons still thundered and burned in all colours of the rainbow in the distance. Seba's hand was back on Draco's broomstick and their arms intertwined. The thrill of boundless power hummed in Draco's veins, and the thin crust of the Earth trembled below them.


When Draco woke up the next afternoon, Potter was already gone. He showered. His wet reflection stared at him defiantly from the mirror.

What? He had been wearing this skin for four months now. He had been dragging it around like a ball and chain, it hadn't grown a hair closer to him. It had grown some more hair rather, Draco found, examining the area around the nipples.

At night, when he fell asleep and his inner world overcame the outer stimulus, he was himself again. He felt and enjoyed himself, he fooled around like Voldemort had never existed, only to find Potter's genetic code soaking his sheets in the morning, and cursed himself for letting it happen, instead of making it happen.

He looked again at his loathsome reflection. The opportunities that had presented themselves last night were too precious to let pass. As the old wisdom had it, a herbologist was a potioneer's best friend, and sometimes more than that, let alone a herbologist who had an ongoing supply of Q. The memory of Seba's steady grip on his knuckles tickled Draco's insides. It was about time to take control of the monster in the mirror. Now that the social risks were minimal, he could just as well give the equipment a test run.

"Calvorio." And the fur on his chest and elsewhere vanished. The result looked like a plucked goose ready for stuffing.

"Surgito Minime." Draco tried for the golden middle way. The black shoots sprang out again, and his crotch grew darker.

"Stop! STOP! Damn it!"

Myriads of tiny black hairs gushed back like a horde of raging nomads and took back their usual habitat.

"Whatever." Draco threw a towel over himself. He'd have to make do with what he had.


Draco had missed breakfast, but did get some scraps of the lunch. Neither Potter nor Seba were anywhere to be seen, and he walked back to the lake. From the spot where he had shot fireworks yesterday, he could see the library on the right side of the lake and the greenhouses on its left side. Without thinking twice, Draco turned left.

The Draught of Quetzalcoatl, if not altogether illegal (in Europe), was still a strictly controlled substance (in Europe). That much Draco had found out from Knox in the first days of his detention after the Battle. On the American continent he wouldn't be walking free now, not because he was a Death Eater, but because traces of said substance had been found on his clothing.

After his unsuccessful forays into the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library, he had given up the idea. But to his great surprise, he found the recipe while browsing Libatius Borage's Advanced Potion-Making. Not his own copy, of course, but the annotated one he had obtained at tremendous risk to his mental health and bodily integrity from Ginny Weasley.

In the subject index under the letter Q, a fairly simple recipe was scribbled on the margin. Only three preparation steps and four ingredients: water, powdered conch shell, crow feather, and emerald. Emerald? No, apparently not. The word was crossed out, and Snape's crooked question mark stood next to it.

Draco opened the door to the greenhouse, entered cautiously, and sank in the warm damp smell of soil and whatever the plants deemed attractive to insects or repellent to humans. Sweat rushed through his pores. He took off his gloves, hat and coat, as he passed rows of hibernating Snargaluffs, trying not to step on Leaping Toadstools that were crossing the pathway. He soon noticed an unmistakable Mandrake patch in the distance. And what an odd place for a cactus, Draco thought, when he saw a pair of Mimbulus Mimbletonia, growing right in the middle, among the Mandrakes. He almost stepped on another Leaping Toadstool, blinked, and the cacti were gone. Instead, there was Seba, standing on the path and greeting him with a breezy smile.

"I could swear I've just seen some Mimbuli right there," Draco said, coming closer.

Seba conjured a coat rack, Draco got rid of the load under his arm, and after a cosy exchange of thanks for yesterday's fun, they looked questioningly at each other. 'Is this edible or will it eat me?' was the question in Seba's eyes. Draco's question was... well. It was a whole bunch of questions, and he was wondering where to start.

"So? This is where you live?" he said, surveying the Mandrake patch and searching the ground for traces of the vanished Mimbuli.

"Sort of," said Seba, "I'd offer you a tea, but it's so warm already. Why don't you take that off, too?" Seba was just wearing a thin, sleeveless shirt, which was much more appropriate for the tropical climate of the greenhouse.

Draco's jumper joined his coat on the rack. Seba was now staring at his shirt, as if he'd rather he took that off as well. Out of instinct, Draco made a move to unbutton it, but Seba glanced around, flicked his wand, and the Mandrake patch parted like a curtain in front of them. He made an inviting gesture.

A path led between rows of cacti into a part of the greenhouse Draco hadn't had a chance to admire yet. They passed a bed of gigantic Fanged Geraniums, and a few patches of harmless looking white and yellow flowers, which no doubt were brimming with deadly poison. Butterflies with golden and purple wings were fluttering by, and blue bumblebees buzzed past every now and again.

"This is where we keep more dangerous plants. So the first-years don't walk in on them by mistake. Careful!" Seba held him back by the shoulder. A pair of toothy jaws snapped shut where Draco had almost set his foot.

"That's Gobbling Foxtrap," Seba said, "It is attracted by everything hairy, including human legs."

Draco regretted that he hadn't stopped at Calvorio.

"No one can see us here, right?"

Seba nodded.

"So if I'm swallowed by one of those Foxtraps, no one will even find my stripped bones?"

"Don't worry. You might lose a couple of toes. All of these are regrown." Seba showed his right hand, with a scar around each finger, like rings. Draco shook off the grisly memory of his splinched hand.

They came to a small clearing, where between piles of empty buckets and rows of gardening tools leaning against shrubs stood a table and a bench. But Draco's eye fell on a cleanly cut tree stump with an elaborate pentagram burnt into the wood, seeds layed out in a pattern over it, and a dark stone in the centre. The brown stains underneath it could hardly be of plant origin.

"You're not a Christmas celebrator, are you?" Draco said, taking his seat on the bench, his eyes on the stump. The attributes reminded him of something from Adair's Song of the Power of the Earth. Father had always warned him not to blabber about it at Hogwarts.

"I have no Muggle-born relatives who would frown upon it," Seba said. The bench squeaked grumpily under his added weight.

Had Draco thrown his eyebrows too high up? Because Seba suddenly went all on the defensive.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not a blood purist or anything. Pure blood is relative."

"Is it?"

"Of course! I don't know of any Muggle relatives. But I surely have relatives I don't know about. For all I know, all of them could be Muggles. The less you wonder, the purer your blood."

That was a nice theory, Draco thought, and decided not to wonder why the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black never traced its history beyond the twelfth century. But Seba must have taken his silence as disagreement:

"Come on! We all come from a single-celled alga and a virus. You think they cared about magic when they exchanged genes?"

"I don't know. There are magical and non-magical plants, aren't there?"

"Oh, that's not how it works in plants." Seba chuckled. "Non-magical plants are plants that we don't know how to use in potions. From a genetic point of view, all plants are magical."

"Even cabbage?"

"Oh, cabbage is a powerful charm lifter! If you substitute cabbage for nettles in a Deflating Draught," Seba went on to recite some useful potion recipes that included cabbage, and no, centuries of breeding by Muggles had not annihilated its powers, even brought out some new ones! Brussels sprouts, for instance, when they're still small, or..., or..., or...

Seba was bobbing and bouncing on the bench, and making it absolutely clear that cauliflower was exceptional against Doxies. His skin gleamed with health and ample exposure to sun, which shone through the glass roof and made his straw stubble golden. Draco shifted a little to the left and closed the space between his own and Seba's knee.

"So, about yesterday..."

"Yes?"

Seba's elbow rested on the table between them. Please touch me, Draco thought, and before the count of three, he felt a gentle stroke of Seba's little finger against his shoulder.

"I'd had Q once before. You won't guess who gave it to me."

"Who?"

"My potions master! Can you believe it?"

"You have liberal academic staff!"

"Where do you get your stuff from?"

"Nowhere." Seba's knee tensed, and he withdrew his little finger. "I'm not involved in illegal trade, if that's what you're wondering. It's home production for home use."

"Good stuff," Draco said. "I've found a recipe, you'll never guess where."

Seba gave him a questioning look.

"In a recipe book of my former potions master."

"Your potions masters know their subject." Seba nodded with reserved recognition.

"There is nothing to know. The recipe is so simple, a first-year can make it." Draco unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. "So why is it so rare? Why isn't every kid making it?"

Seba dropped his gaze to Draco's neck. His lips pulled slowly into a smile.

"The bottleneck is the ingredients."

"That's home production, too, I take it?" Now. Draco traced a line between Seba's shoulder blades to his nape, and felt a distinct shiver under his fingers. "You grow emeralds?"

"Want to see?" Seba's eyes sparkled.

"Sure."

They were on their feet before Draco closed his lips behind the monosyllable. Seba's arm snaked around his back, and his insides melted in anticipation.

"Careful, these are highly poisonous." Seba led him at a safe distance from a bed of gorgeous bronze-coloured roses that stretched their thin thorns longingly to Draco's ankles. "The standard recipe is misleading."

They walked into a thicket of trees, whose rich crowns above their heads warded off the sun. The air in the dark green shadow was not a bit cooler, it even seemed warmer in the enclosed space of the copse. Or was it the heat of Seba's arm? Draco pulled instinctively at the third button of his shirt.

"The so-called emerald is not the stone."

They were now standing in front of a tree, whose trunk was coated in lush verdure that strobed and made Draco dizzy. The small round leaves had an aggressive radiant black and green pattern.

"It's Trapiche Emerald Orchid." Seba stood behind Draco's back and whispered into his hair. "It's found in the wild in Mesoamerica." Seba's hand slid around his waist and under his shirt. "Very rare, very hard to cultivate."

Don't stop talking! But Seba's lips were now making their way towards his earlobe. By the time Seba spoke again, Draco's shirt was completely unbuttoned.

"It only settles on the trunk of the Western Choking Plum, which is rare too." Seba's hand sank below Draco's waistline and settled on— Potter's dick gave an unapologetic response.

Damn it! The thought of Potter's dick made Draco's jaws spasm like he bit into a sour lemon, and blood rushed from his groin back to his brain.

"As long as it's growing and cloning—"

Come on, Potter, do your job! But there was no hint of growth where the soft pressure of Seba's fingers would otherwise have worked wonders.

"—it does not need much care, but as soon as it starts to make buds, you have to harvest them. All. If you let it bloom and make fruit, it will suck the tree out to the last drop..."

Seba paused to suck a kiss on his neck. Why did that kiss feel like he was wearing his coat again? Draco wished Potter's body would drop dead.

"The tree will die and the Orchid will die with it. You can plant the seeds then, if you have another Choking Plum ready, but it will take years before it starts to bud again."

"So, the bud is what goes into Quetzalcoatl? That's the emerald?" Draco tried to breathe deep.

"Yes." Seba pushed him gently closer to the black and green glimmer. "See this little thing here?" he stretched his spare arm over Draco's shoulder, and pointed at a bright green knot the size of an almond. "This one's too small yet. You should pick them just before they open. That's why I have to keep an eye on them."

Draco stood still. That which was now pressing against the small of his back was hard and anything but small.

"How often do you get one?"

"Depends." Seba paused again for a kiss. "Around solstice two or three per week." He kept stopping after every sentence. "Then there's nothing for half a year." A long silence followed. Seba's breathing became louder. He wasn't struggling with speech yet, but the point was not far off. "Probably six or seven per season, a dozen per year."

"How many do you need?"

"For Q? Three per hundred milliliter. How many do you need?"

"Depends." Plan B, Draco thought, and turned around. Seba's shirt went off promptly, and landed at the foot of the Orchid. "I was wondering how Q would do in combined potions." He pushed him back towards the other plum tree, which was free of the precious parasite.

"Oh, it's a great component! Works as a universal power magnifier." Seba leaned against the slanted tree, fumbling with his belt, and ran his eye over Draco from head to foot. "Just like in humans."

Draco pressed him to the trunk.

"That's what I thought." He took him in his hand and the conversation stalled. For some time there was just the sound of heavy breathing, and the buzz of blue bumblebees. And the telltale blush in Seba's face. And the shivers that ran like waves through his body. Yes. Draco tightened his grip, and stopped.

"Suppose I wanted to make a very potent potion. Let's say, a cup. And then, shrink that potion to the size of a single-celled alga?"

Seba cleared his throat with an effort.

"Why so drastic?"

"To make it undetectable by an advanced unjinxer."

"How do you want to shrink?" Seba made a move towards Draco's butt cheek, but Draco caught his hand and pinned it to the trunk of the tree.

"With a powered-up Shrinking Solution, let's say."

"A cup to undetectable size? Erm. Plain Q won't give you that."

"What if I power-up the Q first? With itself? Maybe twice? Or three times?"

"Q to the power of three?! Merlin! Don't swallow that by mistake!"

"I'm not an idiot. Do you think that could work?"

"Never tried that," Seba pushed into his hand, "but it could."

"So how much do I need?" Draco said and went on.

Seba didn't answer. He was writhing under Draco's hand, his eyes closed. A drop of sweat broke loose from his eyebrow and ran down his trembling lid.

"How much do I need?" Draco slowed down.

There was a half-drunken half-annoyed look in the one eye Seba opened. Draco responded with a calm smile, and stopped.

"Let's see." Seba opened his other eye. "What's the proportion of organic material in that," he licked his lips, "super-super-potent potion that you want to make?"

"By weight or by volume?"

"Give me the higher number."

"One fifth." This was probably counterproductive, but Draco could not help leaning in and tasting Seba's nipples.

"Okay. For Shrinking Solution it's, erm, two fifths, erm, roughly. So, for maximum... saturation, it would be, uh, zero point two plus... I can't do calculations, when you're doing that."

Draco stopped.

"Godverdegodver!" Seba swore in his throaty language and gave him an imploring look. Draco pinned his other hand to the tree and couldn't help a self-satisfied smirk.

"Do your best!"

"Urgh! You bastard."

Seba frowned in concentration, and another drop of sweat ran down his temple. There followed a stream of whispered numbers, frustrated groans, and profanities that sounded like pet names.

"For triple Q it's zero point forty-nine by volume in total," he finally breathed out.

He wrestled his arm free, took Draco's hand, and guided it back to where it had been half a minute ago. They fell silent again, not counting Seba's occasional yeahs, ohs and pleases.

"So per cup I would need four point nine, let's say five ounces of plain Q. How many emeralds is that?"

"So... in the metric system... that is... that's... in the met— I can't!"

"In the metric system that's one hundred and forty milliliter," Draco said, and stopped again. He fixed Seba with his gaze, waiting.

Seba cursed, licked his lips, and stared back with a wild look in his eyes.

"That's five buds, rounding up. I can give you a discount, but it's still a fortune." He thrust into Draco's hand, but Draco let go.

"I have a fortune." For a few moments they stared into each other's eyes. Without breaking off eye contact, Draco lowered himself slowly onto his knees. "But I'd need double that amount, for testing purposes." Seba froze in a silent gasp. Draco gave him a tentative lick. "And then I'd need one more for myself, so I actually have the nerve to use the final product."

Draco couldn't say anything for a while, for technical reasons. Seba kept pressing out words with an effort:

"Oh my... urgh... that's... mmhhmmm... eleven buds! Well. Ten... uh... without rounding up. Ah. You're crazy! That's a year's crop!"

"So?" Draco stopped.

"I can't. I have standing clients!"

"Oh, I thought it was all home production for home use."

Seba caressed his ear and pulled him closer. "I'm not asking you about the unjinxer you want to fool."

Indeed. Draco was not ungrateful, and again, with all the tenderness he could give, fell silent.

"Okay... mmmm... I might scrounge up seven for you... maybe?"

Draco stopped, looked up, "Seven?" and continued. He heard Seba's groans above his head, and the answer:

"Okay... maybe... eight."

Draco was about to—

"No, please! Don't stop now, please!" Seba gasped for air. "Okay! Just for you... nine!" He gasped for air one last time. "NINE!"


"Where have you been?" Potter said, when Draco found him in the library.

"Is it your business, Potter?"

"I thought we came here to research your family history." Potter was toying aimlessly with the locket, which lay open on the desk. The reflection of the colourful ceiling in the two silver mirrors was obscured by the black outlines of a drawing compass and a set square.

"You haven't been too productive either."

Potter's bored look was fixed on the Comprehensive Guide to the Night Sky in front of him.

"I'm fed up with French."

Draco opened the wizard genealogy book at the Loubert page again and dug up the magnifying glass from under the pile of dictionaries.

"So, if it was Herman Loubert, who did the magic for the Malfoys, I mean, why?" Potter raised his eyes from the book and stopped mishandling the locket. "And why such secrecy? If everyone had known that he was really Loubert, then there wouldn't have been all that talk of the Malfoys stealing magic. There would have been no scandal at all. Just a nephew going to work with his uncle, big deal!"

"What do I know?" If Potter was fed up with French, Draco was definitely fed up with Potter saying 'big deal' all the time. "Maybe he had a row with his parents? Or was running away from justice? A good reason to make off for England, too."

"But then it's a bit risky to go make magical steel for a Muggle blacksmith, don't you think? That attracts attention, that kind of thing. I'd keep a low profile, if I were him."

"He had to earn his bread with his uncle somehow, I suppose. And then again, justice or no justice, he did attract the attention of just the one right person."

"That's luck."

"That's magic, Potter! Magic!"

Draco slid the magnifying glass back to Equuleus and Cecilia.

"Whatever," Potter gave a resigned sigh. "At least, if Herman had a row with his parents it was not because he fell in love with a Muggle. The Louberts obviously did not make a fuss about that, I'm happy to say, which makes you, dear Draco Loubert Malfoy, a half-blood wizard, like all of us."

"Don't you dare call me half-blood! Herman's father was half-blood! With Herman we're down to a quarter. Then Henry, his son, would be one eighth. That's some thirty generations before me. You did maths at school, you calculate the fraction!" Draco had had enough maths for today. He did not set his quill on fire this time, but almost broke it in his clenched fist.

Half-blood! Cecilia was the only Muggle name in the tree. The rest of the names were so outlandish, no way any of them could have had Muggle ancestry. Well, okay, Norma. Norma was kind of normal, too, but she was a cousin, so she couldn't have been Muggle-born either. To clear away his last doubts, Draco unearthed the Latin dictionary and started looking up the names one by one: Antlia, Equuleus, Follis, Fornax, Malleus, Peniculus...

First he thought there was a mistake and checked the spelling three times to be sure. Then his bewilderment grew to shock. When he was looking up the fourth name, his body began to shake uncontrollably. At the sixth one he gave it up, as his eyes filled with tears and he couldn't see properly any more. He dropped his quill and exploded in wild laughter.

"What is so funny, Malfoy?"

Draco opened his mouth but all he could get out were short bursts of air. Still ignorant about the reason why, Potter started giggling softly too, and even Monsieur Videl was now eyeing them curiously from the first floor gallery.

"Oh no." Draco tried to breathe deeply, but still couldn't stop occasional convulsions. "I always thought I had a ridiculous name." He took another deep breath. "I mean, dragon. Dragon?! But—" He burst out in laughter again.

Potter waited patiently for the continuation.

"But I was lucky, it seems," Draco was just about able to squeeze between two spasms. "You know what Malleus is in Latin?"

"What?"

"A hammer. Imagine calling your son a hammer!" Draco buried his face in his hands, stifling his laughter with his palms. "Or Fornax? What parent," Draco managed to breathe, but his eyes were still tearing, "what parent in god's name would call their daughter a fur—"

"A what?"

"F— f— furnace."

Potter roared along.

"But, Potter, listen, Potter, that's nothing," Draco flipped back to letter A, "You know what our great and very much respected Antlia was?"

Potter tried to say "What?"

"Antlia, feminine, first declension," Draco started for an effect, "A p— p—" Draco could not get it out.

"What?"

"A pump."

Poor girl, Draco wanted to add but couldn't. Potter's crimson face was shaking above the astronomy book, spraying saliva over its pages.

"Equuleus, you know," Draco said, when he could speak again, "Equuleus is not so bad. Equuleus means little horse, or foal. That's— by comparison, that's a dragon!"

Potter's face was still hanging above the astronomy book, but his eyes focused suddenly, and he stopped laughing.

"Did you say Equuleus?" Potter furrowed his eyebrows at the page in front of him. "Wasn't he Equuleus P. or something?"

Draco glanced into the magnifying glass. He was indeed.

"Equuleus Pictoris, the painter's easel, a constellation in the Southern Celestial Hemisphere, right ascension four hours thirty-one minutes forty-eight seconds to six hours fifty-one minutes, declination minus forty-three to minus sixty-four degrees."

Draco moved over to Potter's side and peered into the book.

"Fornax, a constellation of the Southern Celestial Hemi—" Potter turned the page. "Antlia, a conste—"

They continued scanning the list of Southern constellations.

"Circinus."

"A drawing compass."

"What?"

"A compass, Malfoy! A drawing fucking compass!"

The drawing on the left hand side of the page showed an irregular polygon filled with shining dots. Its one angle fitted into another polygon.

"Norma!"

"The name refers to a right angle, and is—" Potter fell into unintelligible whisper, "a rule, a set squ—"

"A set square!" they shouted in unison.

Draco pulled the locket from under the wizard genealogy book and opened it again. A drawing compass and a set square. Norma and Circinus. Herman's parents.

There was no need to say anything. If the locket wasn't made by them or for them, then what was it? If they hadn't known how to work it, then who had?

Harry and Draco sat in silence, throwing glances at each other and at the open locket on the desk between them.

"So they were not just pumps and furnaces. They were stars," Potter said.

"I thought it was a Black thing to name their children after stars," said Draco.

"Oh no, I believe it was the other way around!" Monsieur Videl perched on top of their pile of books. "The Louberts named their children after tools. Wizard artisans of the time had a very different attitude to tools than those now living. They believed that the souls of great witches and wizards that had passed away would inhabit their magic instruments."

Monsieur Videl rose, and started pacing up and down their desk.

"As for the stars, many constellations of the Southern Sky were unknown in Europe until very much later. Equuleus Pictoris, Fornax, Antlia, Circinus and Norma were put on the map and so named by the Muggle astronomer Abbé Nicolas-Louis de Lacaille in the course of his stay in South Africa. That was no sooner than in mid eighteenth century! So no, the Louberts could not have been named after these stars. I rather suspect, the stars were named after the Louberts."

Monsieur Videl stopped and looked down at them.

"This is, of course, a mere speculation. What kind of relation my younger colleague could have had to the great sorcerers of the past remains a mystery."


"Congratulations, Malfoy! Your ancestors rose very high indeed," Potter said, skipping after Draco as they walked back to the guest house.

Draco strode forward peering into the darkness in front of him. He didn't dare to look at the sky, but felt its comforting presence behind his back.

"Maybe there is some way to talk to them?" Potter did not quite fit next to Draco on the narrow path that led up to the Observatory, and kept falling behind. "Didn't Lucius the first say that seers could look into the past?"

Lucius had said so, yes, Draco thought.

"Now that we know where to look, maybe we could—" Potter stumbled. "Maybe we could—"

Maybe, Draco thought. Maybe.