TN_ Chapter 26.
Summer 1994.
(Approaching 18)
In the backroom of Borgin and Burke's, Anne finally felt almost at ease as soon as the cake was cut, and old Mr. Burke delightedly took his first forkful of her present. Giving something different must have worked because the old wizard pleasantly chattered about dark potions and bewitching the mind.
Sophie and Anne looked at each other and attempted to suppress their chuckles.
"Mr. Burke can easily give off Snape vibes without the scowl," – Sophie told her. "Really, Mr. Burke, would you tell Annie when Professor Snape used to work here a summer? I'm sure she would love that tale!"
"I understood you have already shared my story," – Mr. Burke replied. "It was back in seventy-six or seventy-seven… after his impressive OWL results had arrived, he'd appeared on my doorstep. I recall that Malfoy kid had pulled him along, but it obviously must have been his idea to seek me out. He'd only acted shy."
The girls erupted in giggles, imagining a shy Professor Snape, but Mr. Burke didn't relent.
"Oh, he is shy indeed. Even if his reputation nowadays suggests otherwise, as I hear, it's doubtful he has truly changed over the years. But who wouldn't look awkward next to a boy like Lucius had been? All shine and glory, dressed like a pimp, and the fellow he brought with was in torn jeans fixed with clasp pins and some epigraphic shirt. Those times, a lot wore pictures on their person advertising their music groups… - what do you call those?"
Sophie only thought for a moment. "A band tee?" – she tried.
"That'll be it! The second-hand robe he added misled no one. But his mind was keen. Disturbingly so. And had a great sense of humour after he loosened up in a few days. A shame he couldn't stick around, but family matters called him away, and I rarely saw him for a year or two…" – he became preoccupied with some gloomy thoughts and fell silent, then looked up at the girls with renewed attention, as if he'd just noticed their presence again. "He leads Slytherin well, wouldn't you say?"
The girls' eyes met, and Anne knew they both remembered Eleonore Fawley's words about the matter. She also was reminded of what her Aunt had told her.
"I think he does, sir," – she answered for both of them. "But not everyone would share this opinion."
"You're also prejudiced because he likes you," – Sophie teased.
"Yeah, likes to put me in my place," – Anne grinned. "I didn't mean that. There is some ugly gossip about his past in the Ministry I heard from my brothers, and not all the old clans are happy with his station. But I also heard there used to be outrageous pranks and duels on the corridors at Hogwarts, which ceased now mostly because he wouldn't allow them."
"He doesn't care for rule breakers, for sure," – Sophie agreed.
"Isn't it ironic?" – Mr. Borgin, who'd just returned from the store, now looked at Mr. Burke with an amused glint in his tired eyes.
"Why would that be ironic?" – Sophie turned to him, but her uncle only shrugged.
"I only know that his wishes had little weight when the staff discussed the upcoming Tournament at Hogwarts," – Anne said, hoping to wiggle some more stories out of the old wizards if she offered what they'd wished to hear.
"Ah, the Triwizard Tournament!" – Mr. Borgin reminded Mr. Burke. "The news about it is a little sparse but intriguing. Very intriguing," – he nodded to himself, and Mr. Burke also seemed curious.
"It might only be sparse because not much is settled yet," Anne said, using her rare moment of being well-informed. "Whatever Hogwarts comes up with, the other two schools must accept. The Ministry wishes to supervise every interaction, but I heard it was originally an idea conceived in the Wizengamot. I tried to ask around since Eleonore Fawley wanted to hear us out," – she looked over at Sophie to explain.
"Why would you say that the Slytherin Head's word didn't have much sway about the Tournament?" – Mr Borgin led her back to her first words.
"Because he voted against the whole thing, just like Madame Pomfrey. At the beginning of the summer, there was a staff meeting at Hogwarts. Some abstained, but most of our teachers supported Dumbledore's plans. Eleonore Fawley believes it is his way to counteract the Ministry's good rapport in the papers about hosting the World Cup."
"That witch always had a sense for politics," – Mr Burke nodded. "The Wizengamot or the Ministry is the same for someone like Dumbledore, but he has no hand in sports events. At least not up to date."
"Which would help the Minister and all those who support him," – Mr Borgin weaved the words. "A strong Fudge is in no one's interest."
"Some also say he wouldn't be strong or independent even if he wasn't that close to the Headmaster," – Anne added what she'd heard in the St. Mungo's.
"And what are those some saying? Why is that?" – Mr. Burke pushed her on.
"Because…because of the Malfoys," – she dared to recite it softly. She knew why she exposed herself. She hoped to make new friends and perhaps to hear more that would help her, but receiving so much attention was disconcerting. "We heard last year that they weren't friendly with the Fawleys, but in the Wizengamot a lot also abhor the thought of pushing the Minister into Dumbledore's clutches."
She looked at Sophie, and her voice weakened even more: "I had the impression that was why Milan Patel should have taken up that job at the Ministry. They would have tried to play him like my brother because Phil Goosey has no relations in the Wizengamot."
Sophie's eyes rounded out with fright. "Annie!" – she gasped. "You cannot mean…" When her uncle looked at her questioningly, she composed herself and told the story of Miranda's elopement. "I've just realised that if they learned about our part, we would become enemies! It's not about love, but politics! We stood in their way!"
Anne sombrely nodded, and Mr. Burke tutted.
"No harm, no foul, my dear, there's no reason such a thing would ever see daylight if your bad conscience doesn't betray you. And why would you have one? However, it seems that reviving the Tournament will be interesting," he said, peeking at Mr. Borgin.
"Interesting," – Mr. Borgin repeated. "I preferred when the Ministry attempted to intimidate the old families. That was good for business. Albeit, if Durmstrang competed, we might have made some deals eventually."
"But they will," – Anne answered him. "Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, or so I've heard."
The two old wizards seemed delighted about the news but also surprised.
"Dumbledore allows the Headmaster of Durmstrang on school grounds in Britain?" – Mr Burke tried to make sure he understood her right, and when Anne didn't relent, he leaned back in his chair and sank into contemplation.
"Why is that such big news?" – Sophie asked her uncle.
"Because he's been tried and found guilty after the last war. He only escaped bargaining for a deal." He looked at Anne and shook his head slightly. "I'm no longer surprised if Slytherin doesn't support the Headmaster with this one. Igor Karkaroff put up its Head's name to avoid prison. I've never known the Snape boy to have a short memory, it's not in his character. Things will get fascinating indeed, and very soon."
Anne didn't gasp, but her mouth fell open while she processed that all the gossip about Snape running with the wrong crowd had been confirmed. Of course, with her family name's reputation, she wasn't in the position to declare that crowd wrong in front of someone like Mr Borgin or Mr Burke! How could she ask them about Caleb's latest gossip? Was Snape truly a Death Eater, or was he Dumbledore's spy? Also, her father had pushed her to make friends with that Karkaroff, which would lead her back to her worst childhood memories! Her cheeks felt cold, and she only hoped she didn't become a spectacle in her fright.
"Miss Annabella, may I inquire after my friends' kin?" – Mr. Burke jolted her out of her dark thoughts. "Your grandfather was a precious good friend of mine. I was saddened to hear about the fates of two of his sons. But your father seems to do well for himself. Please convey my belated felicitations for his rising in the Wizengamot!"
Well, that discussion would be awkward, Anne thought, but she tried to smile. "Thank you, sir, I will. Did you also know my grandmother?"
"Cursorily," – Mr. Burke smiled. "I greatly respected her for putting up with her husband's follies. Felix was passionate about intricate magic, you see, it was something we had shared. I have no notion about anything more intricate or mind-boggling than a well-constructed, layered curse. He was a master of those and spent many an hour in these rooms, figuring out the secrets of The Art. I treasure the memory of our companionship."
Now, lured into a different mood, Anne looked around the room fondly as if she could catch a glimpse of her grandfather working there with Mr Burke, who must have been very old even then. Their past friendship must linger somewhere around her still… she smiled at the thought.
"He also had a daughter, I understand."
"Yes, Mr. Burke, my Aunt Duvessa."
"Married a Travers, is she?" – Mr Borgin tried to connect the lines.
"Yes, sir, although now widowed."
"Oh, yes, the war," – Mr Borgin sighed without giving any vibe of sorrow in magic. At least Anne didn't feel the need to put up a façade. She had itches from that part of her family.
"Luis, we heard about her recently, didn't we?" – Mr Burke verbally nudged Borgin, re-enforcing his words with a subtle nod.
"True! I almost forgot! One of your Aunt's relatives by marriage just visited recently, Miss Annabella," – Mr Borgin turned to her. "The Travers rarely spend as much as she sacrificed for her poison and also purchased a witty little robe. Whomever she is about to gift it to will receive a bemusing surprise."
Anne stared at him, gobsmacked. Was this man trying to warn her? Her thoughts ran along all she'd known about Duvessa, and there was only one female relative on the Travers line she could think about.
"Dorothea Travers?" – the name gushed forth of her. She didn't even mind if she betrayed her surprise. "I only heard she is very fond of her brothers. Who could she dislike so much?"
"That's a mystery," – Mr. Burk said with a nonchalant smile. "Although I heard, she seemed agitated…. Well, I believe we all have our hardships once and again, and her place is peculiar if the Wizengamot opposes the Ministry, wouldn't you think so?"
"Her place?" – Anne asked back, trying vainly to conceal her ignorance.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Burke surely means she was born a Wilkes. And as we know, that family is one of the Malfoys' oldest supporters," – Mr Borgin explained readily, giving Anne reason to think very hard.
Wilkes. She'd heard that name from Filch in his kitchenette! Hadn't he taken her there to prevent eavesdropping? It had happened when she'd mentioned she'd heard a name – Scabior – when Caleb had gotten cursed within an inch of his life! Scabiors were the Wilkes' henchmen. The Wilkes worked for the Malfoys. The Malfoys paid the Minister, and her father said the Macmillans worked with the Rosiers and the Travers in the Wizengamot. But what if there was a Travers who was also a Wilkes?
Anne's hand thoughtlessly touched her handbag, and the two pieces of parchment rustled in it. Duvessa had tried to reach Caleb. He might be in danger! She regretted she hadn't replied to either of her letters before coming to see Sophie!
"Oh, gods," – she breathed, then, trying to gather herself, she tapped into magic. Mr. Burke seemed satisfied with her reaction, and Mr. Borgin's curiosity fluttered around her. She sensed no ill will from either of them and was grateful for Sophie, who carried on the conversation in her stead, asking her uncle about the Wilkes.
"It has been very nice meeting you, young ladies, but I'm beginning to feel my age. Would you graciously excuse me if I retired?" – Mr Burke eventually asked; Anne also suspected, for her sake, not missing the moment when her attention wandered to her handbag.
Of course, the young ladies didn't mind anything at all and were only too pleased to have spent the afternoon chatting. Before Mr Burke could leave them, leaning heavily on his walking stick, and the company could break up, Mr Borgin asked Anne to entertain them again someday with tidbits about the upcoming event at Hogwarts.
"Your tale piqued my curiosity, Miss Annabella," – he smiled. "I cannot fathom who they could get from the Ministry to supervise such an outstanding affair under such circumstances. They should probably best ask an acrobat."
"As far as I have heard, it will be a Mr. Crouch, sir. By all reports, I expect his character to be very unique," – she added, thinking about Professor Sprout's and Hagrid's weariness.
"Crouch, you say?" – Mr. Burke turned back from the door. "Bartemius Crouch? That gangster?"
Now both girls' mouths fell open, never hearing such invective from the old wizard. "That's what I have heard," – Anne said, almost defensively.
"What is the problem with him?" – Sophie asked.
"That good-for-nothing power-hungry square toes has already run his circus in the Ministry. He gave power for the Aurors to use Unforgivables without supervision, forcing legislation against half of the magical community and anything his lackeys momentarily deemed dark," – Mr Burke enumerated with rare enthusiasm. "I thought he wouldn't gain control again after he got his what for."
"Perhaps it has been too long ago. People tend to forget, others forgive," – Mr Borgin was calmer, but Anne could also sense he resented the man. "But we shouldn't spoil the day like this. Let me escort you out, Miss Annabella, and Sophia may have the rest of her afternoon for her own joys."
"Thank you, Uncle Luis!" – Sophie grinned, and Anne already knew she was about to invite her to Fortescue's as soon as they stepped out on the cobblestones of Knockturn. She also suspected that the two wizards had something serious to discuss after she had freely given them information. She tried to endear herself to them, but she would have never thought that mentioning Crouch's name alone would have done the trick. Also, the reciprocation was something she wouldn't have expected so timely.
She'd not been this anxious since Caleb had left the hospital. The two ominous parchments rustled in her handbag, and, sure as the Hogwarts train approached, Sophie begged her to have some fun at Fortescue's. Not knowing better, Anne ambled towards Diagon Alley, trying to figure out how to contact her brother while her friend chatted about the successful afternoon.
"Would you mind if we stepped into the Post Office? I should send out an owl," – she finally decided and quickly scribbled down a line for Caleb on the parchment she'd received from Duvessa and sent it off by a smaller owl.
Now, she was ready to have their usual frozen violet liqueur with Sophie while waiting for her brother and could even enjoy a bit of her chatter about Miranda's long-awaited owl.
"So, they are settled," – Sophie summed it up, talking about the Patels. "Goddess, I wish I could visit or see what Miranda has done to that place! Judging by her letter, I imagine it's a little shabby, but she used the word cosy… anyway, at least her second cousin didn't betray them and even seemed quite – Annie, are you still here, witch?"
"Yeah, sorry, it's just…" – Anne's attention returned to the busy street below them, but she couldn't see the familiar hay-coloured head anymore. "I think my brother just arrived."
The sudden flush of excitement from Sophie washed over her like fluttering butterfly wings. She looked over to see her friend's reddened cheeks but had no time to question her because Caleb then stepped out onto the upper terrace, approaching them with a grin.
"Look at you girls," - he opened his arms and, to Anne's befuddlement, leaned down to kiss her cheek. It all only made sense when he also kissed Sophie then, a bit awkwardly but with great enthusiasm. "Are we drinking?" – Caleb asked when he saw the carved liqueur glasses. "It looks like it's my round already," – he cheerfully determined and returned to the inside for their refill.
"My goodness, is he always like this?" – Sophie whispered to Anne between giggles.
Anne glanced up at her with suspicions and mild confusion. "D'you mean if he's a drunkard?"
"Is he?" – Sophie gasped.
She had no heart to lie to her, even if that would have made the early evening all the more entertaining. "I wish," – she thought about the gambling. "But no, he's only acting up to please us."
"Well, he's not failing," – Sophie mumbled, watching the young wizard balancing a small tray of violet liqueurs and something resembling ale towards them.
He had the patience to play nice through the toast and sat way too close to Sophie, in Anne's opinion, making the girl chuckle at the smallest prompting. But then Anne felt her brother's gaze turning severe, and she knew their trio's carefree moments had ended. This should have been their lives, but it wasn't.
"I hate to rush you, but Gavin is waiting for us," – Caleb finally mentioned. "It's a shame to cut this short, though…. Sophia, do you think we could someday make up for this lost evening?" He didn't pay any mind to his sister's stare.
"I would like that," – Sophie managed to say with poise. Only Anne could sense her greedy excitement around them. "Why don't you visit my uncle's shop so we can arrange the details?"
Caleb promised he would and was even ready to escort her back to Knockturn, acting as if his sister's presence wasn't the least awkward. It also was inevitable. After they said farewell to Sophie in eyesight of Borgin and Burke's, he led Anne through darkened passages to the back of Everard's and Apparated her up to the second floor not to disturb the old wizard's evening. Gavin must have been on pins and needles, judging by his relief when he finally saw them arrive.
"What the hell took you so long?" – he said to his siblings, thoughtlessly hugged her sister, and returned Caleb's scowl with his own.
"Relax, little goblin, the treasure is untouched," – Caleb gestured toward Anne. "I doubt she even knows the drill, do you, A-bee?"
"If you mean aside from Duvessa acting up around here, no. I sent you her letter," – she replied, sitting down.
"Yeah, very helpful," – Gavin grumbled. "Have you replied to her owl?"
"And what was I supposed to say?" – Anne spat, irked by his bad mood. "You don't even know half of what I've learned from Mr. Burke!"
"What does he have to do with all this?"
"Well, his shop happened to sell good ol' Totty Travers some poison and a cursed robe while the dear thing kept bitching about our aunt, it appears." Her reply to Gavin would have been kinder if she wasn't this miffed by his impatience. Deep down, she knew she should have understood his agitation, especially sensing his worries for her safety, but the room's general vibe of agitation didn't help her brother's cause.
Caleb stepped in before it got ugly: "Play nice, you two. We have enough on our plate already. A-bee, you missed the point: Aunt Dear has been here. Up here, I mean, in this flat until Everard managed to curse her out. I arrived home shortly after she finally left and alerted Gavin. Everard said she was demented with hysteria and tried to force him to let her stay.
And you, plum head" – he turned to Gavin – "you're missing an entire book being so preoccupied with your happy little life. A-bee's quite good with finding out things. You should give her some credit."
"Whatever do you mean?" Gavin stared at his sister confusedly, but Anne tried to give him a reassuring smile instead of enlightening him about her strange ways. It would have taken too long, and she had yet to get to her duties at St. Mungo's.
"He means I'm friends with Borgin's niece. Actually, I'm just coming from them and heard that Totty Travers did some thorough shopping. I would bet serious galleons that Duvessa somehow got wind of it or even received that cursed robe or the poison. She wrote that it concerns us all, and I cannot think about anything else but what old Mr. Burke had told me."
"What was that?" – Caleb prompted her.
"That Totty Travers had once been a Wilkes!"
When neither of her brothers moved or said a word of surprise, she rolled her eyes and explained:
"Father told Caleb last year that he was supposed to help his Wizengamot things along from the Ministry. What did you think that meant? Lucius Malfoy, the Wilkes, that Scabior, who'd cursed you, and I have no idea who else, all belong there, trying to sway the Minister to one direction. Father, with the Travers and the Macmillans, would have needed Caleb to know the details about their moves. Phil cannot help them, and Milan refused to take the job."
"But why would the Wizengamot spy against the Ministry lobbyists?" – Gavin looked dumbfounded.
"Must be because of Dumbledore," – Caleb risked a guess. "The man has a stake in both fires, and the old families try to counteract."
Anne nodded with satisfaction. "Exactly. Now we have a Travers, one of whom our father had betrayed Haemophilus Macmillan's trust for, who is also a Wilkes. She surely acts like a Wilkes, too, if she went after our aunt, who might have married a Travers but was born a Rosier, like any of us!"
"Gods, I'm really not into this family thing. I thought we'd decided to skip that!" – Gavin sighed. "Why should we care if they cross each other? If you didn't drag Aunt into this shite, we wouldn't even know about it all! And no one would break into Caleb's flat."
"Have you forgotten that they cursed me?" – Caleb lost his patience. "You might believe you're happier in ignorance, but I'm not into returning to the hospital or worse!"
"That was only because you couldn't keep your pants up! If you'd just avoided that blasted witch, we wouldn't–" Anne jumped between her brothers to stop Caleb from punching Gavin. They looked at her surprised because Caleb had yet to move a finger, but after a second, he backed off with a smirk anyway.
"Don't underestimate a swot," – he reminded Gavin and maybe himself. "I messed up. That's old news. But if A-bee's right about Phil and me, then something like that would have happened anyway. I hated to play along."
When they all calmed, Anne tried to be pragmatic. "Let's theorise that Duvessa received some nasty gift from Totty. Why would she come here in the first place?"
Gavin looked at his siblings contritely. "She didn't. She went straight to Father."
"What?"
"The Beast Department needed some old records, and I spent yesterday in the Wizengamot archives. I managed to avoid seeing the old man, but then there was Aunt in the Atrium, and I hid behind a pillar. She demanded to be let in to see Father and was denied. She tried to curse the guard and was escorted out."
"You should have told us," – Caleb told him.
"Yeah, well, you two seem into this, but I'm happier to forget I even know them. Anyway, I've just told you, haven't I?"
"So she found out that Totty wanted to kill her and went to Father to warn him," – Anne continued. "I guess it makes sense. If the Travers are not to be trusted, his position might be in danger. And Hemo Macmillan would have a ball."
"I still don't see how this concerns us," – Gavin shook his head and folded his arms close before his chest.
"It does, and we should find out how before it bites us in the arse," – Caleb deemed.
"Why don't we ask her?" – Anne broached up after moments of silence. "She demanded. I replied to her owl. I can be a dutiful niece."
Gavin didn't like the idea, but Caleb agreed. "We have no other source unless we make someone speak. But that would have a price, and I–"
"You have an owl around here?" Anne already sat to construct a careful short note for Duvessa while her brother went to find an owl.
Gavin only watched them, closed into his own thoughts and dire premonitions. "You know, I really hope this won't endanger the Smiths by any means," – he only told them after the bird flew out the window.
"Nah, we wouldn't mention them to anyone," – Caleb shrugged. "Maybe we shouldn't Apparate around them, though."
They agreed and waited, discussing the whole issue over and over again, and this time thinking about Rachel and the Smiths, too. At the moment, all seemed peaceful around the Muggles, and Gavin slowly thawed.
When the owl finally returned, Caleb hurried to the window, but the parchment was the same they had sent out.
"It wasn't even delivered!" – Anne whispered with the most ominous suspicions. "Why did it return?!" – she demanded from Caleb, way too close to losing her better mind about it, but he couldn't say anything calming.
"She's been adamant to find and talk to us… if she didn't… if she didn't get this," – he held the letter, "if she didn't reply… she must be held back. Or Totty has succeeded."
"Don't say that!" – Anne shrieked. She'd never liked her Aunt, but to learn about her death in such a way was too much! Could they have stopped this? Should she have written sooner?
"It's not your fault, A-bee," – Caleb stepped closer, figuring out what ailed her, but Anne could sense he was also jarred.
There wasn't anything else to do or discuss, and her St. Mungo's shift had begun hours ago. The three siblings watched each other's faces in the darkened room, which felt like a graveyard in the eerie silence, and although none of them ever liked Duvessa Travers, grief slowly crept upon them all.
Eventually, Gavin stood to leave, not wishing to worry the Smiths, and Anne departed with him. She turned back time close to the St. Mungo's and went through the motions of taking up her shift.
Poisons Ward.
She liked that part the most but now couldn't feel excitement even when sent to the Alchemy Room. The night tickled away, and she sorely missed her rest but couldn't have slept if she tried. Sometimes before dawn, it occurred to her how Lucius Malfoy must have been disappointed when Lucinda proved inefficient in getting him his wish.
People believed Duvessa had been Lucinda's murderer, and now the whole case would be forgotten. But she knew it hadn't been her aunt, and Duvessa believed Sloan and Totty Travers to be guilty. Also, those who attacked Caleb were Scabior and Wilkes. At least, she thought so. If that was right, the attack came from either Totty or Malfoy. Who could it be? And why?
She returned to Rachel in the morning, carefully Apparating to a nearby park, where she turned back time. She tiptoed into the small flat, but her aunt still called her name. So her meagre five hours of sleep was shortened when she sat with her in the night, explaining herself.
"I'm sorry, Rachel, Sophie is a good friend, and we met with Caleb. I think he might have a thing for her. We began to talk, and I just… didn't watch the time."
Rachel liked hearing about her "behaving normal" "to her age" and was pleased she had been with her brothers. Another stab of bad conscience and only meditation could calm her enough to sleep.
After three and a half hours, she found herself walking up to Hogwarts under the already hot rays of the July sun, bone-tired and gloomy about Duvessa's fate. However, Professor Sprout was in an excellent mood because her Gillyweed finally bloomed in the sappy Greenhouse Seven, giving hope to increase it after years of failure.
Anne stared at the tiny leave-coloured petals and silently debated whether she was falling ill or one could get nausea by sheer exhaustion? Her schedule wasn't worth a Knut's half if she couldn't stick to it. After two more hours of torture under the way too-bright summer sun, she stole to the castle, made herself invisible, and hurried up to her tower for a long nap.
The day had turned well into the afternoon when she woke without effort, dizzying dreams still lingering in her head. One suggested that Duvessa had turned into a cute green frog and taken up residence in the Black Lake. Flora Carrow collected her and took her to their dorm so all her days from September would be watched. The other tried to convince her that Snape was on school grounds and quite put out with her carelessness. She just couldn't remember for what.
After her nightshift at the St. Mungo's, where she finally proved her worth to Sheambaum's Apprentice by quickly making even slices of the previously messed up Armadillo bile, she spent her morning with Rachel. No matter how hard she'd tried to keep her calm, her aunt noticed her anxiety. No amount of meditation could rid her of that. Maybe lobotomy or a whole brain transplant would have done the trick, and –
Anne stopped cleaning up the kitchen counter and excused herself quickly. She didn't waste time with the underground, only walked far enough not to call attention, and Apparated within two corners from the Smiths.
She had doubts about her conduct, but this method had worked before. She wanted to stop thinking about Duvessa and whatever she and her brothers were supposed to know but had no idea how to do it. She needed to calm down before she made a mess of everything!
She rang the bell on the third floor and was a little taken aback when Steven White opened the door for her.
"Hi," – Anne began hesitantly. "I was hoping to find your brother at home."
"Hey, Dan!" – the boy turned back on the doorstep. "Danny!"
"What?"
"You've got delivery," – Steven winked at Anne, put on his shoes, and pocketed his purse from the dresser. Anne looked after him, but he was nowhere in sight by the time his brother showed up with messed-up hair and a thick book he held half-open so as not to lose the page.
"Wow, hi," – Dan visibly had been in other realms. "Another cake?"
Anne smiled in her embarrassment. "Erm… not this time. May I come in?"
Dan looked her over, then looked at his book before he closed it. "Sure!"
For the rest of the week, Anne alternated between her duties at St. Mungo's, weeding and manuring at Hogwarts, and not thinking in Dan's bedroom. She had enough work to do for the boy to advance in his summer reading, but she also spent sufficient time with him to learn what his books were about. Dan White had no lesser goal than to finish the next semester at the top of his year in Leeds, where he attempted to become an engineer.
"There's this guy. Some say he's better, but I'll show him," – he explained to Anne. "We made a bet with my dorm mates, and I'll be damned if I lose."
"You bet on being the best?" – Anne laughed. And people dared to call her a swot! "And how much will they lose when you win?"
Dan laughingly bit into her uncovered backside, thoroughly enjoying her phrasing. "A beer," – he told her when Anne's curiosity didn't relent.
She looked around. The room was full of books, notes, enormous sheets of paper, half-chewed pencils, and a bunch of rulers.
"All this for a beer?"
"A well-deserved beer," – Dan grinned. "What did you expect?"
She only shook her head and, for the first time, believed she could thoroughly like this guy if she gave more mind to their time together. Dan used the pause to get above her and kissed into her neck. "What?"
"I think you're cool," – Anne told him with all seriousness.
"Oh, no, babe, I can prove you wrong!" He chided and kissed her as if his life depended on it. "Still not hot?" – He asked then, but Anne's reply got swallowed into their next kiss.
The week with the morning shifts gave back Anne's control over her schedule, and she used the additional energy to perform better at her Hogwarts training and to develop a persona for Effie she could use at St. Mungo's now that Sheambaum seemed to appreciate her efforts in the Poison ward. It was high time for both because Dumbledore appeared twice at the premises. Both times, Anne only saw him from a distance, walking through the massive oak doors into the castle, but it was enough for a warning. She needed to take her Occlumency more seriously.
Meditating more meant seeing Dan less, but the boy didn't mind. He was preoccupied enough. It also meant that her mind made some new links between her applied knowledge and whatever she'd thought she'd learned at school. Things began to fall into their places at the A-Room, and Apprentice Wiggins' accolades spurred her self-confidence. She could also take better care of herself among the various patients she observed. No need for another hag. The memory was still freaking her out.
Kelly Smith showed up on Thursday at Rachel's, and while having a pleasant afternoon chat, she also mentioned some friends who went to the beach for the weekend. With Rachel's help, she convinced Anne to join them, and it wasn't as hard to fit in as she'd remembered from her younger years. Aida made salads and roast lamb when they returned, and Anne noted that the conversation hadn't changed over the one and a half days they'd been missing.
"You're only speaking so because you're yet to see them!" – George Smith confidently told her. Of course, it was about Manchester United. It always was about them.
Anne couldn't escape rolling her eyes. All wizards were mad about Quidditch, and all Muggles were about football. She could just push their crazed lot together and talk to the rest, but no! Frank, the assistant wiz-nurse whom she began to rely upon for company in the wee hours, couldn't stop reciting whatever the Prophet had written about the World Cup. Frankly, she got bored of reading the Muggle Sports Page only to understand whatever her brothers usually babbled with the Whites.
When she told George this, he tried not to take offence. "I know what you need, Anne, and it will serve Kelly well, too."
"Oh, no," – Aida chimed in. "You don't mean it, George; at least let them have a choice!"
"No, I have decided," – George Smith straightened his un-spectacular shoulders above the lamb. "The girls will come with me on Wednesday."
Kelly moaned, and Aida sighed, so Anne had to be the one to ask:
"What is on Wednesday?"
"Charity match," – George proudly told her. "We are going out against Dundalk, and you both will come and see it. You cannot avoid liking the team if you just see them playing once. Make a note, girls, you're coming," – he repeated when they only stared.
So it happened that Effie Brown took her first two days' leave from St. Mungo's to the greatest glee of Ulfhild. She knew she would need to construct a sufficient tale to share with the witch when she returned on Friday, but there was no chance, even with a Time-Turner, to comply with George Smith and also take her shifts. She wondered what her friends at Hogwarts would have said about the trip. She only excused herself to Professor Sprout with a short note she sent with an office owl from Diagon Alley.
She slept at the Smiths because George insisted they should depart before daybreak. The first few hours in the car were silent because both girls tried to catch up on their interrupted dreams. Gavin did his best to stay awake for George's sake, but he was so joyous that Anne doubted he had any need for his efforts.
She and Kelly both sufficiently woke up by Birmingham, and with a pee break, they also gathered tons of snacks and crisps. The radio was on, and George couldn't stop the anecdotes about old matches and friends until Anne was almost curious to know about this craze. Kelly merely added her observations, making all of them laugh. So the time slipped by until they reached and left Liverpool.
From then on, George pointed out a car here and there, which, in his opinion, must have shared their destination.
"Look at them, look! See? Was that a red scarf? I couldn't make sure. Gavin, turn a little over! The other side! …Oh, bother, these roads are the worst at this time! You cannot even take a glance away! Wait… there's another! I swear, they are heading to the Ferry, too! Gavin, have you seen that? Kelly, I'm sure you had. They are heading to the Ferry. You'll see, kids! You'll see… It will be loaded with us. Loaded to the brim! I'm not kidding you!"
Anne wasn't sure whether the Ferry carried that car or just a bunch of others, but surely, George wasn't the only fan heading to Dublin from Holyhead that day. George Smith sat by her and played the "You have to watch Cantona to believe it!" – record on an endless loop. After the second repetition, her mind detached from his enthusiasm and wandered off to watch the sea. Its waves endlessly rolled around them, greys and blues with a hint of green… slightly intimidating but hypnotising like Snape's mind's protection as she'd seen it in her second year.
She shook herself, mildly embarrassed by the thought. She must be only lacking experience. A trip with a ferry wasn't the typical 'cutting the waves' experience, but this was the first time she was actually out on the sea. That must be all. She shook her head and tried to laugh it away.
From Dublin to Dundalk, the route seemed short after eight hours in the car, and George showed no signs of fatigue. On the contrary, the closer they got to Dundalk, the more ready he seemed to sing! Anne was astonished, Kelly embarrassed, and Gavin snickered so hard that George asked him to change seats with his daughter.
George parked the car within walking distance of Oriel Park, had a good stretch, and was ready to take on the world. Which began by obtaining some white and yellow cards, passes as Anne had to learn, and donating to the children's hospital nearby, which also seemed to heighten George's spirits. Kelly explained then what a charity match meant in the first place, and the wizarding kids had to give a point for that to the Muggles.
"Not only pollution and nuclear fission," – Gavin whispered to Anne, and she had to nod at the usual things the wizarding world was weary of their neighbours.
"Yeah, also songs and chants," – she giggled to make her brother less solemn. They had to watch not to fall behind with all the sellers around the gates. Anne had the impression she could have bought anything anyone could dream up, but George marched ahead, and soon they saw the stands were packed, especially on the home side. All ages, men and women, boys and girls, were shouting their well wishes already; still, when the teams appeared, there were enough to cheer for the Reds, too.
George talked to them about Dundalk's traditional lily-white, and Anne amended the shields about her mind against the assault of all the unchecked emotions around her. Remembering her usual avoidance of crowds, she was surprised she could still breathe, but then she recognised that this crowd was different. The emotions had direction, but she wasn't standing in their way.
The sheer energy people let free to roam around themselves and the players, could have worked a town for a week, and all that only washed over her without any attempt to connect. As if it had no intention.
The first goal came from Dundalk, for their home's greatest joy, although Anne was surprised they could score against a team she'd only heard superlatives about. These people could shoot that ball so high and far away, Anne gasped and squeaked, and soon the second goal came from the whites, destroying her preconceptions about being dragged along to just witness Man United win another game. She realised this was not the case, and she stared at George, who kept repeating that it wasn't yet over.
Only by imagining the poor man's devastation if his favourites couldn't make it, something rose in Anne. For the first time in her life, she was anxious to see somebody win, if only for George Smith's sake. They had to gather their wits and just get that ball back to the other gate!
She only realised she was shouting when George turned to her with a grin. But the surprise couldn't linger; Cantona got the ball and somehow sent it along to Giggs, who was so close to the gate, Anne's breath caught, then finally Kanchelskis passed to Hughes, who slid on his butt after the ball, which rolled seamlessly into the right corner of the net. What sounded like a scream was only her breath, finally leaving her lungs to make space for some fresh oxygen! It didn't really matter because everyone was screaming the same. Hughes, Griggs, and Ince scored three more goals in the second half just to explain to Kelly what made her father so euphoric about his team, and then the celebration started.
Anne tried Muggle beer, which was more bitter than anything she'd tasted in the wizarding world. Kelly explained it would only feel bitter if she attempted to swallow it in delicate little sips.
"You gulp this, see," – she took a long swig and smiled at her. "Your turn!"
Anne took a long swig, and the same liquid actually tasted better. She finally could appreciate the bubbles and the chilliness. The dinner George planned for them couldn't come soon enough, and they all fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the rented pillows at a bed and breakfast on the way to Dublin. No one turned time anywhere or tried to change the world. There was no need to think of that; the world seemed to be beautiful that evening.
The way home was louder. This time, all of them were taking part in George's fun, telling stories they all knew the same and spotting cars that must have come from the same direction they'd been to. The only thing Anne didn't like to remember from that day was arriving home to receive Caleb's alarming owl within the hour.
A-bee,
I have a guest I need to introduce to you. Leave Gavin out, and hurry! Nothing is more important.
C.
Just like when they'd been at Fortescue's with Sophie, this lovely life was not hers to live. Excusing herself, Anne obediently walked two corners before she found a niche to Apparate from and was almost knocked off her feet with fright when appearing in Caleb's rooms, an unknown woman's scream hit her.
The shrill voice was only part of the problem. The sudden assault of dread and fatigue that lingered in the air was even worse.
"Shut up already!" – Caleb's unpleasant voice ended part of the offence, and Anne looked around.
The witch, who sat by the table, didn't look much older than her brothers. Her robe was creased, and the braids in her hair were coming loose, giving her a hunted air as much as her wide open and restless eyes.
"Thanks, A-bee," – Caleb sighed. "This stupid bint is Drusilla, our cousin. And if you know anything less than a silencing charm to tone her down, I would again be in your debt."
A quick glance at Caleb showed that the fatigue Anne sensed must belong to him. The dread was obviously rippling off their cousin, though, and she was taken by it enough to hurry to her side and offer some comfort. The pupils of those terrified pale blue eyes were but small dots, and Drusilla's skin coloured into different shades of green and purple in circles around them.
"When was the last time you had a rest?" – the question bubbled up from Anne without thinking as she'd taken the girl's hands.
Sensing a tiny speck of hope, she intuitively stepped through those disturbed eyes, instantly feeling as if she stood on the edge of a cliff, and all kinds of bothersome images flew in circles around her. One showed a street corner and the certainty of a dark figure behind it; another showed a dissected room, broken lamps and mirrors, and something dark on a curtain that could be blood; one was about a letter, then another… eventually, a bunch of letters appeared. They were held together by a pale green ribbon, attached to them the memory of Duvessa's ire. It called up feelings like worry, devastation, and love. Anne grabbed after the last one, and Duvessa's face appeared, this time clearly, and her voice rang around her: I trust you.
Anne pulled her attention back from Drusilla's head and repeated her question. Her cousin finally seemed to have registered the words.
"I- don't remember. I needed to find you."
"Well, you didn't make it easy, but I called her here," – Caleb roughly said.
"He… he was looking for me," – the girl explained to Anne. "I thought he was one of them, I hid, but then…"
"But then your sobs betrayed you," – Caleb took up the word. "A-bee, she cannot be trusted to stay quiet when she hides. She has no sense to distinguish a friend from an enemy, and I have doubts if she wouldn't lure here whoever is after her," – he complained.
"Who is after you?" – Anne asked in a gentler tone. "Is it Totty? Or some of the Wilkes? Have you seen who killed your mother?"
Drusilla's gasp was shrill, like a scream. "She's not dead!"
Anne looked at her brother, and he stepped closer. "By the way your house looked, I thought she'd duelled someone," – he told his cousin.
"You've been to them?" – Anne asked with alarm.
"Sure, we agreed there was something we should have understood, but we couldn't. After work, I've been searching for something to explain those letters, but she was all I could find."
"The letters are hidden!" – Drusilla put in with urgency. "You wouldn't find them! No one will!"
Anne and Caleb stared at each other. Their cousin couldn't mean the owls or the last message that had returned? Then it dawned on Anne.
"Are you talking about the letters Lucinda exchanged with Uncle Evan? Are those what you're talking about?"
"Yes," – the girl nodded with certainty. "You will never find them. No one will." It seemed to give her peace of mind, so Anne let it be for the moment.
"Why did your mother want you to seek me out?"
"I had to give you a message."
Anne waited, but when nothing followed, she peeked at Caleb again. He shook his head and shrugged.
"Well, here I am. What is the message?"
Her cousin stared at her blankly, reminding Anne of her last news about her. She had struggled to scrape some NEWTs, and Snape had refused to help Duvessa. They ended up hiring a tutor from France. She began to agree with Caleb about their cousin's mental capacity.
"I- don't remember," – the girl mumbled, dispelling any remaining doubt.
Caleb laughed hysterically behind them, and Anne closed her eyes for calm.
"Don't worry about it!" – she plastered a smile and caressed her cousin's hands. "You're tired. You've been through a lot. It's time for a tea and a good long sleep, okay?"
"Yes," – Drusilla eagerly nodded. "Will you still be here when I wake up?"
Anne gathered the rest of her patience. "Wouldn't miss it."
When she returned with a brew of chamomile, the only calming ingredient she could find in Caleb's kitchen, Drusilla was already sleeping with her unruly locks covering half of the table.
"Good catch," – she remarked to Caleb, who rolled his eyes in response. "So, when did you plan to mention you've been investigating alone and with all kinds of idiots around? Did you enjoy your stay at St. Mungo's?"
"Oh, come on! Drink that shite, and stop worrying! I merely looked around."
"Yeah, merely looked around at Duvessa's in fucking Devon! Are you nuts?"
"Yes," – Caleb stood to face her. "I am nuts enough to try and be of some use. I owe you both that. Also, I am nuts enough to gather this whining mess from about two miles from her home, where she believed she'd been hiding to find you. Don't you wonder how long it would have taken her to manage? All that because you seemed to have a hunch again. And I'm nuts enough to trust those."
Now Anne regretted confronting him. Caleb was an adult wizard, and he needed her trust. "I wish you told me so I could look out for you."
"So you could have worried, you mean," – Caleb corrected.
"That too,"- Anne patted his arm. "Was she the only mess you encountered?" – she moved on, choosing the dilapidated settee to avoid disturbing their cousin.
"Not much," – Caleb dropped beside her with a long sigh. "Some guys were sniffling around Everard's; one of them, he told me, was a Scabior kid. You'd mentioned he was the one I should thank for the experience I had. Then I saw some shady blokes down in Devon, too, but didn't stop to exchange ideas. Are you satisfied? I wasn't careless."
"Good," – Anne said.
"Would be better if I'd gathered more. At least one of us should be more helpful than forgetting what we were about!"
"Can you recall how they looked?" – Anne asked him like she hadn't heard his last words.
"Like any other," – Caleb shrugged. "The one that seemed in charge had brown hair and a decent robe, perhaps in his fifties. Wait, he also had something on his wrist. It glinted with his every gesture. Does that help?"
"Not yet, but it's something," – she deemed. "I have a theory, and perhaps we could check it if we found out more about that guy."
"Out with the theory, then," – Caleb's grin assured him of his confidence in his sister's abilities. Anne only appreciated that he didn't call her a swot this time.
"Well, I think Drusy wasn't completely useless," – she began. "She might have even given the message already… I mean, those letters. This whole mess started way before we were born."
When Caleb only waited, piercing her with a questioning gaze, Anne took a deep breath and dived into whatever she'd ever heard:
"All right, so you are Uncle Evan, and you have just finished Hogwarts. You have a girlfriend, and the war is about to erupt. The Dark Lord likes you, your family is your greatest fan, one of your brothers left with a Muggle, and the other is a leader on the Dark Lord's side, ready to get the family the fame and glory."
"Don't forget the money and the power," – Caleb interjected.
"Yeah, those, too. But what do you have? I mean, Duvessa kept talking about him like a beloved pet, and I remember he had a mile-wide mean streak. Would he be content with family love and Lucinda?"
"I wouldn't in his place."
"My thought exactly. So he had to strive for something – I don't know for what. And he either used his position as his lord's follower or politics. But I'm not convinced those things are exclusive. We have seen his girlfriend, she loved power. She knew the Malfoys, the Wilkes, and the Scabiors and did something to enrage our aunt.
"Now, Duvessa married a Travers, but to one who wasn't one of the Dark Lord's men. Eleonore Fawley had said that a smart witch keeps her options open, and Duvessa got widowed only by bad luck because someone put up her husband's name. Duvessa once said Lucinda should have died instead of betraying Uncle Evan. I'm only struggling to believe she had nothing to do about the Travers, too."
"The Travers suffered a lot after the war was over," – Caleb added to her tale. "Sloan is the only wizard of that generation who escaped Azkaban or death. That's why Father had to put up with the widows and half-widows, like Totty. The Macmillans were more careful."
"Maybe, but Father Dearest betrayed them, remember? If Duvessa had evidence that Totty played for the Wilkes, she would have tried to warn him. Especially when Totty was already out to get her."
"But why would Totty turn against Duvessa?" – Caleb prompted her.
"Because she, or her circle, had killed Lucinda, and Duvessa refused to be their scapegoat. Remember when I met her last spring? She had written a note to Totty, saying she had evidence, and she wouldn't shut her mouth if she was tried. I don't think she had evidence about this matter. She had written, "Times don't change," which means – I guess – that she had something about their lot dating back to the war. And what had Drusilla just told us?"
"That she is a fool and cannot be trusted with a message?"
"She admitted that it was about the letters Lucinda and Uncle Evan had exchanged back in the war. I don't know how much you remember about Uncle Evan, but I doubt those were words of romance and passion."
"Lucinda wasn't the type either," – Caleb agreed.
"Then it was about their comrades and politics. All their deeds under the Dark Lord's reign. And who did they work with? The Wilkes, the Scabiors, and the Malfoys! Can you imagine the clusterfuck if our aunt stepped forward with a bunch of letters proving the crimes of half the Ministry and its financers ten and some years after they washed each other clean? Lucinda simply knew too much to fail luring you in. She had to die. And Duvessa's quarrel with Totty must have reached a point where she'd tried to end it, so Totty went to Borgin and Burke's, bought a potion that couldn't be tracked back to her magical signature, and when Aunt had better sense than to drink it, they must have duelled. That cursed robe must have been only for her twisted sense of fun."
Caleb thought long and hard. Eventually, he looked up at his sister. "Three questions then: What is in those letters we could use? Where are they now? And where did Duvessa disappear?"
"Nothing if you want to live; I have no idea, and I'm kind of grateful for that; perhaps we should learn that from cousin Drusy," – Anne replied, finally satisfied with her theory. She couldn't really prove it, but it all made sense. It wasn't about Duvessa or Lucinda Talkalot. It was all about those blasted letters of Evan Rosier.