She whispered

by Lucas Chesterton

  ‘Quite right’, he admitted, ‘I need it to resolve the crisis at Hogwarts that I told you about earlier.’

  ‘What kind of crisis?’

  ‘Satyrs. ��� I’m sure you read about it in the papers?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ She screwed up her face in distaste. ‘I wonder how those beasts came here ���’

  ‘You might as well. Personally, I don’t believe anymore that they were ��� well, imported.’

  ‘No? ��� What is it you believe?’

  ‘I think they were made’, he replied, and when his mother frowned he added, ‘manufactured.’

  Fascination flickered in her eyes. ‘You think? Who ever would do such a thing?’

  ‘Someone set on destabilizing the wizarding world.’

  Eileen scoffed. ‘As if it had ever been stable ��� - What have you found out?’

  ‘I’m still puzzled’, Jack admitted. ‘Everything points to the satyrs having been produced by alchemistic processes. The short life span, the quick deterioration leading to putrefaction within hours ���’

  Eileen nodded eagerly, fully comprehending the implications. She, too, had a keen mind and would have made a fine Potions mistress hadn’t she got it into her head at some point to marry the Muggle who’d ruined her prospects. ‘What about the material used?’ she asked, and the way she cut to the core without delay reminded him how this had been the better part of their relationship, talking about magical puzzles and trying to figure them out together.

  ‘That’s the point. I’m not entirely sure yet, but from the samples I’ve taken from a dead satyr it looks as if there is something extremely dodgy about it.’

  ‘Dodgy how?’

  ‘Dodgy in the sense of ��� synthetic.’

  Her eyes became wide. ‘Synthetic? As in ��� plastic?’

  Daysen nodded gravely.

  ‘But that means ���’, she broke off, obviously thinking hard, ‘��� only Muggles make plastic.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You mean that ��� no, Jack, that’s not possible!’

  ‘Of course it is possible! Just very, very unusual.’

  ‘It means that a wizard and a Muggle must have worked together to manufacture the satyrs’, Eileen said a little heatedly, ‘and that is ���’

  ‘Grossly twisted and illegal’, he concluded, ‘though maybe not without precedent.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Trying to find out more’, he said reasonably, ‘and then finding the person who did this.’

  ‘You should start with finding the Muggle, if one was involved’, Eileen counselled, ‘probably easier. ��� Is there something I can do?’

  He wanted to say no, but thought twice. Out of his robes pocket he brought the jar with the wriggling black worms. ‘You might want to have a look at these’, he said.

  Eileen dumped the piece of cloth on the table and eagerly seized the jar. If Jack had hoped that she would recoil in disgust, he was disappointed. Eileen was anything but squeamish. ‘I don’t like the look of these ���’, she murmured.

  ‘Nor do I. ��� Not that I’m surprised that there would be worms. But those are very large, and black ���’

  ‘No maggots?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Very peculiar ���’

  Jack watched the fascinated and greedy expression on his mother’s face and he had an idea. ‘Actually, I’d be obliged if you could take an interest. I’m swamped with work as it is, and since you’re set on staying for a while ���’

  ‘Sure, sure, I’ll do it.’ Her face had brightened considerably and she put the jar of worms on a shelf almost lovingly before she took up the cloth again and continued to apply her miraculous solution to his scar. ‘Provided you tell me what you find out?’

  He reluctantly inclined his head. ‘Alright.’

  It made her smile. He could almost have believed that she was happy to be involved and able to do him a service. He might almost have been touched, hadn’t he known that where his mother was concerned it was usually carrots and sticks.

  ‘They’re really lucky to have you at Hogwarts’, she purred. ‘How would they even manage with these satyrs if you weren’t around?’

  Another carrot. Watch out for the stick now. As a matter of precaution, he did not respond.

  Several minutes passed during which his mother’s attention was entirely on his scar. Carefully, she dabbed at it, murmuring quiet comments. The burning had stopped and the side of his neck started to feel numb, but he thought that it was a good sign and certainly a nice break from the constant itch.

  Suddenly, she asked, ‘Do you think there is any chance that you might become Headmaster again?’

  He snorted. ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘I was just thinking. You’re probably the most capable wizard at that school. And McGonagall is old.’

  ‘Not as nearly as old as Dumbledore was.’

  ‘But Dumbledore was a different league altogether. And even he didn’t live forever.’

  ‘Yeah, and you know very well how this came about!’

  She straightened up and looked him in the eyes. ‘I know that you did what you had to do.’

  The carrots were piling up fast.

  ‘Well, the fact that I did pretty much eliminates every possibility of me becoming Headmaster again’, Jack said lazily. ‘A Headmaster who is known to have killed his predecessor ��� I’m sure nothing of the sort has happened at Hogwarts since the Middle Ages, so don’t get your hopes up.’

  ‘It would give you something to do’, she argued.

  ‘Oh, you think I’m that bored?’

  Another sly half-smile. ‘Something proper to do. And perhaps you wouldn’t waste your time shaping a hapless Muggle girl into a witch.’

  At last, the stick.

  ‘She is not a Muggle.’

  ‘But Muggle enough not to have noticed what she was for the better part of her life!’

  ‘She noticed. But the world she lived in did not allow her to believe in it. You know how that works.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have happened to you, is all I’m saying. You showed for the first time when you were only ten months old. You were hungry and getting restless, so you Accio’d your milk ���’

  ‘I know the story. And may I remind you that I had a witch for a mother. Didn’t help me much for the most time, but at least I always knew.’

  Eileen shrugged. ‘Anyway, she’s a clever one. Hooking herself to a powerful wizard such as you for protection ��� quite the little ing��nue ���’

  ‘How many time do I have to tell you that she is my student?!’

  ‘��� and wrapping you around her pretty little finger in the process. ��� Oh yes, I saw! The way you dashed out of the house to meet her? It’s the redhead all over again, you have the same daft look on your face, and at your age!’

  ‘Stop it, mother’, Jack was already getting a good look at the end of his tether, ‘I can’t be doing with clucking jealousy!’

  ‘Jealousy!’ she snorted. ‘I’m trying to keep you from making a fool out of yourself! A young Muggle girl who probably had droves of lovers ��� because that’s what they do ��� and you, a man of forty, with no experience with women to speak of! ��� At least I’m guessing not much has changed in that direction, or has it?’

  That should have been the end of his tether, and would have, had he not suddenly realized something very peculiar. Hearing her talk was like listening to that inner voice which often drove him crazy, which had in fact tortured him only this morning, a cruel awakening after the exhilarating mood that had guided him into belated sleep. Could it be, he found himself wondering, that his fears were really hers, drilled into him from the start, fears of embarrassment and rejection? ��� But no, that could not be, his fears were the result of bitter experience. ��� But what if the bitter experience was
only a result, as well, born out of a habit to always expect the worst?

  Jack pushed the thought aside. It was complex. He looked up at his mother, unmoved. He shrugged.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  He returned her gaze impassively.

  She turned away angrily to spill more solution on her rag.

  Jack understood that she had fully counted on him flaring and thus confirming her assumptions. It was the strong response that she was after because it let her know that she still had her hooks in his flesh. The moment he reacted indifferently to her provocations, however, was the moment when she lost firm ground. He resolved to store this away for further reference.

  Eileen Daysen wheeled around and quite suddenly pressed the soaked rag on his scar. A sharp sting shot through the numbness and he gritted his teeth. ‘Anyway’, she said quietly, but with a malicious undertone, ‘I found that book of yours in the master bedroom. Black cover? Gilly appears to have forgotten it when she rearranged our things. I put it in your box room.’

  He blanched. A second later, he felt the heat rise in his face. There was nothing to say. His mother acted as if she hadn’t noticed and gave the scar a final swipe. ‘That’s it for now. However, it must be repeated every day until the healing potion’s ready. We’ll get you fixed up, sweetheart, I promise.’ And with that, she swiftly collected her jars and vials, and breezed out of the kitchen.

  After he was done with embarrassment, Jack buttoned up his shirt and robe and strolled over to the sitting room. Standing in the doorframe, he surveyed it and noticed that his mother had already made herself at home. Her books were stacked on the coffee table beside her wool basket with self-knitting needles, and a large shawl had carelessly been thrown onto the sofa. A copy of the Daily Prophet was spread there, as well, and since Jack hadn’t had any chance all day to look at it, he came closer. The name ‘Crowley’ jumped at him. He picked up the paper and found himself reading an article he would otherwise have ignored, a piece on some private wizarding school which made him sneer because in Jack’ mind no institution of magical education could ever match Hogwarts. What he read, however, confirmed what Lupin had been telling him that day. The Crowleys were making themselves indispensable to the magical world.

  He dropped the copy as soon as the article started to bore him, went over to his desk and scribbled a quick owl to Lupin. Within the last two hours, the reopening of the Order of the Phoenix had started to appear much more interesting. Members would still have to be discussed, of course, and he was determined to hold his ground, both with respect to Draco Malfoy and to Elena. ��� Almost in spite of himself, his head turned to face the window. The curtain was only half-drawn, and he gazed through the gap to the opposite house. The light was on upstairs, dim and flickering strangely. Jack wondered what it was. Only after a while did he notice that the light was flickering because there was someone moving, against the glow of a desk lamp, perhaps. For some reason, she moved like mad up there in the crampy room. He watched in fascination, asking himself what she was doing. Then it occurred to him. She was, of course, dancing. Probably, she had music on and danced with herself. Irrationally, he started to grin, and when a black shadow twirled across her window, he chuckled. ��� Yes, he liked it that she was a little weird, too.

  He watched on and after a while his eyes softened, became dreamy. He imagined her dancing, but slowly. He imagined her dancing for him. Then he imagined her dancing for him and taking her clothes off, preferably slowly, as well.

  Steps in the hallway, quick and resolute.

  Jack turned away from the window, but since no one came in, he allowed himself to remain in the dreamy state a little longer. All day long, he’d had hardly any time to think about her, although of course she was always at the back of his mind. In fact, the slightest mental association was enough for him to hear her voice telling him again that she had fallen in love with him. Every time, it gave him a blissful thrill. And every time, it scared him. For that, he hated himself. He was, after all, supposed to be a brave man and certainly thought of himself in that way. That a woman could throw him so, that she was able to resurrect all the dormant fears of rejection and embarrassment was far more than he felt he could face at the moment.

  Elena’s request that he not play with her came to his mind. That one still puzzled him. What kind of man did she think he was? It gave rise to another fear, namely that she had a misguided conception of who he was, that who she had supposedly fallen in love with was not him at all, but some idealized version that existed only in her head. In other words, he could not trust her. Or was it rather that he didn’t trust in his own ability to inspire tender feelings in anyone? It was, after all, a situation he’d never been faced with before, enchanting on the one hand, but deeply worrying on the other. ��� How to go on?

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sitting-room door being torn open. Jack looked up at his mother with his most impassive face at the ready. She gave him a sly smile.

  ‘Looks like you’re daydreaming’, Eileen remarked.

  ‘It’s called thinking’, he replied lazily.

  The sly smile developed into a sneer. However, she didn’t comment and went over to the sofa where she sat down, looking around. ‘What have you done with the Prophet?’ she demanded.

  ‘What do you mean, what have I done with it?’

  ‘I had it lying there open, because there was an article I wanted to read. ��� Now I have to find it again.’ With a deep sigh, she picked up the copy that he had dropped so carelessly.

  Jack watched his mother as she leafed through the Daily Prophet with a sour expression on her face.

  ‘The article about the Crowley Academy? ��� What’s so interesting about it?’

  ‘Nothing’, she murmured, ‘only I wanted to ��� ah, there it is!’ Her heavy eyebrows drew together and she looked concentrated in an almost demonstrative way.

  ‘Have you ever heard about the Crowleys before?’ he asked.

  ‘Mhm ���’ Eileen didn’t look up.

  ‘Mother?’

  A very brief and confused casting up of eyes.

  ‘I asked you a question.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Aeneas Crowley ��� he took the minutes at my hearing.’

  That got her very fleeting attention. ‘Is that so? I never knew ���’

  ‘So you don’t know him? ‘Cause I just got the impression that you do ���’

  ‘No, no, I don’t know him’, she mumbled, ‘just her ���’

  ‘Her? His wife? ��� What’s her name? Magrathea?’

  Another noncommittal ‘mmh’ answered. Eileen’s black eyes were glued to the paper.

  ‘How do you know her?’ he insisted.

  Again, she didn’t look up, but her lips moved and Jack had to listen closely to hear what she was murmuring. ‘Know her from school ���’

  ‘From school?’ Jack snorted. For the first time since their reunion, he asked himself whether his mother was getting old and batty. ‘That’s impossible. That woman must be about twenty years younger than you are!’

  Now Eileen looked up, her eyes glazed over with irritation. ‘Yeah, maybe ���’ she murmured inconclusively.

  ‘What does ‘maybe’ mean? Do you know her from school or not?’ Something made him twitchy, a strange mixture of apprehension and impatience.

  The shadow of another sly smile crossed Eileen’s face. ‘Maybe I was mistaken’, she said finally and shrugged nonchalantly, ‘confused her with someone.’

  ‘You appeared very sure just a minute ago.’

  ‘I thought I was.’

  ‘And now you’re not?’

  Eileen let out an exasperated sigh and gave the paper a bothered rustle. ‘Really, Jack, you can be so tiresome at times! Can’t I make a mistake? I’m not a young woman anymore!’

  ‘I’m just wondering what made you think that you know Magrathea Crowley’, he struggled to calmly explain, s
ensing that he was close to blowing a fuse again.

  ‘It was a mistake!’

  ‘And still you’re so interested in that article?’

  ‘I’m not!’ As if to prove a point, she shut the Daily Prophet and shot up from the sofa. ‘And you’re constantly acting as if I was overbearing!’

  He closed his eyes, waiting for the wave of irritation to settle down. ‘There is some indication’, he went on to explain, ‘that the Crowleys may be ��� behind my problems.’

  Eileen’s eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘I just do.’

  ‘Oh.’ For a moment, she looked uncomfortable. Then she shook herself. ‘Well, there’s nothing I can tell you about it. Like I said, I don’t know these people. ��� But they appear to be very rich. And they’re making themselves into quite the benefactors, constantly in the papers ���’

  ‘So you’re following them?’

  She glared at him and he expected a scathing comment. Then, however, her face softened. ‘You know, that must be how I got the idea that I know this woman’, she stated earnestly, ‘from constantly reading about her. Sometimes those people in the papers appear closer to one than one’s own family. ��� Particularly if said family is a little ��� elusive.’

  She gave him a surprisingly sweet smile and Jack rolled his eyes. He turned his head over his shoulder and looked out of the window again, towards the opposite house. The light in Elena’s box room had changed to a dark orange glow, probably coming from a night light. She must be preparing for sleep. Jack remembered how tired he was, how leaden his eyelids felt. A strong urge rose within him to go over, fly up quietly to her window, for instance, and ease himself in without her noticing, lie down beside her sleeping form and let her even breathing guide him into sleep. ��� He got up abruptly to break the spell.

  His mother stared at him. ‘You’re not going out, are you?’

  He fiddled on the spot, uncertainly.

  ‘Jack, really! We’ve hardly spent any time together since I arrived!’