Remedial History

Chapter Seven: Last of the White Roses

Reflect on an occasion when you were guilty of prejudice ...

Theo's first thought was David McCartney - but he had been right to be prejudiced against David. It was David's fault Lavinia was dead. Annoyed with himself, he tried to write about someone else. Hagrid, perhaps, or Neville. But the longer he stared at the parchment, the more his mind kept returning to David.

David was a Muggle and his sister's boyfriend, both of which were perfectly valid reasons to dislike him. He had been furious with Lavinia when he returned from school after his first year. She had said she wouldn't ever get married, and then she went and fell in love with someone who wasn't even part of their world.

"Do you realize your children are going to be mudbloods?" he had demanded.

Lavinia looked like she'd been punched in the stomach. "I never want to hear you use that word again," she shouted, and then Theo felt like he'd been punched too.

Theo never had, even though he'd been quite right and his sister completely wrong. Everything that happened afterward proved it.

But he'd been foolish enough to like David for a while. He'd seemed friendly when they met at a Muggle restaurant a few miles and a thousand worlds away from the Notts' house. And then he had invited Theo along when he and Lavinia went out for a drive a few weeks before he went back to Hogwarts.

Lavinia warned him that he'd have to lie to David as well as to Medea, who thought they were going to Diagon Alley to pick up some of Theo's schoolbooks secondhand. "He wondered why I didn't know about so many Muggle cultural things, so I told him we grew up on a farm in Zambia and our parents have only just moved back to England. If he asks you about life in Africa, just make something up."

"All right," said Theo, but talking to David turned out to be filled with hidden traps. He found himself raising eyebrows from the moment he asked his sister's boyfriend what his surname was. "McCarthy?"

"No, McCartney. Like Paul McCartney."

"Who?" said Theo.

"You mean you don't know about the Beatles? Kids these days."

"I told you, David, he's from a different culture," said Lavinia.

"Listen to this," said David, sliding a small, flat object with a couple of spoked holes in it into a slot in the front of his car.

Theo listened as they drove out into the country. He knew and liked a lot of wizard music: the Stubby Boardman songs his sister often sang around the house, and the Weird Sisters. But this, he realized, was on a different plane altogether. Some of the lyrics were just plain bizarre, but most of them seemed to have something serious to say.

I look at the world and I notice it's turning,

While my guitar gently weeps.

With every mistake we must surely be learning,

Still my guitar gently weeps.

The song Theo liked best was sweet and sad:

I cannot sing my heart,

I can only speak my mind,

Julia_

Julia,

Sleeping sand,

Silent cloud,

Touch me.

Unfortunately, he was beginning to feel sick from riding up and down hills. Lavinia glanced over at him and said to David, "I think we'd better stop for a bit."

They were well out of London now, in a green place with low stone walls and spreading oaks. Lavinia took a basket of strawberries and a few bottles of ginger beer out of the boot of the car, and they had a picnic under one of the trees.

"These are delicious," said David. "Most of the strawberries you get at the supermarket taste like plastic, this late in the summer. Where did you find these?"

"That's my secret," said Lavinia, smiling.

David turned to Theo. "So you grew up in Africa?"

"Yeah," said Theo, feeling uncomfortable and trying to picture what a farm in Zambia might be like. He imagined herds of giraffes galloping gracefully over a sunburnt plain.

"I'd like to go there someday. I've never been, but I traveled all over Europe a few summers ago. Hitchhiked..." As he listened to David's stories of arguing about politics in cafes and hiking out to deserted beaches, of late nights in Spanish discos and walking along Amsterdam's canals at dawn, Theo began to realize that the world was a very big place. He'd seen so little of it, only his family's house and Hogwarts and a few places in London.

There had been a few more drives before he went back to school, and then over the Christmas holidays, Lavinia really did take him to Diagon Alley to get a new set of robes, and David joined them for a drink in the Leaky Cauldron. Theo suspected that it wasn't his first time, because he managed not to gawk as much as Muggles usually did, and he didn't blink an eye when Theo spilled butterbeer all over the table and Lavinia cleaned it up with a Vanishing spell. If she'd told him she was a witch, Theo realized, they must be almost engaged. He was surprised to find that he didn't hate the idea as much as he would have expected.

* * *

"Sir?" said Anna Horton at the beginning of Monday's History of Magic class.

"Yes, Anna?" said Nick.

"Were you, er, killed for the same reason as Buckingham? Because you wouldn't help Richard murder the princes?"

"Ah," said Nick. "Muggle histories do have a way of getting everything backward. Here is the sort of thing they have to say about the Duke of Buckingham." He wafted open a book that lay on the table and began to read aloud in a tone of great contempt, "'Buckingham, alone, could not have murdered the Princes for several reasons: he was not in the right place at the right time; he had no authority to gain access to them; Brackenbury would not have admitted him to their prison without a royal warrant signed by the King; and if these obstacles had somehow been overcome Richard III would have speedily found out about it and publicly accused Buckingham, in tones of moral outrage, of the murder.'"

Nick looked around at the students. "You all see the point, I hope? If not, I believe I can show it to you. I was not witness to the event, but I have gone over it so many times in my own mind that it has the force of a memory."

The ghost closed his eyes and concentrated for a long time. Slowly, the class began to perceive the image of two boys, aged about thirteen and ten, sleeping under velvet coverlets.

There was a soft pop as a shadowy figure Apparated into the room. The children stirred slightly but did not wake. The man swept his long hair back and reached for his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!" The boys' faces were rosy and unblemished, their limbs loose in the manner of all sleeping children, but their chests no longer rose and fell. They would never wake again.

"It has always been relatively easy for a wizard to be in the right place at the right time," observed Nick dryly, "regardless of whether he has the authority to be there. And, of course, there could be no question of a public accusation. It was a superstitious age, but even then, no one would have believed King Richard if he had told the Muggles a tale of Secret-Keepers, Apparation, and Killing Curses. He tried to conceal the boys' death for as long as possible, meanwhile cursing Buckingham in words as obscure as they were bitter. 'Him that had best cause to be true,' he said, had proved to be 'the most untrue creature living'."

Theo raised his hand. He almost never asked questions in class, but he was so absorbed in Nick's story that he had forgotten to be intimidated.

"Yes, Theodore?"

"If that's really what happened -- why did Buckingham break his faith? What was in it for him?"

"An excellent question," said Nick, "A very Slytherin question, if I may say so, but I have never disputed that Slytherins make the best historians. If my predecessor's lectures have not left you with a permanent distaste for the subject, you ought to read Phineas Nigellus on the roots of the goblin rebellions - but I digress. Some say he hoped that King Richard, left with no choice but to keep the crown he had never desired, would reward him, and that he rebelled only when it became clear that the king had no intention of doing anything of the sort. But I believe he intended to double-cross my master all along. He was a Stafford, a descendant of King Edward III, and framing my lord for his nephews' murder would have cleared away at a stroke three obstacles in his own pathway to the throne.

"What actually happened was not so very different, although Buckingham did not live to see it. My master had his revenge on his faithless servant, but the boys' absence and the growing suspicion that King Richard had murdered them cleared the path for yet another claimant to the crown, one who was known to be the sworn enemy of the wizarding world: Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond." Nearly Headless Nick's normally gentle voice grew cold as he spoke this last name. "As most of you know, King Richard was defeated and slain at the battle of Bosworth, to which a striking number of his supposed supporters arrived late or not at all. There is not much I can be proud of in the whole sordid affair, but I am proud to say that I was not one of them."

"How did you survive?" asked Neville, forgetting to raise his hand.

"Disapparation," Nick admitted, "but not until the battle was lost, and I had permission from the king himself."

The room filled with the sounds of a summer night: chirping crickets, a hooting owl, the murmur of shifting winds. The moon grazed the top of an old oak tree. Nicholas and Richard were walking under the tree; Richard moved with a heavier stoop than before. His face was worn, as if he had not slept in weeks, and he looked ... broken. Theo realized with a jolt that this long-ago Muggle king reminded him of his father in the years since his sister died.

"My master had never forgiven himself any more than he forgave Buckingham," Nick commented. "He slept poorly and suffered from nightmares. On the night before the final battle he woke well before dawn."

"The Earl of Richmond is as devious as he is ruthless," Richard was saying. "If he should triumph, he will put an end to all my old followers' lives - but not in a day, nor even a year. He will bide his time and silence one with false charges of treason; one with a knife in the dark; two or three at a stroke by pitting them against one another."

"Aye," said Nicholas. "Better for all of us to fall today than to wait upon a more shameful destiny." He spoke boldly, but he did not meet Richard's eyes. Theo thought he seemed afraid to die.

"No," said Richard. "I charge thee to survive as long as thou canst and keep this poor remnant of my faithful subjects safe -- even if thou must slander me in the process. Thou knowest the charges of witchcraft and treason are a deadly combination, and many a witch and wizard will suffer if they are known to be among my followers. 'Tis better if the people continue to assume that I had my nephews murdered myself, by ordinary means, and if many who never broke faith with me are supposed to have been on Richmond's side. Even thou mayst find it necessary to make thy peace with him."

"I have never disobeyed you and never will," Nicholas replied after a long silence, "but you ask me to do a shameful piece of work, my king. I should feel myself a traitor to the truth and to your memory."

"Well," said Richard, "then pray we gain victory today, and have no need for it. But if we are not to play the lions in the field today, the time will come for you to play the fox."

* * *

At the end of class, Nearly Headless Nick returned their histories, wafting them across the room on a gust of cold air. Theo got an E on his. "Interestingly written, with plenty of detail," Nick commented, "but I think there is something you are holding back."

He compared notes with Harry and Neville. Harry had also received an E and a similar comment. Neville had an O, but he wouldn't show Theo what he had written.

Theo understood. If he had written down what happened over the Easter holidays during his second year, he wouldn't have wanted anybody else to read it either. He continued to struggle with the essay on prejudice for several days, trying not to remember.

Lavinia had sent him an owl with a desperate, pleading note a few weeks before Easter vacation.

Things here are absolutely horrible, our family found out I've been seeing a Muggle, and it's all turned out even worse than I expected. We had a huge row, and Medea's put an Imperturbable charm on my bedroom and an Anti-Disapparation jinx on the house, and she won't let me out alone. I can't write to David because they're watching the post, will you PLEASE let him know I haven't forgotten him and I promise I'll find some way to get away from them if they don't come around? This has been coming for a long time and you may as well know we're engaged, but we wanted to keep it a secret until you were a third-year so I could see you at Hogsmeade weekends. Now that Medea knows, I think it may have to be sooner. I will see you at Easter if I'm still at home, and if not please know that I'm thinking of you and I will find some way to come and see you.

Love, Vin

But only minutes later, a Howler had arrived from Medea. Theo ran out of the Great Hall and opened it in the bathroom, the only place he could be sure of privacy. His oldest sister's voice filled the room and echoed off the tile floors: "IF YOU EVEN THINK OF CONTACTING THAT WORTHLESS PIECE OF MUGGLE FILTH WHO THINKS HE'S GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOUR SISTER, YOU'RE NO BROTHER OF MINE AND YOU HAVE NO HOME!"

Theo had never heard of anyone his own age with no home or family. Even Blaise didn't count, although neither of his parents ever wrote to him and he stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays. The Daily Prophet said that Mr. Zabini was making waves in his new position as Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, far away in Ottawa. The articles about him were usually accompanied by photographs of his beautiful blonde wife and twin daughters. They never mentioned Blaise, but Theo figured the Undersecretary must be sending his son money, all the same. His friend always seemed to have plenty of gold in his pockets these days, and he wore new robes that fit properly.

He didn't want his father and Medea to disown him. Where would he go over the summer and who would pay his school fees?

He decided not to write to David. He knew Lavinia would forgive him when he explained, but Medea might not.

He realized with a start that, like Nick's king, he had ended up not forgiving himself.

He'd meant to tell his sister why he hadn't been in touch with David as soon as he got an opportunity to speak to her alone, but the chance never came. On the first evening, Medea had let her out of her room only long enough to eat dinner with the family. It was a stiff, mostly silent meal, although Lavinia asked Theo about school and did her best to look interested in his answers. Medea escorted her back to her room immediately after they finished eating, leaving Theo to do the washing-up by himself. It took forever without magic.

On the following morning, a choking sound from Lavinia's room woke him. He rushed to the doorway, feeling by instinct that something was very wrong.

Lavinia was still in bed. She looked desperately ill, her face ashen. His father and Medea were bending over her. Medea was already dressed; she wore an outdoor cloak over her regular robes, but that was nothing unusual. Jephthah and Medea got chilled easily. He'd never seen either of them in short-sleeved robes, even at the height of summer.

"Theo ..." said Lavinia, fixing her eyes on him for a moment. "David ... Medea ..."

She closed her eyes.

"Poison," said his father, picking up a glass from the night table and tucking it under his robes. "She must have written to the apothecary when we weren't watching her and taken it in the night. Poor child, she wasn't in her right mind - not since we kept her from to seeing that Muggle boyfriend of hers."

"So young," murmured Medea. "She would have been twenty next month. And so beautiful. She will always be beautiful now."

Theo never remembered the next bit very well. There had been a funeral service in the little chapel by the hill, the chapel that was invisible to Muggles, and Medea had carried a sheaf of white lilies and mumbled distractedly about how she should have been carrying flowers at her sister's wedding instead.

The Malfoys came to the funeral, but they didn't stay long. Theo heard Mr. Malfoy say under his breath to his father, "A pretty little Romeo and Juliet story, Nott - and yet, I wonder ..."

Theo never saw Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy again except from a distance, as they saw Draco on and off the school train. The little socializing the Notts had done came to an end. Medea spent long hours locked inside her bedroom. Jephthah usually stayed with her when he wasn't at the shop. He didn't allow anyone else inside the room, even Theo, as if he were guarding her from the world. Theo caught glimpses of his sister through the doorway. She was usually in her nightgown with her hair unbrushed and a dull look in her eyes; and yet she still looked young and pretty, while Jephthah seemed to age ten years in a matter of months.

Medea didn't get better until the end of his fourth year, when she suddenly became brisk and energetic and developed a renewed interest in Hogwarts gossip. But by then his father seemed past healing. He never spoke of what was troubling him in Theo's presence, but Theo knew from his jumpy manner and the deepening lines on his face that he was no longer a weary and worried man, but a terrified one.

* * *

Theo swallowed heavily and stabbed his quill straight through the parchment. If he were going to be completely honest with himself - and hadn't Nick stressed the importance of honesty? - he had to admit that his sister's suicide was not David's fault. It was his own fault for letting her think David had abandoned her.

He reached for a fresh sheet of parchment and began to write.