Remedial History

Chapter Nine: False Histories

"King Richard was a good friend to the witches and wizards who supported him," Nearly Headless Nick said at the beginning of their next history class, "and the world became a harder and colder place for us after his fall. The usurper who succeeded him, Henry Tudor, was known to be hostile to all but a handful of wizards who were firmly in his pocket, and his methods of dealing with the others were just as my lord had described them - underhanded and cutthroat. It was also around this time that a scurrilous and libelous witch-hunter's manual known as the Malleus Maleficarum became a best-seller, touching off a round of persecutions that led to the deaths of many of our people -"

"Sir?" interrupted Anna. "I thought everybody knew witch burning was completely pointless. What about Flame-Freezing charms and Wendelin the Weird?"

"Ah," said Nick. "Persecution does not necessarily imply burning - and I am afraid that my predecessor's pet essay topics had a slightly chauvinistic streak. He did not like to admit that the Muggles occasionally got the better of us, especially in the days when most of them worked hand in hand with a wizard or two while condemning the rest. I, on the other hand, have had that knowledge brought down on my head - literally."

"How did you die?" Theo blurted out, and then blushed as he realized the question might not be a polite one.

"I was caught up in a plot to replace King Henry with one of our own - a young Metamorphagus named Perkin Warbeck who assumed the form of Richard, the younger of the two murdered princes, and claimed the throne for the House of York. He, too, was eventually executed, although not until some years after my own death. In the autumn of 1492, I was tutoring young Warbeck to imitate the prince's mannerisms and helping him gather support in Ireland, when I was called back to England on a far more urgent mission.

"The Lord Chamberlain of Magic - this was before there were any Ministers, of course - ordered me to round up the wizard children who were being raised in noble households and bring them to the safety of Hogwarts. Although I had reason to think King Henry's spies knew that I was plotting against him, I dared not disobey, and I like to think that I was successful in my task ... except in the case of one young wizard named Thomas More, who had been brought up in the home of Cardinal Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury. He was younger than most of you are now, but as stubborn and proud as any man I have seen these five hundred years."

The mist at the front of the room took on the shape of a boy with dark brown hair, blue-grey eyes, and a gentle, good-humored face. His cloak hung loosely from his thin shoulders, and everything about his dress seemed slightly negligent, but he had an air of confidence and fierce determination.

"Thomas," Nicholas told him, "thou hast a choice to make. Our world or Cardinal Morton's."

"I know." The boy looked troubled, and Theo sensed that what he had to say would hurt Nick deeply.

"Leave this world and come to Hogwarts for the rest of thy education. Thou couldst be the greatest wizard of this age."

"No," said Thomas. "I have often thought of it - but I know magic well enough, and I have much more to learn here. Greek, Hebrew - and the ways of the court."

"The court will seduce and destroy thee," said Nicholas bitterly. "If thou art ambitious for power, thou wilt find it in our world. In abundance. Salazar Slytherin would have been proud to claim thee for his own."

"I am not Salazar Slytherin's, nor yet Cardinal Morton's," said Thomas with a small smile. "I am my own man."

"Then thou hast work to do. One must remain in the Muggle world to tell our story to posterity - but not the secret story thou knowest so well. I thought I would do it myself, but I fear the usurper king knows that I have been with young Warbeck in Ireland, and I expect the warrant for my arrest to arrive within the hour. Thou art a bright young scholar, fit to take up this piece of work in my place. It grieveth my heart, but thou must make my Lord Richard out to be a villain and Buckingham a true servant, and no Dark Wizard ... Thou must make the Muggles believe the House of York and its wizard followers are utterly destroyed, and that the common people feel no loyalty to us."

"I will do it. And do it well."

"If thou hast need of a safe refuge after I am gone, go to Mistress Shore. Her door will always be open to thee, and she remembers those days well and will help thee in thy writing."

"May I at least be kind to Mistress Shore in this false history?" the boy asked, looking much younger and more vulnerable as the weight of his task sank in.

"That thou mayst. She is a slight thing to be written of among such great matters, and she is already poor and without honor. Our good King Henry - " Nicholas stressed the words ironically - "will not see her as a threat. But if thou wouldst have us remembered as we were," he added softly, "write also the story of a world where women work alongside the men and meet them on equal terms - and where men spurn precious metals and value learning and truth - and where battle is done by craft rather than by making the fields flow with blood."

Thomas grinned broadly. "I shall call it Utopia - no place."

"See that thou dost," said Nicholas, returning his smile. "They would not believe thee if thou gavest it any other name."

Nicholas froze at the sound of a knock at the door, and the king's troops came marching into the archbishop's house.

The scene dissolved into a few stray wisps of fog. "I do not like to dwell on the subject of my own execution," said Nearly Headless Nick, "so you will forgive me if I gloss over that portion of my story and skip forward to the point where I returned to Hogwarts as a ghost. We shall commence our study of the history of this school after the midterm examination on Thursday."

"Sir," said Polly Pritchard, sounding distressed, "How are we supposed to study for this exam if we can't trust the people who write the books? How on earth are we supposed to tell whether anything we know is true or not?"

"That is the central dilemma of the historian," Nick replied calmly. "How does one determine how much truth there is in any given version of the past? I say 'how much,' because there is no such thing as an absolutely true history, but some of them are more false than others. Generally, one can tell the very false ones because they make much too pretty and neat a story. The villains tend to be too black and the heroes too noble, and the loose ends too easily wrapped up."

Theo hid a smile, realizing that the Gryffindor ghost had all but told them to take his own version of events with a grain of salt. He remembered the History of the First War he had seen at the Pureblood Youth League meetings. He was fairly sure that it, too, would fail Nick's test.

Much later, as he lay awake in bed, he also found himself thinking about what Lucius Malfoy said at Lavinia's funeral.

* * *

"I wonder what Nearly Headless Nick is going to ask on the exam." Neville looked worried. "I think he's a great teacher, but he isn't exactly predictable, is he?"

Theo shook his head.

"Are you up for another study session on Wednesday night? Harry's going to be joining us, this time. His two best friends just decided they were a bit more than friends, so he's kind of at loose ends."

Theo nodded absently. Ever since Nicholas and Thomas had spoken about false histories, a vague but horrible idea had been crystallizing at the back of his mind.

"Do either of you know anything about Romeo and Juliet?" he asked abruptly, half an hour into the study session.

"It's a play by Shakespeare. That's about all I know," said Neville, and Harry shook his head in agreement.

"D'you think the library has a copy?"

"It should," said Harry. "Try the Muggle Studies section. If you read it, could you do me a favor and tell me what it's about? Remus keeps bugging me to read Shakespeare."

After some searching, Theo found the book and began to read.

Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean...

Theo frowned. It sounded pretty, but he wasn't sure he understood it - and some small part of him had begun to be suspicious of beautiful language he didn't understand. And where was Verona and what did any of this have to do with his sister?

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes,

A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life ...

Theo gulped. Suddenly he saw the relevance. But that meant they'd both died, right?

He went on reading until Madame Pince kicked them out of the library, and then, back in the Slytherin dormitory, he cast a toned-down version of the Lumos spell and went on reading Romeo and Juliet under the covers. It was past three in the morning when he finished. He hadn't been able to follow every word, but he got the gist of it. And it left him with questions.

Juliet hadn't planned to kill herself, she'd planned to run away to Mantua. She would have made a good Slytherin, he thought. She was sneaky and resourceful and willing to use any means to get away from her parents' house, even asking that Potions Master - Friar Laurence - to give her the Draught of Living Death.

Lavinia had been a Slytherin too. Why hadn't his sister tried harder? It wasn't like her to just give up and die.

His father had picked up a glass from Lavinia's night stand and said it was poison. That had been only seconds after she closed her eyes. Perhaps she wasn't even dead yet. Why hadn't he called a Healer to see if anything could be done for her?

Medea had been wearing a heavy cloak as if she'd just come in from outside. Perhaps she had been outside. She might even have come from David's house. Nearly Headless Nick's words echoed inside his head: It has always been relatively easy for a wizard to be in the right place at the right time, regardless of whether he has the authority to be there...

Was David dead?

"Blaise? Psst, Blaise!" Theo threw a pillow at his friend's head.

The covers on Blaise's bed moved slightly "Wha?"

"If you wanted to find out about someone - a Muggle - who might have died four years ago, where would you look?"

"Muggle Studies section," mumbled Blaise. "Newspaper archives. Lemme sleep."

Theo knew the library wouldn't be open for hours, but sleeping was out of the question. He dressed without making a sound, tucked the copy of Romeo and Juliet under his robes, and tiptoed out of the dormitory.

He was a bit worried about attracting the attention of Mr. Filch or Peeves, but the halls were silent. Almost without thinking about where he was going, he stole down to the first floor, climbed out of the open window, and knocked on the door of Professor Hagrid's hut.

He stood on the doorstep, shivering, for what seemed like an age before the Care of Magical Creatures teacher appeared. "What're yeh doin' here at this hour?" the half-giant asked, rubbing his eyes and sounding rather grumpy.

Theo's nerve almost failed him. "Professor Hagrid. I'm pretty sure one of my sisters murdered the other. And - " another piece clicked into place - "I think my dad's been covering up for her."

He had often thought, through the long months and years of Medea's illness, that his father behaved as if he were guarding her from the world. But what if it were the other way around? What if he had been guarding the world from her?

Hagrid wrapped his moleskin overcoat around Theo and ushered him into the hut without another word.

Slowly, over many cups of tea, Theo outlined his suspicions. "I don't get it," he said at last. "I'm sure I'm right, but it seems almost impossible at the same time. They seemed like they were really grieving for her."

"Maybe they were," said Hagrid. "From what yeh've said, it sounds like yer sister Medea wasn' exactly in her righ' min'."

Theo nodded. "She wasn't. She hasn't ever been, I don't think. But what about my dad? I don't think he's mad - and he seemed so broken up when Vin died - I ... even now, I can't believe he didn't really care for her."

"P'rhaps he did. Just 'cos he mighta been coverin' up for yer sister don' mean he had anything to do with the murder. P'rhaps it jus' seemed too much ter lose both his daughters in one go."

"Merlin," said Theo softly. He bit his lip and willed himself not to cry. "It's awful. The more I think about it, the more complicated everything gets. And I don't know what to do about it."

Hagrid thought for a long moment. "Maybe yeh don' have to do anything - leas' not righ' away. There's no bringin' back the dead, Theo - an' yeh should think long an' hard 'fore turnin' in yer own family. Kin's kin in spite o' everything, yeh know. Not that I'm sayin' fer sure that yeh shouldn' turn 'em in. Just think firs'."

Theo didn't find this advice particularly helpful. "The thing is," he said, "I'm afraid she may have killed somebody else - a Muggle - and that might mean she's a danger to other people too. I need to find out for sure, and I can't do that until the library opens." He looked out the window of the gamekeeper's hut. The sky was streaked with pink and the frost on the yellowed grass had begun to sparkle with the first light of dawn. "I should be going. Maybe I can put in some time at the library before Charms."

"Yeh oughta have some breakfas' 'fore yeh go," said Hagrid, removing a link of greyish sausages from the rafters of the cottage. "Care fer a stoat sausage? Me own recipe."

"No thanks," said Theo. Even without Neville's warning, he would have thought the sausages looked suspicious.

Hagrid looked disappointed. "Toast, then?"

Theo nodded, although he didn't feel very hungry. He didn't think even Hagrid could ruin toast.

* * *

Hagrid insisted on filling his pockets with treacle fudge and slices of slightly burnt, dry toast before he left, which turned out to be just as well, because he had to spend most of the day in the library. He had never been inside the Muggle Newspaper Archives room before, and he was puzzled to see a long row of shelves covered in what looked like flattened, dirty grains of salt.

The only other people in the library at this hour were Madame Pince, the librarian, and Hermione Granger. Theo thought it over and decided he felt marginally less shy of Hermione.

"Er, excuse me, but do you know how the newspaper archives work?" he asked her.

"Of course," she said. "They use a powerful Shrinking Charm to make everything fit on the shelves, and they file them by title in alphabetical order, then by date."

"Could you show me how to undo the charm?"

"Well..." She hesitated, and Theo flushed as he saw the problem. She was Muggle-born - and far from stupid, by all accounts. Of course she wouldn't want to be alone in an empty room with him.

He took his wand out of his pocket and laid it on the table without a word.

She appeared to reach a decision at once. "All right. But you'll need that to unshrink the papers."

"Oh." Theo picked up his wand and followed her into the Archives Room.

"Do you know what year you're looking for?" Hermione asked.

"1993, Easter week."

"OK, let's say you wanted to look up the Guardian for 1993 -"

Theo realized that he knew nothing about the reputations or even the names of any Muggle papers, but he was pretty sure David's death - if he was dead - wouldn't have made the national news. "Um, would you say the Guardian is a small local paper?"

"No, it certainly isn't! Are small local papers the sort of thing you want? Which ones?"

"Probably places around London, but I'm not absolutely sure." David had a car, after all, and Lavinia had her Apparation license. They could have met anywhere.

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "That could take all day!"

"I've got all day," said Theo. He was already missing Charms, he was sure Professor Hagrid would excuse him from Care of Magical Creatures, and after that, he was free until History of Magic in the evening. "Just show me how to find the right dates and un-shrink the papers, and I'll take care of the rest myself."

She gave him a strange look. "Exactly what are you looking for, anyway?"

"I'd rather not say," said Theo. He was relieved when Hermione finally stopped asking questions and left him alone, although, after several hours had passed, he began to think he wouldn't have minded an extra person to help. Unshrinking and re-shrinking the newspapers was tedious work, and most of the death notices had tiny print that made his eyes ache. He fell asleep once and woke up to find himself covered with an outdoor cloak that he recognized as Hermione's, but she had gone away again.

Luna Lovegood wandered into the room a couple of hours later. "Hagrid said you were going to be here and you seemed rather upset when you left him this morning, so I wanted to make sure you were all right," she explained. "The Gregarious, Yet Fossorial Book Lice haven't been bothering you too much, I hope?"

"The ... No, nothing's been bothering me at all," said Theo, blinking a bit.

"That's good. They can be quite presumptuous at this time of year." She smiled vaguely and drifted out, and Theo resumed his search.

At long last, he found what he was looking for and immediately wished he hadn't.

McCartney, David. Died in his home yesterday morning of unknown causes, aged 22. Survived by his mother, Jeannette; father, Brian; one brother, Stephen, 16. In lieu of flowers, please send donations to the British Heart Foundation.

His family thought it was heart trouble. Well, it was, in a sense.

He wondered if this Muggle kid, Stephen, missed his brother as much as he missed Lavinia.

He stared at the page for a long, numb moment, wondering what to do with this knowledge and who it would be safe to talk to, and then he realized with a start that he would soon be late for the History of Magic exam.