Anatomy of a Dream

Chapter 2

The Book of Subtle Fire

Go and catch a falling star,

Get with child a mandrake root,

Tell me where all past years are,

Or who cleft the devil's foot,

Teach me to hear mermaids singing

Or to keep off envy's stinging

And find

What wind

Serves to advance an honest mind.

John Donne

"How has your summer been, Tom?" inquired Branwen as they strolled down Diagon Alley. "Isn't there a war on in the Muggle World?"

"Yes, but it's almost over," said Tom dismissively. "I was sent to the country last summer though, on account of the bombs."

"Bombs?"

"Yes. They're great metal cases that Muggles drop from the sky. They explode when they hit the ground, and they're meant to destroy buildings and kill Muggles."

"That sounds very stupid," said Branwen.

Tom shrugged. "It is."

"What are they fighting about in the first place?"

"There's a Muggle who wants to take over the world...German chap. Absolutely mad, though he's got some good ideas."

"You know, I heard some wizards are actually participating," said Branwen. "There were loads of soldiers trapped on the coast of France, and a bunch of wizards Apparated them back over to England."

"Dunkirk," replied Tom. "Waste of magic, if you ask me."

"You'd think they'd be more concerned about the attacks in Hogsmeade."

"What attacks?"

"Didn't you hear? There was a great kerfuffle when Mother found out about it; she didn't want me and Lucan to go back to Hogwarts. There's been a rash of werewolf attacks, you see. I told her Lucan would be safe; he's already huge and hairy, they'll just think he's one of them. I mean, it was bad enough that that girl had to die last year...what was her name, again? Myrtle, I think. But if I had to stay home with Mother all the time..."

They reached the bookstore. "I need to see if they've got Nifflers, Dragons and Unicorns, Oh My!" Branwen explained. "I need it for Care of Magical Creatures, and they were sold out last time." She disappeared between the stacks of books. Tom amused himself by perusing the clearance section. He was flipping through a thin book entitled Fairy Factoids, and had just learned that the gender of fairies is determined by the ambient temperature around their eggs, when someone tapped his shoulder.

"Tom," said a warm voice in his ear.

He turned around slowly and found himself face to face with Perdita Noble. She had a pale, oval face covered with a dapple of golden freckles and slanting hazel eyes fringed with velvety dark lashes. She was wearing a somber dress that seemed out of place in the bright summer day.

"Hello, Perdita," he said amiably, putting the book back. "What are you doing here?"

"I had some free time. Besides, they have this new book I've been dying to read."

"Which one is that?" asked Tom, eying the stack of at least five books that Perdita held.

"Never heard of it," said Tom, when she told him. "Hold on, what's this?" he asked, plucking a book from her pile. It was a heavy book, bound in red leather. Perdita had to have found it in the clearance area, for it was obviously used and stained in several places. The title was in spiky gold script and read: The Book of Subtle Fire."

"Looks interesting, doesn't it?" said Perdita. "It's on sale, and it was the last copy. I guess no one else wanted it because it's stained. I was reading through it, and it's quite fascinating. It's about a dimension that's purely elemental, a combination of fire and air, and that's where the djinn live. They build castles out of molten sand which cools to form towers of glass, and they ride to and fro on air currents. They used to live on earth, but they got kicked out by Arabian wizards a long time ago."

Tom opened the book, and it fluttered open to a random page. There was a black ink drawing of a strangely-shaped, rather ugly and over-decorated lamp.

"Oh, that must be the section that talks about trapping them," said Perdita. "It's very dangerous, you know. People do it anyway, because a djinni can grant wishes. You have to put them in some sort of enchanted container; a bottle, or a lamp."

Looking over her shoulder, Tom read the caption beneath the picture.

Dunyazade's Lamp: When her non-magical sister was kidnapped by a cruel sultan, the enterprising witch entrapped the djinni Iblis, whom she forced to use his powers to protect her family for 1,001 nights. Dunyazade's sister managed to charm the sultan, and after she was happily married, the lamp disappeared. It was probably mistaken for a Muggle artifact and accidentally discarded.

"Can I borrow it when you're done?"

"Of course," said Perdita.

"Hello," said Branwen, having returned from her search, which had been successful, judging from the book in her hands.

"Hi, Bran," said Perdita, smiling. Seeing the two of them together, Tom reflected dispassionately that Branwen, in all her golden glory, was far prettier than Perdita.

Someone jostled Branwen from behind and she started a little before falling theatrically forward into Tom's arms.

"Sorry, sorry," the boy said, his face hidden by the tower of books he was holding. He lowered them slowly. They recognized him immediately as Ben Weasley, a Seventh Year, like Perdita and Tom. He had shockingly red hair and numerous, splotchy freckles.

"Watch where you're going, Weasley," Branwen spat.

"Easy there, Cos," said Alphard Black, sauntering up to them. He winked insolently at Tom, who let Branwen go. "I see you still can't keep the boys off you, Bran. It's the Black blood you've got in you; our family is just too bloody gorgeous for our own good."

Branwen and Alphard were indeed first cousins; her mother was his aunt Callidora. Ben Weasley's mother Cedrella was also a Black by birth, though she had been disowned after eloping with Ben's father, Septimus.

"Riddle's probably all right, though," Alphard went on musingly. "Being a prefect and all. Has Auntie Callidora met him yet? She'll want to start looking at china patterns..."

"I heard you've been made Quidditch captain this year, Weasley," said Tom, changing the subject.

"That's right," said Ben.

"They couldn't find anyone better? Or are they just hoping you'll magically turn into someone who can actually play?" asked Branwen, sniggering.

"You'll just have to wait and see, Bran," Alphard informed her coolly. "We'll be playing you soon enough, I think."

Ben and Alphard were both Chasers for Gryffindor; Branwen was the Seeker on the Slytherin team.

"That's right," said Tom pleasantly. "Though last year was a good year for our house; we won the Quidditch cup and the House cup..."

"I'm done here," said Ben to Alphard. "Aren't you?"

"Yes, run along to mummy," jeered Branwen.

Wordlessly, Ben picked up his pile of books and stalked away. Alphard crushed Branwen into a hug and give her a wet, smacking kiss on the cheek.

"See you around, Cos. Try not to besmirch the family reputation too much." He waved at her and walked away.

"Ooh, big words, Alphard!" she called to his retreating back. "How many months did it take you to remember that one?" Turning back to Tom and Perdita she grumbled, "He thinks he's so funny..."

"He just does it to annoy you," said Perdita. "And it works too, from the looks of it. Do you know, you get this tick in your eye when you're mad?"

"I can't say I do," replied Branwen acidly.

Tom was losing interest. "Come on," he said curtly. "If we're done here..."

By the time Tom and Perdita had escorted Branwen to the Leaky Cauldron, where she had agreed to meet her father, it was already three o'clock. Lucan was lounging around outside the door, clearly waiting for them. Branwen swept past him disdainfully without a word.

"Where do you need to go?" Tom asked Perdita.

"Oh, I don't know. Mother's out shopping somewhere; I'm sure she'll come back with some hideous robes for me to wear."

"You've got some time then?"

"Er...yes." She smiled. It was true that she wasn't as good-looking as Branwen, but she did have a very pretty smile, that bloomed with a slow radiance onto her face.

He took her hand and led her down a small side street behind the row of shops on Diagon Alley. They stood next to each other, Perdita looking carefully ahead. Tom leaned over, and for an instant it seemed as if he might kiss her neck, but he was only whispering in her ear.

"Have you found anything out?" he breathed.

Perdita sagged a little against the wall. "No," she said. "I'm sorry," she continued quickly. "I've been looking all over, and I've absolutely scoured Mother's library. The closest thing I found was this," she reached into her bag and held up a small, dark blue book, so old it was almost disintegrating. "It chronicles the life of a wizard who actually used a Horcrux, but it doesn't actually, you know, go into semantics. It's more detailed than anything else I found, though. You've got to get Dominic Malfoy to let you look at his library. His father Abraxas supposedly has one of the most extensive book collections in England."

"That's all you can tell me? Go begging to Mr. Malfoy?" He started walking away, and he heard her running behind him to catch up.

"This is very advanced magic, Tom. And to tell you the truth," she swallowed, "I'm not sure you should go on with it. It seems very dangerous. It's your soul."

"That's right, my soul, to do with as I please. All I want to do is protect it, after all," he said reasonably. "Its greatest weakness is that it's attached to this useless shell of a body. The reason I asked you--you, not Malfoy--is that you're brilliant, Perdita. I know you can help me if you want to."

They arrived at the herpatorium, and Tom looked longingly at the snakes.

"Let us out," they were saying. "Let us feel the warmth of the sun on stones, let us taste the air and slither after the juicy mice..."

"Branwen said she was going to come with me...she lied of course," he said dryly.

"Well, Branwen wouldn't have much use for snakes and lizards...unless she was shooting arrows at them."

"Yes, she is rather ruthless, isn't she?"

"Freedom," rasped the snakes. "The glass boxes are so small, and we are always coiled, waiting."

Tom thought of his pet, his precious basilisk, banished back to its secret home in Hogwarts, because of that stupid girl, that filthy, nosy Mudblood Myrtle. How puny these serpents were in comparison!

"There are a few titles, mentioned in other books," Perdita said at length. "I can ask Mother to write to Mr. Malfoy to see if he has them...they're old school chums, you know. Or else Dominic could do it..."

"Either way," said Tom. He slipped his arm around her shoulders. "We're on the way to a great discovery, you and me," he said confidently.

Perdita smiled, but had not managed to banish the worried look from her eyes. "Are you sure, Tom?"

He smiled coldly. "You doubt me?"

"No...you know I don't."

"Come on, then, my faithful little Perdita. I'll buy you some ice cream."

By the time Tom returned to Borgin and Burkes, Mr. Burke was at home. He looked quite pleased with himself, and Tom guessed that he had made some favorable deals.

"You ought to have been there, Julian," he was saying, as Tom walked in to the store. "Would have been good training. You've got to develop a good eye to sort the rubbish from the riches. We picked up a couple of interesting trinkets, though. You can take a look for yourself later."

"Good, Dad," said Julian. "We delivered the cloth stuff to Mrs. Fortuna this afternoon. You could have told us she was barking."

"I don't care how mad she is as long as her gold's good," retorted Mr. Burke. "There's another lesson for you."

"Speaking of which, I need some of that money to go and pick up Mum's medicine. It's almost out."

"I'm to waste money on more ineffective potions, am I?" Neither of them had noticed Tom, who was hidden from view by a large mahogany cabinet.

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Julian.

"It means that she's the same whether she gets the potions or no. Your mother is very sick, Julian. We've had Healers in here day in and day out ever since you were a baby...none of them have ever provided a satisfactory answer to the riddle of your mother's illness."

"We can't just give up," said Julian tightly.

Tom was trying to figure out an escape route, so that they wouldn't find him and figure out that he'd been eavesdropping. He stepped back onto a soft Oriental rug, which turned out to be far plusher than he had expected. His foot sank down, and down, and down. The rug was making a loud slurping noise, and he felt himself being sucked in.

"Who's there?" called Mr. Burke, coming out into the front of the shop.

"Tom!" cried Julian.

"Disgorgio!" shouted Mr. Burke. There was a gagging noise, and the rug spit up his leg. It was covered with bits of lint and thread. Tom moved towards the Burkes, stepping around the rug gingerly.

"Picked that up from Parkinson," said Mr. Burke heavily. "Quicksand Carpet. Ah well, no harm done, eh?"

"Dad?" asked Julian, holding out his hand. Scowling, Mr. Burke dipped a hand into his robes and drew out a money pouch. He handed Julian two Galleons and a handful of silver Sickles.

"Bring me back any change," he said, before stumping upstairs to the family's flat.

Julian regarded Tom, and asked, "Did you hear us talking?"

"Yes," admitted Tom. "I walked in by accident."

"It's all right," Julian told him. "It's no secret that my father isn't a generous man. He loves money more than anything else. Once he cheated this poor, pregnant woman out of a valuable relic. It's one of his favorite stories: fabulous heirloom for only ten Galleons, from a witch too ignorant to know its worth, so she was happy to take a pittance. You'd think he would have at least helped her out a bit."

"Yeah," agreed Tom, "though it was a bit dense of her to give it away like that. She should have asked for more, bargained a bit."

"Merciless, aren't you? You'd have what my father would call, 'an unerring business instinct.'" He grinned. "That's all right, I like money too. It's so miserable being poor."

Tom could only agree.