Ben Granger and
the Legacy of Icarus
By Helmione Nightingranger
Author's Note: Is Harry a pure-blood? He has two magical parents, but only two magical grandparents...Does this make him pure-blood or half-blood or what? I'm never sure where the borders are. I think he's half-blood, so I haven't referred to him as a pure blood where I have Ron, Ginny, and Beatrice, but if you disagree then just pretend his name's there too!
Ben Granger And The
Legacy Of Icarus
By Helmione Nightingranger/Helen.
Dedicated to Parker once again, and too Laura, who IS Beatrice.
"Family is the thing that never leaves you, even if you leave it." Bill Buford
Chapter IV -Family Ties
It was misty and hot. Ben was high above...somewhere. He wasn't sure where, but he was flying above it. It was dark, but not very dark. Twilight - the perfect mixture of Light and Dark. Obvious really - when else could the battle possibly be held? When else could the two sides meet?
The ground was moving. Writhing. Like it was made of a huge mass of snakes. Figures moved in the half-light - slowly at first, and then faster, more frantic.
Glass. Broken glass. Crimson blood. Writhing.
Beatrice was flying beside him. He couldn't see her, but he could sense her - next to him, as it had always been intended.
Why are they fighting? thought Ben.
Because they don't know how to do anything else, thought Beatrice into his head. They are antagonistic pairs, they need each other, they need the eternal struggle, the never-ending fight.
Like up and down? Wondered Ben.
We don't go up or down, we fly, Ben said silently. Does that mean we don't have to choose Light or Dark?
No, came Beatrice's reply. All must choose. Twilight can't last forever - one must triumph, and the other must challenge. Neither can win, but both must try, otherwise it'll be the end of the world. So it has been, so it will always be. Day follows night follows day.
And twilight can't last forever. Ben knew it was true, knew he must choose a side, but still he hung back. He didn't want an eternal fight, he just wanted to fly.
Twilight can't last forever. One must go up or down, but not hover. Caught in indecision, Ben fell. Down and down, into the dark heat of the glass and the writhing ground.
Then the darkness was gone, and he woke with a start.
"Are you sure he's ok?"
"He's fine. He's just been knocked out. I've healed his arm, and all his bruises and cuts. By the time he wakes up, he won't even have a scratch."
"And when will that be?"
"Any moment now."
Ben felt surprisingly awake, even thought his eyes were shut. Were the women talking about him? He thought they might be. The one asking the questions sounded like his mother, or one of his sisters. They were talking about him as though he'd been hurt - had he? He struggled to remember. He'd been flying...and then....stupid broomstick! It'd fallen out from underneath him!
"Calm down, Hermione," said a different voice, a boy's voice. "He looks fine. Look, he's moving!"
Ben opened his eyes. He was lying down on a bed. Hermione was sitting at the other end of this bed, looking absolutely terrified. Harry and Ron were sitting on chairs next to the bed. They just looked extremely bored.
Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, looked Ben up and down, and said nothing. Then she bustled off to her office. Ben assumed this was a good sign - he must be OK if she was ignoring him. He turned back to Hermione.
"Morning!" he said cheerfully, by way of a greeting.
"It's not morning, it's evening!" Hermione cried, looking even more scared, "Oh my god, he can't even tell the time! He has brain damage! Oh, Ben, does it hurt? Are you alright? Do you recognise me? Oh, what am I going to tell mum and dad?"
"Chill, Herms, I'm fine!" said Ben. Hermione said nothing, which meant she must be really upset - she hated people calling her "Herms," it usually made her very angry. Which, in Ben's eyes, was all the more reason to do it.
"Truly," he said "I've never felt better. And I recognise you, and I can tell the time, it was just the first thing I thought of to say."
"Oh," said Hermione, looking a little sheepish.
At that moment, Beatrice rushed in.
"Hi! Madam Hooch wouldn't let me come up and see you 'til the end of the lesson, but I came as soon as I could - are you alright?" she asked.
"I'm fine," said Ben.
"I thought you would be," said Beatrice, grinning. "I did the same thing the first time I flew. You sort of forget you have a broom, don't you? You feel like you can do anything - and then you can't and it hurts."
Ben nodded. He would have been surprised, but it seemed quite normal to him that Beatrice should be able to read his mind.
"D'you see what I mean now? It just isn't enough...the flying. It's a disappointment."
Ben nodded, somewhat reluctantly. She was right, the broomstick just wasn't enough.
"Are there any ways to fly without a broomstick?" he asked Hermione.
"No," said Hermione. "I mean, you can enchant other things to fly, but you can't fly unaided - unless you become some sort of flying animagus, but you don't know nearly enough magic for that yet." Ben sighed.
"Are you sure you're alright?" asked Hermione.
Ben nodded, but then a thought struck him. Hermione was speaking to him! "Have you decided to forgive me then?" he asked.
Hermione looked sheepish. "I'm sorry Ben - I know you didn't mean to spread rumours about me, I was just silly and upset. I forgave you ages ago." Ben saw she had tears in her eyes as she swept him up into a hug. He gritted his teeth - Hermione had a tendency to get embarrassingly over-emotional. It was probably hormones or something.
"Hmph-mione, gerroff!" Ben pushed her away.
She sat back, and thought for a moment.
"I've just realised, I haven't asked you about any of your lessons yet!" she said brightly.
"No, don't be like that!" she continued "I haven't spoken to you properly since you started Hogwarts - has it been fun? Are you any good at magic? What's your favourite subject? Who's your favourite teacher?"
Ben sighed. "No, I'm not particularly good, but yes, it has been fun. My favourite teacher...I don't know, but it's definitely not Professor Lennox - I hate her. And Potions is my favourite subject."
"Potions?" asked Ron, surprised.
"Yes, but bear in mind he doesn't have Snape," Hermione reminded him. Ron shrugged.
"I still want to know who Figg is," put in Beatrice. "I've never heard of her, and I've heard of pretty much everyone. I think it's a bit suspicious."
"She's my neighbour," said Harry, speaking for the first time. "She lives down the road from me, but I never realised she was a witch until this year. She never told me."
Beatrice still looked suspicious. "What does she teach?" she demanded.
Harry paused, looking at Ron and Hermione. They both nodded. Then he checked his watch.
"She doesn't," he said slowly, looking up and watching for Beatrice's reaction. "She's not a teacher. But Dumbledore trusts her, and he wants the school filled with people he can trust, now that we're facing Dark times. Do you know about Voldemort? That he's back, I mean."
Beatrice didn't flinch, she just nodded, expressionless. Ben nodded too - Hermione had told him all about the events at the end of her fourth year.
"We're, uh, supposed to spread the truth," said Harry softly. "If you're talking to someone you can depend on to join Us, you need to make sure they know what's going on with the Dark Lord. The ministry is trying to keep it hidden. They might be under Dark influence, or they might be just scared, we don't know. But forewarned is forearmed, and everyone on Our Side must know what our situation is, or they can't be expected to fight. Constant vigilance, and all that."
"How did you know if I was trustworthy?" asked Beatrice. "Surely you can't go saying things like that to anyone...?"
Harry tapped his left wrist. He drew back the sleeve, revealing a flat copper bracelet set with a round stone, where Ben had assumed there would be a watch. The stone was polished and smooth and perfectly black, with a dark fire inside that flickered, winking at them.
"It's a dark detector," he said. "A gift from...Sir - a friend."
Harry looked amazed.
"My mother was at school with him. She knew him, and she always said that she'd have thought he was far too loyal to hurt James or Lily. She thought he must have, of course - everyone did - but she was so relieved to find out he was innocent," said Beatrice, quite calmly. "When Dumbledore called all the "trustworthy Old Crowd" together, you don't think he left out my family, do you? Mother and Father have been at meetings all summer talking about what's to happen. They spent hours re-casting the protection wards around our house as well."
"Oh," said Harry, looking rather sheepish. He was quite used to being the only one (apart from Ron and Hermione) who knew what was going on. "OK, well, yes, it's from Sirius. If you were unreliable in any way, it would glow yellow."
"All this still doesn't explain why I haven't heard of Figg though," said Beatrice.
"She's an Unspeakable," said Ron.
"Oh," said Beatrice. "Well, why didn't you just say so?" She thought for a moment. "So, if Dumbledore is filling the school with people he trusts, is that why he re-hired Lupin?"
"Well, I wouldn't personally rely on a werewolf," she continued, "but I suppose Dumbledore knows what he's doing."
Harry was gritting his teeth, whilst Hermione was apparently trying not to explode at Beatrice's prejudice. Ben wondered idly if the Werewolf Protection League would be Hermione's next campaign. She was always battling whole-heartedly for something or other. Last year it was house-elves, the year before that she'd been really into Greenpeace. (She hadn't washed her hair all that summer.) Even in primary school she'd been forever holding Blue Peter Bring and Buy Sales, or trying to sell people Red Noses.
Ben thought he'd better say something to ease the tension before Hermione started handing out leaflets.
"You mean Dumbledore actually trusts Professor Lennox? But she's so annoying..." he said, laughing in what he hoped was a light hearted, hey-look-at-me-I-made-a-joke kind of way.
Hermione looked thoughtful. "But there's a big difference between being evil and being annoying," she said, "And I guess she must be more trustworthy than Professor Binns, otherwise he wouldn't've retired."
"That wasn't about trust," said Harry, "That was about practicality - what use would a ghost be in a battle?"
Battle. The word hung in the air like a thundercloud, and wouldn't go away. Snakes, thought Ben. Twilight. He didn't know where those words came from. They felt like they belonged to a long-lost memory, or a forgotten dream.
"Well, I don't think Professor Lennox is annoying," said Ron, grinning.
"Me neither," said Harry, with just the ghost of a smile.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You two never listen to a word she says - you just like her because she wears low cut robes and bends over her desk a lot." Hermione tossed her hair and looked disdainful. "You can't tell me you like Professor Barbie for her mind."
"I never said anything about her mind..." said Ron, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Harry laughed and nodded, blushing ever so slightly.
"Honestly, boys!" said Hermione, rolling her eyes again. "Ben, please promise me you'll never have hormones!"
Ben didn't answer, because a distraction suddenly appeared in the doorway.
"Ben! I heard what happened! Are you alright?" Super-Cho had just burst into the ward, her metaphorical cape flapping behind her.
"I'm fine," said Ben.
"He's fine," echoed Madam Pomfrey, returning to the ward, "so I suggest you all walk him back to his common room, instead of cluttering up my hospital wing." She smiled in an affectionate sort of way, and shooed firmly them out.
"So, what happened?" asked Cho, as they all began to walk towards the Ravenclaw common room - even the Gryffindors, as Hermione was still anxious about Ben, Harry obviously wanted to follow Cho, and Ron had nothing better to do.
"I fell off my broomstick," said Ben shortly. He liked Cho, but it was late, he was tired, and he didn't feel like being polite. He hated being fussed over, a feeling which he suspected came from having two older sisters, a neurotic mother, and far too many aunts.
"Was flying as good as you hoped?" asked Cho, "I mean, before you fell off."
"No, It wasn't. You were right," he said grudgingly, "I didn't want the broom and so the broom didn't want me."
Cho smiled sympathetically. "Oh well," she said. "At least you're not too proud to admit you made a mistake."
Ben heard a sneering voice in his head, saying, "father says it's a good way to bring some pride back..." Suddenly he remembered. Malfoy. "...The announcement goes out tonight..."
Ben looked at his sundial. Supper was over.
"Cho?" he asked quickly, "Were there any announcements at supper tonight?"
"Um, no, I don't think so..." she replied. "No, wait, there was one - that Malfoy kid from Slytherin is starting a kind of club thing, where people can go to research their family trees."
Hermione made an explosive noise.
"Honestly!" she exclaimed, "Malfoy will go to any lengths to emphasize the "importance of blood" - it's disgusting!"
There was that phrase again. "The importance of blood." The scarlet stains spread slowly out in Ben's mind. The broken glass glittered in the unnatural heat of dusk.
"You think that's why he's doing this?" said Cho, looking shocked.
"Of course," said Hermione grimly.
"He's just an idiot, Hermione," said Ron. "We just have to ignore him. I bet you anything the bigoted git has only got magical records for people to look at, though. We'll just steer clear of it."
"I think we should go," said Harry quietly. Everyone stared at him.
"Well, think about it - he's obviously not expecting us to touch his elite "club" with a ten foot barge pole," Harry continued. "I imagine even now he's spreading the word that anyone without pure magical blood will be "unwelcome." But if we go, not only will we get right up his nose, we'll be able to find out if he's spreading Death Eater propaganda, and report him to Dumbledore."
"You're right," said Cho, smiling at him. Harry went scarlet. "I think we should try and get as many half-blood or Muggle born people as possible to come. I'll talk to people and try and persuade them."
Ben groaned inwardly. Super-Cho strikes again.
"Me too," said Hermione. "We should try and get everyone together and..."
Ben could see hours of plotting and several cunning plans ahead, but he didn't have the patience or the energy.
"I think you're all right," he cut in sharply. "I imagine you're all going to talk for ages, but the way I see it, Malfoy's evil and Elvis is dead and Christina Aguilera's a slut, and so basically the world is as it should be. End of discussion. So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed, because I'm extremely tired."
As the wall swung shut behind him, Ben thought he heard Beatrice saying to the others, "Actually, Elvis isn't dead - he got in the way of a bad memory charm and forgot how to sing. He's running a Seven Eleven in New England."
The first Family Tree "Club" was held in the last week of September, the day after Ben turned twelve. He walked with Beatrice and Cho to the corridor around the corner from the dungeon where Malfoy had told everyone to meet. They waited there for Hermione. Within five minutes, she had rushed up, with Harry, Ron, Ginny, and several Gryffindors Ben didn't know in tow.
"We need to wait a little while longer," she said, a little breathless. She had obviously been rushing to get there. "There are some boys from Hufflepuff joining us. They'll be here soon."
"OK," said Cho "There's another Ravenclaw too. She said she'd be here - I guess she's just late."
When everyone was with them, Hermione gave them a pep-talk, her eyes alight with what Ben recognised as her "Save-the-whales/Free-the-house-elves/Werewolves-are-people-too/Don't-you-bloody-well-oppress-me" expression. There was no stopping her once she got into the swing of the campaign.
"Right. We need to go in there today and show Malfoy he can't push us around just because we don't have pure magical blood. Ron, Ginny, and Beatrice," she pointed them out, "are pure-bloods, but they're with us for moral support, and also to remind us that not every magical person is a stuck-up, bigoted little snob."
Ben looked up, surprised. She must be annoyed - Hermione rarely stooped to just plain insulting people. He had always assumed that he knew Hermione inside-out and back-to-front - she was his sister, after all - but since coming to Hogwarts she had surprised him so much. Maybe she was different at school. Maybe she was growing up. Maybe you can't fight the forces of evil without coming out of it a little screwy. Whatever it was, Ben thought he liked it. He smiled at her.
"Gneval of yaw sésle, y dob revet caöth guonee rup bé rupy llurt," said Beatrice. "It's my family motto. It translates as: 'Truly pure blood is pure enough to accept everybody else's way of living.'"
"Exactly," said Hermione. "Well...shall we go in?"
They all trooped down the corridor, and into the dark dungeon. As they entered, Malfoy looked up. Shock flashed across his face, followed by bitter anger.
"What are you doing here?" he aimed the words at Harry. Ben wasn't sure if he was talking to all of them or not. He spoke in such a way that made them all feel targeted, yet none of them had enough proof to complain.
"We're here to learn about our family trees," said Hermione in a sugary-sweet voice, with an under-current of challenge.
"Oh, well, that's a shame," said Malfoy smoothly. "Beatrice and the two Weasleys," he said the name like it gave him a bad taste in his mouth, "may stay if they wish to, but we only have magical records here, so anyone who's a mud - I mean, who is Muggle-born won't be able find anything."
He obviously had his "get rid of the mudbloods without getting into trouble" speech all prepared.
"Oh, that's OK, we brought our own family records with us. We thought it would be fun to research alongside the rest of you," said Cho brightly. Malfoy said nothing.
"Is there a problem?" Hermione asked, her eyes alight with triumph. Malfoy still said nothing. He was cornered and he knew it. He had no method of getting them to leave which couldn't be reported to the headmaster and get him into deep trouble.
"Well, I guess you'd better come in then," he said reluctantly. Hermione looked like she was about to say something more.
"Shhh," hissed Beatrice, quietly so Malfoy couldn't hear her, "Don't push it, Hermione. We want to stay here and get some dirt on him indoctrinating people. If you push him, he'll kick you out, teachers or no teachers."
Hermione said nothing, she just sat down, her grin fading slightly at being told what to do by a first year. The others followed suit, and began to get out paper and quills.
Ben began to panic - had he been supposed to get hold of some family records or something? Just then, Hermione pulled an envelope out of her robes. She pushed it across the table to him.
"Here. I owled mum asking her to send whatever information she had about our family. We'd better work on ours together."
Ben got out the new quill Hermione had given him for his birthday, and they began to look at the old papers, newspaper cuttings, photos, and letters their mother had sent. Every now and then, Ben looked up to see Malfoy glaring at them. He fought to keep down a smile. He could almost understand Hermione's passion for campaigning - there was a certain exhilaration to winning.
One of the things that struck Ben most about Hogwarts was how often things didn't happen. He had been told so many stories about Hermione's adventures, and it had sounded like everyday was a new mystery, a new clue, another brush with death. He knew that this year was more dangerous than any in his life so far, he knew that Dark Times were coming, and so he'd assumed that every day would be an adventure, but it wasn't. There were weeks and weeks of just normal lessons, day in day out of breakfast, classes, lunch, classes, supper, sleep.
Day follows night follows day, but above and beyond our normal lives, the eternal struggle goes on, almost unnoticed. Because not all battles are loud and messy and heartbreaking. Some are as natural and as peaceful as waving to a friend. Waving itself is an eternal battle - the biceps contract whilst the triceps relax, but then the triceps fight back and contract themselves, forcing the biceps to relax. Antagonistic pairs. The battle goes on.
And when you don't know how or when the Dark forces may strike, all you can do is wait.
September glided into October, and Hogwarts waited.
On the thirtieth of October, Ben was starting to get excited about the Halloween feast. He'd always loved Halloween - many times he'd found himself wishing that English people would celebrate as elaborately as the Americans always did. (Or at least, as they always did on television. He'd never been to America, and he didn't know if it was really like that.)
He had never been allowed to go trick or treating, as his mother was old-fashioned in many ways, and viewed knocking on other peoples' doors and asking for sweets as begging. He didn't mind that much - it wasn't the sweets he wanted. But he usually went out for a walk after it was dark on Halloween.
In the small town where he lived, the dark streets were almost empty, the people being a lot more superstitious than they would have liked to admit. Except for the occasional group of zombies, witches, and vampires, Ben was alone with his thoughts and the darkness.
He loved Halloween because it was Samhain, the ancient festival of the New Year, the night when the barriers between the worlds broke down. His mother had once said that this was just stuff and nonsense, and the barriers between the worlds, if indeed there were other worlds (which she doubted) were the same as ever. But Ben had disagreed - there were plenty of things in the world that his mother knew nothing about. To prove that, all he had to do was write to Hermione and ask her what she'd been studying that day.
And so it was that on the day before Halloween, excitement twirled around him for all to see.
"What are you so happy about?" asked Beatrice in History of Magic.
"Nothing," said Ben. He didn't want to share his delight in holidays of the past with anyone. It was his secret.
"Did Ginny smile at you again?" Beatrice asked suspiciously.
"No," Ben said hurriedly, blushing. Ginny had smiled at him two weeks ago in the corridor, and to his embarrassment he hadn't been able to stop grinning all day.
Just then, Professor Lennox raised her voice. This was something she rarely did, so it shocked the class into listening.
"Class! CLASS! May I have your attention, please?" She beamed in delight, realising they were actually looking at her, maybe even listening.
"Jeez, if she carries on like this, we might even learn something!" Ben hissed to Beatrice.
"Heaven forbid!" replied Beatrice. They giggled quietly.
"Thank you," Professor Lennox continued. "Today we are going to start a project. Won't that be fun? You will each pick one of the topics I write on the board about the Greeks, and You will study it in pairs until the week after Christmas, when I will give you a grade." She turned, and began writing topics on the board.
"So....basically," said Ben quietly, thinking, "We do lots of work, upon which our grade depends. We have to work, in order to get a good mark. And she doesn't have to do a shred of work until the week after Christmas? Wow, your parents were right - she is clever!"
Beatrice grinned. "So, what topic d'you want to do?"
Ben looked at the long list on the board. Mythology. Philosophy. Science. Theatre. Clothing and Food. Geography.... The list went on. How on earth was someone who completely didn't care supposed to choose?
"Lets do Mythology," said Ben. "Seeing as it's the first one on the list."
"OK," said Beatrice. "I like mythology, anyway. It's fun seeing all that old nonsense about idiots who sacrificed their daughters to get a wind to blow and stuff. As if anyone would really be that stupid!"
"Actually, wizarding experts believe that the Greek myths were true," said Professor Lennox, who was passing. "And whether they are or not, there's certainly evidence that the "Gods" may have been power hungry wizards on an ego-trip."
Suddenly her face changed. "Beware taking the myths too lightly, Beatrice. Stories, even fictional ones, have a power beyond imagining. Words make spells and spells make magic. Truth can change. Imagination can create. Words can do anything, and more. Don't take them lightly." Professor Lennox's face changed back into its normal smile. "I think you've picked a great topic. Have fun with it!" She hurried over to the other side of the classroom.
"Well, that was surreal," said Ben.
"Do people from Sesame Street always act that weird?" asked Beatrice.
Ben shook his head in despair. He wondered if his limited knowledge of the magical world sounded this stupid to Beatrice. He hoped not.
"Yeah, actually," he said sarcastically. "I hear Elmo does a great line in prophesies of death and despair."
Ben went into the Great Hall feeling almost disappointed. The Halloween feast was great, but nobody seemed that interested in the way it was dark and silent outside, and the wind was whispering secrets. Everybody was talking and laughing merrily, and eating to their hearts content. But all Ben wanted was to go outside, and give himself up to the wind. To run and run and run until he could run no more, to be alive in the world.
No, that's not quite true. He also wanted to fly. Autumn had always been his favourite and his least favourite season. The winds of change blew stronger than ever, and they called to him. His aching longing to glide on the wind, to hover and to soar, grew stronger with the dying of the leaves. It was wonderful. It was exhilarating. It was heartbreaking. To yearn for flying. To ache for flying. To know that flying was what he was born to do.
And not to be able to do it.
This year was even worse, because he could, if he wanted too. There was nothing to stop him from borrowing a school broomstick from the broom-shed, and flying to his heart's content. But it wouldn't be enough. He wanted...he wasn't quite sure what he wanted. To fly unaided, perhaps. A fairy godmother, or a genie or...
He looked over a Beatrice. She too looked, well, not unhappy, but...withdrawn. Quiet. Maybe she too was longing for that nameless thing that would let her ride the wind.
"The jailor man, and sailor
Were searching everyone
Band on the run..."
She sang quietly. It sounded strange and alien, hearing a cheerful song sung so faintly. Then Ben grinned to himself. Of course! That was what he wanted.
Having resolved his problem in his mind, Ben felt a little better. All he needed to do now was to get himself some wings. He didn't know how he would go about this, but there had to be a way.
If Daedalus could do it, so can I, he thought, as he tucked into his steak and chips.
It was the beginning of November when Ben made an interesting discovery. He had thought that the only reason he was going to the Family Tree Club was to annoy Malfoy, but after a few sessions, he found he quite liked it. It was interesting to find out about his family.
He had the beginning of his family tree all mapped out. His mother and father - Sally and Jack. His grandparents, Polly and Steven, Jemimah and David. He was just beginning to look at his great grandparents. It was getting harder to find any information. He had had to owl his parents several times, asking them to check things.
He was getting frustrated, as he didn't seem to be getting anywhere. So far he had only managed to find out the names of two of his great grandparents on his mother's side - Bertram and Amy Dyson. (His mother's mother's parents.)
He took a break, and wandered over to look at what Beatrice was doing. He smiled to himself. He knew perfectly well that Beatrice had family trees at home going back over hundreds of years - her family had kept their records meticulously. There was really no point in her even bothering.
But Malfoy knew there was no reason for her bother too, and that being here was simply an act of solidarity with the "mudbloods." Her mere presence was driving him crazy. Which, of course, was Beatrice's other reason for being here.
Then, suddenly, a letter caught his eye. It was on the table next to Beatrice, where one of the pure-blood Slytherins was working. It was definitely a magical letter, as it was written on parchment in ink, and the ink was changing colour somewhat reluctantly. (The parchment was old, so presumably it had been doing this a long time.)
What caught Ben's eye, however, was the signature at the end.
A magical letter, written by a witch called Amy Swallow. Which, unless he was much mistaken...
He hurried back to his table, and rifled through the paper. Soon he found what he was looking for. A marriage certificate.
Certifying the marriage of Mr Bertram Dyson to Miss Amy Swallow.
Chapter 5--not yet posted.
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