“Merlin’s beard, I’m going to be here all night!”
Elijah Macmillan was up to his elbows in what Mister Blott had referred to as ‘spring cleaning’. He assumed, though, that had that particular practice been observed at the prescribed time, it would not be so damnably difficult to do now, when he, Elijah, was charged with the task.
His father, Ernie, had always harped on him about getting excellent marks in school. Even at age eleven, though, Elijah had always been more concerned with Quidditch, girls, and general mischief, which had largely led him to be the first in the family to be sorted into Gryffindor House at Hogwarts.
Now, though, he lamented his dubious N.E.W.T. scores, because lack of distinction had led him to this miserable job, instead of something glorious enough, or at least not too embarrassing, to call a career. Working in the back room of Flourish and Blotts’ printing center, mending books and cleaning whatever needed to be cleaned, was definitely not a career. Far from it, Elijah thought.
After hours of backbreaking labor, though, his task was almost complete. There were just a few ancient crates of manuscript to either sort or toss, and he could finally go home. It was about bloody time, too. An extra hour of work here and there was one thing, but this task had been drawn out for eight days. Eight long, grueling, twelve-hour days, ones which Elijah would not be sad in the least to see come to an end.
When he opened that last crate, he sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall, cursing his aching back for impeding his progress. The papers were dated for 1990, which made the pile of parchment well over thirty years old, and the collection of dust within the forgotten tomes confirmed that analysis.
Mister Blotts had told him to sort anything from the past five years in one room and anything from five to ten years in another, but he never said anything about what to do with anything older than that, not that there was anything else.
Absently cleaning the documents as per his instructions, Elijah ventured to guess that he could probably best sort the contents of the crate if he actually knew what was actually in there, so he looked at the top page, just to see what it was.
Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart. Who the hell is Gilderoy Lockhart? I guess I’ll have to read some of it to find out.
As Elijah prepared to skim through the forgotten volume, a picture in the crate caught his eye. It was of a blond man with attractive, symmetrical features, but not the manly sort; it was also signed with a rather girlish script. Pieces began to fly together for Elijah as he realized who this man was. His father had talked about Lockhart, who had been one in the long parade of Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers at Hogwarts during the time before Voldemort’s defeat. According to Ernie, the man was a giant fraud and a git, to boot. Lockhart had never done any of the things that his books said he did; he had, instead, took tales from other witches and wizards, performed a Memory Charm on them, and passed the deeds off as his own.
Elijah scoffed. Year with the Yeti? The bloke’s probably never even been to the Himalayas, he thought to himself. He then decided to see if this was an actual original manuscript for a book or a rejected one. He pulled out and opened his Pocket File, which searched every known published literary work in the wizarding world and operated on vocal commands. It also automatically updated as soon as a book was certified as published.
“Gilderoy Lockhart. Year with the Yeti,” he inquired of the small device, which was the size of a ladies’ compact mirror and relatively the same shape. Immediately, the name ‘Gilderoy Lockhart’ appeared on the top portion, and on the bottom, ‘Year with the Yeti’ was there, along with a publication date of 1991, a year after the contents of the crate were submitted. There was also a brief synopsis of the novel, which was denoted as having 326 pages.
“Hmm, I guess this is the original, but it doesn’t look like it’s enough for that many pages. Maybe these are outtakes.” Elijah peeled back a few pages, looking for a chapter title to confirm his suspicions. On the fourth sheet, he found a heading that read ‘Maid of the Mountain’. When he checked the Pocket File again, there was no mention whatsoever of that chapter. “Ah, these are edits. I’ll just ask Mister Blotts tomorrow what he wants me to do with them.”
He took up the first three pages before the omitted chapter and leafed through them. The first was a simple title page, along with the table of contents before ‘Maid of the Mountain’ had been taken out. The second was a blank sheet. The third, though, had a little more substance to it. The entry seemed to be a single page from a different chapter that had been removed partially as compared to tossing the chapter entirely, as Mister Blotts had apparently done with ‘Maid of the Mountain’.
‘Our trek around the mountain was uneventful for nearly a month after our first encounter with the Yeti tracks. Our excitement only lasted as long as the sun did that day; instead, we turned our attention to one another.
‘The other fellows paired off in search of various items we needed for camp. That left me alone with the mountain guide. I suppose the other men did not want to be paired with me - they were obviously afraid to look insufficient at their tasks beside my admittedly rather dizzying outdoor skill.
‘She looked at me, and I looked back at her. It was a little awkward, of course, because I didn’t know her name. Before I realized what I was doing, however, I raised my hand and stroked her smooth cheek, one of the only parts of her body exposed to the cold, but I immediately removed my hand, realising how inappropriate it was to touch her, let alone without permission. Again, almost against my will, I breached the realm of propriety and left a small kiss where my hand had been just a moment before.
‘The danger in the air was nearly tangible. Her skin tasted sweeter than fruit”not the regular kind, but a succulent one, such as a strawberry, or even the forbidden sort. I felt like I should say something to her to break the uncomfortable silence, but, as soon as I opened my mouth, she turned and walked away from me, a sour look on her face.
‘It was almost intoxicating, her reaction. I have always been so used to women chasing me in shops, writing me letters professing their undying devotion, and, in general, swooning in my presence. I was an established author and adventurer and had won the Witch’s Weekly Best Smile award multiple times, so of course they all wanted me for my wealth, my general affluence, and my stunning good looks, but I had never been intrigued by a single one of them. Yet this one, the one that shunned my company, held my interest like no other had ever done before...
‘I decided from there on to make a pointed effort to learn her name. Furthermore, I wanted to see her face.’
It was not exactly something he would imagine deleting from a book. It was engaging enough, even readable, which was more than could be said for the other rubbish the man had published.
Rising from the floor and brushing the dust from himself with his hands, Elijah gathered his personal items and prepared to leave. He was dead tired and eager to be as far from this place as he could get, but as he prepared to close the door behind him, something halted his exit.
Elijah turned once more to peer at the crate containing Lockhart’s castoff chapter. His curiosity was about to get the best of him, because he wanted to find out what was in those pages that caused them to be stricken from the book. There was always the next day, and since Mister Blott never paid attention to where he was, what he did, or how long he was there, Elijah figured he could probably read them on the job and get away with it easily.
However, something compelled him to read that volume, and that something wanted him to read it that night. Though it would technically be classified as stealing, Elijah took the small stack of parchment and stuffed it into his satchel. Besides, it was not like he would not bring the lot back the next day.
He surreptitiously scanned the hallway for any other occupants before exiting the building and casting the usual Locking Charm to ward off any trespassers, however unlikely that occurrence would be. Apparating back to his tiny rented room was symbolic, in a way. It was a sort of point of no return. He was in for a Knut, in for a Galleon. There was nothing to do now but read the book he essentially stole.
Once he was firmly entrenched in his reclining armchair, which was heaven for his aching body, Elijah scarfed down his takeaway dinner and started to read the pilfered work.