Closed Pages from the Past

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty could never entirely relax when he was expecting someone to drop by. He'd tried doing a bit of gardening, reading a book, and disassembling an old mechanism; but in the end, the only thing that cured his restlessness was cleaning. The house desperately needed it, anyway. In the two months since Arvo had died, the most Monty had done was wash dishes and fold laundry. The dust on his coffee table was thick enough to write his name in. He could ignore it, at least until his allergies kicked in, but his visitor was likely to be unimpressed. Besides, they would need somewhere clean to spread out the half-dozen books and scrolls Monty had sent off for restoration last Tuesday. And so he cleaned, tidied, and organised, moving from room to room with more energy than he'd had in some weeks. Embarrassment was a dependable motivator.

But it wasn't just a fear of judgement that energised him. He'd been feeling a little lighter ever since Mary Lou had dropped by. Grief still sat with him, biding its time, waiting for some happy memory to pounce on, but he was no longer afraid of it. The pain was a mark of how much he had loved his dear old friend, and its intensity was temporary, while his fond memories were permanent. He would have to find a way to thank her. In these sorts of circumstances, words seemed so very inadequate.

When the living room was clean, he moved on to the hall, and then the kitchen. He had hoped to tidy his workshop, too, but no sooner had he dried his hands than the doorbell rang. On his way to answer it, he glanced at the clock. One minute to two. Perfect timing.

The bookshop had sent the parchment restorer himself. Monty invited him straight through to the living room, apologising for the mess. No matter how much he tidied, a certain baseline of clutter was to be expected. This was Monty's house, after all. But the clutter was happily dust-free, and the coffee table did indeed make a convenient place to land the books. "Did you have any trouble with Crowther's Charms?" he asked, fetching his glasses. "I was a bit worried it might be beyond repair." There was something... familiar about about the man, but Monty wasn't certain why. The phrase 'small world' was especially applicable to the wizarding world; when you reached a certain age, you almost expected to run into old wizard acquaintances. It usually wasn't worth thinking too hard about.

 

[Alistair MacKenzie]

Alistair wasn't much of a traveller these days, at his age he had seen more of the world than most people had. Much of his research had been done in the tiny village towns in places all over Europe, and of course there was the time he'd spent as a Professor of Transfiguration in his early thirties at Hogwarts Scotland - but that was mostly irrelevant in the face of the work he has done since then. Still, he couldn't say he didn't like the travel and he had enjoyed being able to see all the different places people lived, the difference in some of the cultures, even between Europe and the Americas. That had been something of a culture shock for him in the first instance, but after some time it had become far more interesting to him being able to explore these places on his own, and then in some cases in his first years exploring them with his wife, Laura. The trips to the places he'd visited in Africa had been with his husband - Glenn, but he'd remained friends with Laura. He was still friends with Glenn too, and from what he'd last heard the man was on his second or third grandchild.

So it wasn't too much of a hassle for Alistair to head to New Zealand. It was not his primary home, but he'd been in the area for several months doing some work for the branch of Flourish and Blotts here in Obsidian Harbour. The only reason he'd been given the manuscripts he was now set to return was because they were of particular interest to him. The ones on engineering were not so important but the ones about herbal biology (which he was particularly fascinated with since he had been doing some work recently with the mixed breeding of certain potions ingredients) made him curious as to what other work this MP fellow might be working on.

It was not just the material that was interesting though, it was the charm work imbedded in them, the way that they were so carefully crafted, he'd had to rip through layers of the charm to get to the underlying issue and to be honest, he had been rather certain it would have all been for naught. Miraculously though, after the days he'd spent working on them, he'd managed to bring them back to their not quite former state. The texts were now completely legible and the even better point was that he was even able to recover several of the previously hidden pages that he been cursed into invisibility. Though he was still not sure if it had been the potions at work or the charms for it.

"Aye, a few, but I’ve worked wi’ similar before. I’ll admit, though, these were some o’ the most eclectic collections I’ve handled in o’er a decade. Congratulations, ye’re a truly fascinatin’ man!" He said, having followed the man quickly into the - he assumed living room - it was certainly lived in, not that he could judge a man on having a home that worked well for him. Alistair was rather a bit more conservative with his belongings but that really only happened out of his need to so frequently live out of a suitcase. The months he had spent in New Zealand for instance had been spent in several inns - it was just easier that way for him. "I can assure ye, Sir, naething is beyond ma capabilities. I’ve been at this for decades," and he was indeed very proud of his work. "If ye find somethin' amiss, please dae let me know. I can probably fix it right here." he couldn't very well have someone giving him a bad review.

@Monty Pendleton ​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

The voice, too - the voice was familiar. Not just because it was Scottish, and reminded Monty of his youth, but because of its rhythm and cadence. He was sure he’d heard it before. Yet there was nothing obviously familiar about the man’s face. Monty held his eye a moment longer than he normally might have, searching for a flash of recognition, a memory, a distinguishing feature - but there was nothing. So he dismissed it.

Monty perched on the edge of the sofa, opening one of the heavy books to its title page. “Ah! You even removed the coffee stain,” he said. “That one was me, I admit. Goodness - this is superb. Really, I thought this one was completely irreparable. Chapter two point five - I didn’t even know there was a chapter two point five. Well, that makes sense, yes. Of course. I should have known.”

He looked up, mildly pink. It certainly was an eclectic collection - and only a small part of the larger one he kept in England. He’d amassed a frightening number of old books and academic journals over the years, some authored by wizards, others by muggles, most of them on the subjects of herbology, potions, charms, and engineering. He’d also had a large number of them restored, but none to the exceptional quality he beheld now. The man’s self-confidence was utterly warranted. “Thank you - if you don’t mind, I’ll have a quick look through them now. Although I’m sure I’ll have nothing to complain about. This one looks cleaner than it did the day it was written.” Of course, this was an exaggeration - and thank goodness. The marks of the books’ age were well-preserved, as they ought to be. He’d once received back a two-hundred-year-old tome without any wear on it whatsoever. That was something to complain about.

“Sorry - would you like to sit down?” Monty gestured to an armchair. If he was going to examine the books more closely, the restorer ought to make himself comfortable. “Is this really an unusual collection? I always imagined you must see some esoteric things. Physics and herbology must be mundane in the scheme of things, surely?”

 

[Alistair MacKenzie]

"Aye, I actually considered leavin' the coffee stain in. I wasnae entirely sure it wisn't original, but after a couple o' tests, I determined it was likely user error. Ye've clearly had that one a long time, since it was difficult tae pinpoint the age o' the stain, only that the stain was younger than the rest o' the manuscript." he teased, baring his teeth in a wide grin. Now, for the most part, Alistair is a professional and doesn't allow himself to bring things down to a non professional level, however, it felt as though it might have been warranted in this case specifically and precisely because the man had opened the way forward and Alistair was loathe to leave a door open.

He felt like there was something strangely familiar and oddly satisfying about their sudden teasing of each other, although he wasn't entirely certain yet that it was reciprocal teasing or even intended teasing at that, but he was a man who enjoyed his life and at his age he needed to take his entertainments and pleasures as they came up. Some people, not the people he liked of course, but some people liked to believe that there was nothing at all exciting about his work, he liked to point out that he was one of only three people in the entire world today who had physically handled the original magna carta. Illegally, of course, but he didn't add that bit in. He might have been the kind of man who did things he strictly shouldn't have been doing in the name of science, but he as also a smart man when he did it. No evidence was to be left behind.

He'd learned that lesson the day he'd snuck into the potions cabinet in his fifth year in an attempt to alter his bad grades.

"If ye'll skip tae the middle o' the twelfth chapter, ye'll see the lucky... or maybe unlucky, chapter thirteen has also been recovered. I think ye'll find the section on certain artefacts tae be o' particular interest, given yer varied tastes." he suggested, taking the moment to glance about the place a bit. He had to admit he could admire a man who actually properly lived in his home. Alistair hadn't had the time to make a space like this, one that felt simultaneously welcoming and suffocating in equal measure. Not suffocating as though it made him feel unwelcome, but suffocating as though it's mere existence made his feel like there was nothing he could not know about the man if he wanted to. It was as though he lived so entirely in his space it was difficult not to bring others into the web. Honestly, Alistair wasn't aware people still lived in this way - it made him happy to think about actually.

Alistair didn't spare too much time thinking over the offer of a seat when it was offered, bunching and hunching himself over desks and tables all day as he did didn't really lend itself to great posture and so standing could, on occasion, become a little more of a chore than he would have liked and given he had come almost directly from finishing up the last of this collection, he was grateful for the respite. "I dinnae believe either of us truly think ye consider yer collection tae be mundane, Mr..." he realised in that moment he actually hadn't caught the gentleman's name, and was about to ask for it when his eyes landed instead on something he'd not noticed as he'd walked in. Montgomery Pendleton - well, how about that?

"Mr. Pendleton - but then, whit could be mair mundane than a man wha cheated intae a win in his sixth year duellin' tournament?" Ha! That would get him.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty laughed, relieved the man understood his sense of humour. "Mm - well, let's just say it was on the indeterminable side of forty years ago," he said. "I was very, very young, obviously." In his head, Monty was still in his forties. It was just that his body disagreed with him. Merlin, he was beginning to sound like Arvo, knocking a handful of years off his age - soon enough it would be a couple of decades, and then he'd start complaining about his 'dodgy hip' (Monty still didn't believe it wasn't a clever excuse to get out of climbing stairs). The thought both tickled and consoled him. His friend would never really be gone as long as Monty felt his influence, and he was sure he always would, like a comforting hand, or perhaps a very cheeky devil on his shoulder.

With almost reverent care - he had learned his lesson with the coffee stain - Monty turned to chapter thirteen. Another he hadn't realised was missing. He'd known several authors to skip it on account of superstition, and now he wondered whether any of those books would also benefit from the restorer's penetrating eye. "I wonder who removed it," Monty mused. "Not the original author, surely? I don't suppose you can tell." The temptation was to sit and digest the whole chapter right there, but he was conscious of keeping the man too long, so he turned to chapter twenty. Time (and a number of careless previous owners) had not treated these final pages well, but Monty was once again quite impressed. It was was unlikely the restoration had revealed anything of great significance, but he felt a thrill at the possibility all the same. Who knew how long it had been since anyone had laid eyes on this text?

Monty was about to offer his name when the man seemed to notice something across the room - a certificate, perhaps - and beat him to the punch. It took him several seconds to process the next statement, in which his face formed a variety of expressions before settling on delight. "I knew I knew you!" he said. "Alistair, yes?" How could Monty forget? Well, the man had changed. Time had not been unkind to him, per se, but it had certainly left him a business card. The same, of course, could be said for Monty. He'd stopped counting his new wrinkles; they developed faster than he could keep up. And that was nothing compared to the chaos gravity had wreaked all over him. Neither of them were young any more, and perhaps this was why the recognition had been slow on both sides, but now that Monty had taken off his glasses and looked Alistair in the eye, there was no mistaking him for the boy who'd slept adjacent to him in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

Fragments of memory assembled themselves in his mind. A duelling platform. A crackle of magic. An expectant silence, and eyes all over him. He'd never stood a chance against Alistair MacKenzie. That was what he'd believed, anyway, and the pressure had begun to suffocate him. He should have lost - but he didn't, because Alistair gave him a moment to breathe, and that moment gave him the edge. "No, no, I remember! I didn't cheat - but I did try to convince the proctor I had. Did I ever tell you? No - I was so terribly shy, I don't suppose I did." Monty laughed, his recollection expanding. "I implored her to disqualify me. I felt so guilty; I was absolutely distraught. But when she asked me to tell her how I'd cheated, I couldn't come up with an answer. I'm so sorry, Alistair. You deserved that victory. Goodness, how long ago was that? Forty, forty-five years? It feels like yesterday."

 

[Alistair MacKenzie]

The desire to answer all of Monty's questions settled as they realised their connection. Of course, as would make sense, Alistair had been first to pick up on it. "I reckon all those years breathin' in potion fumes has fair addled the wirin' in yer head," he said, laughing slightly at the fact. He hadn't seen the man in well over forty years and it seemed almost peculiar that the universe should bring them back into one another's lives like this. Alistair didn't really believe in such things - though Laura had - but he had to question just exactly what forces had been put into motion that two people who'd lived such different lives over the years could suddenly be thrown into each other's acquaintance again after such a term of decades.

"Aye, Monty, it's Alistair," he continued, a warm smile spreading across his face. "It's been quite some time, hasn't it? I admit, I didn't recognise ye straight away either. But now that I see ye, it's like the years just melt away. Ye havenae changed much, just a few more wrinkles and a bit o' grey. But then, I cannae talk, can I?" he asked, gesturing to himself in a similar manner as he had to Monty only moments ago. "I remember that duel well," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Ye gave me a right fright when ye tried to convince the proctor ye'd cheated. I thought for sure they'd disqualify ye, but ye were always honest to a fault. I didnae think I deserved the victory either, mind ye. It was a good match, and ye held yer own. I think we both learned a lot that day, more than we realised at the time."

He leaned back, glancing around the room, taking in the sight of the various artifacts, books, and oddities that spoke of a life well-lived and deeply engaged in the pursuit of knowledge. "Ach, it's funny how life works, eh? We gang our separate ways, live our lives, an' then, out o' the blue, we cross paths again. Ah suppose it jist goes tae show that some connections are meant tae last a lifetime."

Alistair's eyes softened with nostalgia as he continued. "Aye, I mind those days at Hogwarts like they were yesterday. All the mischief we got up tae, the lang nights studyin' in the library, the way we used tae challenge each other tae be better, smarter, more creative. Those were the days that shaped us, Monty. And look at us now, still chasin' after knowledge, still passionate about our work. It's a rare thing, and somethin' tae be proud o'." It hadn't been just them of course, the whole dorm had been layabouts at one time or another. When he hadn't been spending time with Laura he'd been in the dorms, studying for OWLS or NEWTS or just being a general menace to the other boys.

He paused, his gaze returning to Monty's. "Ye know, it's a rare thing tae find someone who shares a passion for the auld texts and the art o' restoration. It's good tae see ye've kept that fire alive. There's a lot o' history in these pages, a lot o' magic, and it's our job tae make sure it doesna get lost. I think that's somethin' worth dedicatin' a life tae." Alistair reached out to touch the edge of one of the restored books, his fingers tracing the lines of the cover with a gentle reverence. "And if ye have any more books in need o' a bit o' magic, ye know where tae find me. This work is more than just a job for me; it's a callin'. Each book, each scroll, it's a piece o' history that we get tae hold in our hands. It's a privilege, and I'm glad tae share that wi' ye."

He settled back into the armchair, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him. "So tell me, Monty, what have ye been up tae all these years? Aside from amassin' an impressive collection o' texts, o' course. I'd love tae hear about yer adventures, yer discoveries. It's been too long, and we have a lot o' catchin' up tae dae."

@Monty Pendleton ​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

“That’s truer than you might think,” said Monty with a grin. Frankly, he was surprised that Alistair remembered how much he’d enjoyed potions classes. At the time, he’d thought nobody paid him much attention, which was fine, because he’d seldom paid attention to anyone else. There were running jokes (some quite cruel) about the distant world Monty seemed to live in, and how difficult it was to pull him out of it. But he did remember Alistair. He remembered every student who was kind to him, because there had been so few; and of those, Alistair stood out as one of the kindest. To call them friends would have been a stretch, but that had more to do with Monty’s crippling anxiety than anything else. He would have liked to have been Alistair’s friend; he simply hadn’t known how to be a good one.

And now here they were, two men in their sixties, reminiscing about old times. Where did the years go? Monty had watched himself age so slowly, he’d hardly noticed it happening. Seeing his old dorm mate for the first time in four decades suddenly made him realise how old he must have looked to everyone else. Still, these days he was simply grateful for his health, and he had a lot of life in him yet. He had to beat Arvo, after all.

Monty smiled as he listened, though his eyes betrayed a touch of sadness. He could not look back on his school days as fondly as Alistair; they were full of anxiety and grief. But it hadn’t all been bad. He’d caused plenty of trouble in his seventh year, for which he and Ermolai had become somewhat famous. And the late nights in the library had been peaceful, pleasant even. Monty remembered trading notes with Alistair - potions for transfiguration. They’d proof-read each other’s essays, and ultimately helped each other pass. The memories were coming back to him now, both good and bad, but where Alistair featured in them, mostly good.

Funny indeed how life had thrown them together again, as if, perhaps, they were supposed to be friends all along. Of course, Monty was getting ahead of himself; the man in front of him was practically a stranger. But he was a helpless believer in fate these days, and he enjoyed the idea that Alistair was here for a reason, even if neither magic nor science supported it.

“Oh,” he said, a little disappointed Alistair’s musing had come to an end. “Adventures? I don’t know about that. I went into teaching.” He laughed at how bland it sounded in comparison to Alistair’s work. “Well, I dabble in a few things - potions, charms, engineering. A bit of research, a few projects. Do you remember I used to build things? I'm sure I got told off once for adding extra features to the common room table. Anyway, I never stopped. Building things. This book here, in fact-" Monty reached for a book with a dark purple cover- "this helped me build something a few years ago. Have you been to the Atlantis City hotel, in London? The one that caters to both wizards and muggles? This book inspired me to re-design their lift system. Never thought they'd be interested, but here we are. Felt only proper to have it restored, after that."

History hadn't been Monty's favourite subject at school, but he had developed an appreciation for it over time, as he realised how much of today's technology he owed to wizards and scientists of the past. And he had always loved old things. Books, places, machines. The marks of time gave everything character.

"Anyway, I'm a teacher, really. Or a tutor, now. I taught at the school here, for a while - fifteen odd years - but I couldn't keep up with it all. I enjoy the quiet lifestyle. Me and my books." He smiled. "What brought you all the way over here, anyway? Just work? You must have had some adventures."

 

[Alistair MacKenzie]

To see someone you once had a bond with in a much older face than the one you remembered was both remarkably strange and also uniquely satisfying. Alistair now had many people in his life he could no longer see for one reason or another, and being able to grow the list rather than shorten it was incredibly satisfying. Whilst he was hardly what most people would call old, he was older and that was almost enough as it was. Since school, which was really the last time he could really think he had seen Monty, he'd been married twice, divorce twice and travelled to many countries. In those years he had lost as many people he had gained and then he'd reached a point where he simply lost people. It happened, life was hard, after all, and not everyone would make it to the end. It is in these times one finds their minds casting back to those young faces, the boys and girls of ones youth and you wondered where those faces might be now, how many of them now looked as his did, and how many of them would never look as his now did. Seeing Monty alive and well was a deep thrill that only those who'd lived a full life could really understand.

The smile graced his lips slowly at first before it grew into a great grin. "Good tae see ye, Monty. Half o' us had our money on ye bein' deid by twenty-five, ye ken," it wasn't a criticism, in fact it was quite the opposite. So admired had Monty been by Alistair and his cohort, (at least in Alistair's eyes) that he quite firmly believed that Monty would have become one of the Icarus' that left their school in the way they did, did something great for the world and then swiftly had their lives ended far too soon. The fact he'd not heard much about the other wizard in all those years had lead him to believe he'd left the world some years ago. Seeing him now, he could sort of see why he hadn't heard of him. It seemed the man had become a recluse, which was probably the only other option. He remembered the man being painfully shy as a young man, and still saw some element of that here, though there was a confidence in him that he didn't remember from their schoolboy days. "Ye've gone an' made quite a world for yersel'." There was little left he could say he would truly admire, but this home of sorts, as put together as it so clearly was, was one of those things. Alistair, quite honestly, was rather impressed if he were to be completely honest about all of this.

He listened as Monty broke down some of his life, interested in what he had to say. The similarities between their lives lead him to chuckle some at the fact they'd not managed to cross paths until now. It seemed a little silly thinking about it, but then, it appeared that they had been on two very different trajectories despite the similarities, which made sense of course. Still a little funny though.

History was something that never changed, sure, there were new discoveries made all the time, people found things that told a story from a different lens, but it wasn't uncertain, it was constant and that had been very important to Alistair at one time in his life. It was arguably still very important now, only these days he had more tools to really expand his understanding. Words he understood now didn't exist when he was a child and it was only through his own understanding of history, of things that had been where he was able to understand what was and maybe that was difficult to explain to most people - he had a perception that perhaps Monty would understand, if they were to ever venture into the topic. Hardly something to bring up on first contact after so many years at least. "Adventures, maybe, I played the role of a professor for myself for some time actually, quite a few years ago, Transfiguration at Ilvermonry - that was a learning experience all of it's own, though I daresay I've no need to tell you that. Played host in the library in Hogwarts back home for some time too between freelance work with Flourish and Blotts - I don't quite travel so much as I used to back then, but, sure, I had some adventures, you could say that, yes," the slow and easy grin on his face dropped more into a sort of mischievous smirk as he thought about the amount of times he'd found himself running places, but he wasn't about to reveal his deepest thoughts so early on in the conversation. After all, he was sure his name was still on a list somewhere in a museum in France.

Probably.

His eyes landed on a picture of a young woman and a young man, they looked happy, it seemed that they had a small family with them. Well, that's nice. He was happy to see that Monty had found a family for himself, he might not have been fully aware of the man's family in school, but it had been clear to anyone with eyes they weren't in a great place back then. He leaned a little closer and watched the photo move a little, the girl and the boy, because they looked incredibly young honestly, were looking at each other and waving out at him from the frame. "Ye've got a bonnie family, Monty. Do ye see them often?"

forgive me Claire xx @Monty Pendleton ​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

"Oh," Monty said, laughing politely. Dead by twenty-five? Why would anybody think that? And was this one of the things people used to giggle about behind his back? The sound of snickering had often followed him around at school, but he'd never been entirely sure what was so funny. Something he'd said or done, presumably. He had his suspicions, and for the most part, he tried not to think about them. But this? Well, it had never even crossed his mind. To think that his classmates were betting on his early demise made him feel empty all of a sudden. None of them had ever kept in touch.

Monty followed Alistair's gaze around the living room. Yes, he had made a nice world for himself, both here and back in England, but it all looked a little bit... sad. The many books, inventions, and knick-knacks spoke of a life devoted to things, not people. He had come around eventually. With a little persuasion, Arvo had managed to open his heart to the value of friendship and family. But still the evidence of isolation accumulated: drawings piled up on end tables, intricate potion displays grew longer, fresh flowers from the garden replaced wilted ones. He wasn't lonely. Even now, he liked to be alone. But Alistair didn't know that. To him, Monty must have seemed a very peculiar and reclusive man indeed.

Meanwhile, Alistair had lived a no doubt rich and exciting life; his smirk as he alluded to adventures beyond his time teaching was proof enough of that. "Oh, I'm sure you did," Monty said. He seemed to talk easily, but he was struggling for something appropriate to say. "Transfiguration - yes. You were always very good at it. What a lovely, varied career." Well, that would have to do.

Alistair's gaze had begun to wander again. This time it came to land on a photograph of Saveli and Reuben with the girls. Monty could hardly bear to look at that photo; even three years on, the sight of his daughter waving at him from within the frame activated an explosion of grief. Christmas Day, 2054. Such a joyous moment Monty had captured. There had been snow outside, and music playing on the radio; Rion was dancing on the spot. "No, I..." Monty paused, raising a mental shield, as he had quickly learned to do, against the pain. "That's my daughter, Saveli, and her husband. They passed away a few years ago. But my grandchildren, yes - they live with me. Sixteen and fifteen, now. Growing up much too fast." He didn't want to talk about this any more. Leaning forward, he stacked up his books. "Anyway, these are perfect, thank you. How much do I owe you?"