For the Greatest Good
Dr Galenus Pomfrey’s second visit at Riddle House went better than the Mediwizard would expect.
Merope Gaunt-Riddle had recovered enough to travel. The Minister himself made it clear that the witch had to be judged for the forceful use of a potion on a Muggle. At the same time, the Minister wished to keep the affair as lowkey as possible, although it was impossible to hide it from the Wizarding World. The Minister even consulted him, wondering if Merope’s health would justify that her sentence was converted to house arrest—he didn’t know which strings he would have to pull, but Galenus would make sure that he was assigned as the guardian of Maia’s daughter.
However, the mediwizard’s real interest in Riddle House was Little Thomas. Of course, it was too early for the first shows of Magic and the only sure proof was Hogwarts’ acceptance letter. For the moment, Galenus was glad to see that Little Thomas had been as lucky as Lady Maia: his smallness was due to the mother’s dire lifestyle during pregnancy, but his weight gain was steady and, with exception of colic, he had no health issue.
“Where are Mr and Mrs Riddle?” he asked to a maid, once he was done examining the baby.
“They are in the master’s study, but…” The maid wriggled her hands, uneasy. “Madam wonders if you wish to stay for tea.”
Galenus held back a sigh. He didn’t care a sopophourus bean about the Riddles’ quarrelling. Besides, there was one more thing that he had tried and failed to ascertain.
“I apology, but I don’t want to miss my train back to London as last time.” He had no idea of the Muggle trains timetable, but the distance between Riddle House and the closest railway station was enough to justify such claim. “If you could please lead the way?”
The maid stiffened, her mind fighting between her masters’ orders and the authority Galenus had used in his voice. The maid cleared her throat and gestured him to follow her—Muggles were so simple…
Angry, indistinct voices came through the study’s door, which stopped as soon as the maid knocked. The Muggle woman welcomed him with that fake smile of hers, while her husband introduced himself. Galenus wasted no time in chit chat and related his diagnosis.
Little Thomas was growing at a good pace; his sight and hearing were perfect for his age; and all in all, there was nothing to worry about him.
“Still, considering the Gaunts’ medical history, I would like to conduct regular blood tests,” he said, keeping his tone neutral—still, the Muggle woman gasped, clenching her husband’s hand.
“O-of course, doctor. Do everything necessary to ensure Little Thomas’ health,” the Muggle man said, trying to hide his displeasure with formality.
He added something stern to his wife, who hissed back before walking away. He cleared his throat.
“Mary told me that your treatment for… my daughter-in-law was miraculous.”
Galenus didn’t expect the Muggles to appreciate Merope Gaunt—how could they after she charmed their son into marrying her? Still, they had to have some interest in providing her and the baby a roof over their head and a warm meal.
“There is nothing otherworldly in the medicine,” Galenus replied with a dismissive tone. “I like to experiment with ‘old wives remedies’ and some strains of mould can be useful to treat infections.”
The Muggle nodded, thoughtful. He then leant closer; his voice was barely a whisper.
“I may trust your… professionalism, may I?”
Galenus had no idea what the Muggle meant, but reassured him.
“Could you suggest any of these… ‘old wives remedies’ for… err… a man’s… sterility?”
“I beg your pardon?”
There were some potions that both husband and wife had to take to ensure conception. But the Muggle didn’t need it and—
“Tom, my son, he had a… err… disgraceful accident recently.”
“I see. Well, I should first examine him and… talk with the colleague who treated him.”
Actually, it was a bother. Galenus couldn’t care a sopophourus bean about Merope’s husband and his ability to have more children. Really, he answered in that manner only to be a welcome guest in the Muggles’ home. However, the Muggle’s face brightened.
“I will arrange a meeting with Dr Lindemann right away!”
As soon as the Muggle turned his back, Galenus rolled his eyes, then took a stroll around the study while his host talked into the Muggle counterpart of Floo Powder Communication. However, there was nothing interesting in the—
Magic tickled the back of Galenus’ mind.
The feeble trail of Magic led to the study’s fireplace, and the panelled wall around it.
The source was an old portrait of a stern, monkeyish man—a wizarding portrait spelled into immobility.
Galenus stepped closer, wiping his glasses to better examine the portrait. The layer of varnish altered the colours, but he could guess the dark green background and the greyish letters stating the man’s name, place and the year of painting.
“Are you an amateur of Flemish painters?”
“That one?” The Muggle walked up to him, his lips curling around the pipe in a smug smile. “That is my Flemish ancestor. His son was a wool merchant from Ghent who came in England in sixteen forty-two. Actually, ‘Riddle’ was just a sobriquet, since he spoke with a heavy Flemish accent.”
“I see. So, your family has been English for… how many generations? Ten?”
“Eight including my son. But the most prominent member of our family was my granduncle, Lieutenant Archibald Riddle”—the Muggle pointed at an officer's portrait— “who was made a knight for his exploits in the Napoleonic Wars.”
“My, what a rich history—goodness me, is it already this late?” Galenus pretended to jump as the clock chimed the time. “I am sorry to interrupt the conversation, but I must hurry if I want to catch the next train to London.”
The Muggle was displeased to be denied the opportunity to flaunt his family’s past, yet he was still understanding. Galenus assured him that he would look into his son’s issue—he bid his farewells to the Muggle’s wife and took the road back to Little Hangleton.
However, Galenus didn’t went to the inn, were a coach ensured connection with Greater Hangleton four times a day. As soon as he was certain no Muggle was in sight, he Disapparated.
He Apparated back in front of a Georgian country house and went straight to ring the bell. A haggish old governess opened the door—a witch, although not a powerful one, and probably Muggle-born.
“May you inform Mrs Warren that Dr Pomfrey wishes to see her?” Galenus said with a honeyed yet commanding tone.
He didn’t wait long before he was lead in an elegant parlour—Cornelia Malfoy had kept her family’s taste for luxury and beauty. She sat ramrod straight, a pure white Angora cat sitting on her lap, looking in everything like one of the Sacred Matrons—she would have been one, if Magic didn’t fail her. She invited him to sit with an elegant gesture, and soon a House Elf popped up, ready to serve them tea. Certainly, Mr. Malfoy and his wife cared a lot for their unfortunate daughter, since they had provided her with magical servants.
“To what do I owe your unexpected visit, Doctor?” Cornelia Malfoy said with the same amiable yet detached tone her mother would have used.
Galenus placed his half-empty cut of tea on the coffee table and took his journal and Quick Quote Quill.
“I have a few questions concerning the Riddles and I was under the impression that you may hold some answers.”
“Very well, I will try to answer to the best of my knowledge.”
Galenus looked her straight into her eyes.
“May I ask how did you, a Malfoy, become acquainted with Muggles?”
The question made her uneasy. She cleared her throat and spoke low.
“I suppose that you have already guessed my… err… deficiency. When I failed to be admitted at Hogwarts, my parents decided to hide me instead of ban or kill me, as other Pureblood families use to do. After a little searching, Mother found Miss Bradford’s School for Young Ladies. It isn’t known, but the school was created by Albreda Weasley-Black for her daughter.”
Petronella Black was the only instance in Wizarding History of an officially recognised Squib, before Angus Buchanan's case. Lady Albreda stood so fiercely by her daughter’s side that she followed Petronella in exile. Of course, the Blacks did everything in their power to erase that stain in their family tree.
“You know, it was quite easy for a male Squib to sneak into Muggle society, even now they can enter the clergy or the army,” Cornelia Malfoy continued. “But for us women the only option was a nunnery, which was no longer an option in Petronella Black’s time. So, her mother hired a few Muggleborn witches and Muggle teachers, in order for Petronella to shine as much in non-Magical society as she would have in the magical one. Ever since then, the school has welcomed the Squibs of those families who loved their magical-deficient daughters enough to give them something better than destitution.”
Or wished to use them to get a foot into Muggle affairs, Galenus almost added, but kept his mouth shut. There were things in the Wizarding Society that had to stay unspoken.
“I assume that Mrs Riddle is a Squib as well,” the Mediwizard said instead.
“More or less. She is who Lady Albreda would call a ‘fifth-generation Squib’,” Cornelia replied.
The concept was odd, and yet it sounded somewhat familiar. “What do you mean?”
“According to the current convention, I am a Squib, but since my children have no knowledge of the Wizarding World, they are considered Muggles,” replied Cornelia, twisting her lips. “However, I find more comforting for our kin Lady Albreda’s definition: a non-magical person with wizarding ancestry with sensitivity to Magic. The true requisite to be accepted into Miss Bradford’s school is to sense Lady Albreda’s ghost. Mary is the fifth generation to be admitted, as many of her relatives in the female line.”
Galenus arched both eyebrows as he remembered that, once, Lady Maia expressed a similar belief.
“Do you know from which family—”
“Mary always said that her great-great-grandmother was the daughter of a French aristocrat who had escaped the Revolution,” Cornelia Malfoy interrupted him with an annoyed huff. “A better tale than the one about me being an illegitimate daughter, if you ask me. The only thing I know about the original wizarding family is that it would be acceptable for a Malfoy to be acquainted with them.” She sipped her tea thoughtfully, before admitting, “I did seriously consider the possibility to marry my Alexandra to Mary’s son, if he ever manifested Magic.”
Galenus, on the other hand, drummed his fingers on his knees. He could find a candidate in the registry of the time—usually, a child who failed to be accepted into Hogwarts “died” shortly before or after their eleventh birthday, were “sent where the climate best suited their health” or “adopted by a distant relative in the Continent or the Americas”. Still, he would never, ever be sure to have found the right Fist-Generation Squib.
“Is there a way to find which wizarding family Mrs. Riddle comes from?”
Cornelia Malfoy laughed, loud and bitter.
“Doctor, no one would ever admit to have a Squib in the family: even my parents, who care about me, made it clear that I should keep myself hidden! And even if you ask Albreda Weasley’s Ghost, the only one who knows about each Squib who was sent to her institution since fifteen-forty, she won’t tell you!”
Galenus nodded, smiling sheepishly at his own naivety as he took his leave. Cornelia Malfoy walked him to the foyer, waiting as the House Elf helped him wearing his coat.
“And may I inquire about this interest of yours, doctor?” she almost spat out, like a cat trying to scare a larger and more dangerous dog.
Galenus pinched his lips thoughtfully. Lady Maia and he had agreed not to reveal anything about their Squib theory until they had enough data to demonstrate it, especially after the backlash their anonymous paper received after its publication.
“It is for the Greatest Good of the Wizarding World.” These were Lady Maia’s words.
Cornelia Malfoy scoffed amused, almost mocking. “I had no idea that you sympathised with Grindelwald’s ideology.”
This time, it was Galenus who laughed.
“I assure you, Madam, that the only common ground between his fanatical ideology and my theory, is that both can turn our world upside down.”
He kissed her hand goodbye, placed his bowl hat on his head, and Disapparated.
* * *
Galenus ignored the piles of money, jewels and all precious goods held into his family vault. Instead, he walked to an unassuming pillar on the left. He pointed his wand to a square carved into the stone, drawing a complex pattern and whispering under his breath word only he knew. The stone melted away, revealing a simple wooden box.
The Mediwizard placed it on a nearby table, gently brushing the dust away, and opened it with a spell.
Letters were tightly packed by year, bound together with random ribbons or shoelaces. He chose one of the most recent ones, his finger caressing the feminine handwriting as his eyes prickled.
Little Hangleton, 23rd March 1913
Galenus, my dearest friend,
I may have come across, in the most unexpected way, to a manner to demonstrate the veracity of my theory. However, before I proceed, I require your help in perfectioning and testing the Blood Potion.
I have here included a small sample from the subject who, if I was not lied to and we consider Albreda Weasley’s definition true, may be a sixth- and eighth-generation Squib.
I pray you to conduct the test in haste and, if this amount does not suffice, please let me know as soon as possible thus that I shall retrieve a suitable amount of blood.
Included are my latest notes about Occamy eggs’ interactions with Staghorn.
Send my best to Jasmine and Rue,
Your devoted friend,
Maia G.
“You were right, Maia. You were right…” Galenus whispered, wiping his moist eyes with his fingertips.
Merope Gaunt-Riddle was likely a highly sensitive Squib, if he considered Albreda Weasley’s definition true. He would write to Professor Dippet as soon as he returned home, asking if Merope’s name was in the Book of Admittance. Oddly, he hoped she was not. It would make everything easier and the results more solid. He needed also to reconstruct the Riddles’ family trees, check the records about who could be the wife’s original Wizarding family—check if the wizard in the portrait was indeed the husband’s ancestor.
And he needed to find Maia’s notes, the ones she had hidden from the Gaunts. Galenus had already searched her private vault, years ago, and the cottage near Hogsmeade were Maia planned to hide with her daughter and unborn child. But even if he found them, there was the possibility that they were written in Parseltongue, or needed a spell in the serpentine language to be accessible.
Galenus closed the box angrily, as rage boiled in his stomach.
He had waited for Maia’s arrival in Hogsmeade for a whole week, then decided to use his position as her physician to get her out of Gaunt House. That beast of Mr. Gaunt had attacked him as soon as he showed up, accusing the Mediwizard to be his wife’s lover and the father of her unborn bastard. Only later that same night, Galenus succeeded in finding Maia—or rather, her hastily buried body.
After all these years, it enraged him that he had no proof that that beast of Mr. Gaunt had killed Maia. The rumours among the Muggles, about him beating her to death out of jealousy, were not enough for the Wizengamot.
Galenus might not have Maia’s notes, but he had her grandson. A babe, certainly, but who seemed to hold a great amount of dormant Magic.
A mean smile twisted his lips.
“I can’t wait to see the beast’s face when he’ll see how great his daughter’s “filthy spew” is!”