The desk across from hers was empty, dust fuzzing the dark wood. She had cleared it herself the same day she’d requested rain. The qualifications for Unspeakables were even more stringent than those for Aurors - it would probably be a while before someone new came to fill it. Millicent was glad of that.
As she gathered a roll of parchment and the Dictaquill, her eyes lingered on the desk, her mind wandering again to the past.
–I’ve got something!†Justin bustled over to his desk, spreading bits of paper across his desk. Millicent got up to look, her interest piqued. Some was the thick parchment and scrawling script she was used to; some of the papers were flat and bright white, the ink of the printed letters oddly shiny. She picked one up and looked at the heading.
–Electronic Voice Phenomena?†she asked, looking up at Justin. –You know electronics don’t work here.â€
–No, but listen.†Justin’s brown eyes were level, a depth of seriousness in them that told Millicent he’d thought this over before bringing it to her. –When I was watching my cousin’s kid, he put on the telly, and there was a program about ghosts. They used an electronic recording device to pick up the voices of whatever spirits were haunting the place - voices speaking in a frequency human hearing couldn’t pick up. It was probably fabricated - those sorts of programs are really meant to entertain - but it got me thinking. I looked into it.†He gestured to the paper Millicent held. –It’s fringe science at best in the Muggle world, but they don’t know ghosts are real. I was thinking...why don’t we try it?â€
–Electronics,†Millicent pointed out again.
Justin’s serious look dissolved into a smile. –Well, obviously not using electronics. Let me finish.†He sorted through the papers and handed her a cutting. –Dictaquills. They pick up whatever’s said in a room and record it, right?â€
She glanced down at the parchment, a catalogue listing. –Yes…â€
–They pick it up even where a person might not catch every word?â€
–Do they?â€
Justin nodded. –I tested one in the Leaky Cauldron on a Saturday night. It picked up several conversations I could never have separated out.â€
Millicent took a deep breath. She could see where this was heading. –You want to test it in the Death Chamber. On those whispers from the Veil, the ones no one can quite understand.†She met his eyes, goosebumps breaking out on her arms. –This might work.â€
After seven months on this project, four of them without Justin, she had gleaned little of use. A word here and there, never more than two or three in a row. She remembered the breathless wonder the first time she had watched the Dictaquill lurch into motion. By now it was wearing thin. Still, she persevered; that she was getting anything at all was of immense interest to the Department of Mysteries, and the experiment would have continued with or without her. She had been adamant: with Justin gone, this project was hers.
Millicent glanced up at her bulletin board, filled with jotted notes. One stood out, no notes pinned within two inches of it. On it was a single word: Goodbye.
She turned away, her jaw clenching, and left the office. Tonight was Halloween, and even the Department of Mysteries was nearly empty. But Croaker stood waiting for her, hunched and ancient though he was. Death was not his line of study, but he need not do much.
He nodded in greeting, and his dark eyes swept over her. He had seen so much in a long career down here that such a glance seemed to penetrate far below the surface of her appearance. But Millicent was used to such looks; she merely nodded back and turned to look down at the Veil, waiting at the bottom of the tiers of stone benches.
–How can you stand it, Mill?†Justin asked one night as they sat in their office looking over their findings. His hair, usually so neat, was in disarray; he’d been pushing his fingers through it. It was starting to go grey a little at the temples, she noticed. When had that happened? –Day after day, year after year, and we’re coming no closer to any real answers.â€
–That’s what this job is,†Millicent said.
–No, it isn’t. It’s trying for real answers, and sometimes getting them, but most of the time wasting your life looking and getting nothing.†Justin looked up at her. –I thought this was going to tell us something. I really did, that first time the quill started moving. But all we’re getting is rubbish. Fragments, and not even ones we can put together to make something.â€
He didn’t bring it up again, but Millicent watched him after that, and saw the signs of strain. Sometimes this happened to Unspeakables. Some got drawn deeper and deeper into their studies until they lost themselves in the pursuit of answers. Some simply left, leaving that chunk of their lives behind. She didn’t much like either idea.
–You think tonight will be a good night,†Croaker said, his voice soft, reminding Millicent of the rustle of pages.
–The whispers have always been strongest on Halloween night,†she said. –Going all the way back to the first records from the Death Chamber.†She glanced at Croaker, and he inclined his head, looking thoughtful. No reply came, so she started the climb down the stone steps. Croaker came behind her, wheezing slightly.
They walked all the way to the dais where the Veil stood. Also on the dais, there was a chair with chains wrapped around the arms. Beside it was a spindly table. Millicent stepped up and settled into the chair, setting the parchment and Dictaquill on the table. Croaker joined her on the dais, checking that her arms were lined up properly on the chair arms. At a flick of his wand, the chains twined around her wrists, holding them firmly in place.
–Thank you,†Millicent said.
Croaker met her eyes for a moment. –I will return for you in a few hours’ time.†Millicent nodded, and he turned and left. She waited until she heard the door click shut to whisper a command. The Dictaquill leapt into the air, ready to record whatever was said, and trembled, as if on the verge of writing something.
–Hello,†Millicent said. The whispers from the Veil, already audible, grew louder at the sound of her voice, and she heard the quill scratching across the parchment. She looked to see what it had written.
Hello
Millicent
Please
She’d never seen so many words at once, so quickly. Even as she watched, more words formed: Listen; love you. But a shiver crawled down her spine at the next word: Mill.
The day Justin failed to show up for work, Millicent went to Croaker to see if he’d perhaps owled in sick. Croaker had only frowned at her, and she had hidden her sudden fear behind an impassive face. It was unlike Justin, sure, but he hadn’t quite been himself lately. She settled into work she could do on her own, indexing their findings.
It was when she received an owl late that night from Ernie Macmillan that she truly began to panic. None of Justin’s friends had heard from him, and Ernie had gone round to check on him and found his flat empty and his bed not slept in. Did she know where he was?
She took the Floo to the Ministry immediately and ran through the corridors, through the round Entrance Chamber, through the Death Chamber, and into their office. A search of his desk found nothing, and on an impulse she went back into the darkened amphitheatre. She glanced down at the dais, and frowned. There was something on the table.
She went down the steps, her heart in her throat, and mounted the dais. On the table, she found a paperweight from Justin’s desk and, underneath it, a small square of parchment bearing a single word: Goodbye.
Millicent stared at the parchment, her breathing harsh in her ears. The quill kept scribbling.
Speak. Connection.
–Justin,†she said.
Me.
The whispers seemed to have faded a little, except for the one thread, as if the dead who waited for her had stepped back, or been pushed back, to let Justin speak. She found herself drawn to the Veil as never before, straining for the sound of Justin’s voice.
–Why?†she asked. –Why did you go through?â€
Had to see. Beyond.
–And lose your life?†Her voice rose, surprisingly loud in the heavy air of that room.
Sorry.
Millicent stared at the parchment, the words blurring as tears came to her eyes. She blinked furiously to make them go away. –Can you at least tell me what you found?†she asked, her voice hard, almost angry.
No words.
–Look how bloody useless that stupid plunge was! You can’t even tell me what you found! Just what were you trying to prove?†Millicent clenched her fists. If he was alive - if he wasn’t speaking to her from Death’s kingdom - she might have strangled him herself. He hadn’t seen his friends’ faces at the funeral. He wasn’t the one who had been asked to explain why he had done what he’d done, when she didn’t have the answers herself.
He wasn’t the one staring at the Veil that had taken his partner day after day.
Wasn’t trying to prove, the quill wrote. Wanted to know.
Millicent had no words for him. None that weren’t full of anger or hurt, anyway, and what could he do to fix them? Even the Department of Mysteries accepted that there was no way back from death that wouldn’t produce a twisted, hollow semblance of life.
The quill scrawled two words: Speak. Connection.
She supposed he couldn’t form words as well without the connection of a living voice to latch onto. They had theorized as much before. But she had no words.
Or perhaps she did.
–Goodbye, Justin,†she said, looking at the Veil rather than the parchment. The quill scratched beside her, and when she looked, she saw a single, familiar word:
Goodbye.
The next day, Millicent handed in her resignation. Croaker looked up from the parchment to her, his eyes solemn. –If you wish to return, you need only send me a letter. I hate to see such a good researcher go.â€
–I may,†she said. –But for now, I need a break.†She’d seen and heard of too many Unspeakables broken by their studies. She needed time to deal with what Justin had done before she returned to work.
Croaker only smiled at her a little, startling her. He rarely smiled. –You know your limits,†he said. –A valuable trait. I hope to see you return.â€
–So do I,†she said, offering him an awkward smile, and turned to go. She walked through the Time Room, among the ticking clocks, took a last glance at the strange symmetry of the Entrance Chamber, and then she left the Department of Mysteries for what might be the last time. When she finally reached the street outside the Ministry, she lifted her face to the sun. She had pursued Death for too many years; for now, it was time to pursue life.