But it was Hogwarts as he’d never seen it before. The stone castle was new, gleaming in the sunlight, nothing like the ancient, near-crumbling building that Jordan knew so well. There was no Quidditch pitch, no crowds of chattering and giggling students, no gamekeeper’s hut or hordes of owls swooping overhead. It was eerily still and quiet. Even the air smelled different.
But after a moment, he realized that he was not the only person on the grounds. Walking slowly and casually from the castle, clearly deep in conversation with one another, was a small clump of four men and women. Jordan squinted and leaned forward, peering at the group as it moved closer. Because the grounds were so empty, he could make out what its members were saying.
“Really, you’re absolutely brilliant,” spoke a very tall and thin man whose pale and bony wrists and ankles protruded from his otherwise beautiful and expensive-looking green robes. His hair was sleek and dark, and a long, thin beard sprouted from his chin. “How do you come up with these things?” As the group came closer, Jordan could see that he had beady black eyes, large ears, and a short, broad nose. The overall impression of his face was that of a shrewd and clever monkey. His voice was soft and slippery, his accents Shakespearean. Although he was not handsome, there was an engaging, charismatic air about him.
The woman next to him smiled, sharp-featured and with brown hair pulled back tightly and covered by her pointed hat. “Well, thank you,” she said courteously. “But really, the only way to settle this argument is to each run our own separate house. I know you too well. If we didn’t come up with some compromise, Godric would throw a fit, Salazar would walk out, Helga would never stop talking about it…” She paused, her light blue eyes gleaming. “And I would be insufferable.”
Jordan did a double-take. Godric? Salazar? Helga? He had to be witnessing first-hand the original Hogwarts founders on the day they made the decision to split into four houses. They all looked much younger than the depictions of them that he’d seen in the past, no older than their mid-thirties, and their eyes shone with fresh enthusiasm.
The man on the other side of the woman who had just spoken had to be Godric Gryffindor. He was, Jordan was surprised to note, shorter than he’d imagined, but well-proportioned and solidly built all the same. Gryffindor wore splendid red-and-gold robes, and his long mane of fiery red hair tumbled to his shoulders. His features were strong and chiseled, but it was his eyes that really stood out. They were a remarkably bright and clear greenish-yellow, so light that they were almost chartreuse.
“Really, Rowena, you have the wisdom of Merlin.”
Rowena Ravenclaw, the brown-haired woman, shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no. There is a difference between cleverness and wisdom. I may know many things, but Merlin understands everything.”
“What do you mean?” asked the only one who had not yet spoken, a small and plump woman with a pleasant, round face framed by long blonde curls. Her brown eyes were wide and curious, and she leaned forward with much rustling of yellow petticoats. She couldn’t be anyone but Helga Hufflepuff.
“He’s not just the most brilliant logical mind of our times,” said Ravenclaw, her voice almost reverent. “He also may just be the most talented Seer the world’s ever known.”
Gryffindor nodded. “Yes, what’s that that they said about him in last week’s Daily Prophet again?”
Slytherin smiled. “You mean, ‘time is no match for him. He experiences the past, predicts the present, and remembers the future?’” He raised an eyebrow, a habit that Jordan knew would drive Haley up the wall had she been there. “But enough fawning over him. Do you think they’ll have sayings like that about us anytime soon?”
“Yes,” replied Hufflepuff, poking him good-naturedly in the side. “They’ll be saying ‘you’re as self-absorbed as Salazar Slytherin.’”
“And it will be a compliment,” Slytherin shot back with a smirk, though it was clear that he meant no harm.
Gryffindor laughed at his friend’s exaggerated arrogance. “Where,” he wondered, “did you find a pump big enough to inflate your head so much?”
The green-robed man opened his mouth to toss back a barbed retort, but he didn’t get a chance, because at that exact moment, there was a faint ‘pop’ and a hooded figure materialized on the grounds before the four friends.
“You know, if this Apparition that Merlin’s invented becomes popular, we should really use an enchantment to prevent people from Apparating in and out of the school when we reopen,” noted Ravenclaw. “Otherwise, skipping classes will be far too easy.”
The hooded figure inclined his head respectfully to the founders, then spoke in a soft, low voice. “I’ve got an important message. Is now a good time?”
“Who sent it?” asked Hufflepuff.
“I did,” replied the hooded figure brightly. “Merlin.”
It was as though he had just announced that he was the Tooth Fairy. The four founders reacted with evident surprise, though Slytherin managed to cover his gasp with a hacking cough. Clearly, they had not anticipated Merlin to arrive anytime soon.
“Oh, don’t be alarmed,” Merlin said warmly. “I’m not bringing a death sentence.” There was a note of amusement in his voice, the slightest hint that he had rather enjoyed his stunned and speechless reception.
Gryffindor was the first to speak. “We apologize, Merlin. We were just surprised to see you because we were just talking about you.”
“Please sit down,” added Ravenclaw. “You can take off your traveling cloak as well; it’s quite warm.”
“If you insist,” Merlin replied. “My robes aren’t in great condition today, but I assure you I mean no disrespect.” It was plain that Merlin and the founders respected one another equally, and treated one another with the pleasant formality that world leaders used when holding conference with one another.
Merlin seated himself on a rock beside the four friends and pulled off his thick traveling cloak to reveal a slightly worn set of dark violet robes and the first glimpse of his face. Jordan almost fell off his own rock when he caught the first glimpse of the renowned wizard’s face, although the four friends were clearly accustomed to his appearance.
Merlin, so often depicted as an old bearded man, was nothing like Jordan had imagined. He was very young, no older than seventeen and most likely a year or two younger, small and slight of build. His skin glowed with youthful energy and a healthy tan, and his broad forehead was smooth and clear beneath long, dark hair. The only clues to the genius intellect inside the boy were his eyes. They were a very dark and opaque green in colour, almost black. His eyes were full of profound intelligence and compassion and, if one looked closely, the haunted look of someone who had seen far too much.
He conjured a plate of biscuits out of thin air and popped one into his mouth, swallowing it in one bite. “I’m sorry,” he apologized sheepishly.
“That’s quite all right,” Hufflepuff assure him, as Slytherin quickly took a biscuit or two from the plate for himself without asking.
“Now, what was that message?” he asked smoothly, accidentally spraying Merlin with biscuit crumbs. Hufflepuff giggled.
Merlin ran his hand through his hair. “Well, I had a vision about you earlier today,” he explained as casually as someone mentioning that he’d eaten some toast for breakfast. His dark eyes turned serious and uncomfortably intense, and his tone dropped. “You must stay together. If… one of you… breaks your new agreement, it will cause a schism that will weaken the wizarding world for over a millennium. By the time it is mended, it will be too late. The four founders must stand together, or, if anything divides you, have reconciled by the time of your deaths. Otherwise, the future will be dark and grim indeed.”
There was a horrible, stiff silence. When recounting his prophecy, Merlin’s voice became strangely deep and immeasurably wise and ancient, as though a force as old as the world itself had filled his young body. The boy himself, however, looked completely comfortably and relaxed”making ominous prophesies had grown routine for him.
“Are you telling us,” Gryffindor said at last in a soft, deadly voice, “that one of us will betray our friends?” His yellow-green eyes smoldered as they darted between his companions.
Merlin shrugged, his face calm. “It’s easy to change the future,” he assured the founders. “Prophecies aren’t totally certain. Humans live by their own choices, not fate. If you stand together like I said, there’s nothing to be afraid of. But if you don’t, well…” His voice trailed off. “Let’s just say I’ll be back to talk with you quite a bit.” He stood up, and gave them a mischievous smile that served as a sudden reminder of his youth.
Ravenclaw’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you leaving so soon, Merlin? It seems a shame to travel all the way to Scotland and spend such a short time here.”
Merlin pulled the hood of his cloak over his face. “Apparition hardly takes time or trouble, Professor,” he assured her cheerily. “My parents will be wanting me at home. I guess I’ll see you again when I come back to school for next term.”
He turned toward Slytherin and his tone changed. While still light and soft, it seemed forced, overly casual. “Oh, this is completely random, but have I ever mentioned that my parents are Muggles?” And with that, he turned on the spot and vanished into thin air.
Slytherin’s face blanched like a dead fish.
And a thousand years later, so did Jordan Potter’s as his eyes snapped open.
“What?” shrieked Haley, nearly toppling out of her chair. “This, my friends, is a TAVESTRY!”
“I believe the word you’re mangling there would be ‘travesty,’” replied her brother, who’d been rather quiet and moody since that morning, though this was nothing too unusual. Unlike his sister, he’d always hated early mornings. “And there’s no need to be so dramatic about everything.”
“ARE YOU KIDDING?” wailed Haley, shoving a piece of paper under his nose and brandishing it with such ferocity that she nearly gave him a nasty paper cut on his upper lip. “Look at this schedule! We have N.E.W.T.s Potions first today!”
Emma, who was absolutely not a morning person, and was slumped over face-down on the table and swore under her breath. “How’m I s’posed to pass Zabini’s class if I can’t stay awake?” she demanded.
Ted stopped in mid-bite of his large plate of scrambled eggs. “That’s not the only problem,” he reminded the others. “We’re getting Inter-House Unity project assignments from our first-period teachers. And Zabini doesn’t really like us that much, especially Haley, so who knows how rough he might make that?”
“Well,” said Ivy, “There’s only one way to find out. Let’s go to Potions and get it over with. I mean, we don’t want to get a tardy on our first day of classes.”
The others, even Haley, agreed that this was probably wise, so they gathered their books and bags and proceeded down to the dungeons, still grumbling under their breath.
It was surprising, really, how few students were taking N.E.W.T.s-level Potions. With only twelve of the forty students in their year present, the dungeon seemed even more dark and cavernous than before, swallowing up the small group of students like a dark thundercloud masking a tiny cluster of stars.
The class was deathly silent, as was the habit in Potions classes. One never knew when exactly Zabini would appear from his storeroom, and they had all learned quickly that he usually entered at extremely inopportune moments. (On their first day in their first year, Haley had made a rather awful first impression by standing on her desk and announcing, “Right, well, the teacher’s never gonna show, so I’m filling in today! I’m Professor Haley-poo, and today in Potions, we’re going to mix Fizzing Whizbees and pumpkin fizz and watch it explode! You will be graded on awesomeness!”)
On this particular day, it was not especially long before Zabini made his grand entrance. The door to the storeroom banged open, and Zabini strode out in a whirl of trailing, many-layered robes. A tall and dark man with exotic features and flashing black eyes, his appearance was a dramatic one and his behaviour was no different. He used every inch of his classroom to his advantage like an actor using a stage, and his voice shifted from a barely-audible hiss to a ringing roar unexpectedly, causing everyone to jump.
“N.E.W.T.s Potions,” he proclaimed sharply, pacing catlike, “Is most likely the most difficult class in which you’ll ever enroll. You will find my methods far stricter than ever before, my grading scale harsher. You must all be prepared to work your very hardest.” He came to a sudden stop directly in front of Haley as he spoke these words, one eyebrow lifting slightly in a gesture that made her absolutely shudder with annoyance. After lingering for a moment, he resumed pacing. “For some of you, you will find that this class is not the right one for you. HOWEVER, I do not allow drop-outs, and I accept no excuses.”
He stopped once more, this time at the desk of a long-haired Slytherin Prefect named Anatoly Capshaw. Zabini could not hide his astonishment at the sight of this particular student; Capshaw was truly abysmal at Potions and, although he was a Slytherin, greatly despised by the Professor, who constantly made him an object of ridicule. “Capshaw…” Zabini said in a hoarse whisper.
“Yes, Capshaw,” agreed the boy. “Anatoly, if you like, but that’s a little informal just now.”
There was a collective gasp. Nobody spoke to Zabini that way, especially not a Prefect.
The Professor’s eyes burned, and his upper lip curled. “I do not like your tone,” he hissed.
Capshaw smiled blandly, then spoke in a ridiculously high-pitched voice, “How about this one, then?”
Everyone was too shocked to even think of laughing. What had gotten into this boy? True, he’d always been one to voice aloud his opinions without any particular conversation partner, but he had never so much as smirked at Zabini before, let alone talked back to him. This was House Point suicide, and practiced only by two certain Gryffindor girls.
“Capshaw!” boomed Zabini, his voice rising several decibels in a theatrical crescendo. “You…” He faltered.
Emma suddenly realized the sheer brilliance of Capshaw’s impertinence and almost laughed out loud. Although she still had absolutely no earthly idea as to what had sparked it, it dawned upon her that Capshaw was playing on the fact that Zabini, a major supporter of Slytherin, could not ever bring himself to deduct points from his own house.
“You will serve detention with me tonight, Capshaw,” snapped Zabini, having realized that deducting points was, well, pointless.
Capshaw looked genuinely upset, although his expression was so genuine that it had to be fake. “Professor, I’m a Prefect. I have to do my duties after class. I can only do detentions on Saturdays and Sundays, and I saw the bulletin in the Common Room that said you’d be out on weekends for special business with the Ministry.”
Zabini, for the first time anyone could remember, had been bested at his own game. He had been backed into a corner and had nowhere to go, and he seethed in anger, a vein pulsating in his temple. But no matter how frightening and intimidating he appeared, this did not change the fact that there was nothing he could do to punish the boy.
So he merely changed the subject. “I will need to assess your potion-making skills,” he spoke in a hard, brittle voice. “You will brew Veritaserum, following the instructions exactly”” he flicked his wand and instructions appeared on the chalkboard, “”as found on the chalkboard. I expect N.E.W.T. level results. You will receive Inter-House Unity assignments at the end of class. Begin.”
Around the classroom, everyone began diligently measuring out ingredients, dicing herbs, and pouring out powdered minerals and essential oils. Veritaserum was by far the most difficult and complicated potion that any of them had ever attempted to brew, and it took total concentration.
But after several minutes, Ted felt his concentration slipping away. He was tired, his limbs and eyelids oddly heavy, as he measured out his powdered silver, and his skin itched and tingled uncomfortably. His stomach roared in protest of hunger, and his throat and mouth were as dry as sandpaper, despite the fact that he had breakfast less than fifteen minutes before. He’d brought a bottle of water to class, but had finished it before the bell had rung, and he now felt as though he was stranded in the middle of the desert.
His eyes flickered and his head swayed, and he felt as though he was seeing through a fog. It wasn’t the first time that this had happened, but it was the worst yet, and he felt his head loll back into…
“LUPIN.”
Ted wrenched his eyelids open with a Herculean effort at the sound of Zabini’s cold tones. “I’m sorry, Professor,” he explained, hoarsely and distantly, his tongue feeling swollen and clumsy in his parched mouth. His own voice echoed and reverberate around the inside of his head, sounding strange, hollow, and distorted. “I… really, really don’t feel good. At all.”
He knew Zabini would shove his face up against his own and hiss, “I DO NOT ACCEPT EXCUSES!” and assign his potion a “T,” but he didn’t even care. He just wanted”needed”something to eat and drink and a place to lay down his heavy head. He braced his sleepy body as much as he could for Zabini’s angry reply.
But to his astonishment, Zabini simply picked up the measuring cup of silver filings and said, “You may use the wizards’ room, Mr. Lupin. You’re excused for the remainder of this lesson.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ted gasped, amazed at the normally strict professor’s leniency. He lurched to his unsteady feet, his legs wobbling and bucking like a pair of jelly slugs. He felt Ivy’s hand grasp his wrist.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
Ted did not know how to respond. He felt absolutely horrible, but he hated to see Ivy worry, especially about him. So he simply replied, “I think I’ll live,” and attempted a smile as he lurched out of the room. The air seemed unusually thick and heavy, as though trying to suffocate him, and gravity seemed to be working at twice its usual effectiveness.
The second he reached the corridor, Ted slid down the wall into a sitting position. He relaxed, taking a deep breath, and found that the air was already clearing, that he felt almost normal again, although his stomach still cried out to be fed and his throat ached with the dryness of a sand dune. He closed his eyes and rested for a few moments, allowing his strength to build up again before pulling himself back up and walking into the bathroom.
He splashed his face with cold water, then, seized with inspiration, contorted his body into a most unusual posture. He bent over halfway at the waist with his head twisted sharply sideways and his neck tilted back, his feet planted widely to support him, and stuck his head under the faucet, allowing his mouth to fill with cold and deliciously wet water. He remained there for several minutes, ignoring the growing crick in his neck as he gulped the steady stream of water like a dog, feeling it slosh into his rumbling stomach.
He suddenly realized exactly what he was doing, twisting like a pretzel to guzzle water from a leaky bathroom sink, and he became very aware of the fact that how he was behaving was not normal. He just hoped it didn’t happen again. He doubted Professor Zabini would treat him with such leniency again.
A few minutes later, Ted returned to the classroom, looking refreshed and somewhat soggy in the hair department.
“You okay?” whispered Ivy.
“Yeah,” replied Ted. “I just got a little light-headed. It happens to me sometimes.”
The cauldrons of Veritaserum had all been emptied and graded, and Ted’s timing was impeccable”he was just in time for Inter-House Unity assignments, but too late to be criticized for an undoubtedly shoddy potion. (Apparently, Jordan’s had merited a one hundred percent, a fact that surprised no one. Annoyingly, he hadn’t even had to look at the instructions on the board.)
Zabini sat down behind his desk, fixing the class with a hawk-like stare as he shuffled a stack of parchments. “Now, today you will be assigned your partners for your Inter-House Unity projects. I feel it is my duty to inform you of the extreme importance of successfully completing these assignments. Not only will they comprise a large portion of your grades for the year, they have also been devised by your Headmistress to, hopefully, teach a lesson. That said, I expect very high dedication to your work, as I am grading these projects. Tomorrow after dinner, all pairs will meet, but after that initial meeting, you will be left on your own.”
“Why’s he so into Inter-House Unity all of a sudden?” whispered Emma. “Bit hypocritical, really. He hates Gryffindors.”
“Yeah,” replied Haley, “but he also loathes Capshaw, and he’s in Slytherin. Maybe Zabini thinks it’s good to, I don’t know, hate everyone the same or something.”
Zabini’s eyes narrowed at the girls, and they stopped speaking abruptly. “Thank you,” he said coolly. “Now, the assignments. I will read each student’s name and the name, house, and year of their partner.”
He glanced down at his parchment. “Charybdis Nott, you will be working with Antonia Carville, seventh year Ravenclaw. Rupert Daniels, you will be working with Crispinia Fletcher, second year Gryffindor. Jordan Potter, you will be working with Cecilia Longbottom, third year Ravenclaw. Erika Corner, you will be working with Horatius Rodriguez, fifth year Hufflepuff. Antigone Graves, you will be working with Andronicus Yang, sixth year Gryffindor. Theodore Lupin, you will be working with Roran O’ Reilly, sixth year Hufflepuff. Ivy Potter, you will be working with Tabitha Thomas, first year Ravenclaw.”
Ivy smiled. So she was working with Tyrone’s timid little sister? She seemed sweet, and it was a relief to be paired with someone who wasn’t a total stranger. This project would be fun.
“Lucas Aberwyvern, you will be working with Gwon-Jo Choi, second year Slytherin. Emma Weasley, you will be working with Nelson Blenkinsopp, fourth year Hufflepuff. Valencius Twigg, you will be working with Isolde Harper, first year Slytherin.”
A silence settled over the classroom, and Zabini’s eyes seemed to flare up”Haley could imagine him turning them up from ‘medium’ to ‘well-done.’ The room was so silent that one could almost hear a flamingo flap its wings in Cuba. And when Zabini spoke, although barely a whisper, it filled the whole room.
“And Harriet-Lily Potter will be working with Anatoly Capshaw.”
Haley felt her brain flip upside down and her jaw drop to her chest. This couldn’t be! Naturally, the Slytherins were as much a part of the school as the Gryffindors, but all of the other Slytherins had been paired with Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws; the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin was just too great.
A teacher would have to be either insane, ridiculously idealistic, or sociopathic to pair a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, and Haley was leaning toward the third option. They’d never get along! They’d fail, invariably. And that was exactly what Zabini wanted from his two least-favourite students.
She saw the corners of Zabini’s mouth twitch slightly, almost a smile, and she was filled with a sudden desire to kick the man in the teeth, or maybe another target considerably lower. Instead, she remained seated, her fingernails biting angrily into her desk and her shoulders hunched and trembling with anger.
She’d show Zabini. She’d manage to get a passing grade on her Inter-House Unity project, even if she had to push Capshaw out of a window to do it.
“I don’t believe it!” fumed Haley, as her friends headed down toward Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Lupin. Her voice was so shrill and loud that her brother had to stuff his fingers in his ears. It was worse than fingernails on a blackboard.
“That’s a totally rotten trick! How could Zabini manage to get that past McGonagall? Here I was hoping I’d get paired with some cute boy, and instead, I get stuck with this, this, this Slytherin!”
Emma shook her head sympathetically. “Well, I’m with that disgusting Nelson Blenkinsopp, so I’m not much better off. If he wants to do our project on slugs, I’m kicking his head to Neptune.” She turned to look at Jordan. “Now, you’re with Cecilia Longbottom? Professor Longbottom’s daughter, right?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed, “Even though her parents are quite close to mine, I can’t remember ever talking to Cecilia, probably because she’s a third year. But I can already tell that it’s going to be a disaster. Her parents are certainly nice, but the fact remains, they’re not all there. And if I have to work with someone with her shirt buttoned wrong and constantly forgetting about meetings, I may just snap.”
Ivy was personally looking forward to working with Tabitha, but she didn’t want to lord the fact that she’d gotten a ‘good’ partner over her friends, so she elected to keep quiet, listening to them chatter about who had been paired with whom. When they passed by the restrooms, Ted mentioned, “I’m going to stop by the bathroom for a minute. You can go to my dad’s class without me”I’ll be right back out.”
Everyone nodded carelessly and continued on, though Ivy privately noted that Ted had just made a stop at the restroom a few minutes earlier. Ted didn’t often complain even in the worst of times, and Ivy hoped he was feeling all right.
All the way through Defense Against the Dark Arts, normally one of Haley’s best subjects, her mind was preoccupied with ways to manage to get a fair grade on her project without actually having to collaborate with Capshaw. In fact, when Professor Lupin called on her to enlighten the class as to what the best method for resisting the Imperius Curse was, she replied, “I swear, I’ll transfer to Durmstrang to get out of the project, goshdarnit!” which wasn’t exactly the correct answer.
But nothing she could plan would excuse her from the meeting she would have to attend with Capshaw the next day. And when this fact sunk in, she realized something. She would need sugar quills to get through this. Lots and lots of sugar quills.