It Begins With Magic

It Begins With Magic

Chapter Two: Among Mad People

"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.

"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat, "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."

"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.

"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."

-Alice In Wonderland

"Wandless magic is common among the young and those who are new to magic, but as one ages, the ability to work spells without one, decreases. The effect is somewhat unfocused for most wizards later in life."

"Rowena, why should we ever start using wands if that's the effect? I mean, wouldn't it be much more useful to learn magic without a using a crutch so that the ability never fades?" Godric snorted, and turned it into a cough when he saw Rowena's eyes narrow in suspicion.

Since their first row, Godric had promised her that he'd learn a little about magic before deciding whether he liked it or not. He had done that to make her stop yelling, he recalled, but he definitely had his mind made up. He hated it, but had gotten better at not letting her know that. He detached himself from the subject--learning about magic, but not really caring, something that helped him assuage his guilt. Rowena seemed happy enough and had sent for a stack of books, so for three days they had sat together taking turns reading.

Rowena frowned slightly, and shook her head. "Maybe the reason we loose the ability to do wandless magic is not because we become dependent on a wand, but rather because we age."

"Maybe. I guess we could experiment, but I rather like my wand." Liar! Shuddering, Godric picked up the mahogany wand that he had gotten two days ago when Sir Felix had taken them to a small, dusty shop called Ollivander's....

"This way," Felix said, steering the two children into the dark space between two buildings. When they hit a brick wall, Godric rolled his eyes. He was tired, and they had just magically "hopped" (or whatever Felix wanted to call it) from Bayeux, France to London (but he wasn't supposed to know where the school was). Anything to do with magic made him very edgy these days.

"Great, we're lost. Now can we go back?" Godric frowned, unhappy at the prospect of getting a wand (devil work! his mind screeched, sounding eerily like his mother's voice). What made him even more upset was the look of exhilaration on Rowena's face, causing all of his old doubts to resurface. (She could be lying...they could be tricking you...the voice snarled.)

Felix didn't reply, but Godric was getting much better at interpreting the Headmaster's silences as this trip had followed many lengthy talks in Sir Felix's office that usually ended in the boy's dismissal. Godric knew that he had begun to irritate the Headmaster, something that never failed to lift his spirits. Before he could add anything, however, he noticed Felix tapping on a few bricks with his wand. "He's mad. Absolutely crazy," Godric muttered, knowing that even if Rowena heard him disgrace her beloved Headmaster, she'd pointedly ignore him. Looking up from the ground in disgust, he blinked in surprise. The wall was gone, replaced by a long, winding street full of bustling people running in and out of the shops that lined the road.

"Seven Sickles for a pound of crushed armadillos! Just seven Sickles!" (What's a Sickle?)

He felt Felix's hand on his shoulder, but was too overwhelmed to shrug it off. Even his mother's indignant cries of protest faded into the background as he was steered past shops selling things he'd never even heard of. There was an apothecary, pet shop, and even a small bookstore. He could tell that Rowena was dying to dash in there, but she restrained herself, probably knowing like he did that the books would be extremely expensive, especially for students like them who had no money whatsoever. (How can I buy a wand without money? He thought in relief.)

Finally, Godric found himself in a little shop at the end of the long, winding road that Felix had called Diagon Alley. There was a wooden chair placed, almost as an afterthought, in the corner of the small section of the room set aside for customers. (Almost as if he doesn't expect many of them.) Without ringing the gleaming golden bell on the otherwise clear desk that prevented anyone from going into the back of the store, the owner of the shop popped up. He ginned widely when he saw Felix.

"Ah, Felix, it's been a long time since we've seen each other," the man said, grabbing a tape measure from inside a drawer. "Usually you send Derrick or Gregory with the students."

Felix waved the matter aside. "Trying times are upon us, Ollivander. Capet is still arguing with the papacy over the deposition of the Carolingian archbishop of Reims. What nonsense! He should take care of this country--it's going to pieces, you know. There's no unification! There are 30 separate feudal territories, and King Capet has barely any territory! Believe me, there's no love lost between the feudal lords, and I doubt they like the king very much."

Godric listened to the exchange only half-heartedly. The rest of his attention was focused on the measuring tape that was flying around him taking measurements without any help from its owner. As the whirling apparatus began to nauseate him, Godric returned his attention to the dull conversation to distract him from thinking about how sick he was going to be.

"You know, Felix, I plan to retire soon."

"Really? Who are giving the shop to?"

"Ollie, of course--it's a family tradition: you name the first boy Ollivander, and he takes over the shop. It's been going for a few generations now," he said, gesturing towards the sign that read, "Ollivander's--Maker of Fine Wands since 382 CE." Finally noticing Godric, he smiled genially. "So, what's your name?"

"Godric Gryffindor," he muttered, angry that he couldn't think of something that would annoy Felix. Was the flying thing supposed to get me off-guard?

"Welcome to my humble store. We're going to get you a wand today--something you'll need to foray into the magical world. Ollivander's is the best wand shop in all of Europe, you know. Might even be the best in the world, but I can't really say as I have only been the other European ones, never anywhere too far from home or a safe Apparation Point. Which is your wand hand?"

(Doesn't this guy stop talking?) "What?"

"Which is your writing hand--the one you use most often?"

"Oh. My right." The man nodded and dashed into the back. Rowena cleared her throat from the corner where she sat in the chair, waiting her turn. She winked at him and Godric heard his mother's disapproval screaming loudly in his ear. He managed to smile a bit, hoping it didn't look too forced.

The short, stocky storekeeper returned, swaying slightly due to the weight of the boxes he was carrying. "Let us begin, shall we?" Godric wondered disgustedly why the man looked so excited.

Placing a wand in his hand, Ollivander smiled. "Give it a wave!" Feeling foolish, Godric did so, and Ollivander immediately replaced it with another. "Go on!"

A few more wands later, Ollivander practically squealed and ran to the back of the store, where he announced that he knew the perfect combination. Godric clenched his hands to stop himself from cracking a few wands over the man's head. (Now I know why Sir Felix and Ollivander are such great friends--one's a git and the other is incompetent--a perfect match!)

A reddish brown wand was placed in his palm, and as his hand closed over the handsomely carved wood, Godric gasped, almost dropping it. A strange warmth spread through his hand, and the tip spouted golden sparks that looked like they were doing handstands. Ollivander clapped his hands and jumped for joy as he began to package the wand in the white box from which it had come. "You chose a nice one--though as my grandfather said, the wand chooses the wizard! Better use your own wand for magic, because you won't get the same results with another. But all the same, a nice choice: eleven inches, supple mahogany with a single phoenix feather in the center. Very powerful--use it well, my boy." Ollivander ruffled Godric's brown hair for a moment and it became harder for the child to resist the urge to permanently damage the man. Finally, he pulled away, helping Rowena, who was given a beech, 11 inch whippy wand. The core of hers was made of unicorn tail hair.

Godric scowled all the way out of Diagon Alley, and bit his tongue to keep from screaming in irritation as they magically "hopped" back to France like they had come. When Rowena asked about it, Sir Felix said it was called Apparating, and informed her that only the brightest students could attempt it, as it was quite dangerous.

"Yeah, I like mine too. Mr. Ollivander said that mine was good for intricate spelling.--I can't wait to try some magic! Sir Felix said we could start classes in a day or two, what do you think?"

"Great, I guess." Whatever. I think I'll skip.

Rowena narrowed her eyes, not convinced. "You don't plan on attending? Come on--it's the chance of a lifetime! And I thought you said you'd give magic a chance!" If she thinks her pretty face can make up for all of her badgering, she's very wrong. But it can't hurt to have at least one friend--never know in a place like this.

"Of course I'll come. I was just thinking about, um, home, that's all."

"I'm sorry, this must be hard for you," she said, patting him on the shoulder, "if there's anything I can do just let me know."

Poor me. Missing my mum and dad all the way in England is sure going to tear me apart. Oh yeah, don't forget the fact that by fourteen I still can't cross the street without mummy holding my hand. He restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "Thanks, Rowena. I'll be fine." She thinks that by being a month older than me--already fifteen!--she can be my mother.

"All right then, lets move on to the next chapter. It's your turn to read."

___________________________

A day later, they were dismissed from the Infirmary, and told to make their way down to breakfast where they were to collect their schedules. Meals were held on the ground floor, and the classrooms were labeled with the floor number, then the room number, the two children were told by a too cheerful older student who had taken pity on them. The girl's dormitory was on the eighth floor, and the boys had the ninth.

Once they knew where everything was, it wasn't too difficult to find the cafeteria. Godric found himself next to a few older students, one of whom was the girl from the stairs. My luck. Out of seven huge tables, I had to pick the seat next to her. He took the last piece of pie from a plate then watched it hurtle in the kitchen, refill itself and return.

"Well I'm glad you found your way," she said, smiling, "I'm Phyllis, by the way, and I'm in Form Three. You must be new here." No, really? How did you guess?

Godric nodded, thankful he had a bit of egg in his mouth and therefore spared a reply. Rowena, however, filled in nicely for him. "I'm Rowena, and that's Godric," she pointed. "What Form are we in?"

"Well, you're new, so you're probably in Form One. It doesn't matter what age you are really, it depends on how much magic you know. There are a bunch of boys who are only fifteen and already in Form Five because they've learned magic at home from their parents. They call themselves the Pure. Most of them are disgustingly annoying." I'm not sure how anyone could be more annoying than you, Phyllis, Godric thought, mentally making a note to visit the "Pure"s when he next had a chance and avoiding looking at her at the moment as speaking with one's mouth full was not something he enjoyed watching.

He found his schedule in a pile by the door, and ignored Rowena's mindless chatter as he walked up to the first class indicated on his sheet. The clock on the wall informed him that he had ten minutes to get there, and even though he didn't care too much for magic, he wanted to keep a clean slate until a good enough opportunity presented itself, as going to the library or the dorms to just sit about wasn't his idea of fun.

Godric slipped into the fourth classroom of the fifth floor, ignoring Rowena's protests that he should really sit in the front with her, and as there was only one seat open in the back, he quickly moved toward it before anyone else could. The seats were built to accommodate three, but this particular one held only a boy and his bad which he had spread over the rest of the bench so as to dissuade visitors from joining him. Already in a foul mood from the headache both Phyllis and Rowena had managed to give him this early in the morning, Godric simply looked at him coldly, a stare which the thin boy was only too happy to return, his blond hair flipping into his face and framing his upturned nose.

"Mind moving your bag?"

"Actually, yes, I would." His brown eyes now mostly covered by hair glittered with anger, and a wave of dislike coursed through Godric.

"Well then," he said calmly, flinging the bag off the seat, "I'll move it for you." Godric promptly sat down and relaxed, his posture subliminally inciting the other.

"Who in blazes do you think you are," the blond snarled, his hand brushing away the bangs from his face. Godric replied with the first thing that came to mind.

"Of the Pures."

The boy froze in shock, his hand stopping its useless efforts to clear his face and simply looked over Godric, as if appraising his value. When it seemed he had come to a conclusion, he stuck out his right hand. Godric took it.

"Roger Delmarre," he said, displaying the iron grey ring wrapped around his pinky.

"Godric Gryffindor," Godric replied, wishing that he knew the name of a real pure to impersonate. Immediately, his mother began her shrieking again, drowning out Roger's next few words. The boy eyed his quizzically.

"Pardon?" he asked when the screaming finally stopped.

"I said that I've never heard of your surname--are you from around here?"

"I'm not from France." The story seemed to be working quite well, and Godric didn't want to spoil it now that he felt that he may be able to learn something from Roger. At least that bit was true.

"Well then, that explains it. You also must be quite new here as I see you haven't got your ring yet. Lucky you, there's to be a meeting dans le secret ce soir. Remember, toujours faites attention la nuit."

"What?" What is he saying?

" Soyez toujours vigilant à nuit. Ce tout." Are all of the Pures supposed to know French? I might have to ask Rowena for help on this one, as she probably learned it for fun. I should ask him what I should do with this information once I figure out what it means.

"Roger--" Before he could finish, the professor walked in, grey robes swirling about his ankles. Taking his place at his desk, Godric saw that he was a middle aged man, tall and lean with thick, sharp brows. Tired brown eyes stared out from behind clouded spectacles that continually slipped down his nose and had to be pushed up again.

"Hello class--it seems I'm late," the Professor Tyber smiled, but no one laughed. The man sighed, and pulled a piece of chalk from a pocket Godric hadn't seen. "We left off last time with the Levitation Spell. Can anyone give me the incantation?" A quill started writing something on a piece of paper on the corner of his desk. Godric supposed that it was taking down names--but how would it know them? Were quills magically made clever?

A few raised their hands, including Rowena. Godric dimly remembered her reading something about such a spell in some book, but he hadn't been paying enough attention to remember it.

"Bernard?"

"Wingardium Leviosa," a pale boy sitting a few seats up from Godric and Roger answered, his free hand taking down what the man had written on the board so far.

"Correct! Now can anyone demonstrate the proper wand motion?"

_________________

"That was such a great class!" Rowena squealed, ruffling through her notes excitedly on their way to lunch. They'd had Spells for two hours, and it was time to grab a quick meal before heading off to Other World class for an hour, then dashing off to Potions, a class taught by Professor Zephyr--one of the last people that Godric wanted to see. He was in no mood to go to class--he'd spent all of Spells trying to reconcile with his mother's voice, wondering if magic used to stop himself from learning too much would be acceptable. Godric had eventually decided that it was, but he couldn't stop feeling extraordinarily guilty and hollow at the prospect. Rowena had told him that Roger had said something like, "always be vigilant at night" and that there was to be a secret meeting this evening. He hadn't told her where he'd heard it, and had a strange feeling that she'd tail him for the remainder of the day to make sure he didn't do something stupid.

Now, Godric decided, he needed to go to the library for a bit and look up useful spells that could help him out in a tight fix. He knew that usually organizations tested their newer members, and if he ever wanted to befriend the Pures, which might lead to a way to escape from this madhouse, he needed to learn them. He detached himself from Rowena's iron grip, and told her that he needed to look something up. She's looked at him in puzzlement, but then sighed and began to make her way into the cafeteria, as if acknowledging his need to spend some time alone. "I'll save you a bit of lunch," she called, but Godric didn't acknowledge her response, hoping she'd think he hadn't heard. He wasn't that hungry, anyway.

The library was on the sixth floor, and it covered about half of that space. He opened the heavy wooden door, and slipped in, throwing his books on one of the many tables scattered throughout. Where do I start? There were seven bookcases fully packed, and though Godric noticed that there had been more in the monastery near his house, it was a fairly large amount for the time. Books were copied out by hand, and so were very difficult to mass produce, and very expensive to procure. He grabbed one and began to leaf through it, looking for a spell that was useful in a show of strength. Or maybe it'll be a duel? Do they have such things as magic duels? They'll definitely want to see that I'm good enough for them.

"Here! This looks fairly easy, and it's a start," he muttered, writing down one. After a few inches of parchment had been covered, he looked at the clock and jumped when he realized that class had begun five minutes ago. I wish I didn't have to go to Other World--I don't really care about "this world" and their opinions on my world and--this is way too confusing. The only real world is my world. This is a realm for lunatics like Sir Felix. But what about Rowena, part of him argued. No! She's a servant of the devil, and I just need to find a way out of here! I don't understand why they just won't let me go! Staring into space, he remembered the reason Professor Zephyr had taken him to this school, and why, he remembered disgustedly, the man had had to save his life.

"I'm back! Darren and I played ball for a bit. Did I miss dinner? Where is everyone?" Godric yelled into the hall of his family's small but cozy cottage. His mother and father emerged from their bedroom holding a book in clenched hands with grim faces.

"Did you write this?" His father asked, flinging the book at him. Godric opened the first page in disbelief. Inside was written, in very childish handwriting, "My Life, by Godric Gryffindor."

"You read my private thoughts! You read my journal?" (Oh no, I hope they didn't read the part about--)

"Is there really something wrong with you?" His mother shrieked, holding on to her husband for dear life.

"No! Mum, Dad, I can explain! That was just--just a story I wanted to write!"

"Liar! You're one of them, why didn't I see it! How long have you infested our home with your devil work?"

(No, no! Not devil work Mum, he thought, trying to maintain the illusion that had pacified him for so long, please, it's a gift from above!)

"You wrote, 'I knew it. I'm not who I thought I was--I'm special. Whenever something happens, it really is my fault. I think. I think--journal, I think I'm...I think I have...I think I can do something like, well, magic--'" His father stopped reading.

"You--you wretched creature! Devil spawn!" She crossed herself as she moved towards him, grabbing an old, gnarled walking stick from the corner of the room. (I've never seen that before, Godric thought, his mind spinning wildly.) She swung it about for a moment or two, then grabbed the book from her husband and threw it to the floor before him. "Get out! You are not of my flesh! Leave! Be grateful that I won't set the dogs on you!"

Godric grabbed the book, tears blinding his eyes as he stumbled towards the door. (Why wasn't I more careful? Why was I so stupid as to write it down? He cursed himself, knowing that he had had to write it down--he had needed to share the news with someone...) He heard his mother shriek about wanting to move or decontaminate the house, and then knew his father would answer that bit of nonsense with a pat on the back and a smile. (I thought I knew my family so well...and after all that. Mum turns out to be just like everyone else--every other miserable, wretched person in this stupid place!)

After running aimlessly for a bit, Godric settled down beside his favorite tree a few miles from any field, and thought. I need to find a place I can stay, and I need to get some supplies from my--their--house. Mum and Dad always keep the windows open in the summer so I guess I can sneak into my room, grab my books and some clothes and stuff, and steal some food from the pantry. They won't notice--they'll be too happy that they won't have another mouth to feed.

Suddenly, an apple fell on his head, and Godric frowned as he rubbed his head, looking up to see where the apple had come from. When he noticed a very malicious looking squirrel staring at him (I'm not afraid of the squirrel, I'm just going someplace else right now because...because I want to. Nothing to do with the squirrel...) with another apple in it's hand (Why would a squirrel throw something at me?), he edged away from the tree and settled against another one. Sitting down a few meters away from the animal, the two stared at each other mercilessly--the squirrel with the apple still in its hands and the boy clutching his journal ever more tightly.

Godric stirred a few hours later, dismayed to find that he had fallen asleep without knowing it. (I bet it was that stupid squirrel...) He stood up, brushed some dirt off of his pants and winced when he remembered that his mother would have scolded him for sitting in the dirt in his nice pants. She would have told him that they couldn't afford more than a few pairs, and she would have told him to change into a set of work clothes and join his father out in the field...

But not anymore. Now, Godric was a stranger in the land that he knew better than the back of his own hand. He had grown up among the oxen that helped Dad plow the fields, and had listened to the many lectures his father had given him about the necessity to leave the land alone for a while. "It you don't let it lie fallow for a least a year in between certain crops, the soil will be exhausted and we won't be able to use it anymore, and that'll be a good waste of money. The feudal lord wouldn't like that." Father always went on and on about what the feudal lord would and wouldn't like, because, as he said, what the Lord liked, his vassals provided. That was us. We were his vassals. Godric always thought that this really mean that they were more like slaves, but that was beside the point.

It was dark out, so it was time to sneak back into the house and grab a few supplies. Thinking about it had been the easy part, he thought as he squeezed into the open space in the window that he had known his mother would leave open. Red welts appeared almost instantaneously, running down his arms due to the metal bits Mum had put around the window in case someone ever did think of creeping into the house. Mum really is brilliant, Godric thought sadly, but she's just as superstitious as everyone now. I think everyone's scared, and I think it's because everyone's poor. Though it sounded crazy, it actually made quite a bit of sense. If you're poor, I guess you need to think that you can prevent it. But, looking down at his bloody hands he sighed, why do I understand it? Does everyone know why they're so scared, or is it just because I'm not as old as Mum or Dad that I don't know the secret they must be hiding--the secret behind everything.

The secret that explain why we need to be so poor, and why Mum and Dad banished me from their home.

Walking around his room quietly, Godric grabbed his best outfit, reserved for when he attended a wedding of some other serf who lived around here. On second thought, he added a set of work clothes. Godric knew that he was really lucky to have four sets of clothes--it really reflected on his parent's love for him--or at least, the love they had had for him, before today. Most children his age had two or at most three sets of clothing. But Mum had always dressed him well...

A few more essentials, special trinkets, and his most valuable and prized possession--a book he had stolen from the house of one of the nobility (Mother had screamed for days, wanting him to take it back until father explained that this would be as bad as buying the rope and hanging himself, he remembered with a chuckle) were thrown into the bag. A quick foray into the kitchen topped it all off. On the way out of the house, he stopped before his parent's bedroom, and touched the door lightly. "I love you Mum," he whispered quietly, so as not to wake them. "I will come back one day, and we will be as close as we once were. I promise you that. I'll find a way to fix this--get rid of this evil inside of me. I love you Dad, and please, take care of Mum."

They didn't hear it, Godric knew, but he had, and he now knew what the purpose of his journey was to be.

To rid himself of the evil.

A few weeks later, Godric had run out of food. A bit of begging here and there helped his out for a while, but soon the few who would offer him help became none, and he found himself stranded in the middle of a field of a person who had no idea who he was and was yelling at him for trespassing. At the moment, the boy could barely breathe without some sort of pain searing his chest, but the owner of the property was demanding that he get up leave.

Anger burned inside of Godric's head, screaming for retribution, for vengeance. When the man mentioned setting the boy's clothing on fire in order to make him move, Godric's half crazed mind seized upon the idea and thought about fire licking at the huge stalks of wheat all around him in the way that he had thought about making the things in his room move.

And the fire came. Godric only noticed the flames when one grabbed at his face. He had kept them away for so long, and as he had sat there, half drained with the energy it had taken to produce the flames, he had stared into the sky, forcing them away when he felt that they were too near him. But he couldn't hold them off any longer, and he still couldn't move.

Blinking, he thought he saw the squirrel again in the corner of his eyes, but when he looked, he saw a tall, irritated man who stared at him with obvious dislike.

"Hello," he said, extending his hand as if it was absolutely normal to act this way when they were surrounded by flames, "I am Professor Zephyr, and you must be the new, unpredictably irrational student." Producing an apple from his pocket, the man handed it to Godric. "Care for an apple?"

The fire was now creeping closer, but Godric couldn't stop staring at the man who looked so like the squirrel, who wore long, light gray robes that looked at if they were meant for sleeping, and who just offered him an apple. (How on earth did he get here, and why isn't he helping? Godric wondered. Oh, right. I don't know if anyone else in the world has the power to stop the fire I started. Maybe I need to--but I'm so tired, and I really need to sleep...) As he slipped into unconsciousness, he heard the man saying something in a language he didn't understand, and extinguishing the fires. His last thought was directed at how on earth the man could easily lift him and prop him on his shoulders--it was almost as if Godric had become as light as air.

When he woke up, he saw the stranger calmly munching on an apple. "Good morning. We will be traveling for just a few more days now so we can reach the Portkey I set up a couple of months ago. Thankfully, I haven't had a student coming from around here for a bit, so I think I can still use it for a bit before the Detruction Charm I put on it comes into effect."

"We? I'm not going anywhere with you," Godric said, his head spinning as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Furthermore, I don't know who you are, and I don't know what a Port-thing is. So go away, and leave me alone."

"Well, if you truly aren't the boy who set the huge fire in the field over there the other day," the man said, waving his hand in the general direction of the burnt property, "then I must go look for the other child. And of course I'll have to Obliviate you so that you forget anything about the magic I've told you about."

"Wait. Magic? You have magic?"

The thin man gave him a look of pure irritation. "Of course. I am Professor Zephyr, and I teach Potions at the Academy. That's where I'm taking you, and if you don't mind, I'd like to hurry up. I've got a pile of research to do for a new idea of mine, and yet I've been sent to pick you up from the far reaches of England so that you won't kill yourself before the Muggles do."

Godric couldn't understand about three quarters of the words that the man spoke. "Where is this Academy?"

"I can't tell you that until you're there."

"Somewhere here? Near Exeter?"

The man laughed, throwing the remainders of his apple to the ground. "No, the Academy isn't in England--it's in France."

"France? I've never been there--I never want to go there! I want to stay in Exeter until I figure out why I can make things happen."

"I have my orders from Sir Felix himself, so you'll find yourself at the Academy in a few days whether you like it or not. Also, I'm not sure that Sir Felix minds whether his students arrive conscious."

"But my family's going to miss me!" (A little lie, but how would he know?)

"Oh, so you didn't run away from home because your parents forced you out of the house when they found out that you were magic. My mistake."

"How did you know that? And it's none of your business."

"You'll find out everything at the Academy. If you aren't quiet, you'll find that not all magic is good." (None of it is! His mother's voice screeched inside his head.)

Godric didn't respond, and stayed silent for they rest of their hike to the Portkey that took them right outside of the Academy. Half a day after their arrival in France, Godric met with the legendary Sir Felix.

He slammed the book shut, and walked to Other World class, brimming with anger at both Professor Zephyr for shutting him up within this madhouse, and also at himself, for not knowing how to convince his mother.

She'll see. One day, I'll come back fully cured of this nonsense, and she'll embrace me with open arms. And it will all be like it was: the stories, the smiles, and hugs, the special meals she cooked for me when I was upset.

Yes, Mum will see, and everything will be perfect again. And maybe, if I can work this to my advantage, we won't be poor anymore.