It Begins With Magic

It Begins With Magic

Chapter Three: ...this is the morning

"...The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended, this is the morning."

The Last Battle, C. S. Lewis

"Now that you all understand why Homer did not write down his stories, think for a moment and tell me what that tells us about the tales themselves." As students furiously copied notes from the board, Professor Rikkel brushed her long hair away from her face and with a flick of her wand, cleared the board of the notes that the enchanted chalk had chosen to copy from her lesson. She warned each new student that these excerpts would probably not be sufficient for her exams, so they should pay careful attention to what she said in class. Usually students took her advice, and were grateful for it when she tested them. However, there was always the odd one, or the odd bunch, who didn't listen--sometimes not taking any notes at all--and they almost always sat together. She always disliked those students, and tried not to show her dismay when her newest pupil sat next to the Delmarre boy. He was the worst of them all--one of the most conceited of the Pures.

I honestly can't understand his kind. They truly believe that having the ancient magic blood running through their veins makes them some type of royalty. It hasn't been proven that by keeping the magic in the family, better wizards will turn out, so why this obsession? It is quite recent, and I hope it will die out...but it must. He'll learn. They all will. She sometimes had to write that down all over scrap bits of parchment to stop from hexing the lot of them. Most of them don't have that ancient a heritage! I know for a fact that Delmarre's great grandfather was Muggleborn, but apparently they are still considered 'pure.' For goodness sakes, with that system, even I'm a Pure, but I'd never be stupid enough to join them in their ridiculous conspiracy theories based against all things Muggle. It's not like we risk contamination! However, no matter how many times she repeated that, she knew that most of them would leave the Academy to marry another Pure and have children who they will teach to be just as snooty and just as stuck-up as them. Someday, this may go beyond arrogance--it may even lead to factions in the wizarding community. She shrugged off the uncomfortanble thought. It's just a phase, that's all. They'll grow out of it. The most unfortunate thing was that there were some really amazing wizards and witches in there--buried deep within their crazy hierarchies and codes. For example, Verica Hucta, the alleged head of the Pures, was the most brilliant witch of her age--there was no doubt about it.

No--wait. There is one other. I can't remember his name--he dropped out of my class too early on, but he was the cleverest yet most terribly cunning child I've ever met, and I only knew him as a very young boy. He must have been only ten, but when he walked into this classroom the first day and summoned all of his materials from the hands of the starry eyed girl who was carrying it for him, I could almost feel the power surrounding him. I think I've heard other teachers talking about him--he must have been the boy who made the top floor float a few meters in the sky last year. I heard that the Pures were having some type of tournament to determine who would be the head of the society when Cynan left and didn't want anyone to interfere with their contest. I wonder why the boy lost the tournament to Verica--but maybe he didn't have enough perfect blood in him. It really is too bad that he'll never be anything more than a Pure, because if he wasn't so biased towards the rest of the wizarding community, he might have become a great leader, and even replaced Sir Felix when the time came. He might have made Veneficium renowned.

And now he'll just be another wizard paying tribute to a group of maniacs who believe that pure blood is more important than anything else. What a pity. He might have been so much--he might have been a leader, a master.

He might have been great.

***

Godric sat in the back of the classroom, reading over the notes he had taken in the library, and was annoyed to find that, once again, he had missed the spell she had used to clean the board. It might be useful for cleaning away footsteps, Godric mused. Too bad Roger can't tell me anything about the initiation, or whatever they call what will take place tonight, in a language I understand,

In seven hours, when curfew began at nine o'clock, Godric was to go look for the Pures as Roger had hinted. He had an odd feeling that they'd be meeting in the Potions classrooms downstairs at the bottom of the building, only because it was a dark, creepy place, and the Pures seemed to be a dark and creepy lot. That is, except for Roger of course, he was just arrogant. Perhaps they all were..

I wonder how much it will take to get out of here--how much more of myself I'll need to compromise. I hope it's all worth it in the end. I don't think Mum would like it if all this time I had been studying magic for no other reason than to get into an extremely selective group of prats. I just want to go home. Godric clenched his hand under his desk, a more recent habit of his that was now something he did almost unconsciously every moment of the day, yet he wished it would stop. His nails dug into the flesh of his palm and into the marks that had become almost permanently indented there. His wand lay on top of the parchment. He made no move to copy anything from the board down. I don't think I'll be here for long enough to have exams mean anything. Anyway, I can always get Rowena to lend me her notes, if it comes down to that.

Yet another topic Godric did not particularly want to think about. Rowena, the pretty black haired girl who he had become fast friends with for lack of any other acquaintance, was quickly turning into more of an annoyance than ever. She poured over texts in the library, and assumed that he needed help with his work at every turn. He'd show her that he was no child, despite being younger than her. She thinks I'm three sometimes--but then there are those glances that she shoots me, almost as if she knows that I'm lying to her, and she doesn't care. Maybe I don't give her enough credit.

Or maybe she's as thick as she looks. He sighed. Ah well.

Class was over, so Godric gathered up his books in no particular hurry. As he was just about to follow Roger out the door, he heard Rikkel ask him to stay. Rowena was already at her desk, flushed with pride at some compliment the Professor has paid her. Wonderful, just what I need.

"Godric, why didn't you take any notes in class today?" Would she care very much if I told her that her subject is absolute rot?

"I don't know. I guess I didn't feel like it."

"A bit preoccupied?" Rowena was chewing her lip nervously as she looked from the teacher to Godric, and then down to her pocket-watch--one Godric hadn't noticed she had until this moment. Don't tell me she's terrified of being late? It's only Professor Zephyr. But Godric was nervous at meeting the man as well, for images of being pulled out of the fire returned to him. The hot pain and the voices all returned as clearly as they had appeared that night. He saw Rikkel's lips moving, but couldn't hear what she said--he needed to get away.

"I'm sorry--I have another class Professor," he muttered, stumbling away from her. She grabbed at his arm, and all the images flew away. He looked at her stonily through his carefully crafted mask, but felt like being sick on the spot. Get off of me! Professor Zephyr...

"Let go of my arm, Professor."

She brushed off his comment. "Are you alright, Godric? You look a bit ill--perhaps you should go to the Infirmary."

Godric shook his head. I must attend Zephyr's class--he might be able to teach me something useful for tonight! No...that's not it...I'm, I'm scared of him. He shivered involuntarily, hating the loss of control yet powerless to stop it. "I'm fine Professor." I really don't like this woman...I think she knows more than I give her credit. Sometimes she looks as if she desperately wants to tell me something important, or warn me of some danger. But then, the look disappears, and it seems that she's ordinary. Just like Rowena sometimes...what's going on?

He sped out of the classroom as quickly as possible.

***

Sonya Rikkel sat at her desk, her mind ablaze with questions all revolving around the strange children she had met over the years at Veneficium Academy--little pieces of a puzzle beginning to fit together as the world began to break apart. Almost as if...as if these children were to hold the fabric of the world together. A sudden though struck her, and she snatched her bag and opened it quickly. Taking out a spare sheet of parchment, she laid her head in her hands almost shaking with anticipation and began to dictate, her quill moving quickly across the page by itself.

Dearest Carlos,

How are you? I hope that the situation in Granada improves, for as you explained in your last letter, it certainly can't get much worse. If the Muslims make it too difficult, you can always come and stay with me here, by Veneficium. I doubt Felix would mind, the kind soul. I wish I could tell you where the academy is located--oh I do! But all I'm allowed to say is that we're somewhere in France.

My dear friend, do you remember the last day we spent together so many years ago? Do you remember the message our Isabella gave me? She slipped into her trancelike state and told me that I would have the privilege of meeting a handful of extremely powerful children who would shape magic and change the wizarding world. I laughed then, thinking that although she had never been proved wrong, this prediction was quite unlikely and highly improbable. Well, I erred. I think I've found them.

This morning, a very strange student entered my class. Although he didn't do any actual magic, when he stared at me, I could have sworn I saw his brown eyes take on an almost reddish glint and I felt a strange aura of power that seemed to surround him. The girl who came in right beside the boy seemed to take no notice--she was as normal as they come, Carlos. No, there was nothing special about her except for the fact that she is overly eager to participate and learn. But that's another matter--though I do love teaching those who wish to learn.

Carlos, I'm afraid to speak with Felix about this. Three years ago when I met Verica Hucta (I've told you all about the little witch--no pun intended), I confronted the man immediately, telling him that I had a horrible feeling about that girl's power. Felix looked at me coldly and told me that I was not to worry about her or any other extraordinarily talented Pure. Now I've been working with Felix for years, and he has never told me that a student was none of my concern. Never! Usually, it's the exact opposite!

So I watched Verica carefully and noticed that there was one other who was very strange--powerful, but strange. I've forgotten his name, but now that I think about it, one look at him gave me the same shivery feeling as my newest pupil, Godric Gryffindor, did.

Oh Carlos, what am I to do? I believe the child has already expressed an interest in becoming a Pure even though I don't think he's from a pure blooded family, as I've never heard of the Gryffindor family before. I could be wrong. The strange thing about that is that one cannot become a Pure without having been born one! And having him join would be a very dangerous thing, Carlos. That would put all of the strangest, most brilliant students on the wrong side. They should be accepting, not biased snots who think their lineage makes them special--but you know my views on this already, Carlos.

And for some strange reason, I have one of my feeling about this--the feelings that are never wrong. I think that someday soon, we will need to take sides of this issue, and the wizarding community (despite being small now) will divide.

Please send Helena back with your reply--she's been anxious to do some real flying lately as I have not been sending many letters recently.

Love,

Sonya

Her letter finished, Professor Rikkel packed up her bags and headed to her office where she wanted to give her owl, Helena, the parchment to deliver to Carlos in Spain.

Three already lost to the wrong side. I hope Isabella meant shaping magic for good rather than bad. If only she was still alive to tell us...

***

Getting to Zephyr's class was more difficult than either of the children had thought, as many of the older students skiving off class seemed to find that cursing them into tomorrow would be quite a good way to spend their time. Unfortunately, as neither Godric nor Rowena wanted to be on the receiving end of these curses, they promptly began running away which, of course, caused quite a ruckus. But the time a teacher had found them Rowena had managed to give one of them a bloody nose (Godric wasn't sure whether she had punched him or cast a spell on him) and evaded the other three by hiding behind a large box. How said box got there, was a mystery Godric would never learn, as Rowena was not telling.

By the time they had arrived, the annoyed professor had already begun teaching. Rowena burned with shame and worry at having missed part of the lesson while Godric coolly slipped into the seat next to Roger, as it seemed as if there was perpetually an empty one beside him. He wondered whether it had something to do with the boy's personality. Probably.

"Roger? I couldn't understand what you were trying to tell me before," Godric began.

"Shh! Do not speak in Professor Zephyr's class! It's a rule, you know, that ever since he calculated how to test blood lineage, we do not speak badly of him."

Godric nodded despite being unsure of all of the oddities he was beginning to discover that were, apparently, inherent in this culture. Why would they need a potion to test blood lineage if they had records...unless this was a fairly new idea and records hadn't been kept until now. That makes sense, he thought, watching Professor Zephyr demonstrate the correct way to brew a Color Changing Potion via diagrams drawn on the board--or really huge slate hung on the wall. Yes, if the Pures were really a new organization, then of course they wouldn't have records! Perhaps this will be simpler to fake that I had thought--and it could be that Roger was bluffing when he said that he didn't recognize my last name. Could I fool the other Pures? Probably not. Bloody hell--I wish I hadn't told Roger my name, because now I can't impersonate a real Pure since he'll know I lied. Plus, since they obviously don't keep any records, or only have quite recent ones, it's doubtful that I'd be able to find a name they haven't heard of, if I even knew where to look. Just my luck.

Out of sheer boredom, Godric looked around the classroom, paying special attention to his fellow classmates. Rowena was in the front again, her long plaited hair looking regal even when her back was turned. I just wish that I understood her. She can be so clever in a sticky situation, but then has no idea of what's going on the rest of the time. Is it a sham? She really fought the upperclassmen brilliantly--much better than me at any of the few spells I tried. But that's probably because she studies constantly--even in the Infirmary, she was never without a book! However, she's not really the average bookworm, because it's almost as if she really wants to use what she's learnt, not just read up on it. Interesting. A few seats behind her was a boy Godric remembered being called Brandon. He was a nervous looking chap who obviously worked quite hard. Like Rowena, he thought. Then, upon realizing the damage that thought could do, he mentally kicked himself. You don't care who likes Rowena--you just want her to like you so that you have an advantage over her, right? It was getting harder to pretend that he really didn't like Rowena (she is quite clever and witty at times) but was just using her. He would have given up resistance before (as he felt his energy was better spent on other activities, such as finding a way out of the Academy) had his mother not started her screams just as the idea popped into his head.

The funny thing was, he never thought of removing the guilt provoking the screams.

He couldn't remember anyone else's names or faces at the moment (except for that short girl sitting at the side of the room, her blond hair tied up in a ponytail--she had a nervous look continually plastered on her face--or perhaps that was because she had been in the school for quite a while, and Roger had been by his side. It seemed that many were afraid of the Pures). He decided to mope for a bit on the assumption that it couldn't hurt, and wondered morbidly what they would write on his grave if he died during the initiation tonight, as Roger seemed to be getting more and more nervous as time passed. Roger keeps referring to himself as, "Roger Delmarre of Pure Heritage from Rouler Collines." What will they call me? Godric Gryffindor of No Heritage from Wild Moor? It sounds ridiculous. Why was I worried again? Oh yes, because these people could be murderous lunatics, or my ticket out. Either way, it's dangerous.

Now, is this really worth it? As his mother began to scream again, he grimaced. Of course it is, Mum. I'll fix it, I swear. The screeches dyed down quite a bit, but lingered in the back of his head for days, until he found that he was able to ignore it quite well...

***

Zephyr's class had ended with little time to complete the potion (Godric knew he had gotten it all wrong anyway as he hadn't been listening to the directions), so they were assigned homework to study their notes so that tomorrow they could get to work immediately. Unlike Rikkel, Professor Zephyr didn't ask Godric to stay behind after class, so he was able to get to dinner relatively early and shove down enough food so that he wouldn't be nauseous (despite him already feeling sick--the flying dinner plates not helping him in that respect, though he could see how he might get used to the service as it was almost like having a servant, something he did not have at home) for the initiation and then bolt to the library for some last minute research.

It was ten to nine, and as curfew was at nine sharp, he struggled to his dormitory with a pile of papers under his arm. How do I get out of the room tonight, he worried. Can I slip in for an hour, and then sneak out again? Will anyone notice? Or more importantly, in his mind: Will anyone care? Probably not. So he decided to simply test his luck.

After returning to his dormitory in time for curfew at nine, he waited until no one was looking and left again, his wand stuffed in the pocket of his gray robes and his list of jinxes running through his head. I Stun and do a few elementary tricks, but I just hope that's enough. Just in case, I always have Reducto...

The boy shivered as he remembered how effectively ruthless Reducto was. He had tried it on a chair, not sure how much of it would fall apart, and had been quite surprised when the whole chair had simply crumbled away. For a moment, he had toyed with the idea of using it on anyone who tried to attack him, but found that (his head interestingly absent of his mother's shriek--perhaps she approved?) an odd sensation crawled across his flesh, and he felt as if something really dirty was contaminating him. As soon as he decided it would be more beneficially used as a distraction, the dirty feeling receded. Has mother found another way of telling me how I should react? This defiantly is an improvement over the screaming in any case.

Without noticing it, he had gotten lost. Cursing under his looked around and found that he had, in his anger, walked all the way from his dormitory to a place on the fifth floor that he'd never been to. It was some sort of room that looked typical on the outside, but as soon as he stepped into it, he knew that the place was anything but normal. Because, as Godric very well knew, normal rooms do not look like the inside of a sphere, nor do they begin spinning as soon as one has entered it. How do I get out? The door is spinning alongside me, but I can't get up! I'm pressed against the wall...so perhaps if I inch up a little, I can reach the handle of the door and try to turn it...just a little further...yes! He fell out onto the cold, stone floor outside and gave himself a few minutes to recover. What was that? What in blazes is the use for a spinning room? To make you sick? Because if that's the goal, it works quite well. Looking at the hourglass perched on a pedestal right outside the entrance to the stairs taking you from the fifth floor to the sixth and fourth, he cursed. Why does it seem that I'm always running late? After lunch, to Zephyr's class...

It was at that moment that Roger appeared, his wand drawn and looking at Godric suspiciously. "Why are you here?"

And why does he have to show up just when I'm beginning to lose it? "What do you mean?"

"Well, round one began a few minutes ago, and you should be heading for the top floor if you want to qualify."

"Qualify?" What's that noise?

Roger shifted from one foot to another, and looked uncomfortable. "I'm not sure why no one told you this, but you need to qualify for the next round by making it up to the top floor in ten minutes. But Verica and her close ring are making that impossible.

Footsteps...oh no. "So the sounds we're hearing..."

Roger was already running down the hall, his face white in fear when the door behind Godric opened. Turning around, Godric brandished his wand. "Expelliarmus!" An older boy had stepped out of the corridor after calling out that he would 'take care of this floor.' And his wand had gone flying out of his hand. Yes! Now, I can Stun him!

But the boy scowled, and bent to retrieve it as it had merely fallen to the ground in front of him. As he saw the look of horror on Godric's face, he smirked nastily and caused Godric's own wand to zoom into his hand. "Oh dear, another little boy from Form One. Gareth caught the other one a few seconds after he ran from your side."

A few screams echoed down the corridor and the boy laughed. "Did you think this was a game, primus? You know nothing about magic. Nothing! What type of spell did you throw at me--an enemy for the time being? A disarming spell!" He lowered his voice for the next few words so that Godric had to lean in to catch what he was saying. "I could cast a spell to gain complete control over you, or inflict pain that you can't even imagine. I could kill you, you know. But for now, my self restraint will hold, though it won't forever. But a disarming spell? Did you really think you could qualify to hold council with a few of the greatest wizards and witches of the day?"

How dare he! I've had to overcome much more than he had to even be able to force myself to come here tonight. Clenching his fists, Godric lunged at the other child, and snatched away his wand. "Incendio!"

Dashing out of the way, the black haired boy closed his eyes and called out loudly while holding his hands up, palms up: "Accio wand!" The ebony wand zoomed back towards its rightful owner.

Bloody hell! What was it Rowena said about wandless magic? It can only be use for very simple spells if there is enough emotional backing in the wizard to force the magic he cannot usually control to focus on one action rather than running rampant. Yes, that was it. But he already has his wand, and I don't know that many more spells!

"Stupefy!" Are those screams coming from down the corridor? Is that Roger?

"Protego!" A shimmering wall appeared in front of the older boy, deflecting the red jet of light away from him. Without waiting for Godric to some up with another spell, he narrowed his eyes and smiled nastily.

"Crucio!" White hot pain shot through his body and Godric sank to the floor. He opened his mouth, hoping that if he screamed it would lessen the pain somewhat, but it did nothing to take away from the agony that the other boy was causing. It felt as if his very bones were on fire, twisting and bending in attempt to get away from the magic. His mother was screaming with him, and all he could think of was how much he really loved her and how much he was willing to sacrifice for her (or was it really for him?); if it meant pain like this, then so it would be.

And so, he found that he was no longer screaming, and the pain had stopped. Where did the pain go? his numb mind wondered. Godric looked up at the other boy, watching laughter dance in his eyes. Is that what they did to Roger? It hurts so much--even the memory of it hurts! I don't want to play this game anymore!

"Have you come to your senses yet, little baby? Are you scared of me yet? This isn't a game, primus. Why don't you go back to your dorms, because you really aren't cut out for the big leagues. It takes someone really strong and powerful for that."

"Shut up," Godric spat as he tried to get to his feet. "You know that I don't know much, magic yet, that's why you can beat me. If I knew the spells you did, I'd win in a duel any day."

"That's the point, baby. If we were on the same level, this wouldn't be a contest, and you wouldn't have lost." Regarding the hourglass in the corner, he shrugged. "Well, you have a few minutes, but you aren't going to get up to last floor in that amount of time. Meanwhile, I think that you deserve another round of pain for speaking that way to me. Crucio!"

This time, Godric didn't even bother trying to avoid the spell. Rowena said that all I'd need to do is focus all of my power on the magic. I just need to get up to the last floor, and I'll be safe. Screwing his eyes shut against the pain running through his body, he concentrated all of it towards his need to get up to the top floor of the building. Rowena, if this works, I swear I'll never lie to you again. I'll be nicer, I promise! Please, let this work!

The pain was growing, and it was becoming too hard to concentrate on the magic. As soon as he felt his attention slipping, however, he would think of home and his mother. He'd remember the ugly look on the older boy's face as Godric had run at him. And suddenly, he felt that the pain was gone, and he was no longer on the fifth floor, but in a room where about twenty people were standing, gazing at him in astonishment. Godric stood, his knees so weak that they threatened to give out in a moment.

"Well," he demanded his voice surprisingly rough, "is this the right place?"

The many onlookers in the room stayed quiet as their leader walked up to the podium hastily erected for this purpose. She brushed thick bangs out of her eyes and smiled coldly.

"Welcome both new and returning members! You have all qualified for the next round which will take place a week from today. Messages will be sent to each of you in the typical manner, explaining the new rules for the game. As you know, I will be leaving in one year's time, so those who are chosen for the opened positions now have a good chance of taking my place later. She smirked as if to say that all trying to beat her would be punished most severely. Godric shivered.

"But enough talk. Please return to your dormitories." With that, she waved her wand, and the podium disappeared. She stalked off, obviously unhappy, and beckoned to the boy who had cursed him in the hallway before.

How did he get here so fast? And why does he look so angry now? Godric wondered from his position by the wall. He believed that his legs had finally regained their strength, but he didn't want to test that hypothesis until absolutely necessary as he had already drawn enough attention to himself already.

"Hey! Godric!" Roger walked over to him, a glass of water in his hand. How did he get here?

"I thought that I heard you screaming in the corridor--what happened?"

"Oh no." Roger smiled, and Godric realized that every one of the Pures had a very cruel grin. "No, that was my attacker."

Godric suddenly felt extremely nauseous. "You--you did that to another person?"

Roger shrugged. "He was in my way."

"But you tortured him."

"So?"

Images flashed before Godric's eyes, and he saw Zephyr rescuing him from the flames, and the farmer trying to force him off his land. He watched Darren catch the ball Godric had thrown him, and he cried as he buried his pet bird in the clump of trees not far from his house. I can't do that. I can never do what Roger just admitted to having done. I want to be here, but I'm not like them.

Swallowing distaste--leaving a sour taste in his mouth, Godric smiled. "Very nice."

"Who was your attacker?"

"That tall boy in the corner who is talking with the girl we just heard talking."

Roger paled. "Her name is Verica, and--are you sure that was who you fought with?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because you beat the strongest wizard in this room--that is, other than Verica, of course." He added the last bit without any conviction.

I don't care any more. Tomorrow, I'm going to ask Rowena what I should do. It's time I stopped lying to everyone, including myself.

"Listen, Roger, I'm really tired. I'm going to go back to my room."

The boy smiled and offered his a hand. "You look shaky. Its okay, you'll feel better by tomorrow. And now, at least, you have the marker. That's all you really needed."

"Marker?"

Roger pointed at Godric's smallest finger where an iron grey ring now sat. "It's the indicator that will show everyone that you're a Pure." Now that he noticed its existence, Godric wanted to rip it from his skin. I will never become one of you. I may pretend, but I will never torture another like that. I thought I could, but I could never muster up the...the hate...

You told me about this, didn't you, he whispered to the memory of two children sitting together in the Infirmary, pouring over too large texts. This is what you meant...and you trusted me...

I'm so sorry Rowena.