Prologue: Snapshots in Time
Hogwarts: A History ✫*゚CompletedHe had always wondered how long it would take to get to this point. For it always had been a matter of 'when' rather than 'if', no matter what the politicians had hoped.
He glances down at the newspaper spread out in front of him yet again and sighs before speaking to the air around himself.
"'Dark Lord' Tom? Doesn't that seem a bit extravagant?" He shakes his head. It seems so long ago that he had first met the talented young man in that grimy orphanage. He had seen then this possibility for the future, but had hoped that with proper guidance the young Tom Riddle might have used his abilities for good.
He wonders, as he often does, if he had done something wrong down the line, or if this outcome was unavoidable. Regardless of the answer he feels somewhat responsible for the whole situation.
Finishing his morning tea, he finally stands, shaking off his lingering doubts as he strides to the fireplace and loudly announces his destination before stepping into the flames.
The Ministry is buzzing with nervous energy as employees and paper airplanes race between the floors, desperate to stay ahead of the new threat.
Agustus Rookwood nods to him as he passes, and he returns the gesture politely. He'd never much liked the man, but he was one of the few blood purity believers who had stayed on at the ministry after Nobby Leach's election so he surely deserved some benefit of the doubt. And Minister Leach had certainly trusted him.
He continues on his way, nodding to a few more familiar faces as he goes and smiling slightly at one particularly enthusiastic wave from a frazzled-looking Alice Longbottom. She catches up with him as he waits for the lift, several files gripped against her chest.
"It's all gone rather sideways hasn't it Professor?" She's a bit out of breath, but as warm as he remembers from her school days.
He chuckles. "That is indeed one way to phrase it my dear. How is your husband doing?"
She blushes faintly as they enter the lift. "Oh, well, he's about as busy as I am I reckon. He had to leave early this morning for some meetings. But it's really been lovely, it's hard to believe sometimes that it's been nearly two years!" She blinks. "Oh, and you're Headmaster now aren't you Professor? Will Hogwarts still be open this year?"
He had been pondering that himself ever since opening the paper that morning. Tom had been to the school very recently hunting for a job, one he now believes the young man hadn't truly wanted. Had he somehow found a way past the defenses? Set something up?
"Personally I think it should be." Alice doesn't comment on his hesitance, merely picking up the slack herself. "Hogwarts has always been a place of neutrality and hope. It would be a shame to close it over something like this."
He smiles at his old student. "I believe you're right. Hogwarts will go on as usual."
In any other situation, today would be the greatest day of Emma Vanity's life.
As it is, it's a rather hollow victory. The only reason the team had voted her as Quidditch Captain was so that she'd get the grief from the other Captains that Slytherin House has been getting in the past few years.
She'd been so proud three years before when the hat had put her in Slytherin. "A House of greatness." her grandfather always said. "A House that produces revolutionaries."
Emma wanted to be a revolutionary. The hat had briefly suggested her drive might fit in at Hufflepuff, but she'd told it in no uncertain terms that she wanted Slytherin or nothing. And so it had been.
She's still proud of her House. It's the other Houses who should be ashamed.
But as things stand, she'll have to take the brunt of the scorn on the field now that she's Captain. And she'll just have to deal with it with all the grace of a serpent.
Which is to say, she'll give as good as she gets and she'll look refined as she does.
"Alright team, let's get these tryouts started!"
She's both disappointed and unsurprised to see how few people are at their Quidditch tryouts - most of the aggression from the other houses does come out on the field after all. But she can work with this.
Tryouts don't take as long as normal, and she's thankful to see a few of her old teammates are back for another year, especially when she sees what else she has to work with. It takes several minutes of deliberation to finally settle for her final lineup, and she opts to keep everyone else on standby. They had resignations in the middle of the year last year, and she doesn't need a repeat of that fiasco in her first year as Captain.
Particularly as she's the youngest Hogwarts Quidditch Captain in a decade, at least according to her older brother, who she generally trusts when it comes to Quidditch facts.
She thinks she's alone on the field as she packs up the balls, expertly wrestling the last bludger into place and jamming the lid shut on top of it.
"You'd make a good beater as well."
She jumps and spins. "Captain should know how to handle every ball and be comfortable in every position. At least that's what I think. Don't expect something of someone if you aren't willing to do it yourself." She doesn't recognize the other girl, but she's in Gryffindor red and gold which puts Emma a bit on edge. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"
"Lizzy Gardner, I'm the new Quidditch announcer. I'm watching all the tryouts to get an idea of each team's potential play style."
Emma nods and offers a handshake which is firmly returned. "Sounds like you'll do a better job than Leland." She notes with a wry smile. "I'd appreciate if you didn't bias against Slytherin the way he always did."
Lizzy shakes her head. "Don't worry, I respect the sport too much for that."
Emma nods and excuses herself to shower, feeling a little less stressed. Maybe things could be alright this year.
As she exits the changing room a couple of Ravenclaw fifth years start hissing, and she groans.
Then again, probably not.
It can be truly mind-blowing at times to see how quickly positive progress can be uprooted by hate. Less than a decade ago there had been marches for Squib rights, a Muggleborn had been elected Minister for Magic, and people were starting to speak of Muggles as intellectual equals.
A small part of Elphinstone Urquart had hoped that, even in the midst of this terrible war, those changes could continue inching forward. Minister Jenkins has after all repeatedly shown her competence in her role and her support for equality. But even she doesn't seem able to handle the dark uprising that had begun in earnest three year before.
Work is becoming a test of his ability to hold his tongue even when increasingly terrible decisions are being made, and he doesn't understand why they are. Just today an appeal against house elf slavery had been shut down, though he is proud that they had put up at least something of a fight this time. There are some days he feels that everyone with half a brain has given up, and he's the only sane person left in the Wizengamot.
He'd really felt optimistic about this particular appeal, he'd told Minerva as much when they'd gotten dinner a few days earlier. It was less of a hot-button issue than many of the other appeals they saw these days and he'd spoken at length with many of his colleagues in order to secure their vote in favor. But still it had been shut down.
He considers paying Minerva a surprise visit - seeing her always helps when he's feeling at his most hopeless - but she isn't one to appreciate surprises, and regardless she likely has homework to grade.
And so he Floos back to his apartment, shrugs off his robes, and settles by his fireplace with a book and a cup of grey earl tea.
His grey tabby, affectionately nicknamed Minnie after he learned of Minerva's animagus form, soon joins him, settling comfortably into his lap and purring sleepily as he gently rubs behind her ears.
The day's proceedings still bother him, and he finds himself contemplating retirement. He's given his best years to the Wizengamot and no one would fault him for leaving. And yet something tells him to stay on just a bit longer. To keep one good voice alive among what feels to be ever increasing opposition and close-mindedness.
And he knows it will only get worse. The Dark Lord is starting to gain traction outside of Great Britain and has begun targeting muggleborns and even the occasional half-blood in addition to his usual muggle hate. Given a few more years and Elphinstone figures the man will be preaching that only the purest of blood is worthy of any rights at all, despite such a bloodline not existing (Sacred Twenty-Eight be damned, Nott was a dottering old racist determined to prove his own nonexistent importance).
Minnie purrs particularly loudly as this thought occurs to him, and he laughs, thinking that Minerva would rather enjoy his thoughts on Cantankerus Nott.
Perhaps he will see if she has time for some evening tea.
He wonders at times if the students have quite forgotten which House he had been sorted into during his Hogwarts years.
It's no big secret that Walter Crowell is a proud Slytherin, and yet the students hold none of the suspicion towards him that they do poor Horace, who's been teaching nearly as long as he has.
He finds the entire situation rather irritating, which he doesn't quite appreciate. Walter Crowell does not do irritation - he has much better things to be spending his time on than caring about the more ridiculous antics of children.
He'd said as much to Pomona over a glass of firewhiskey during the Halloween feast that year, and she'd asked him why he taught at a school if he disliked working with children so much. That's why he likes Pomona, never afraid to speak her mind.
Terrible flier though.
He hadn't given her a proper answer that night, he'd been a bit tipsy from his six shots of firewhiskey, but it's no big mystery why he chose his field to anyone who paid proper attention.
Simply put, he likes children. He likes the endless possibilities their futures hold, the way they view the world with an open-minded curiosity all too often lost in adults. But this war has drained much of that naive joy from them, and it irritates him.
He's reflecting on all this when the headmaster comes across him in the hall and invites him in for tea.
Walter accepts. Albus is not exactly a friend, but he's someone who understands the true implications this war has for the future and it could conceivably be nice to speak with someone on the same level.
"Walter, I admit, my motivations to speak with you today were not entirely altruistic." Albus says once they're settled in his office.
Walter eyes him as he takes a pointed sip from his cup. "Please Albus, what do you take me for? Just spit it out."
The headmaster chuckles. "Eloquent as always. Very well then, I have a proposition. Or rather, a request."
Walter says nothing, just raises an eyebrow and takes another sip from his cup. He doesn't actually like tea very much but he can appreciate the subtle power of remaining silent and the drink allows him a way to utilize it quite effectively.
Albus clears his throat. "I assume you've heard of the Order of the Phoenix?"
Or course he has. Everyone has heard rumor of the so-called secret organization trying to undermine the Dark Lord's ambitions. He's unsurprised to learn that Albus has some hand in it.
"I've heard it fails rather often." He responds pointedly. "What is your point Albus?"
"I wanted to extend an invitation to join the Order."
Walter gives a moment to let the Headmaster think that he's contemplating it, but he already knows his answer. "I'm afraid I have to decline. If the trouble comes here then you know I'll put down my life to protect these kids, but I'm not going to go looking for trouble on purpose Albus."
The headmaster nods. "I had a feeling of that. Well, if you ever change your mind you'd be a valuable addition to the team."
Walter shakes his head. "I appreciate the sentiment, but my decision won't change. If that's all?"
The headmaster waves a hand to dismiss him, and Walter heads for the Quidditch shack to double check that everything has been properly put away. He's busy enough with his job without having to invite in more trouble by getting involved in a war that has thankfully left him well enough alone thus far.
He has students to teach and Quidditch matches to referee, and that is more important than running off and risking his life for a cause that has seen no successes. Should Albus and his Order make some real progress, and if the threat to the students become more imminent, then perhaps he'd consider changing his mind.
But for now, the Quidditch shack won't organize itself.
She only has one year left in the safety of Hogwarts before she'll be tossed out into the real world.
It's a scary thought for more reasons than one, and Isobel Whits has all of them listed in her head and playing on repeat as she stares out the window of the Hogwarts express.
Since her fourth year the rise of He Who Must Not Be Named has become more rapid as he's enlisted not only those bat blood purist Slytherins but also the poorly treated dark creatures like giants and werewolves. Summer vacation is the most stressful part of her year as she jumps at every noise and runs from every shadow in fear of what might be hiding in it.
Some kids don't come back after the summer, and though no one says it everyone knows it's not because they didn't want to. Everyone wants to be at Hogwarts right now - it's the only place the Deatheaters don't dare to strike. Not while Dumbledore is around.
Not that there aren't Deatheaters in Hogwarts. Most of the Slytherins these days seem to be blood purist freaks, and even if they aren't they're not particularly pleasant. The number of times she's nearly dueled Emma Vanity in the corridors is probably nearing the triple digits, and Emma is widely known to be one of the decent members of that house.
Conversely, Emma did date Evan Rosier for a time, and he's definitely a Deatheater so maybe she's not so perfect as her reputation would have one believe.
Not a wizard who went bad that wasn't a Slytherin. It's a saying that's been going around the common rooms, and while Isobel has statistical proof that such a claim isn't true, current events certainly suggest otherwise.
The whole world has flipped upside down and her hiding place is about to be lost to her. So what should she do now?
The 'right' answer, of course, would be to join the war. She's been top of her classes since her first year and the war effort could certainly use someone of her skill level.
But things aren't so black and white, and surely she has more to offer the world than an untimely death. Fighting an ever growing dark power just doesn't strike her fancy, especially when it's such an even struggle. There's no guarantee for safety or even that she'll make any practical difference. No, Isobel Whits is meant for greater things than laying down her life for a cause that may or may not come out on top.
But the war is really the only thing happening in Great Britain. No matter what part of the continent you travel to, the war follows close behind, relentless in its pursuit of innocents.
The answer then, is simple. She'll have to leave England.
Castelobruxo offers semesters abroad, don't they? No one has gone on one since the start of all this Dark Lord nonsense, but surely she could arrange a visit for this year. Once she has connections there she can see about getting a job after graduation.
One that lets her get far, far away from this mess.
Today is the most important day of her life. Everything she loves rests on this one interview. She has to get this right, and she's made sure to take every precaution.
She's also downed a bottle of sherry for luck, and now she's running a few minutes behind schedule.
Dumbledore is already sitting in the private room above the Hog's Head when she arrives, and she stutters out a half-apology for her tardiness, pulling out her crystal ball as she does.
"Ms. Trelawney, it's a pleasure to make your aquaintance."
She returns the sentiment breathlessly, setting up her divination equitment as she does. "I promise you sir, you won't regret this. I've got my great grandmother's gift, you'll see."
There are rumors that Hogwarts won't be offering Divination classes anymore. Rumors that Seers are just too rare these days. But Sybill knows that she can turn that around.
Dumbledore is less certain. He watches the odd young woman in front of him, adorned in enough scarves that it nearly looks like she has wings, which admittedly matches her glasses in an odd sort of way, adding to the woman's insectoid appearance.
The Headmaster has heard of Sybill Trelawney, though a discouraging majority of that knowledge is not exactly glowing. However, she is a relative of one of the greatest Seers in wizarding history so when she'd reached out with an offer to teach Divination at Hogwarts he had decided it couldn't hurt to see her skills first hand.
He's somewhat regretting that decision now that she's in front of him - the rumors aren't incorrect after all. It is, perhaps, for the best - he'd been planning to remove Divination from the offered curriculum at Hogwarts for some time now. It was never a very practical subject to offer in the first place.
Sybill is halfway through another ominous warning of danger when he holds up a hand. "Thank you Miss Trelawney, I think that will do. I'm afraid Hogwarts simply doesn't-"
He doesn't have the chance to finish informing the suddenly teary-eyed woman that the Divination program is being terminated when she suddenly goes completely still, her eyes becoming blank even as the tears of anticipated rejection slide down her face.
Dumbledore is concerned that's she's gone into some form of shock, but after a brief moment she begins to speak. However, it is no longer her reedy, breathless tone escaping from her lips.
Dumbledore stares, genuinely stunned, as Sybill Trelawney, false prophet, lapses into a prophetic trance.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."
As she slumps to the table, there's a scuffling outside the room, and Dumbledore looks up in time to see his brother dragging Severus Snape away from the partially opened door.
When she comes back around, he hires Trelawney on the spot. Her Sight may not be particularly strong, but with Snape reporting back to his Dark Lord she won't be safe anywhere but inside of Hogwarts.
There are days that Eric Hobbes is annoyed with his mother. Those days usually come when he wants to stay and play with his friends but she tells him they have to go home now.
Those days seem rather silly now that he's learned she's apparently a witch and has been neglecting to inform him of his own magical abilities for the past eleven years.
Sure there's some sort of war going on, but really, it doesn't seem like an adequate reason to hide his powers from him. He'll probably be the only one who has no idea what he's doing when he gets to Hogwarts.
He stares gloomily out the train window in the empty car he'd managed to obtain prior to departure, trying to see if he can glare a hole in the glass with his misery.
"Hey! Pout face! Are these seats taken?"
He's forced out of his pity party by an entirely too chipper voice, and he turns to see a blonde boy in the doorway. The kid looks about his age, though Eric notes with some annoyance that the other seems to be a few inches taller than himself.
"No."
Blondie isn't perturbed by his sour response and instead makes himself comfortable in the seat across from Eric.
"Anyway I'm Hunter. Hunter Vaugnes."
Hunter Vaugnes, as it turns out, is incredibly fond of talking. Eric introduces himself, and occasionally nods or gives short, one-word replies to the other boy, but for the most part Hunter is happy to fill the silence himself, and Eric is actually rather glad for it. Through Hunter's ramblings he learns quite a bit about Hogwarts and its Houses.
"Personally I'm going to be in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. Maddie says I'm a shoo in for Ravenclaw - that's her House by the way - but I wrote three whole pages about why I would be a bad Ravenclaw and memorized them, so I'm definitely not going there if I can help it."
"What about Slytherin?"
Hunter blinks, and then laughs a bit uncomfortably. "Not funny dude. I'm not some evil jerk, I won't be in Slytherin. Only really horrible people go to that House."
Eric just nods mutely, and Hunter is soon back to talking about the classes and how he plans to be Quidditch captain as soon as whoever the current captain of his House team graduates.
But Eric can only half listen for the rest of the trip, worry about the Sorting building up until he feels ready to burst.
When he and Hunter, along with the other first years, are finally standing in the great hall it rises to an apex, and he considers running out of the room and back to the train.
"Hobbes, Eric."
It take him several seconds to start moving, and even then it's only because Hunter gives him an excited nudge.
At first when the Hat slips over his eyes, there's silence. Then a little voice worms into his head.
Hmm, simple choice here I believe. Slytherin will serve you quite-
"No!"
He's not sure if he spoke out loud or not but he really hopes he didn't because then everyone will know.
No? But it's all here in your mind. Ambition, vision, cunning, you'd thrive in Slytherin.
"I can't. I can't be in Slytherin please don't make me. I'll go anywhere else, I'll go back home if I have to but please please don't put me with the evil House."
The Hat is silent for a very long time, and Eric's heart has never beat so quickly.
When the hat speaks again, it's not in Eric's mind.
Petra Rosier's first vivid memory is from when she was four years old.
It isn't very long, but she remembers standing on Platform 9 3/4, bawling her eyes out because she didn't understand that Evan wasn't leaving forever.
She also remembers that she basically attached herself to his side when he did return for Christmas break. And that he'd let her.
She remembers him talking about how amazing Slytherin was, and how many friends he was making. He'd tell her stories about Quidditch games and sneaking out of the common rooms at night to try and find the many hidden passages in the castle.
She was eight when he decided he would join their father as the Dark Lord's disciple. There were fewer stories after that.
But when she turned eleven, he took a day off to drive her to the train station and walk her to the platform.
She didn't tell him she was scared, but he gave her a hug - the first one she could remember since she was eight - and told her everything would be fine. He'd told his younger Slytherin friends to look out for her.
He took another day off to greet her when she came back for Christmas break, and he said nothing when she buried her face in his shoulder and cried for ten solid minutes because she'd been Sorted into Gryffindor. He let her even though they were getting disgusted stares from nearly everyone walking past.
She survived school by repeating his stories to herself, and pretending that she was going on adventures too.
By third year it's a bit easier. She's used to the isolation her family ties have brought her. She owls Evan every night, and he writes back at least once a week, telling her of their latest missions, even if they go wrong. She likes that he's honest about those.
She's sitting in Transfiguration, bored because she's already completed the assignment, when the Headmaster himself appears in the doorway and asks for her.
She hears the whispers that follow her out the door but she pulls her shoulders back and ignores them.
Dumbledore looks sadder than she's ever seen him, and somehow she knows before he tells her.
Evan won't be writing back anymore.
"He resisted arrest. There was nothing else to be done."
It's the hero's excuse. This murder is okay, because the victim was a bad guy. And bad guys aren't really people after all.
But in Evan's mind, the people who killed him were the bad guys. They are in Petra's as well.
Does she agree with her father and Evan's decisions? She's not sure. But she does know that Evan wholeheartedly believed he was doing the right thing. And it doesn't sit quite right with her to kill someone for doing what they thought was good.
She doesn't cry until Christmas break, months later, when the dorms are empty. She takes out his letters and reads them until she can't see the words anymore.
Was her brother evil? Was the only course of action really to kill him? She can't believe it. She can't believe there wasn't another way.
Because Evan may have been a Deatheater, but he was her brother first. And that Evan is dead now too.
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