9:13 GMT
3 September, 1990
Ezekiel Apparated directly into Platform 9¾ this time. No more running through walls, and he was very glad for that. No one was on the platform except for some maintenance workers and a rather short man sitting behind his newsstand. After kicking his suitcase onto its wheels, he towed it up the platform until he reached the second car. A quick wave of his wand (so as not to alert the people around) and a magical push on the suitcase gently levitated it up the steep stairs, into the small hallway adjoining the stairs and the main room of the car.
Inside, the entire car was a single room, with bench seats lining the long sides, a narrow table running down the center, and doors at either end. Propelling his suitcase into the luggage rack above the seats, Ezekiel sat down in the corner, propped his feet onto the table, and fell asleep.
"What's he doing here?"
"How should I know? Maybe he's trying to eavesdrop."
"If that's the case, he's not very good at it."
"I dunno, Alex, he can get away with a lot of stuff..."
"Well I'm kicking him out." Some footsteps approached Ezekiel, which he ignored. Someone poked him in the face, which he opened his eyes at. "Get out, Bohr. This is the Prefect's car."
"Yes, and I'm Head Boy, so I'll be staying, thank you," he said to the girl with wavy reddish-brown hair and angry grey eyes.
"You? Head Boy?" She threw back her head and laughed dramatically. "That's funny. Now get out."
Ezekiel smiled to annoy her and waved his wand (again, for effect). His suitcase unzipped and his badge fell down into his hands. "See? Proof."
"You could have easily just conjured a fake one," the girl replied. "I know the kind of magic you can do."
"No, you really don't," Ezekiel said, still smiling. "But if you still don't believe me then go find McGonagall, she'll vouch for me."
"Fine. Best prepare your stuff," she said, smirking, and left the car. Ezekiel closed his eyes and pretended to fall back asleep.
A couple minutes later, the girl's distinctive steps stormed back into the car. "I can't believe it. He is Head Boy."
A chorus of exclamations followed.
"I just asked McGonagall. She said that Dumbledore chose him specifically."
"Why?" asked a voice that Ezekiel recognized as Erica Clearwater.
"I don't know, ask him."
"No way, he scares me," Clearwater replied. That nearly made Ezekiel laugh. In the immortal words of Machiavelli, 'It is far safer to be feared than loved if you cannot be both.'
"Well I'm not asking him. Let's just let him sleep through the meeting." That would be nice.
"Wake up," she said, kicking him in the shin.
"I thought you were going to let me sleep through the meeting," Ezekiel objected, opening his eyes and sitting up. He looked around the car, which was now filled with Prefects, all of them watching him.
"Unfortunately, your participation is required. Let's just get this over with quickly."
"Fine, fine," Ezekiel groaned dramatically, pushing himself off of the seat. "Which of you idiots is best at making coffee?"
She punched him in the shoulder. "That's completely uncalled for, Bohr. And I am running this meeting, not you."
Ezekiel smiled sardonically. "Lead on, Tempest."
The girl glared at him, then positioned herself at the head of the table, addressing the entire car. "Most of you should already know this, but I'm Alex Tempest, and I've been chosen as Head Girl this year. Professor McGonagall has asked that I start by reviewing the security arrangements for the Prefects, and she'll join us later to assign other duties."
Tempest continued on in much the same way, with Ezekiel lurking behind her. Just bear through this, and then you can convince Dumbledore to let you resign, he brooded. To resist at this point would be immature and futile.
Looking over the batch of new Prefects, he was glad he wouldn't have to deal with them for more than today. Most of them were watching Tempest with an avid attention that did not spell good things for their actual intelligence. Some of them were simply watching the scenery fly by outside, not paying any attention at all.
The only one that piqued Ezekiel's interest was Karl Mueller, who was watching Tempest with a calculating look. He was a Slytherin – a true Slytherin, Ezekiel could tell, not the thick-skulled idiots that usually fell into Slytherin – and that said something. Ezekiel watched him closely, noticing the slight nods he gave when he agreed with something that Tempest said, and the barely perceptible frowns when he didn't. A quick run-over of his emotions had similar results – he was taking in everything around him and processing it calmly. Note to self: keep an eye on him.
Tempest's spiel ended abruptly when McGonagall came in from the front. "Hello, Prefects, I'm here to hand out duty assignments for the first semester. Miss Tempest, please hand these out to the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, Mr. Bohr, if you will take the Ravenclaws and Slytherins, please," she said, handing Ezekiel a bundle of twelve rolled-up parchments. In a matter of minutes he had tossed the parchments to their respective owners, and unrolled his own.
"There, everyone has their assignments," McGonagall said. "If you have any questions, Miss Tempest is familiar with the scheduling system."
"Wait, Professor, what about —"
"Mr. Bohr, please come with me." McGonagall opened the sliding door into the tiny hallway. With a single incantation, she cast a Quieting Charm around the two of them. Ezekiel surreptitiously added a few of his own, just in case.
"Now, Mr. Bohr, I know you're not enthusiastic about this position, and frankly, neither am I."
"I appreciate it, Professor."
"Don't get smart with me, Mr. Bohr. Face it, you have no experience as a Prefect, and, as far as I know, you've never taken any sort of initiative or responsibility at Hogwarts to date."
Ezekiel couldn't argue with that, so he kept silent.
"However, the Headmaster insisted that you take this position, and I am rather certain I know why."
"Why is that?" Ezekiel asked, feigning disinterest.
"This is not the time or place to discuss it, Mr. Bohr. Just be aware that Dumbledore knows the extent of your abilities, and he fully believes that you will protect your fellow students if that becomes necessary. Be wary of anyone you meet before you see the Headmaster later tonight. Until then, please just be agreeable about your position. That's all I ask of you for now, Mr. Bohr."
Ezekiel hadn't missed the 'for now.' "Don't worry, Professor. I'll be a good boy."
She smiled. "I'm glad to hear that."
14:26 GMT
7 September, 1984
"Swish and flick, yes, just like that, Miss Wynne. And make sure you pronounce it correctly, it's a very fiddly spell, and I don't want any explosions this semester."
Ezekiel was watching Professor Flitwick perform the spell from the back of the room, noticing the patterns and flow of the spell through the Fabric. Flitwick wasn't exaggerating – it was an extremely complex spell for first years. It looked nearly as intricate as the spells that the nurses had used to talk to him in his room from miles away.
"Mr. Bohr? Please start practicing on your own feather," Flitwick called across the room.
Gripping the wand that was so unfamiliar, Ezekiel swished and flicked, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa." The feather didn't budge. "Wingardium Leviosa." It twitched a bit, that time.
The nurses said I wasn't to show my abilities to anyone at Hogwarts, he thought to himself. But, glancing furtively around, no one was paying any attention to the lonely Ravenclaw in the corner. I saw how the spell was done, he reasoned, and this stupid wand is worse than useless.
Holding the image of the spell Flitwick had performed in his head, he began to build it from scratch, twisting and bending the Fabric just right, just the way needed to connect the feather to his wand, so that he could lift it with only a small movement of his wrist. The threads and rings of the spell were braided out carefully, one by one, slowly coming together from the Fabric around him. Each thread twisted along the side of another, and there were junctions where two threads became one, or one became two. A matrix of connections spread out before Ezekiel's eyes, and the final thread bound the two endpoints to each other, so that the entire spell folded in upon itself and became complete. He touched the movement end of the spell to the feather, and they bound together, golden magic flowing along the fibers of its delicate shape. Then he pulled the control end to the tip of his wand. As soon as he did it, he realized his mistake.
The wand chooses the wizard, as they say, but Ezekiel had never needed a wand to begin with. The wand he held was simply the one that had gotten along with him most, the most accommodating that Ollivander had owned, so that he could maintain an illusion of normalcy at school. Were wands sentient, it might be said that this one had not yet warmed to its owner, which had not warmed to it either. When the magic of mind and wand touched, they rejected each other instantly.
Ezekiel's beautiful spell exploded, sending a ripple of magical power through the room that instantly dissolved the other spells. But no one except Flitwick noticed, because half a second later, Ezekiel's wand exploded. The inherent magic of the device went supernova in an instant, blasting magic throughout the room so powerfully that even the other kids could feel it. Every feather in the room caught fire, some of the chairs dissolved into dust, the window closest to Ezekiel turned to water, and every torch in the room burned brilliant fuchsia. The small wooden rod that had formerly been a wand shot out of Ezekiel's hand and was consumed in a fireball, followed by a concussion that reverberated through the stone of the third-floor classroom.
The class fell silent as the ashes and dust settled gently. Everyone was watching Ezekiel, who was motionless in his seat, ignoring the half-disintegrated remains of his right sleeve, the one on his wand arm. His eyes were fixed on the pristine feather before him.
As if he had teleported, Flitwick was at Ezekiel's table in a heartbeat. His wand touched the back of Ezekiel's neck and he muttered, "Perlustrius." Nothing, as far as Ezekiel could tell, had happened, but Flitwick nodded to himself, apparently satisfied.
"Mr. Bohr," he said, somehow sounding utterly terrifying to Ezekiel despite his squeaky voice. "Please come with me."
Standing up uncertainly, Ezekiel asked, "Where —?"
"We're going to see the Headmaster."
