21:47 GMT
3 September, 1990
The ride in the carriages was miserable, as usual. Ezekiel was with other Ravenclaws, which helped, but they were simply incapable of being quiet. He could have Apparated – he had unraveled the (ridiculously simplistic) wards preventing Apparition between two points on the grounds in his third year – but he didn't want to raise suspicion, and McGonagall's words were particularly ominous.
"Hey, uh, congratulations on getting Head Boy, Ezekiel," said Janice Arol, a fellow Ravenclaw with short black hair and wide green eyes.
Ezekiel made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.
"Aren't you glad? It's a pretty big privilege," she pressed, smiling at him.
"Babysitting the entirety of Hogwarts? You're right, that sounds fantastic."
"Oh. Um, okay."
Ezekiel went back to staring out the tiny window. Janice did too, looking a tiny bit hurt.
If there was one thing Ezekiel disliked about being in Ravenclaw, it was the position of their table in the Great Hall. It was in the middle of the Hall, so no matter where he sat, he always had his back to either the Slytherins, or the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, and he could never decide which was worse. Eating there when it was full of people was a nightmare.
The Sorting provided some fleeting entertainment, as always. One by one, the first years went to sit under the Hat. And one by one, Ezekiel watched their emotions flare and settle and fluctuate as the Hat talked to them, telling each of them a bit of wisdom that it always seemed to know.
But, as usual, Ezekiel couldn't read the Hat at all. He assumed that the Hat probably wasn't sentient (since he could read the emotions of non-human sentient creatures, like the goblins at Gringotts), but the unsolved mystery teased him every year.
When the last boy was Sorted, the Hat was taken away, and Dumbledore said something ridiculous as usual. Then he seated himself, and the tables were suddenly filled with food.
When the food was finished and swept away by magic, Dumbledore stood once more.
"To our first-years, welcome to Hogwarts! To everyone else, welcome back! There are a few things that I should say before you all run off to bed," he said, opening his arms in a sign of welcome and smiling in a merry sort of way.
"Just like every other year, I must remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is completely off-limits, to all students. Secondly, I have been asked by our caretaker, Mr. Filch, to remind you that no magic is to be used in the corridors at any time, and he urges you to consult the list on his office door detailing the items which are not permitted within Hogwarts.
"Finally," he said, "I would like to introduce our newest staff member, who will be taking the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Please do all that you can to make Professor Lorbechev feel welcome here at Hogwarts." He gestured to his left, at the woman sitting at the very far end of the table.
As soon as Ezekiel saw her, he knew something was wrong. The flow of magic bent around her in an odd way, a way that Ezekiel definitely should have noticed from a mile away, but somehow she had slipped under his radar. Now that he was watching her, he could tell that she was very powerful. The Fabric seemed to bend around her, distorting in a weird sort of way that didn't have any magical traces about it at all. This is the reason I've been forced into this position, he knew. She's dangerous.
Her physical appearance was not one of power, however. She was extremely thin, with protruding bones and veins that seemed to pop out of her skin. Two cold, grey eyes gleamed out of sunken eye sockets, and her hair was pitch black, drawn into a tight bun at the back of her head. When the Headmaster addressed her, she merely nodded at him, again to the students as a whole, then crossed her arms and gazed up at the ceiling.
"Well, I won't keep you any longer," Dumbledore said. "Off to bed with you! Fifth-year prefects, please guide the first-years to their dormitories."
The general din of the Great Hall rose again as hundreds of students left their tables, talking and shouting, trying to squeeze their way out of the Hall.
Suppressing his agoraphobia, Ezekiel slipped out and headed for the secret passage just past Classroom Eleven. A tight spiral staircase there would lead him up to the fifth floor, and from there he could easily get to the Headmaster's office without anyone noticing.
"Mr. Bohr!" a squeaky voice called behind him. He turned and saw Professor Flitwick, rushing towards him.
"Yes, Professor?"
"I was told to give you the message, 'cherry bomb.' I was also told that you would understand it."
"I do," Ezekiel said. The password to the Headmaster's office. "Thanks, Professor."
"Of course, Mr. Bohr." Then the little man was gone, off to try to control the mass of students.
Ezekiel looked around the side of the painting's frame until he found the triangular eye symbol that had been written there in red ink for as long as Ezekiel knew. He tapped it with his wand and whispered, "Frumious Bandersnatch," making sure to roll his "R"s perfectly. The mark glowed, then the painting (which was the only still painting that Ezekiel had ever seen in Hogwarts) flashed for the briefest moment, letting the careful observer know that the passage was open. Ezekiel braced himself and stepped into the painting, sinking through the magical canvas as if it were water. On the other side was the narrow staircase that would take him almost directly to the Headmaster's office.
"Cherry bomb," Ezekiel said to the gargoyle, which animated and hastily jumped out of his way. Ezekiel stepped past it onto the moving spiral staircase that would take him all the way to the top of the Headmaster's Tower, where Dumbledore's office was. At the top, Ezekiel ignored the knocker and struck the door once with his fist.
"Come in."
Opening the door, Ezekiel saw the Headmaster's office for what felt like the hundredth time. It was exactly as he remembered it – perfectly circular, with bookcases lining the northern wall, and the southern wall absolutely covered in the portraits of past Headmasters, except for a single high window just in the middle. Scattered around the room were several assorted tables, which held various bizarre trinkets and devices that squeaked and hummed and exuded pink smoke. Among the portraits was Dumbledore's desk, behind which the old wizard himself sat.
"Ah, Mr. Bohr," he said, as if he hadn't been expecting Ezekiel. "Please, be seated." He gestured to the odd five-legged stool that was sitting in front of his desk.
"You know, this window really is useless," he said while Ezekiel sat. "It faces directly south, so it gets neither the rising nor setting sun. Just a tiny sliver of light coming in from the sides."
"Maybe there was a reason for that when Hogwarts was built," Ezekiel suggested.
"Oh, I doubt it. Hogwarts is completely insane."
"I know that well enough, sir." He had delved many of Hogwarts' mysteries in his time here.
The old man's eyes twinkled. "Yes, I'm sure you do. Now, to business, yes?"
"Professor Lorbechev."
Dumbledore nodded. "Quick as always, Mr. Bohr. She is the reason that you've been pushed into this position." He didn't look apologetic about it at all, but Ezekiel had pretty much expected that.
"Why is her magic so strange? The Fabric bends around her in a way I've never seen before."
"I have no idea," Dumbledore said. "She's a mystery to me, but I have a terrible suspicion that she means us no good will."
"Then why hire her?"
Smiling sadly, Dumbledore replied, "Because the position is cursed, of course, and it's difficult to get anyone to take the job."
Ezekiel was speechless. Dumbledore just smiled benignly at him.
"The position is actually cursed? I thought that was a stupid myth!"
"We do our best to make it sound as ridiculous as possible," Dumbledore said. "As long as there is no admission of certainty, most people will just assume that it is a rumor."
"Who cursed it? And why?"
Dumbledore didn't say anything, just smiled.
"Why tell me, then?" Ezekiel asked.
"I thought it would help you to gain some insight into Professor Lorbechev's motives," Dumbledore said. " Or, perhaps, I just like to mess with your head. Either way, I think that you can handle a secret well enough."
Ezekiel reconsidered the situation. "What do I need to do?"
"Your most important job is to protect your fellow students. You are more than capable of protecting every student in this school from anything short of a Death Eater invasion, and I hope you'll be motivated to do so."
"How is this boy more capable than you, Dumbledore?" one of the portraits, an old, blind witch, asked.
"Because I have duties that keep me busy, Agatha," Dumbledore replied, "and Mr. Bohr is by far my superior in magical ability."
Ezekiel didn't know if that was meant to be a compliment or a simple statement of fact, but it was true, and they both knew it, so he didn't respond to it. "And what about Lorbechev?"
"Professor Lorbechev, Mr. Bohr," Dumbledore corrected. "I suggest you try to find out why she is so strange, and, if you can manage, what she plans to do."
Ezekiel nodded. "Is that all?"
"Ah, not quite." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled mischievously, which was never a good sign. "I understand that Professor McGonagall failed to discuss the private quarters you share with Miss Tempest..."
14:35 GMT
7 September, 1984
When Ezekiel entered the strange tower office behind Flitwick, the Headmaster was wearing a frighteningly grave look. At the start-of-term banquet, he had struck Ezekiel as a friendly, albeit weird, sort of person. But this serious look was like a mask, giving him quite another appearance from the kindly old man that had stood before the Great Hall.
"Headmaster, we have a serious situation," Flitwick said as soon as the door was closed.
"I know," the older man rumbled. Ezekiel shivered.
"How —?"
"I could feel it from here," Dumbledore said. "You tried to replicate Professor Flitwick's magic without your wand, Mr. Bohr, am I correct?"
Ezekiel nodded, not trusting himself to speak without his voice wavering.
Flitwick was frowning deeply. "Without a wand... how could a first year...?"
Dumbledore held up a single finger for silence, then waved his wand in a circle above his head three times. Each revolution, Ezekiel saw a glittering sheet of magic spring out of his wand and envelop the room. He could see their structure, and none of them was particularly difficult, but he knew how to learn from his mistakes, and resisted the temptation to commit the spells to memory.
Dumbledore dropped his hands to his desk and said, "Filius, Mr. Bohr here has a very rare gift."
"Uncontrollable magic? That's not a gift, Headmaster."
Smiling slightly, Dumbledore said, "No, you misunderstand. He has Magical Perceptivity and Manipulativity."
There was a moment where Flitwick processed Dumbledore's words, obviously second guessing what he had just heard. Then the implications sunk in, and he squeaked in surprise. He turned to look at Ezekiel with a new understanding.
"Now, Mr. Bohr," Dumbledore said, "please explain what happened."
"I hate that wand," Ezekiel said. "It didn't feel right, and it was impossible to use. So I copied Professor Flitwick's spell when he cast it, and did it without a wand."
"And you failed to create it properly?" Flitwick interjected. "That's not surprising, it's a terribly touchy spell —"
"No, I made it right. But my mind's magic rejected my wand's magic when I tried to connect the spell to my wand."
Flitwick and Dumbledore nodded in unison. "I should have realized," Flitwick said, "it was a textbook case of magical rejection."
"So I think I'll try connecting it to my finger or something next time I try," Ezekiel said.
"No!"
Both Flitwick and Dumbledore were looking at him as if he were crazy. "No, no, Mr. Bohr," Dumbledore said. "You must not attempt magic like that again. You could seriously hurt your fellow students."
"But if I try again I'm sure I can —"
"No," Flitwick said. "The Headmaster is right, magic is extremely dangerous in its raw form."
"Then what should I do if I can't use magic?"
"Learn to use your wand," Dumbledore suggested. "It may seem a handicap now, but a wand's magic combined with the mind's magic can be very potent indeed."
"But, I don't have a wand anymore."
"You don't?"
"It exploded," Flitwick explained. "When the magics rejected each other."
"Ah, well then, I'll organize a trip to Diagon Alley for you to get a new one," Dumbledore said. "But in the meantime, you may use this spare one." He handed Ezekiel a short, dark-wooded wand that felt absolutely vile in his hand.
"Do I have to?"
"Yes. Now, you must get back to your classes. Filius, if you would show him back."
"He knows his way around," Flitwick said. "I must discuss some matters of security with you, Headmaster."
Dumbledore smiled very slightly. "Very well. Farewell, Mr. Bohr."
Ezekiel turned to leave, but noticed something before he opened the door. "Uh, Headmaster? Your protective spells are still there."
"Ah, of course." He waved his wand once, and the blankets of magic dissolved. "Off you go."
When Ezekiel left, he could have sworn he heard Flitwick muttering darkly under his breath about dangerous students and security hazards.