TENTH

The same fourth year prefect, Viktor Krum, handed out the class schedules to all the students, starting with first year. Corvus took his and looked at it, comparing it to his friends. "At least we have all of our classes together," he murmured, eyes permanently struck wide at the sheer number of classes.

"How are we going to manage all of this?" Draco moaned dramatically. "I know that they don't have nearly this many classes at Hogwarts."

"That's a good thing, though," Theo replied thoughtfully. "It means that we are definitely getting the better education." Greg was silent, staring at his schedule with something like horror. The schedule read as followed:

On Mondays and Wednesdays, they had Magical Theory, Dark Flora and Fauna, Survival, Cursebreaking, Illusions and Spellcrafting. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, they had Alchemy, Necromancy, Curses and Hexes, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Transfiguration. On Fridays was Potions, Defense and Dueling, and Magical Weapons and Swords. Since they were first years, all of the classes were introductory, which meant that they'd be covering the basics and hopefully not getting too bogged down by homework and practice.

"Cheer up, Greg," Blaise said laughingly as he saw the look of terror on his friend's face. "We're all in the same boat together. We will all either float or sink as one."

"Thanks," the large boy said sarcastically. "I feel so much better now."

It was finally Friday, and the boys were exhausted. Though the classes were fun and interesting, there was so much to learn and remember that they'd felt overwhelmed for a few days. Finally, on Thursday, things started coming together for them. They'd developed a comprehensive study plan, and had set aside a few hours every night to do their homework and help each other out with the lessons. There was a sign-up sheet on the bulletin board, announcing the different after class activities, and all of Corvus' friends and he had signed up for the Creative Arts class, and it was working wonders in helping them relieve the stress of their regular classes. But now they were on their way to their first Potions class. Corvus and Draco felt they'd had a slight advantage, having had Severus coach and tutor them. Though Corvus wasn't Severus' pupil for long, he'd had a natural affinity for the craft, and the Potions Master was astonished and proud at how quickly his ward had picked up the art.

Entering the room, they sat down at a group of desks toward the left front of the room, putting their rucksacks on the floor by their feet. As soon as the bell rang, the professor entered from a door in the back of the room, startling the first years.

"Good morning, class," he intoned softly. "As you may or may not remember, I am Konstantin Dragomirov. You may refer to me as professor Dragomirov. Before we get started, how many of you actually have some experience with potions brewing?" Corvus, Draco, Theo and a few other students raised their hands. The professor nodded, then focused on Draco and Corvus first. "Who was your tutor?"

"We had Potions Master Severus Snape as our tutor, sir," Corvus answered quietly.

"Potions Master Snape?" the man repeated, surprised. At the twin nods, he smiled. "Excellent. You have been tutored by the best, so I expect great things from the both of you in this class. Now," he turned his attention to one of the other students, "who tutored you."

SEPTEMBER 6, 1991

THE DAILY PROPHET

ANOTHER WIZARDING CHILD, LOST

Barbaric muggle religious practices to blame

Rita Skeeter, reporter

It is my sad duty to inform the greater wizarding world that we lost yet another precious magical child to muggle fear. Miss Hermione Granger, who was to start her first year at Hogwarts on September first, has succumbed to the damage wrought when her parents had her subjected to an exorcism rite at the tender age of five. She was victimized by this barbaric practice because her parents had witnessed bouts of accidental wish magic, and believed her to be demonically possessed. She lingered in a coma, in what the muggles call 'a persistent vegetative state', until her parents finally signed the release forms, permitting her to be removed from the muggle machines that had kept her alive. She died just minutes later. We cannot lay this death at Dumbledore's feet; however, we can use it to better understand the inherent danger we expose ourselves to, when we allow the muggleborns and the halfbloods free access to both muggle and magical worlds. It is time that the Ministry of Magic look into this practice, and perhaps bring the muggleborns and halfbloods more firmly, and permanently, into the magical world, so that we do not lose yet another precious magical resource.

SEPTEMBER 6, 1991

THE DAILY PROPHET

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, PUREBLOOD SUPREMACIST?

Another peek into the mind of a madman

Betty Braithwaite, reporter

The next installment of the headmaster's diary entries sheds even more light on the supposed Leader of the Light. Albus Dumbledore, in the following passage, shows more fully what he thought of muggles and muggleborns, in spite of the fact that his own mother was a muggleborn. The second entry even shocked this reporter, casting into doubt the honest 'care and concern' the headmaster had frequently expressed about the children. If he thought this of his sister, at the age of ten, then what does he think of children now?

April 12,1891

Dear Diary,

Father is dead. He died in that miserable hellhole for defending his family from the muggle scum that we surround ourselves with. This leaves me as the head of the family. Mother is less than useless; being a mudblood herself she is pathetically dim and slow-witted. She decided to pack us up and move us to Godric's Hollow, yet another muggle/magical village. She hasn't stepped foot outside the house since we moved here just three days after Father died. I'm only ten, for Merlin's sake! How am I supposed to take care of my brother, my sister and my mother? She's a grown woman! She should have at least enough intelligence to help support us! I know we have some money from Father, but that won't last us very long, especially when Aberforth and I go to Hogwarts. What are we to do?

July 15, 1891

Dear Diary,

Merlin help me, but I wish she were dead. Ariana is driving me spare. Ever since those muggle boys attacked her, she's been fragile. Her moods swing from one extreme to another at the blink of an eye. Mother seems to be the target for most of Ariana's magical outbursts, but Aberforth and I have been on the receiving end of a violent curse or two ourselves. I have no earthly idea what sets her off, but I can't take it much longer. Thank heavens that I'll be going to Hogwarts next year. I just hope I can hold out until then. There are times I wish I had the wherewithal to put her out of her misery, and thereby freeing the rest of the family of the burden of caring for her. Perhaps, after I've attended Hogwarts for a few years, I'll be able to finally do something about her. I'll just have to wait and see.

I don't believe it, McGonagall thought as she stared at the paper, horrified. How in Merlin's name did that harlot get hold of the information about the Granger girl? And Albus! He actually advocated killing his ill sister! The more I read, the less I know of the man whom I'd thought was a very good friend.

In another part of the castle, in a room that could become anything you needed it to be, a wizened old wizard was throwing the temper tantrum of the millennium. Furniture, china, and targets all met their messy ends at the point of his wand as he continued to vent his temper in the most violent ways possible. "This is all Potter's fault," he screamed as he destroyed yet another couch. "If the little bastard hadn't have died, none of this would even be happening. All my plans, ruined. All because some stupid, weak, puling halfblood couldn't survive being beaten by his relatives. Where in Godric's name was his magic, anyway? It should've protected him somehow. This just goes to show that halfbloods and muggleborns are inherently inferior, just like Gellart has always said."

The castle, having listened to the madman ranting for such a long time, finally had enough. There were a great many halfbloods and muggleborns in her walls that she was very proud of, and this hypocrite was advocating their removal. The air around the raving lunatic started to thicken, but he was too incensed to notice. As the pressure grew, the magic within the castle walls gathered around the former headmaster, coalescing into a fine mist that he breathed in every time he inhaled to scream more invectives. As the foreign magic entered his lungs and filtered throughout his body through his bloodstream, he began to shrink, until he was the size of a small mouse. To preserve his modesty, the castle very graciously made sure his clothing shrunk to fit, and that he was able to keep his wand. After all, it would be a great crime to deprive any magical person of their wand, even if they did deserve it.

"What the hell?" he squeaked, looking at the vastly larger room in terror.

"You have insulted me for the last time, human," came a clear, icy voice. Dumbledore jumped and squeaked again, looking wildly around. "I have taken all I can stand from you. This is a magic castle, imbued by the Founders with their spirits and their gifts. The Founders accepted all beings of magical blood, be they purebloods, halfbloods, or muggleborns. They built this school to teach and protect them, and it was your job, as headmaster, to carry out these duties. Because of you, one of the Founder's heir was subjected to treatment that very nearly destroyed him. Because of you, precious magical children have been beaten, tortured, and killed by their parents and caregivers. You were not put into a place of authority to pass judgment on those of mixed blood. You were put into place to protect and educate them. So, by the magic given to me by the Founders, I sentence you, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, to remain as you now are until you repent of your actions, or until you die, whichever comes first. And I hope it's death."

Albus had the devil's own time trying to get out of the Room of Requirement. Because of his enormous decrease in stature, he'd had to plead with the castle to make a door small enough for him to be able to reach the handle. It didn't help that he was eerily reminded of Alice in Wonderland and Alice Through the Looking Glass, two books that his mudblood mother loved reading to he and his siblings when they were small. Only this time, there was no cake with a label saying eat me so that he could return to his proper height. As he carefully made his way through the castle, struggling to get down the staircases, he failed to watch his environment carefully. So he was thoroughly and unpleasantly surprised when Mrs. Norris came upon him as he was traversing the third floor corridor. Her yellow eyes gleamed avariciously and she licked her chops in anticipation of a juicy meal. Squeaking in fright and jumping three feet in the air, Dumbledore quickly scurried under the closed door of an abandoned classroom, heaving a huge sigh and backpedaling quickly to escape the paws that were darting underneath the door in a valiant effort to score the escaped meal. Why can't things ever go my way? he lamented to himself as he pulled out his wand and cast a patronus.

McGonagall was going through the mail, sighing in exasperation at the vitriol-laden letters from upset parents, so she was astonished when a miniscule phoenix patronus landed in the middle of one such missive. She jerked back in shock, mouth dropping open at the message from Albus. "Minerva, I am trapped in an abandoned classroom on the third floor. It is near the trophy room. Please hurry; Mrs. Norris is stalking me." The patronus message disappeared, and McGonagall raised a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, pushing her glasses up in the process. "Oh, Albus," she muttered, "what have you done now?"

My son,

I am enclosing this week's Daily Prophet. The two articles on the front page should prove very interesting to you. It also explains why the headmaster was so vexed at the sorting. I can only assume that, since the Longbottom boy was taken out of his reach, he was going to use the muggleborn as his latest stooge. Skeeter's slant on the tragedy that befell that poor young lady will help further my goals to isolate us from the muggle world, and protect our most precious resources; our children.

I have to wonder at Dumbledore's persistence in continuing the myth of a 'Chosen One'. Surely he knows that, with all of the articles and evidence piling up against him, he doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell of convincing anyone that the true 'Savior' didn't actually die. Perhaps the stress is getting to him. He may only be 109 years old, but perhaps there's senility in his family tree. Who knows?

How are classes going? I haven't heard anything bad about you from Karkaroff, and I've been getting some cautiously good reports from your teachers. It took some time, but I've finally got our floo connected with the one in the receiving room of Durmstrang. So, starting this weekend, you may come home.

I miss you terribly, Corvus. Even though I have Nagini, and Severus and Lucius stop by occasionally to talk to me, it's just not the same. The castle is empty, and, dare I say, lonely without you. I am looking forward to seeing you on Friday evening.

I love you.

Father

Father,

I miss you too, and I love you. Classes are going great. Greg struggled a little at first, but with all of us helping him, as well as some of the older years, he's catching on. He's not as dumb as he believes himself to be. I don't know who or what convinced him he was stupid, but they're wrong.

We have three to a room here, so I made sure that Theo and Draco were my roommates. Blaise and Greg are rooming with an African boy named Raiden Ihejirika. They seem pretty happy with the arrangements. The headmaster encouraged us to make friends with each other so that we'd be more comfortable rooming with them. I know I should pick others, but I really like Theo and Draco. I'm very comfortable with them, and they already know me and have no expectations. Besides, I'd rather keep my 'inner circle' as close to me as possible.

I can't wait to see you this weekend. We've got an arts and crafts kind of extracurricular activity after our regular classes. They provided us with a list of things we could do after our last class, so that we're always learning, and developing new skills. Theo, Draco, Blaise, Greg and I all picked the Creative Arts class. Right now, we're working in wood, and I'll have a surprise for you when I come home. I hope you like it. I'll see you soon, and I miss you.

I love you.

Your son, Corvus

"Merlin," Pansy muttered as she sat on the sofa between Daphne and Tracey. Millie and Vince were in the chairs to either side of the fireplace. "If I have to look at that stupid redheaded Weasel one more time, I'm gonna explode. I mean, really! If he isn't scowling and shooting the Slytherins venomous, hateful looks, he's mooning about, lamenting the loss of the Savior, who was meant to be 'his best mate'. Frankly, I'm glad Corvus isn't here. He still looks like…well…him. Weasley and the headmaster would be up his arse almost constantly, trying to mold him into the perfect Gryffindork hero."

"Yeah, but how would that work?" Vince asked curiously. When the girls looked at him, confused, he elaborated. "Well, he'd be in Slytherin for sure, so how could they mold him into a Gryffindor hero? If anything, he'd be a Slytherin hero."

"That's true," Daphne agreed with a snorted laugh. "I can't see him as anything but a Slytherin. There's not a true, self-sacrificing bone in his body. He'd only be loyal to those he cares for, which wouldn't be any of the Gryffindors."

"Are you so sure about that?" Tracey asked quietly. "While he would most likely be a Slytherin, what makes you think he wouldn't be friends with any of the Gryffindors? Granted, he'd probably avoid Weasley like the plague, but I think he'd take a shine to the demon twins of the tower. If anything, with him in Slytherin, it's almost guaranteed that he'd change our tarnished image within the first year."