In the weeks up to Christmas, the days followed each other with an unyielding rhythm. Each began bedecked with snow and frost, the sun would make a feeble foray in the afternoon, and then be ruthlessly shoved aside by deep rolling clouds that filled the sky. It was a harsh winter, at least for those without magical sources of heat.
Trilby and Cadogan spent a lot of it exploring this strange new world further.
It wasn't just physical exploration of the grounds, although plenty of that was done ('For future reference, approach all willows at Hogwarts with trepidation' recorded Trilby) inasmuch as anything could be made out beneath the snowdrifts. The area had all the hallmarks of the Highlands, Cadogan saw, with expanses of pine forest covering winding chains of mountains for miles around. But he had had past occasion to visit the Scottish Highlands, and he could not for the life of him determine where Hogwarts exactly was. He recognised no features he had seen previously, found no towns or villages around apart from Hogsmeade, saw nothing that indicated that Hogwarts didn't exist in its own little separate pocket of reality. It had to be the ancient spells mentioned by Hydra that kept it apart and unlocatable, he decided.
Cadogan also spoke with the professors at the school whenever they could, having failed to get much out of the student body beyond looks of alarm, curiosity, and/or terror. Professors Diggory and Dresden were both polite but slightly distant, seemingly more than a little wary of the muggle in their midst. Professor Cuthbert Binns was more forthcoming, but the young man's conversation was sadly lacking.
"You wizards must have a very interesting history," said Sir Cadogan one morning to Cuthbert in his classroom.
"Oh, of course, as I frequently expound upon to my students," said Cuthbert, whose manner of speech had the remarkable talent to shift from initial enthusiasm to monotonous drone in the space of a single sentence. "Why, to take but one example, the turmoil that resulted from the Great Goblin Rebellion of 1168 when Chieftain Battershank declared war upon..." and so on until Sir Cadogan was horizontal and snoring, a state of affairs to which Cuthbert was oblivious.
It always seemed to come down to goblin rebellions. Cadogan had never met such a creature, but he hated them already for spurring Cuthbert's lectures.
Professor Markus Oshiro was more enjoyable company, and had the virtue of teaching an intriguing subject, which he was happy to demonstrate to Cadogan.
"Are you ready for this?" he enquired of Cadogan one brisk afternoon, as they waded through snow in the forest, on their way to some project of Markus's. "Trust me, you are not prepared."
"Come now, it can't be that surprising..." began Cadogan, then his jaw dropped as they rounded one last bend in the forest frail and came upon a secluded clearing. In the clearing, a family of creatures with the front legs, wings, and heads of eagles and the body, hind legs and tail of horses were gathered, grooming each other or slumbering on the ground.
"Are they … griffins?" said Cadogan uncertainly, staring at creatures he had never seen outside tapestries or heraldry.
"Close. Hippogriffs." Markus's face split in a wide grin. "I think I'll try breeding a herd of them. They'll be good material for some future teacher if I put in the effort now, don't you think? Er, you might want to bow to them..." as the biggest hippogriff suddenly fixed Cadogan with a piercing amber gaze.
"What?" said Cadogan, too slowly.
Luckily, Hippogriff slashes took hardly any time at all to heal.
Headmistress Canmore was rarely-glimpsed and seldom spoken to after their long meeting by the lakeside. Most of her business, now that the holidays relieved her of the burden of running the school, was either conducted in her office or outside the school. Nobody ever commented on her absences, but an undercurrent of tension rose every time she left regardless.
Katherine Canmore, on the other hand, was far more frequently seen, and by Trilby for the most part. It was peculiar, reflected Trilby afterwards, how he didn't seem to notice the cold on their long walks. Not that he was complaining.
"So, ah, um, tell me," he ventured once on one of their walks around the lake, with a romantic turn of phrase that would have undoubtedly rendered your typical playwright apoplectic with envy, "Have you … stayed your entire life in Hogwarts? Has your mum always been the Headmistress or …?"
"Not always, no," she said with a chuckle that made Trilby blush inwardly. "Probably not ever since she was a wean. Ye need to have life experience before being considered for the post, I think."
"I meant..."
"Ach, I'm only teasing. And I've not always lived here, no. Mum was made Headmistress when I was about six, well before I could attend the school properly. Not that that stopped me learning. By the time my first year came around, I was well-prepared for all the classes." Her face clouded over slightly. "I'll admit, it wasn't always that sociable. Most others in my year werenae sure what to make of the Headmistress's daughter. It could get a bit lonely at times."
"It must have been difficult at times," offered up Trilby.
"Aye, at times. But when ye've got a good book at hand, ye've got a hundred friends," she said, with a slightly strained smile. "Being in Ravenclaw does have its perks. The dormitory's got its ain library. And being a prefect means ye get access to mair areas of the school library."
"Well, that's always a good perk of any position."
"You're telling me. And Mum made sure I knew how to use magic from a young age as well, well before I could properly attend the school. Though I did sometimes read ahead, as it were."
"What do you mean?"
"Ye ken how I mentioned not knowing many other children when I was growing up? I got around that. I wonder how many other children enchanted the suits of armour to play hopscotch with them?"
Trilby imagined one of the solemn suits of full plate he had seen in the corridors hopping along a hopscotch course, and laughed. Katherine joined in.
They walked on in silence for a few minutes. Far away, in the middle of the lake, a great tentacle lazily broke the nearly-frozen surface with the sound of distant splashing and splintering.
"Would ye mind telling me about yourself?" said Katherine suddenly, looking at Trilby with a measure of curiosity. "I'm sorry if I sound over-eager, but you're the first muggle I've ever really spoken to. And we hardly know anything about ye either, behind the Masquerade. I'd like to ken a few mair things."
"Oh, me? That's, ah, a pretty boring subject. I'm afraid there's not much of me to tell."
"Well, tell me what there is. If ye dinnae mind."
"Very well." Trilby cleared his throat, then began. "I was born into … well, the equivalent of one of your noble houses, actually. The son of a lord and lady. Brought in the lap of luxury. Well, maybe not luxury, but we certainly didn't want for anything while I was growing up."
"Aye?" she said, her eyes alight with curiousity. "Which family?"
"Anyway," he said, moving on quickly, "It, ah, didn't last. My father went off to go and fight in the Ninth Crusade, leaving me and my mother at home when I was five. We got word back that he had died as soon as he had landed, of an infected mosquito bite on his lip. Not a glorious end for a crusading noble."
Katherine's hand slipped gently around his. "I'm sorry," she said.
"It's okay, really. I can hardly remember the man, and it wasn't his death that affected me, so much as what it caused. My mother remarried, to another lord who had always had ambitions on our holdings. He loved my mother and his own children. Alas, he had no love left over for me, especially since I was older than his own children and stood to inherit all the family lands over his own blood. He tried to have me killed, and I escaped, don't ask how, and fled far away. I heard he later told my mother that I'd died in the forest."
"I ended up in London, and that's where I lived for three years. I was just another bedraggled child amongst flocks of other bedraggled children, and I really had to fight to survive. Thievery, lock-breaking, furtiveness, a certain cavalier regard for fair play and conduct, I had all these drummed into me if I wanted to live. And though I don't mean to boast, I learned to catch rats like a champion. They're especially tasty if you char them slightly, just so you know."
"Careful now, my breakfast's sitting uneasy. I take it ye escaped from that sooner rather than later?"
"Well, one day when I was eight, I saw a good horse in a stable, and I thought it would make a fine catch for a disreputable horse-broker I knew in the city. There were a few men around, but I slipped past them unnoticed on my way to the horse. I got the animal, unhitched it, and nearly made off with it into the streets before the owner noticed me. Guess who that owner was?"
"Sir Cadogan?" said Katherine.
"Yes. Our first ever meeting, I tried to steal his horse, and he gave me an almighty clip around the ear and such a yelling-at as you can't imagine. Then, after I'd stopped seeing stars, he asked why I'd done it, and when I told him that I needed the money from the horse to buy food, he got me food there and then." Trilby shook his head in wonderment. "He asked me a few more questions, pretty kindly as well, and confessed himself impressed at the skills of a boy who managed to get under his gaze and nearly make off with his horse. He then asked me to become his squire."
"That must have come as a shock. What did ye think made him do that?"
Trilby was silent for a moment. Then, "I could remember then what I'd learned about knights while I was still the son of a noble. I'd heard all the stories of bold knights who went forth to battle evil, who slew dragons, who rescued fair damsels and behaved chivalrously and … well, who were just stories. A knight's just a man with a sword, a horse, and a parcel of land. The code of chivalry's just meant to keep them in check, it could never have been meant to guide their every action. But Sir Cadogan …" Trilby floundered again. "He rescued a starving child from the streets, a child that had just tried to steal from him. He fed me, and made me his apprentice, and admittedly, insisted on taking me into mortal peril alongside him for all the years afterwards, but that's beside the point. He acted like how a knight should. And he acts like that all the time. He jumps at every opportunity to do good, no matter how improbable or impossible or impersonal it may be. And I don't know why."
"Ye're surprised that a man would do good over evil?"
"I … no. But I've never seen anyone else do it with the same intensity he does, like he was something out of a story. I've wondered whether there's something spurring him on, something in his past making him behave that way, or whether he's got a different take on things, or whatever." Trilby wondered whether he should sharing this much about his master with someone he'd only met relatively recently, but what could he tell her that was certain? "I've asked him a few times, usually when I was pretty damn drunk, and he never answers. He just sort of freezes up, and then tells me to never bother with the past. He doesn't like the past. It's probably best not to ask too much."
The only sound then was the sound of rushing wind, and the distant twoo-hooing of messenger owls flying overhead. The giant squid had submerged once more.
"But enough about me and Sir Cadogan," said Trilby quickly. "What else do you do here? I'm dying to know..."
These conversations and mutual revelations made up the most serious events at Hogwarts in the weeks leading up to Christmas. Nothing was rushed, and Trilby and Cadogan had plenty of time on their hands and few disturbances to get in the way of their education.
Christmas morning dawned in a similarly serene fashion. Trilby and Cadogan made it up to the castle by late morning, to find a platoon of house-elfs rearranging the tables in the Great Hall, under the direction of Katherine.
"What's going on? Is there going to be a special feast or something?" enquired Trilby. Behind him, a house-elf who had been given the job of placing wreathes around the suits of armour tossed one on over Cadogan's head and vanished before the knight could react.
"Aye," said Katherine, dressed in her finest blue robes. "It's the same format, really. Sit down, eat till your belt explodes, waddle to bed, the usual fashion for a feast. But the custom's to seat all the pupils and teachers that are left at the same table. As well as any dignitaries attending the school," she said, throwing a look at Trilby and Cadogan, whom was busy tugging off the wreath and cursing it under his breath.
"Sounds good," said Trilby. Above him, the enchanted ceiling showed a gentle shower of snow, from a clear white sky.
"Teachers, pupils, dignitaries. And any nobles who invite themselves are welcome as well by custom."