14 – The Friar's Tale
It had been the slightest of whispers in his ear that awakened Magnus on Sunday morning. He tried to rub the sleep from his eyes, but found that his left arm was blocked. After a great yawn, he blinked a few times and saw Rigel's coppery head nestled in shoulder. His arm was wrapped protectively around the smaller boy, and as he came fully awake, Magnus realized that he was feeling something quite odd. His cheek also felt strange.
Then he remembered Mrs. Malfoy.
There was a crumb-laden dessert plate and a used fork on the nightstand.
She was here, Magnus thought, with another thought coming hot on the heels of that realization. He hugged his friend closer. I won't let them expel you, he promised them both silently, feeling guilty about the trouble he'd caused by his slip of the tongue.
But he also felt well rested. In fact, Magnus didn't remember ever waking up after such a sleep to find himself feeling so refreshed. Insomnia was a Gove trait, and he wasn't sure that he'd ever really had a full night's sleep, at least, not since he was a baby. He didn't think Sonny's pillow charms counted, though, as that almost seemed like cheating. It seemed a shame, though, to awaken Rigel. Snuggled up next to him as he was, one arm across Magnus' chest, Rigel looked to be all the things that his family probably would have sworn that he wasn't: sweet, innocent, helpless, vulnerable...
"Rigel Malfoy will be expelled," Harry had said, Magnus recalled.
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Magnus whispered to himself, touching his cheek with his free hand. "She kissed me goodnight, I wonder?"
"Who kissed you?" Rónán asked, emerging from the door that led to the bathroom. He was sans tail, but his fangs and ears were canine. "Shouldn't have had all that milk before bedtime, lucky I didn't..." Then he froze, pulling a very, very puzzled face. He cleared his throat. "Well, erm, not like it's any of my business if you..."
"It's not like that, you goose!" Magnus snickered at what Rónán was implying. "Mrs. Malfoy kissed me!"
"You kissed a teacher's wife?!" Ewan gasped, a bit too loudly, startling Erik awake. That wasn't a good idea, as Ewan found himself suddenly sharing a bed with what appeared to be an overgrown teddy bear. "AIGH!"
Erik realized what he'd done and changed back. "Sohn von einem Weibchen!" he swore in German, "Ent-sorry! I do dat sometimes!"
Everyone else was waking up by then.
"Wha's all the racket, then?" Rhys mumbled, his eyes wide and shining in the near darkness of the Cellar dormitory. "Is it morning?" The torches came up a bit, as there weren't any windows to tell what time of day it was. "This sleeping at night thing is hard to get used to!"
"Why are we up so early, and who's kissing who?" Sebastian wondered, as the rest of the boys began waking up.
"You say Rigel's mum kissed you goodnight?" Lucas asked, and Magnus nodded. Lucas looked very serious as the other boys slowly became coherent.
"Wha's wrong with that?" Magnus asked.
"M-Mam?" Rigel mumbled softly, extricating himself from the somewhat embarrassing position that Rónán had pointed out. Magnus suddenly felt an irrational surge of anger about that as Rigel rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Mam?" Rigel looked around anxiously.
"Guess again!" Magnus told him, as Rigel sat up, looking embarrassed. Then he cocked an eyebrow. "Mam were here again?" Magnus nodded at him. "Thought so," Rigel nodded once, as he flopped back on the pillow. "Ohhh, boy!"
"What?!" Magnus insisted. "She must have come back for the pie, and to check on you, mate!"
"Mother Leprechauns don't usually take kindly to children of other...species, especially humans," Lucas pointed out, exchanging knowing looks with Rigel, "If she likes you, if she kissed you, she's marked you for something, Mag!"
The other boys looked intrigued. No one paid any attention to the various little oddities in their appearances, like dark eyes, pointed ears, or strange facial features. All attention was fixed on Magnus and Rigel. As Magnus swung his legs over to stand up, something flipped out of his pyjamas breast pocket.
It was a gold coin, and it wasn't a Wizard's Galleon.
"Leprechaun gold!" Lucas gasped. "She's given you a coin!"
"Cac," Rigel hissed, snatching it up to examine it. There was a portrait of a man stamped on it, who had to have been a Leprechaun. Rigel pointed it out to his friend, and the man's portrait turned, smiled, and then winked at them. On the other side was stamped an emblem of a large cauldron or pot, inside an outline that looked like a map of Ireland. "This complicates things, Mag," Rigel added, pulling an identical coin from his own pocket.
"How's that?" Garrett wondered, smiling.
"What'r you grinning about?" Lucas asked him.
"Any morning you wake up dry is a good morning!" Garrett smiled.
"Told you so," Rigel smirked. Then he turned back to Magnus. "The coins mean we've been bound, Mag. Mam has chosen you, now that the secret's out!"
"Chosen me for WHAT?!" Magnus suddenly began to worry.
"To be my liaison, my go-between, with the Humans," Rigel explained. "That means that someone else outside of my family or chosen circle of friends, KNOWS what I am! I guess it means...well...," he fumbled, "You're my bodyguard now, Mag."
Magnus' eyes went wide. Then they turned amber. "But I'm not even human anymore!"
"You're not really a werewolf, either, Mag," Rónán reminded him, "Even tho' you've got the eyes for it!" He smiled. "Sure you don't wanna go all the way?"
"NO!"
"Doesn't matter," Lucas cut in, "Mrs. Malfoy has chosen you, Magnus. She sees something in you, something she wants." He paused. "Something that Rigel needs."
"But...but...but...I'm j-just...?" Magnus sputtered, "a...a...Firstie?" I don't know any good magic yet?! I'm just a Muggleborn!"
"You can cook," Sebastian pointed out.
"Maybe that's why she chose you," Rigel reasoned, his face going a bit magenta, "See, one thing Leprechauns can do, Mag, is 'pick 'em'. I, erm, well..." he paused, clearly embarrassed again, "I...I liked you soon as I saw you. I mean," he added sharply, when there came a few snickers, "I saw something different in you. It's hard to explain."
"May I?" The Fat Friar asked, poking his head in the door. "I'm sorry, boys. I didn't mean to eavesdrop."
"Not at all!" They all piped up, as the Friar drifted on in.
"What Rigel is trying to say, boys, is that he saw into the purity of Magnus' heart," the Friar explained. "Very simply put, he saw that our Magnus was a good boy," The Friar patted his back. Oddly enough, his hand made a small 'whump' sound instead of passing through him. Magnus felt a chill and shivered. "Sorry! That was odd?" The Friar agreed.
"Strange things, in strange company," Rigel shrugged. "Who knows what kind of magical ether is floating about in here, what with all of us."
"Boys?" The Friar pried just a bit, "What's wrong?"
"I, erm, kinda had a bad day yesterday, sir," Rigel confessed.
"Want to talk about it, son?" The Friar asked.
"Not really," Rigel shook his head, running his hand through his hair. Then he shook it out so that his pointed ears were hidden.
"I see," The Friar observed, looking at each boy in turn with their little physical oddities: fangs, ears, eyes, and all their other part-human traits. "You lot are having a bit of trouble fitting in, I think?"
"Just a bit," Rónán admitted, "Sometimes it's not easy having a tail!"
"Or being a Goblin," Rhys mumbled.
"You are what you are, and you are so for a reason," The Friar explained.
"But I...I don't wanna be a Leprechaun, sir! I don't wanna be expelled!" Rigel exclaimed.
The Friar gaped. Then he regained his professional composure, it seemed. "And you can admit it, child?" He seemed surprised.
"You didn't know, sir?" Lucas smirked.
"No!" The Friar shook his head, "I thought you were human, Rigel! I haven't seen a Leprechaun since..."
"Cat's outta the bag anyway," Rigel shrugged again, interrupting, "I'm guessing you know the rule about Leprechauns at Hogwarts, sir?"
The Friar nodded. "Those events happened even before my time, boys, but they were still fresh in the school's lore by then – and that was over a thousand years ago! Of course, I was much smaller then, mind!" He laughed, patting his belly. "Are you boys planning on attending services this morning, I wonder, since you're up so early?"
"You conduct services, Father?" Garrett asked, and the Friar nodded.
"Services for who?" Magnus asked.
"You," the Friar replied.
"No, I mean...do you mean...God, sir?" Magnus asked, not having had much of an education in things religious. To be honest, Magnus wasn't sure how he felt about God – IF there even was one, which he wasn't quite sure about either!
None of the boys said anything right way, until Rhys spoke up. The little Goblinoid was looking at his hands, sitting on the edge of the bed with his feet not quite touching the floor. "I...I do not think I should go," Rhys mumbled, "If...if it's OK, I will just stay here in your cave until you are all done," he finally managed in his halting speech.
"Well granted, my sermons do get a bit windy sometimes," The Friar joked, "But I want everyone to feel welcome." He drifted over to Rhys, giving him a sly, knowing look. "That's the problem, isn't it boys?" He then asked. "You lot don't feel welcome here?"
They all nodded.
It was Rónán who spoke first. "I wrote a letter to Mum and Dad," he said in a very small voice. "I wanted to go home."
"Es...it was mehr comfortable at Durmstrang," Erik added. "I was nicht the only one, you know, like ich bin...I am...here." The Friar gave him an encouraging look. "Jordan und the others are sch-...uhh, nice, but I think I...I mach them nervy."
"'Nervous', yeah," Sebastian agreed, "Since the thing with Ewan in flying class, girls don't even look at me anymore, much."
"Sorry," Ewan muttered, "If I weren't such a dork!"
"Trade you," Rhys offered with a wan smile, which on a Goblinoid, was kind of scary.
"What annoys me is how everything's good, until they find out you're different," Lucas added.
"I know," Magnus agreed, "I had a long talk with Professor Potter, and I don't care what they say – the whole Pureblood thing never did die out, much less the part-human thing."
"Children, God does not care if you have strange ears, odd teeth, different eyes, pure blood, or even a tail!" The Friar assured them, looking at each boy, one by one, with a penetrating stare. "You are all His children, and you are all my children – Hufflepuffs or not. Take this to heart, boys, and know it – no matter how badly you may feel about your circumstances, there will always be someone at Hogwarts who loves you. I'll see you in the Great Hall in a bit? We have plenty of time before breakfast." And with that, he vanished.
Rhys sniffled, wiping his face on his sleeve.
"You know, it's OK to cry," Rónán reminded him.
Rigel nudged Magnus in the ribs. "C'mon, mo chara," he whispered, gathering up his shower kit.
"Good idea, kinda smells like a zoo in here," Rónán agreed.
"Are...are you all going to this service?" Rhys asked.
"I think we should," Ewan declared, giving Rhys a hand up. "And so are you, mate!"
"Right after we clean up," Garrett added.
"A bath? AGAIN?!" Rhys complained, as they all fell on him and dragged him in with them.
When they were done showering, the boys found formal robes waiting for them that they hadn't even known they'd owned. Their dress shoes had been Protean Charmed by someone, it seemed, and the black leather shone. "Oui, we look good!" Sebastian agreed with his mirror, tying back his long blond hair.
"We do?" Rhys asked, fumbling with his tie, until Rigel fired a Spell at it and it tied itself into a perfect Windsor knot.
"How can you be a Ravenclaw and not know this?!" Sebastian smiled at him. "We are," his accent turned even heavier, "Very handsome men!" (It sounded like "VerEE 'andZum men!"
"If...if you say so," Rhys mumbled.
They meet up with the Hufflepuff Prefect, Miss MacMillan, in the Common Room. She was chatting with a few likewise disheveled older students on their way to the kitchen for coffee or strong tea, all of whom took note of the Firsties as they made their way through.
"Well, we didn't know you lot cleaned up so well!" The portrait of Cedric Diggory pointed out.
"Oh, isn't he cute?!" MacMillan gasped, pinching Rhys' cheek.
"He's too young for you, Marge," Cedric reminded her, as Rhys turned an alarming shade of red and his ears twitched, which only drew more attention to himself.
"Boys!" She added, when they were almost to the door. "Next time, before you have a slumber party, ASK first!"
The boys, except for Erik, all looked appalled.
"Was does it mean, 'slumber party'?" The German boy asked, as his friends shoved him on out the door amidst many disgusted comments.
"Who DIED?!" Adian Adams snorted, as the boys arrived on the ground floor in their Sunday best. Adams himself was dressed in a fine green jumper with metallic silver weave, pressed gray trousers, shiny black dress shoes, and he looked as if he had somewhere important to go. He also reeked of cologne, and his hair was perfect.
"No one, YET," Lucas replied.
Rónán and Magnus began to sneeze. "What'd you do, take a bath in it?"
Adams' hand strayed towards his pocket. "Outta my way, Freak Parade," he snorted.
"Where's he goin', this time o'morning, shinin' like a brand new Knut?" Rigel wondered.
Lucas grinned wickedly. "Quidditch pitch. Jennifer Malone, second year, substitute Chaser," Lucas said quite loudly, "Slytherin's out early, tryin' to be sneaky!"
Adams froze. "Don't even, Elf-boy," he snorted, without turning around.
Lucas' nose twitched. Then Adams' hair suddenly stood straight out on end, wrecking the styling job he'd done to it. It then slowly collapsed.
"Have fun, Addie," Lucas waved to him. "You'd think he'd have learned not to insult a Water Sprite, when he uses water based hair gel!" He added in a conspiratorial whisper.
"'Freak Parade'? Honestly?!" Rigel laughed, "Tha's just tired! Like HE'S ever gonna get lucky with Jennifer Malone!"
Magnus gulped at Rigel's mention of "the-L-word". It seemed to echo in his ears, and a fragment of a forgotten dream that night came back to him. Rigel was saying "lucky..." and – something else? But what was it? The dream escaped him, though.
"Wonder where Poynter was?" Rigel went on, as they headed into the Great Hall.
Without all its tables in their usual order, and with the benches arranged parallel in rows to the usual location of the Staff table, it did indeed look like a cathedral. Sunlight was pouring through the stained glass windows and enchanted ceiling, making little tendrils of fog rise from the colored panes of frosty glass. An older Ravenclaw boy was softly playing an organ that had apparently been either conjured up or hauled in from storage, since no one remembered ever seeing it there on the dais before. There were no religious icons, however. The Friar, it seemed, conducted nondenominational services.
There were already a few people seated, but given the population of Hogwarts, Magnus had thought that there would be more. One figure stood out prominently, however.
"Hagrid!" The boys all gasped, tearing their gaze from the almost ethereal scene and taking seats on the bench behind him and some other boys.
"Nice ter see yehs here, boys," Hagrid greeted them with shoulder-wrenching pats. "Thought I'd make it a part'a' detention fer these sinners here, wha'got caught sneakin' 'round tha forest last night!"
Seated with Hagrid were Aaron Jordan, Connor Poynter, Laddie Lawrence, and a few other Firstie boys that Magnus had ignored during the sorting. In fact, it looked as if anyone who hadn't been in the Cellar was now in detention!
"Well, honestly!" Laddie Lawrence the Gryffindor spoke up. "It were summat ter do!" He protested in a thick accent, "I mean, there's no television, no wireless, no Internet! Wha's a boy s'posed ter do fer fun?"
"Raised in the Muggle world, yeh see," Hagrid rolled his eyes. "Guess his ideer 'o'fun mus' be bein' ate up by Acromantulas, er trampled by unicorns!"
That reminded Magnus of something, Hagrid's mentioning spiders, but he couldn't recall it just then.
"All right, there, Mag? Mates?" Aaron asked.
"Yeah, missed you lot at dinner last night," Connor added.
"Well, don't miss it tonight," Daniel Birken suggested, as he and Liam Creevey came in to sit with them. "Sonny says they're planning a nice roast with all the trimmings."
"Where did you get that jumper?" Rónán blinked at Liam.
"You like it? I made it! We're doing Charms, like Diffindo, and the counter-curse, and related clothing-stuff spells!" The excitable boy began to babble.
The Hufflepuffs and their friends took in the sight of Liam's brilliantly yellow-gold jumper with metallic weave and quickly looked away as the sun fell upon him.
"Good grief, it's the Second Coming," Laddie gasped.
Rigel palmed his face and sighed, looking disgusted. "You monogrammed it?" He pointed to the black "LC" on Liam's left breast.
"Yes, you see, I sort of got carried away with the Spell, and well, it were jus' gonna be a scarf, but there was all this practice wool in Professor Patel's office, and I..."
"It looks like a bloody Weasley jumper [sweater]," Rigel groaned.
"A what?" Sebastian asked.
"A ghastly Weasley family Christmas tradition," Rigel explained. "All the women in the family seem crazed about keeping the tradition alive."
"So what brings you here, Mag?" Daniel asked, "I don't recall seeing you at chapel back home?"
"We, erm, had a talk with the Friar," Magnus admitted, not looking his friend in the eye, and instead, studying his polished shoes.
"Rough start of term?" Daniel asked, in a tone that more than assured them that he understood. "I'm sorry, Mag. I had no idea you'd have...problems. I would have said something if I'd known...you know?" Daniel fumbled.
"That I wasn't quite human anymore?" Magnus looked at him. "It's OK, Danny, you didn't know. Hel-...heck, I didn't know!" Magnus blushed at the thought of swearing in church, even though he'd never been before. Surely this God of the Friar's wouldn't be pleased with him, then?
There was a sound of heels clicking on the stone floor behind them, and the boys looked over their shoulders with more a few gasps of surprise.
Madame Boudica Iceni, dressed in a modest gown of deep sky blue with a white shawl, was entering the Hall. Without her usual teaching attire, she didn't even look like the same lady. Magnus stood up, and the others followed suit.
"What'r we doing?" Rónán asked.
"You stand when a lady enters the room, and heads in your direction," Magnus hissed at him. "It's mannerly!"
"Well, this is a sight – all the little Firsties right in a row!" Madame Iceni greeted them. She raised an eyebrow. "What have you done now?" Several faces turned pink.
"If we may begin?" The Friar then asked, appearing at the podium as a few more stragglers came in. The Ravenclaw boy at the organ stopped playing, sitting quietly on his bench.
The Friar began with a short prayer, which garnered the boys some light cuffs to the backs of their heads from Madame Iceni. Not all of them were experienced with praying, and didn't know to bow their heads. Magnus noted that the Friar prayed to "Our Father," without ever naming him, and concluded his thankful prayer with the word "amen".
"Instead of a sermon today," The Friar began, "I'd like to tell you all a story. It takes place a thousand years ago, or more, when Hogwarts was still all shiny and new, and three of the four old Founders were still teaching here. It is the story of a boy, certainly not one of the very first Hogwarts students, but a few decades out from it. It is the story of a lonely little boy, a boy who left behind all that he'd ever known to embrace a new life that he knew nothing about.
"You see, this boy's earliest memories were of a remote, quiet monastery high in the hills. He had no parents, at least, none that he could remember. He'd been left in the care of the monks as a baby. In fact, it was such a quiet and holy place, that he didn't even learn how to talk until he was almost six years old. It was a simple life, but a rewarding one.
"From the time he could walk and hold a tool, he was put to work. In the morning, a monk – always the same monk – would wake him, wash him, dress him, and begin his day with a simple breakfast of porridge. His clothing was little more than a plain tunic made of an old grain sack, and his shoes were only thick woolen wrappings for his feet in the coldest of weather.
"Yet every morning, for his first eleven years of life, the boy was greeted by a man who loved him, whom the boy considered his father. That is, if he had known anything of fathers, which he really didn't. But despite the hard work and silence of his remote home, the boy was happy. He never knew suffering, or unhappiness, or cruelty. He was proud in his work, but not too proud – since pride goeth before a fall – as he was taught.
"Every day, he worked in the fields. He worked with the various farm animals. He helped till the earth in the spring, grow the crops throughout the summer, and harvested in the autumn. In the winter, shivering near a modest hearth with the other boys like himself, he would study by firelight in the short hours of daylight, and sleep the sleep of the perfectly contented throughout the long nights.
"And all through his seemingly endless childhood, the boy was happy. He couldn't have thought to ask for anything more, never mind the fact that he never even dreamed that there could even be more. Where he tilled the fields, the seeds sprouted sooner and grew into healthier, heavier-yielding plants. The weeds and pests seemed to abhor his rows, and the animals seemed to know him. No chicken ever pecked at this boy, no bull ever chased him, and no mother beast ever turned him away from her baby. Sick or wounded animals that the boy tended always recovered, and it wasn't unusual to find his small cell – ah, bedroom, rather – lodging some sick or wounded wild creature that he would bring home from some walk in the wilderness. And these innocent creatures of God always recovered.
"Raised with such love, this boy learned this lesson, as any child will learn only that with which he is raised. When the older monks would grow tired or infirm, the boy would be there to help them with some chore. When a sick boy needed someone to sit with him, it wasn't unusual for this boy to sit up with him all night, seeing to his needs. And if someone was in need, the boy didn't hesitate to offer what little he had.
"Once, upon finding a lost child of some travelers in the hills, sick and starving, hardly able to crawl along the path, the boy carried him back to the monastery. He tended to him, watched over him, even gave him his share of the day's food so that the lost boy might recover more quickly and return to health. He even gave up his own little bed, when there was nowhere else ready for the lost child to sleep. Sick with fever and suffering chills, the boy gave him his only woolen blanket, opting to sleep on the stone floor nearest the fire. And it was winter, mind you!" The Friar added quickly, "Not like the mild winters we have now, no no! Snow tail-deep to a draft horse, it was!"
"This kid sounds too good to be true," Connor mumbled, and Rigel snickered into his hand.
But Magnus, swept up in the Friar's narrative, didn't hear them.
The Friar went on:
"And when the lost boy was finally well again, somewhere abouts the Winter Solstice, and was recovered enough in his wits to tell his story, they came to find that he was an orphan – just like his rescuer. He told of his parents simple cart gone runaway, the horse frightened by something, and gone out of control on a slippery slope. He told of a fortunate snow bank in which he'd landed, breaking his fall, but finding himself cold and alone and lost in a strange land. His parents, unfortunately, had not been so lucky; the cart, after hitting a stone and throwing the boy out, had careened over a high cliff and down to the rocks below. Alone, he stumbled along until the snow blinded him, calling out for help until his voice failed him. And then, without even the hoarsest of whispers, calling upon the Father with only his thoughts, if it be His will, begging Him to end his suffering and reunite him with his parents."
Magnus glanced over to see a trembling Rhys leaning into Hagrid's arm, almost becoming lost in the folds of his usual moleskin coat.
"But the Father, it seemed, had other plans," The Friar continued, "For if not by a miracle, how would such a badly hurt, blind, lost child find his way to salvation?"
"Sounds like magic," Rigel mumbled. Madame Iceni swatted the back of his head.
"Because," The Friar winked at Rigel, "Our boy had dreamed a dream. Do you ever have bad dreams, boys?" He paused, as if waiting for a show of hands. Their knowing expressions were all the Friar needed to continue.
"He had dreamed, he told his 'father', of the hills. He told him of a path, heavy with snow, that lead to a pass that surely no one would try to cross in the winter. There, the boy said, he had dreamed of a smashed cart and a lost child. He said that in his dream, a great wind had blown down from the north, sweeping aside the snow from his way.
"'And what will you do, my son?'" The man asked him.
And the boy said, 'Father, I will put down my quill and leave my studies, my friends, to go there.'
"And his father replied, 'My son, it will not be easy to do this thing.'"
"And the boy replied, 'No, Father, but it will be right to do it.'"
"'But how will you know where to look?' The father asked.
"'God will give me guidance,' the boy answered confidently.
"So it was, this boy who had never had even one bad dream before this one, girded himself with his winter robe, handed down from some older boy who had outgrown it. He ignored the holes in the wool, wrapping his feet and legs to go out into the snow. As he stepped outside the monastery door, the man he knew as his father grabbed his shoulder, as if to stop him.
"He then presented the boy with the only new thing he'd have had in his life – a finely woven woolen scarf, which he wrapped about the boy's head and throat. The only other thing he took was a hard roll and a small chunk of cheese, his daily allotment.
"It was a half-day's journey to the pass, even at a brisk walk on a clear path. Yet later that night, when the young ones had long since put away their studies and stoked the fires to go to bed, the boy returned. On his back, he carried a nearly frozen smaller boy, wrapped in his own outer tunic. The boy's fine, new scarf was bound about the younger boy's head, soaked in blood. The boy wore only his usual ragged tunic, standing there barefoot, having given his outerwear to this strange child, whom the elder monks declared surely would not survive his injuries.
"And so they boiled water to bath the child, warm him, and laid him in the boy's bed near the hearth, because there was nowhere else to put him. And when the boy's 'father' asked him, 'Son, how have you done this wondrous thing?', the boy replied:
"'I ran, Father. The winds blew away the snow, and the air was so cold and clear that I heard his cries from miles off. And I followed a great bird, white as snow, along the way. An owl, I think?'
"'And how is it that you, my son, have not frozen to death?' The father asked the boy, 'Alone in the snow, for so very long?'
"The boy replied, 'Father, I did not go alone. God went with me. Perhaps He sent the owl.'
"And when the man grasped his boy's hands, he found them warm and pink, not frozen and blue. And when he insisted that the boy bathe to warm himself, he found no marks or frostbite or injury. Even when he advised his 'son' to share his bed with this half-dead foundling, knowing that as an innocent, and incapable of such acts, that nothing unseemly would happen, the boy declined. He cited the foundling's need for stillness and quiet, and he sat by his side, keeping the fire up, although there was not nearly enough fuel for such a blaze, until morning.
"That was where his father found him, and when he asked his son why he had done these things, risked his own life, since all innocent children who die are taken into the arms of the Lord, the boy replied, 'Because I love him, Father.'
"'But you do not even know him, this stranger, my son,' The father replied.
"'And that is why I must love him, Father,' the boy answered.
"'Why?'" The Father asked, confused, 'He may be of bad stock, defective, a ne'er-do-well, a common thief?'
"But the boy only smiled, and said, 'And that is all the more reason to love him, Father – because there is no one else in the world who does. Is this child, lost in the snow, any different than a strange, squalling baby found on your stoop?'
"So it was, for a fortnight, the foundling boy lay in his rescuer's bed by the fire. The boy tended him, rousing him only long each day to take food and drink, which was the boy's own. When the father saw this thing, he gave half of his share to the boy, who in turn was giving his to the smaller, sick boy. Yet under the boy's care, the foundling recovered. He lost no fingers or toes, even though they had been blackened by frost when he'd arrived. It was as with all the boy's wild creatures, injured or sick livestock, or sickly plants – under the boy's care, they thrived.
"The elder monks declared it a miracle, noting it in their journals. And when the boy was able to finally sit up and speak, he told them his name, Robert, and fell, weeping, at the feet of the boy who had saved him. The boy was humble, however, and gave thanks to God, with Whom he said, all things were possible.
"From that day forward, but for only too short a season, the boys were inseparable. In innocence, they shared a bed in the boy's small cell. They shared chores, their food, and in the boy's eleventh summer, when it came to shave their heads and to shear the sheep for wool to make new clothing, they shared in that as well. With another boy to care for, this boy settled for a thinner, shorter, sleeveless tunic so that his friend might have a new garment as well, as his old clothing had been badly damaged in his ordeal.
"And they were happy, happier than any boys, I wonder, had ever been?"
The Friar paused, turning to stare for just a moment at the windows, where the sun had finally burned away the slight tendrils of fog.
"Until the stranger came calling."
"This is not going to end well," Ewan fretted in a whisper.
"It was in the boy's eleventh summer," The Friar went on, "That the stranger came along the winding path that led to the monastery. While visitors were not unheard of, they were indeed rare. Often it would be a tradesman, some random traveler, or a Brother from a far-off church needing assistance or new staff members. There were farmers who traded, those from the village far below who bought and traded supplies, but this stranger was no tradesman or villager.
"Dressed in a fine black robe and traveling cloak trimmed in scarlet and gold, wearing high black leather boots with odd soles, he came along the path as if simply out for a stroll. Strangely enough, he carried no armaments to defend against highwaymen, and on his shoulder was perched a fine, white owl. He seemed rather taken with the construction of the stone buildings, the arrangement of paddocks and fields, as if he'd never seen such a thing in his life. On his head, he wore a fine and tall, pointed black hat.
"The monks wondered of him, and asked if he had come to claim their winter foundling. But the tall man shook his head, removing his hat in respect, and his golden hair was long and clean. It was clear that he was a man of substance, wealthy, and the monks again wondered if he might be looking to take in a page boy, or if he might be a childless man seeking to adopt a son. For you see, the monks were ever looking for families to take in their seemingly endless supply of unwanted boys. It was not unusual, in those days, for a younger boy to be given to the clergy by his family, if nothing else, because they could not support him.
"'In a manner of speaking,' the tall man said, 'Tell me, is there a young boy here by the name of Ignatius?'
"But the monks said they had no boy by that name. Still, the tall man persisted. He inquired if there might be any boys, aged eleven or soon to be, with odd talents or even rare physical abilities. This, of course, led them to mention our boy. When they described his marvelous, if not miraculous works, the tall man grew very interested, and asked if he might meet this boy. This made them decidedly nervous, not wishing to lose their prized student and his many talents. Still, they told the newcomer that he would find the boy, with another smaller one, in the gardens below the hill of their south wall."
The Friar's tale was interrupted by an odd sound: "SXXXNNNXX."
Madame Iceni whacked Aaron Jordan over his bald head with a hymnal, the Gryffindor having fallen asleep! "Cabbage stalks!" Aaron blurted, "Medium heat! Stir clockwise!"
"Pay attention," The Potions Mistress hissed at him, "Or you'll be scouring cauldrons until New Years!"
"How did you know?" The Friar wondered, "Yes, the tall man found the boys tending cabbages along the south wall! They were the size of a cricket ball, I recall, and the man wondered that there were no slugs, no worms, and no rot in any of them. There were no weeds in the patch, either."
"The man took in the sight of these two raggedy bald boys, grubbing in the dirt, and the hooting of his owl got their attention. The taller of the boys looked up, staring at the bird, transfixed. But when the stranger asked his name, if it were 'Ignatius', the boy shook his head, saying that he was called 'Nathaniel', meaning 'given by God'. At the man's encouragement, the boy told him of how he'd been found on the monastery doorstep as an infant. Fascinated that this stranger should like to talk to him, as he'd never even spoken to anyone outside the monastery, not even one visitor, in his life, the boy and his friend spent the afternoon telling their stories to this man. And all the while, his snowy white owl perched on the boys' shoulder, listening, it seemed, and occasionally bobbing her head as if in agreement.
"'But sir,' the boy finally asked, 'How is it that you could know the name my parents gave me, when even I did not know it?'
"And the stranger replied, asking the boys' forgiveness. For in his anxiety to meet him, he had forgotten the common courtesy of introducing himself.
"'My name is Godric Gryffindor,' he explained, 'And I run a school for special children, like you, with such gifts as you possess, Ignatius. We know a great many things, child. I have come to tell you that, this autumn, on the first day of September, you will be leaving this place and coming to study at my school. My dear friend, Helga, would have come for you – but we know that the monks do not like having women here!' He laughed.
"Then the boy asked how long he would have to study at this school. But when Gryffindor told him 'seven years', the boy's countenance grew dark – very odd for him, since he was ever a happy child. The idea of leaving the only home he'd ever known, upset him.
And another thought upset him even more: "'Then Robert must come with me, sir,' the boy brazenly informed him, as overhead, clouds began to form up and blacken in the sunny summer sky. And when the man told him that Robert was too young, and not talented as Ignatius was, so that his school would not want him, a bolt of lightning split the sky, striking the squat tower at the monastery front gates in an explosion that sent rocks and mortar in all directions. This, of course, got the attention of everyone. The monks came running, seeing this unexplained storm, to collect their young charges and lead them to shelter. The air grew cold, and winds tore at the surrounding trees. Debris flew in the air, and heavy rain began to fall all around them.
"Yet through it all, this Gryffindor only smiled and seemed pleased about something. Then he reached into his robe and pulled out a long, polished stick. He held it aloft, muttered a few words, and the storm broke and dissipated at once.
"'You are angry,' Gryffindor observed of the boy, 'Tell me more of any odd things that you have done when angered or frightened, boy? Explain to me how it is, that a boy such as you comes by so many odd talents?' He added, offering the boy his stick.
"By this time, however, the boy's father monk had come for them, bidding them seek shelter. But when the boy took the man's stick in his calloused, dirty hand, the sun returned, a warm wind began to blow, and hills erupted in blossoms of lavender and heather and a hundred other wildflowers that should not have been in bloom just then."
"And the boy's father saw it."
"Uh oh," Sebastian breathed.
"'WITCHCRAFT!' The boy's father monk declared, 'You come here, Stranger, seeking to corrupt this place with foul sorcery? You attack us with lightning? Did you not think that we would let you have this boy? Do you think us so selfish?'
"And then his gaze fell upon the boy whom he had raised from an infant, as good as his own son, standing there with Gryffindor's wand in his hand, amidst cabbages suddenly the size of our modern footballs, surrounded by sweet smelling flowers."
"'YOU ARE IN LEAGUE WITH LUCIFER!' The monk declared, 'This explains a great many things, boy,' he lowered his voice, backing away warily, 'Your healing gifts, your deceptively serene nature, your talents with animals and plants! And surely it explains how you were able to rescue young Robert last winter!'
"And then he noticed the owl."
"'Little wonder how you both miraculously survived the ordeal, then, with is messenger of Satan to guide you!' He gestured towards the ruined tower and gates. 'Are you come to destroy us, then, Stranger?' The monk demanded, 'And take our children?'
"But Gryffindor shook his head. 'I only come to collect this boy, and to assure you that there is no dark sorcery, no evil magic, afoot here, Father. Nor is there any in this boy, or his companion. Such children must be trained up, educated, so that accidents like this,' he gestured at the destroyed tower, 'Do not happen.'
"Then he turned back to the boy. 'Rebuild it,' Gryffindor ordered him, but the boy did not understand how he might single-handedly rebuild a tower. 'In your hand, you hold a wand. Think of the tower, restored, repaired, and make this wish travel from your heart, down your arm, out of the wand, and it shall be so.'
"And the boy, shocked and horrified at what had taken place, and unsure of what to do, turned towards the only man he had even known as anything resembling family – the man who was, in his eyes, his father."
"But what he saw there was not understanding or kindness. It was not the soft visage that he was accustomed to, and there was no longer any love in the man's eyes. Instead, these things had been replaced with hardness, suspicion, and even hatred. The boy began to cry, for the first time in his life feeling rejection.
"And he did as he was told, as it was in his nature to obey. He waved the wand, and although he said not a word, the tower reassembled itself.
"For a moment, no one spoke."
"'F-father, I...I...,' the boy began, but the monk cut him off.
"'You are not my son,' he said in a voice filled with loathing and fear, turning to Gryffindor and backing away, clutching his staff and holy book as if these were any match for such a Wizard. 'You will take this boy NOW, far away to this school of yours, and you will NOT return him in seven years! You will not return to us,' he glared at the boy, who, for eleven years, had been as his own son, "EVER!"
The Friar then turned once again to stare at the colorful windows. For a long while, he said no more.
"Then what happened?!" Magnus piped up, which earned him a whack to the head by Madame Iceni as well!
"In that moment," the Friar sniffed, still not turning to face his audience again, "Young Nathaniel's...rather, Ignatius'...world came to an abrupt and jolting end. Rejected by the man who had raised him, exiled from the only home he'd ever had, he left that place with Gryffindor, never to return. The last he saw of it, as the peaks of the monastery disappeared behind the hills, was on that fateful day that Gryffindor literally took him by the hand and dragged him away from all that he ever known. Away from Robert."
Again, the Friar paused.
"But what of Robert, sir? The boy he saved?" Connor asked, which got him a smart cuff to the head as well. "No one told me you needed a bloody helmet in church!" He exclaimed, dodging the next swing of Madame Iceni's hymnal.
The Friar then turned back to them, and surprisingly, he was smiling. "While it might be a sad story, it had a happy ending, children," he explained. "You see, later that night, when Gryffindor and his weeping young charge stopped to make camp, the man saw how the boy kept looking longingly back the way. It was as if he were waiting for something, expecting something to happen. He was so tired, his feet sore and bleeding from walking all day on the hard road, yet he didn't rest. He simply stood in the middle of that road, staring into the darkness. What was running through his head, Gryffindor could only guess. Until, that is, he placed his hat on the boy's head, and his cloak about the boy's shoulders, as the evening had gone cool, and the shivering boy had only his short tunic.
"'AH!' the hat blurted, and the boy nearly died of fright! 'Such a purity of heart. Friends are very important, aren't they?' The Hat asked. 'Well, my boy, there's only one place for you! Miss Helga Hufflepuff will surely delight in having you join her House!'"
And Magnus remember similar words, spoken to him not so long ago by the Sorting Hat. Perhaps, he wondered, by even the very same hat?
"'What wickedness is this? A bewitched hat?' The boy cried, attempting to pull it from his head and cast is aside. But the Hat was stuck fast to his head! And it wasn't done talking to him, either!
"'Your friend will be along shortly, Nathaniel Ignatius Abbott,' the Hat told him, 'There is not a more fitting name to be given to you boy, truly a gift given by God, even though those idiots who raised you cannot see that!'
"And the Hat only laughed, as Gryffindor watched, bemused, as the boy accused the Hat of being a device of the Devil. But as they argued theology late into the night, the boy and the Hat, the boy still unable to detach the Hat from his head, there came a sound from the road: "'Nathaniel?' a familiar voice was calling.
"Gryffindor held his wand high, and it glowed with light all the way to the next hill – where there came a boy, battered and bloody, manacled and with broken chains at his wrists and ankles, stumbling along and calling his friend's...no, his brother's name...in desperation.
"And the boy ran to him, once again, taking him upon his back and carrying him to safety. Young Robert told them that once Nathaniel had gone, they had chained him in the dungeons and performed an exorcism, citing his love of Nathaniel and his rescue and miraculous healing as signs that he was possessed of Evil. Over and over they demanded that Robert renounce his sins, renounce Nathaniel, but he had not.
"'And as the sun set, the chains all broke, and the door collapsed!' Robert told them. 'I prayed that you'd not gone away with some kind of magic, where I could not follow you! I ran down the road, and I just kept running, like something was pulling me along!'
"And so it was," the Friar began the conclusion of his tale, "That even though it was not the first of September, and even though Robert had no magic of his own, that Gryffindor took both of these outcast boys back with him to Hogwarts. Young Robert promised that even though he could not be trained in the magical arts, he would make himself useful. Like Nathaniel, he had a love of books and learning. And after the shock of luxury such as the boys had never known before grew commonplace – plenty of good food, fine clothing and shoes, living in a warm castle with so many other diverse children, and almost anything they could ever dream of – the boys were still together."
"Helga Hufflepuff whimsically renamed him Robert Abbott Sprout, as he had been found by Gryffindor in the cabbage patch. Of course, both boys lived in chambers they helped build, just off the wine cellar, for the preparation of wine and food was something that they both knew and loved. There were others, of course, in all four Houses, but that didn't matter to them. What mattered was that they were together, and, it seemed, nothing could separate them. So while Nathaniel, now called 'Ignatius', practiced his magic, still befriending any sick or injured creature he might find, Robert was apprenticed to the library so that he might learn. He kept things orderly and clean, and while others worked with their magic and wands, Robert worked with his mind and his back."
"One might say that they lived happily ever after," the Friar concluded, "True friends, you see, are bound by more than just simple things that they have in common. There are bonds that go beyond friendship, beyond family, even beyond what we know of magic," The Friar concluded, "Remember this, the next time you feel lost, out of place, or even frightened and unloved. Look to he who is your true friend."
And with that, the Friar slowly faded away, seemingly swallowed up by the sunlight. There was no hymn of benediction, no prayer. The service was simply over.
As they all left the Great Hall, tables and benches realigned themselves in preparation for breakfast. Even the organ seemed to have disappeared.
On the way out the door, as Madame Iceni was suggesting that the boys get changed before they had the chance to ruin their finery, Magnus and his friends nearly crashed into Harry Potter coming around a corner.
"I heard the Fat Friar was telling you all that tired old chestnut of a fairy tale again?" Harry asked.
"It was about him, wasn't it, sir?" Rónán asked, "When he was a boy?"
Magnus' face, however, had gone hard. "You just don't get it, do you?" He snapped at Harry.
Their DADA Professor looked at the assortment of boys staring back at him, the misfits, it seemed, that were out of place – even in their own Houses. Yet there they stood, side by side: Red, green, blue, and yellow.
"Just remember, it doesn't always work that way," Harry glared at Magnus.
"I guess you should know, sir," Magnus retorted, his friends gasping in shock at his cheekiness.
Harry seemed to ignore it, looking at Rigel instead. "Your father and I need to see you in the Headmaster's office."
"But I didn't do anything!" Rigel protested, as Harry reached for his hand.
Magnus stepped between them.
"This doesn't concern you, Gove," Harry warned him, but he was suddenly pushed back as a potent Shield Charm of sorts seemed to spring up between them.
"According to Mrs. Malfoy, yes it does, sir!" Magnus disagreed.
"Move, Gove," Harry insisted, and as he reached for Rigel again, he was blasted backward to crash into the wall.
"Boys?!" Madame Iceni gasped, seeing no wands drawn.
"I think we'd better go and pack, Mag," Rigel sighed. "Erik, yeh say yer old room at Durmstrang's still there?"