(93)
The classroom was hot and stuffy, so uncomfortable that it seemed to have affected Binns as well, which really showed how intolerable it all was, considering, you know, that he was dead.
"Today we start the lesson by continuing on from yesterday," he began in his usual-and as my best friends insist-monotonous voice, "the Goblins revolution sparked an outrage amongst the wizarding community, serving as a catalyst for…"
I blinked then, in confusion, because Binns had actually paused during a lecture with no reason other than because he wanted to. It was a true historical moment, I believe.
"War," he said, very quietly, "As a professor of History, I revel in it. The heroic tales, the cruel punishments, numbers which mark casualties. A hundred years from today, I wonder, will I continue to stand here and teach students such as yourselves what is going to happen? Will I stand here and ask, for an exam, the number of deaths the upcoming war caused?"
A silence completely different to the one before reigned. Boredom was washed away by fear, mundanity with numbness, uncomfortable with quiet, searing pain. I watched as you scrunched up the parchment you'd been doodling with in a tight, white fist. Immediately, lines were drawn. And you and I were on opposite sides.
"As a teacher," Binns continued, pacing in mid-air, "I am meant to give you facts and statistics only, to leave it to you to decide who was Good and who was Evil. But-but-times such as these-" he shook his head in despair, and I suddenly got a glimpse of the man he once was: not the teacher whose position defined him, but the adviser and guide students had relied on, a man with opinions and a sense of right and wrong.
"Please, Professor Binns," I said softly, raising my hand in the air, "please continue the lesson about the Revolution."
You glanced back at me, relieved that you didn't have to do so. Tensions were already running high, and skirmishes had avalanched into battles. Binns' abrupt change in personality was not going to do any good, at least for now.
"Yes, yes, Miss…Er, Miss-"
"-Granger, Professor."
"Miss Granger. Yes, I most certainly will. Back to cold, hard truths about Goblins and wizards who died and fought years ago."
"-And witches," I heard your friend mutter, but she had a hint of a smile on her face.
"Goblins did not believe in divine beings, not like how wizards and muggles did. Times have changed, and along with it, our religion. New gods and goddesses appeared, while old ones were forgotten. And though now many muggles still worship and pray, we wizards have long stopped. But once upon a time, we must remember, we all made sacrifices to the same Deities, and we all kneeled together at the altar of a Goddess."
Well, I thought. How is this related to the Goblins Revolution at all? I knew it was a pointless preach, for everybody had already made up their minds about which side they rooted for. Acceptance of muggles into wizarding bloodline, or purity of the magicked. It might have worked a year ago, however.
"Accounts from both races have described the same Divine Beings. Some, of course, have different names and slightly different traits, catering to the needs of the peoples, but essentially they are one and the same. Neptune, for one, the Roman god of the sea, a counterpart to the Greek god Poseidon, was also named Agua for us wizards. Hence giving his name for the spell of producing water 'Aguamenti'. The Gods of time, Chronos and Aion for the muggles, were combined into one Goddess named Tempas for wizards-"
I raised my hand again, "Excuse me, sir," I butted in, "But wasn't Tempas depicted as male in some legends?"
It was his turn to blink in confusion. "Why, yes, Miss Grant, that is true-in a way. A small community worshiped Tempas in the form of a man. They believed that the Goddess Tempas descended from the Heavens once in a human lifetime to mark a newborn son as one of her own. He would be the equivalent of her, to serve as an anchor for time. The people believed it was his duty to control time, working as an overseer, a direct servant to the Goddess herself. He had the same powers as she, but perhaps maybe a little bit stronger, for he lived with the mortals, while she only looked."
"But how would they know?" Your friend asked, uncharacteristically interested in a lecture, "who the chosen boy was, that is."
"A physical mark," Binns answered simply, "a mole. It's size, shape, and position were the same for all of those who were chosen, but where, and what it looked like is lost from our knowledge. Some books say that the chosen were a family-the Masters of that community. That they lived atop a hill, in a temple surrounded by running waters. But that community was very small-the rest of the world didn't believe in a man bearing the powers of a Goddess. And anyway, about three hundred years ago, the man who, at that time, claimed to be the chosen was chased out of the village. And we wizards was converted into worshipping Aion instead. He was young and unmarried, and it is unknown whether he lived to bear more sons."
"Never daughters?" I asked, a little bit miffed that a Goddess chose not a member of her own gender, "it was always sons who were chosen?"
"Always," Binns said sternly, "and now I'm off topic. The General that leaded the Goblin attack at..."
The fog of heat had lifted, and he was back to his old, and apparently boring, self. I stared at the notes I had made from his deviation and stuffed them into my satchel, to be used as scrap parchment later. It was clear that it wouldn't be in the exam.
I wish I had kept them.
