"Well, I'm not a crook. I've earned everything I've got."
Support Cassius Warrington, the REAL Hogwarts Champion.
Draco Malfoy was showing off the new badges that he and some of his friends had made. "And that's not all! When you tap the badge with your wand, it does this!" In demonstration, he did just that, which caused the badge to fade to a different slogan:
Potter Stinks
Cassius smirked. "It's good, but what's to stop Granger from respelling it to be pro-Potter?"
Malfoy just shook his head. "Granger's not likely to have time to mess with the badges; she's too busy being the best beaver in the school." At this, Vincent Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson laughed, as though this were a private joke of theirs. "And in any case, I found a spell that will make it get stuck on Potter Stinks if it detects any magical tampering."
Cassius smiled at this, though internally he asked And what if someone just paints over it? He figured that Malfoy would have thought of a solution for mundane defacement, but in any case he resolved to check this later when he had a moment alone. If Malfoy ever decided to leave him alone, at least. God Above, the little canker was annoying, and his pet strumpet Parkinson wasn't much better. Still, he figured that dealing with sycophants like Malfoy and Parkinson was just part and parcel of being a champion. Malfoy, for his part, just kept droning on, completely unaware that Cassius was paying him no attention.
Cassius looked over at his clock. Nine thirty, and he wanted to fly early the next morning. "Malfoy, I – er, appreciate the unsolicited assistance, but we do not share a dorm, and I do not have any devices in immediate need of repair. Leave my room."
Once Cassius was sure Malfoy and his cronies were out of the room, he set aside his poplar wand, opened up his work drawer, and pulled out some paints and a brush. Painting was a long-time hobby of his; something about the action itself always helped him to relax. He began coating the badge in green paint as he let his mind wander. The Weighing of the Wands is tomorrow. Not many wizards are allowed to know what the wands of others are made from. I wonder who made the other champions' wands? I wonder what they'll be made from?
The badge was now completely covered in green paint. One minute, then two, then five passed. Malfoy had either ignored or forgotten the mundane 'solution' that the mudblood Granger would likely come up with. He tapped the badge with his wand and wiped it clean. Muggleborn. Not mudblood, He reminded himself. I am a Triwizard Champion, and a representative of Hogwarts. I must present myself as that muggle-loving Dumbledore would have me be. If I cannot master my own inner thoughts, my tongue will betray me as a hypocrite.
With the freshly cleaned badge, Cassius started to repaint the "Support Cassius Warrington" emblem. Potter is a representative of Hogwarts, and will represent himself accordingly. I must – as a pureblood – present myself with purer grace and decorum than that half-blood. Potter will not attack my character, so I will not attack his. Let Malfoy do as he will.
His mind began wandering again. I know as a pureblood that I am noble by birth. I was ordained by God to be a governor over the half-bloods and mu… muggleborns. But even as he thought these things, something caught in the back of his mind. Just as Malfoy was constantly upstaged by Granger and Potter, so too was the Dark Lord ultimately stopped by a muggleborn – Voldemort, the greatest wizard of the twentieth century!
Perhaps… we are wrong about our role in the world. He thought suddenly. He wasn't sure where the thought came from, or even if it was his own. But the thought would not leave him. It raised questions that he could not answer by himself. He finished painting the badge, and set it aside to dry before he magically sealed it. It would now only ever say "Support Cassius Warrington – the REAL Hogwarts Champion." As it dried, he penned a letter to his grandmother.
Dear Grandmother;
I'm having another crisis of identity. The Dark Lord, the greatest pureblood wizard of your generation, was defeated by one of impure heritage. Draco Malfoy, whose blood is of purest ancestry, is routinely vexed by a muggleborn witch. Even I find myself unable to surpass half-bloods of my year.
What does it mean to be a pureblood? How can we rule over those more powerful than ourselves?
I know you will answer these questions for me.
~ Your little hatchling,
Cassius.
He held the letter up and read it through again. His Grandmother was always there for him, willing to answer the hard questions when his parents would not. Somehow, he knew that his parents would not be able to answer this question for him. Satisfied with his letter, he disillusioned himself and made his way up to the owlery.
Is the make of one's wand not something that should be kept private? "Why is there a journalist at this ceremony?" he asked. He pretended not to notice Potter glancing at him – Potter came out of his "interview" with Midge, or whoever she was, very unhappy and very much grateful that the headmaster had intervened. For her part, she was positively buzzing with excitement. I can already tell the article will be overly focused on Potter. His question remained unanswered, as Ollivander weighed his wand.
"Poplar and Unicorn Hair. Ten Inches. Rather whippy." Ollivander presented this personal information rather matter-of-factly. "And it has fallen into melancholy."
This was an unexpected turn of events. "Melancholy?"
"Yes. I will speak with you separately, Mister Warrington, as it is likely a very personal matter." Ollivander said this pointedly, almost as though he already knew that it was. "Mister Potter, your wand?"
Cassius, for his part, started thinking again as the ceremony continued. My wand is unhappy. Is that why I have fallen behind the half-bloods in my year? Why is my wand unhappy to serve a pure-blood? It should be proud to stand by a natural ruler of the magical community! But then, again, that question from the previous night rose up inside him. What does it mean to be a pureblood?
As he struggled with his thoughts, Ollivander led him to a side room, and closed the door. "Mister Warrington?"
The address shook him from his reverie. "Sir? You said my wand had fallen into melancholy?"
"Indeed it has, though at present it seems resigned to never see the fullness of what it saw in you all those years ago." Ollivander sighed. "Many wizards fall short of their potential."
"I do not understand." And I'm not sure I want to.
"A Poplar Wand, Mister Warrington, will work best for one of great personal integrity. I can only guess that your wand saw in you a man of clear moral vision when it chose you. If it's not too personal a matter, when you first started here at Hogwarts what was your great ambition?"
My great ambition... "I… I wanted to prove that Slytherin House was more than just a breeding ground for dark wizards and witches."
"I see… and how would you say you have lived up to that ambition?"
"As a pureblood, I am naturally born to lead wizards and witches of lesser status." The words were out of his mouth before he realized he was saying them. Somehow, when he said them, they sounded wrong.
"No, child. Your birth has no bearing on this matter. How would you say you have lived up to that ambition? What have you done to fulfill your dream of changing how the world sees Slytherin House?"
What I have done…? "I… I do not know."
"If you wish your wand to see its full strength, you must change your actions to fit your great ambition." Ollivander smiled. "This great secret of yours, share it only with those you trust."
Share it only with those you trust… who do I trust? "I… thank you, sir."
He found himself looking forward more and more to his Grandmother's reply. Surely, she would know what to do.
My littlest hatchling,
As for what it means to be a pureblood, that is something I cannot directly help you with. Just as my wand will not work well for you, so too will my answer fail to work for you. But I will give it all the same, in the hopes that you will ask others the same question.
This was not the response he wanted to read, but all the same he knew it was the one he needed to receive.
For me, being a pureblood means that we are ordained by God to set an example for the half- and mudbloods. Your father understood this to mean we were to rule over them, but that simply cannot be the case – if there were only purebloods, then there could only be rulers, and then who would be in charge?
I know you will do what you need for yourself. You were always going on about changing how the world sees us Slytherins. Such a great ambition, how could you be anything but a Child of Salazar? Yet when you wrote to me and said that the hat wanted you to be a Gryffindor… you have such great dreams, and you were unafraid to make them come true. I could see why the hat said what it did.
Something clicked when he remembered that moment in his past. His wand saw his potential. The hat felt his courage… where had he gone wrong?
I hope you will remember yourself as I remember you. And do me proud, Cass. Potter may have stopped He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but that doesn't change the fact that you're more experienced than he is. Show that child what experience really means.
Your Grandmother,
Arietta Dagworth