Chapter Ten
A Little History
The next morning the sun rose far too early, all the Bradbury first-years agreed. Ethan felt as if he was sleepwalking through Dark Arts and Transfiguration. Ang Hsu lectured on talismans and amulets. Although Ethan thought the topic sounded interesting and possibly important, he couldn't force his brain to pay close attention.
By lunch time, he'd finally begun to feel himself. He found himself sitting next to Tim as they wolfed down ham and cheese sandwiches and Indian pudding.
"So, ah, what do you make of, I mean, you know," Ethan started uncertainly. "what we saw last night?"
Tim looked around before answering. Then he said quietly, "The sphinx?"
Ethan nodded.
Tim continued, "Well I want to know what you asked it. Why's it there?"
"It must be guarding something," Ethan surmised.
"Of course it's guarding something," Tim said. "That's what a sphinx does. I checked the entry in Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them before I went to breakfast. The question is what that something is."
"I still want to know what the symbol-rune, Anne called it-on the doors means," Ethan said. "I know I've seen it, but I can't place it, as if I saw it in a dream."
Just then, Anne walked up.
"It's a rune of protection, what we saw," she said quickly. "It's frequently used in amulets, what Hsu was talking about today. But we should probably stop thinking about it. I think we may have given poor Peter a permanent tic."
"What do you mean 'we'?" Tim said. "You're the one who got lost, after all. We were just following you."
"Well, by all means, don't follow me anymore," Anne said curtly. "Of course, I don't recall that I almost got us eaten by a sphinx."
"Considering that our only other choice was standing around the hall waiting for Beadle and Tiverton to walk by," Tim said, "I don't think the sphinx turned out too badly."
"Could you two stop arguing?" Ethan interrupted. "I want to know more about that room. Kenny said we should keep what we saw to ourselves; he didn't say we couldn't discuss it with each other. But let's not fight about it!"
"Do you think Kenny knows something about what we actually saw?" Tim asked.
"I don't see how he could," Anne said.
"I could ask him," Ethan offered.
"Not yet," Tim said. "Let's see what we can find out about the rune and the sphinx first. When we know more, maybe Kenny could help."
"I agree with Tim," Anne said. "Let's keep this to ourselves for now."
Over the next few weeks, the three of them spent what little free time they had poring over dusty tomes on Ancient Runes and learned theses on the habits and history of sphinxes. Ethan and Tim began to feel that their wrong turn had really been an excellent adventure. The more he discovered about the rune, the more certain Ethan became that he'd seen it. He had no luck recalling how or where.
The green leaves of summer had turned red as autumn arrived atop the clove. As the days passed, they began to fade to brown and yellow. So busy was he with classes, homework and wondering about the sphinx that Ethan hardly noticed the changes until the dry leaves were beginning to fall from the tree branches.
By the second week of October, Ethan had gotten used to corresponding by owl post with his parents. Bucky proved a reliable messenger. Ethan wondered sometimes how the owl made it across half the country and back so quickly. One Thursday morning at breakfast, still groggy after the previous night's Astronomy observation, Ethan saw the familiar barn owl swooping down with a letter from home.
Ethan took the letter, gave Bucky's feathers a stroke and fed the owl a bit of sausage.
"Thanks, Buck! Now go get some rest."
The owl hooted once and headed out the window and off to the owl roost. Ethan opened the letter, which seemed a bit heavier than usual. As he opened the flap, he noticed writing on the underside:
Dear Ethan,
DON'T read this letter in the Assembly Hall.
Share it only with those whom you trust completely. You'll see why.
Love, Dad and Mom
He stared at the note for a moment, wondering, then closed the flap and stuffed the envelope into his pack.
"Everything OK at home, Ethan?" Tim asked.
"Oh, yeah," Ethan replied. "I just don't have time to read it all right now. How 'bout you?"
"Sounds like the harvest's all in," Tim answered as he perused a neatly typed letter. "It was Thanksgiving last weekend. I'm amazed that Mom's already gotten used to Evangeline delivering mail; she's still using the computer to write the letters, though."
Ethan's mind kept straying back to the letter all day. He didn't even notice Crockett's usual acid comments on the progress of his Mimulus. He managed to keep his thoughts on flying during the Quidditch scrimmage against the Tenskwatawas. Ethan drew the seeker's position and spent the hour trying to catch a glimpse of the Golden Snitch and to keep up with Van Nort, the seeker for the Prophet's house. Indian summer had arrived and Ethan enjoyed the feeling of the warm breeze blowing back his hair, his long robes flapping behind him as he patrolled the field.
Meanwhile, Marcus and Anne performed well as chasers, and Jennifer Appelbaum and Peter took up the bats as beaters. Tim drew the keeper's spot and made several spectacular saves.
Halfway through, Maddie Morrigan and Kyle Stuart relieved Jennifer and Peter, while Melissa Murthin subbed for Anne as a beater. Ethan and Tim stayed in for the whole hour.
Galvez didn't keep a running score during scrimmages and by now he knew he had to work to keep fights from breaking out between the two houses. But that didn't stop the students from calculating the score.
"60-20, us," Anne called as Melissa went in for her at the half. "Keep it up!"
Marcus scored a nice goal, feinting to the left goal and drawing Katrina Powles off before sending the quaffle through the center hoop backhanded.
"Sweet, Gibson!" Kyle yelled.
"Let's go Prophets!" Brocklebank shouted angrily from his beater's spot. "Show them what Quidditch is about!"
Quickly, the game turned around. Malik Ibrahim, who'd taken to the air almost as well as Tim, did some pretty flying up the field and scored through the right hoop before Tim could react. Then Woody Harding and Brocklebank caught Melissa in a crunching double check and stole the quaffle. Brocklebank screened Tim, which allowed Harding to score.
With about ten minutes to go, the score was 70-60 Bradbury. As Harding and Amanda Leskovits passed the quaffle back and forth, Ethan was patrolling above the fray, Van Nort off to one side, near midfield. Suddenly Ethan caught a flash of gold near the ground under the Tenskwatawa hoops. There was much whooping at the other end and he heard Galvez shouting, "Five minutes!"
Without another thought, Ethan sped back down towards the flash of gold, now clearly visible just behind Katrina Powles. Van Nort took a moment to figure out what had happened, and then he tore after Ethan. The snitch fluttered to the left as the two seekers whooshed down upon it. Van Nort bumped into Ethan and both careened too far down. Ethan recovered first and headed back up the field, seeing the snitch dashing ahead of him. The winged ball took a sudden turn up and Ethan managed to follow. Van Nort was not so quick and he sped past before trying to loop back. Ethan was about a foot behind the snitch when two things happened. A roar came from the Bradbury end of the field. Ethan ignored it, seeing only the small golden ball now inches from him. Just then, he heard Brocklebank yell, "This is for you, muggle-lover!"
"Ethan, look out!" Peter and Jennifer called from the sidelines. But instead Ethan reached out with his right hand, somehow balancing himself with the left and grasped the snitch. He never saw the bludger, but at the last moment he heard it hurtling towards his head and instinctively rolled to his right. The iron bludger whizzed past him, grazing his left ear.
Ethan recovered his balance and flew over to Galvez holding the snitch, to the cheers of the Bradburys. As they mobbed him, Galvez congratulated them.
"A well-fought match, all of you. Good broom skills, good scoring, and excellent keeping, Miss Powles and Mr. Van der Meulen! But today I must give my highest accolade to you Mr. Lloyd...for being the first in your class to capture the Golden Snitch. Well done, young man!"
"E-than! E-than! E-than!" his classmates chanted, much to his embarrassment. Kyle, Tim and Marcus picked him up and they all carried him off the field, leaving the Tenskwatawas grumbling in their wake.
Back inside, the Bradbury first-years had an impromptu celebration in the common room. Marcus managed to procure a supply of pumpkin juice, Chocolate Frogs, Doxie Divinity and Fizzing Whizbees. Maddie tuned the Wizarding Wireless in to The Wicked Witches' Greatest Hits in Concert and the party was on.
Ethan found that the roar at the other end of the field had been the Bradburys' reaction to Tim's spectacular save off Harding, keeping the Prophets from tying the score. Nobody on the field but Van Nort and Brocklebank had noticed Ethan closing in on the snitch.
"And then Simon nearly killed you with the bludger," Jennifer remarked. "Galvez didn't even see it! 'Well-fought match," indeed!"
"Well anyway, we've got the best keeper, our chasers and beaters outclass them," Marcus said jubilantly. "And now we've found the best first-year seeker, too."
"Hey, it was probably beginner's luck, guys," Ethan shrugged. "It's not too hard outflying Lew Van Nort, you know."
"And the guy's modest, too," Kyle laughed.
But even as Ethan blushed, he felt gratified by his classmates' praise, more than he had at any time in the six weeks he'd been at Kaaterskill. Somehow his unexpected success at Quidditch-even though it had occurred in a simple first-years' scrimmage-seemed more meaningful than the discovery of his talent for Magical Art.
Only after dinner did Ethan recall the letter from his parents. Most of his housemates were off to the library, but he told Tim he would stay and work in the house. When the others had gone, Ethan slipped upstairs, retrieved the letter from his bag and sat down on the bed. This is what he read:
Dear Ethan,
We hope this letter finds you well. We're happy to hear that your artwork is progressing so well.
We're glad to hear that young Sturtevant is one of your proctors. We knew his parents well and he comes from a wonderful family.
You asked what Pete and the others think about letters on parchment. We're sorry to have to tell you that we've charmed your letters to them so that they look just like regular muggle letters. We hope you understand; can't take chances.
Anyway, we wanted to let you know about something we've just learned ourselves. Apparently the Daily Sentinel will be publishing an "investigative" report on us later this week-rather negative in tone, we expect.
You know the truth about us and why we disappeared, maybe not in full detail, but the essential story. Your friends don't know and some of them are apt to put a bit too much faith in what the Sentinel prints. You may have to put up with questions, taunts or worse from some of the less perceptive. We're terribly sorry that you should have to worry about such things-we know you've got enough to do as it is-but we thought it only fair you knew in advance.
There are those at the Sentinel and in the Department of Magic who will find it useful to spread lies about us to the wizarding community at large. You'll understand when you see who is quoted in the article. We can't write more until the article actually appears.
If you need to talk to some one at school about these matters, Kenny Sturtevant would be a good listener, I'm sure. Professor Bancroft, being the head of your house and the history teacher, would be the best faculty member to discuss this with. He's a good sort. And of course, if need be, you can go to Cyrus Flyte; he knows the whole truth of the matter.
Take care, son. Always show courage in the face of adversity.
Love,
Mom and Dad
Ethan reread the letter, and then stared blankly at the parchment. He wondered what exactly the newspaper would say about his parents and why. What did the Department of Magic have to gain by spreading false stories? And finally, how would it affect him? On this day, of all days, he had really felt that he belonged at Kaaterskill, more than he had at any school he'd attended. Would that suddenly change?
Ethan wasn't sure how long he'd sat there, when Tim walked in and slung his bag down next to his bed.
"Are you OK, Ethan?" he asked. "Catching up on the mail, eh?"
"Oh, hi, Tim. Yeah, finally reading my letter," Ethan answered.
"Is everything all right?" Tim asked again.
Ethan looked from the letter to his housemate and thought about the admonition his parents had added on the envelope, "Share it only with those whom you trust completely." If there was anyone at Kaaterskill that he could trust completely, Ethan thought to himself, it would be Tim.
"Well, I hope so, but...well, you have a look at this," he finally said, shoving the letter into Tim's hand. Tim read through the letter, then took a long look at Ethan.
"Wow, this does sound complicated," Tim said slowly. "You know what your parents really did, and no article in the Sentinel will change that. You can't control what other people think, so you can't let them bother you. I believe you-and your parents-and I think everyone in Bradbury will, too."
"But I've always tried to stay in the background, Tim," Ethan fretted. "Even back in muggle school, I tried not to stand out. And now my name is going to be in every wizarding home in North America. I'm not ready for that."
"Well, I don't blame you for feeling that way," Tim said. "But I have to tell you one thing: after knowing you for six weeks, I think it's pretty obvious that you're going to stand out. I mean, who else had their stuff burglarized on the way to school? Someone thought you stood out before you got here and didn't like it. You're brilliant in Magical Art, who else can say that? And you're the first in our class to catch the Golden Snitch. You're making a name for yourself, Ethan, whether you know it or not."
Ethan blushed. "Well, I'm not so sure I like the idea. But I'm glad you know about the article anyway."
"Marcus and Peter get the Sentinel every morning; I think Anne does, too," Tim recalled. "So let's make sure we get a look as soon as it comes in tomorrow morning. At least you'll know what you're up against. Is it OK I tell them why we're interested?"
"Yeah, I guess so," Ethan said uncertainly. "Right now, though, I think I need to get to sleep."
"Good idea, I'm not far behind," Tim agreed.
So they got their pajamas on. Tim stayed up reading Magical Drafts and Potions, but Ethan took off his glasses, set them on his night stand, pulled the curtains and went to sleep. Though his mind was full of confused thoughts, he drifted off fairly quickly.
When he awoke the next morning, he found that Tim had already alerted Marcus and Peter to be on the lookout for an article about the Lloyds in the morning paper. On the way out to breakfast, Tim caught up with Anne and let her know too. By the time the owls flew into the Assembly Hall, the Bradburys were all aware that something unusual was expected in the day's Sentinel. Marcus unrolled his copy and turned it over to Ethan right away. He scanned the front page, briefly noting a few headlines-Muggle Harassment Crackdown Promised-In OPINION, Harry Potter: Savior or Spoiled Brat?-The Latest in Magical Makeovers see page 7-In SPORTS, Finches upset by Slippery Rock. Then, covering the lower half of the first page he noticed a Sentinel Exclusive Feature, Part 1: The Mysterious Lloyds-"Missing" 14 Years-Where Have They Been?-Clues to Table Mountain Mystery?
A photograph of Ethan's father ran to the left of the headline, while his mother was pictured to the right. They both looked very young; Diana smiled confidently, while Griffin gazed absent-mindedly out of his photo. Ethan read the article below quickly.
The Sentinel has learned that two of the most mysterious characters in modern wizarding history are alive and well and living in Wisconsin. Department of Magic officials confirm that Griffin and Diana Lloyd, who disappeared after the debacle at Table Mountain in 1981, have recently resurfaced in the Badger state.
Readers no doubt recall the horrific battle between Department Aurors and sympathizers of the now-vanished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that occurred on Table Mountain in Newfoundland 14 years ago. The Lloyds, junior Aurors at the time, are believed to have been the only survivors of the incident. As the Lloyds disappeared shortly afterwards, they have never publicly given their account of the battle and speculation has been rife about the cause of the disaster and their role in it. Cyrus Flyte, Headmaster of Kaaterskill Academy which both Lloyds attended, has long maintained that the Lloyds helped prevent You-Know-Who's forces from a major infiltration of North America, though he has never offered proof of this claim. However, equally convincing theories state that the Lloyds unwittingly led their colleagues into an ambush or that in fact they were actually agents of You-Know-Who.
According to Lothar Barghest, recently-appointed Director of Communications for the Midwest Region of the Department of Magic, the Lloyds first resurfaced a few months back as they prepared to send their son, one Ethan, to Kaaterskill.
"Actually, I met Griffin Lloyd and his son in Milwaukee in August," Barghest confirmed. "He was unwilling to divulge his current address but intimated that his wife was also well. The Department assumes that the Lloyds reside somewhere in Southeastern Wisconsin."
Barghest also stated that the Department is most interested to speak with the Lloyds.
"The Department would like to officially put to rest the question of what happened at Table Mountain. It's a shame that the Lloyds have not seen fit to cooperate in this matter," he told the Sentinel. "We would also like to discuss with them the source of funds in their Gringotts account, which has multiplied considerably since their involvement at Table Mountain."
Asked whether the Department suspects the Lloyds of any illegal activities, Barghest stated he would have no comment on any possible pending investigation.
It should be noted that the Lloyds disappeared just before the demise of You-Know-Who and have now emerged as rumors of his return have been circulated in the UK. Is this more than a coincidence? The Secretary of Magic's office reiterated yesterday that no credible proof of You-Know-Who's return has been forthcoming. However, we note that the Lloyds' firmest supporter, Cyrus Flyte, recently told the assembled students and faculty of Kaaterskill that he accepts the assertions of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, and his protégé, teenager Harry Potter, that You-Know-Who is back. Some have suggested that Griffin and Diana Lloyd have more than a passing interest in the return of that dark wizard.
Next Week: Heroes, Fools or Villains: What You Don't Know about Griffin and Diana Lloyd.
Having finished reading, Ethan sank back in his chair, speechless. When he tried to say something, no words came from his mouth.
He saw Tim shake his head in disgust.
Marcus, usually quick with a quip, could only say, "Man, what a hatchet job!"
Anne, as was her wont, was the first to attempt an explanation.
"Well, it's obvious that someone at the Department-maybe this Barghest guy-put the Sentinel up to this," she said grimly. "They were very careful not to provide any real evidence of anything, but they managed to imply all sorts of dreadful possibilities. Maddie, your mom works in the Department... has she ever said anything about this Barghest person?"
"I don't remember the name, but I heard Mom telling one of her friends that the regional Communications offices were basically set up to promote the Secretary of Magic," Maddie said, adding quickly, "I probably shouldn't have told you that."
"The article's right about one thing," Ethan said, having regained the power of speech. "I met Barghest in Milwaukee back in August. Dad said they'd been at Kaaterskill together. He was polite but very nasty...made lots of little comments about my family tending to get into trouble, seemed to think that being raised with muggles was some kind of crime and the worst part..."
He stopped and closed his eyes as he remembered how he felt when Lothar Barghest held him in his gaze.
"What was the worst part, Ethan?" Tim asked earnestly.
"When he looked at me, I felt as if he was trying to suck my thoughts right out of my brain," Ethan said. "Dad told me later that the Barghest family produced a lot of legilimens-they can do that sort of thing. Oh, and he also told me that he suspected Barghest was on Vol...er, You-Know-Who's side in the war, but there was no proof. Apparently, his family has a lot of influence."
"Whoa, wait a minute," Marcus said. "You mean he worked for You-Know-Who and now he pops up working for the Department of Magic. He really must have connections."
"Hate to tell you, guys, but we've got to get to class," Tim interrupted. "Ethan, buck up now. We're behind you."
"Thanks, Tim," Ethan said as he picked up his book bag. "Thanks to all of you."
But as they left the Assembly Hall, Ethan sensed that he'd become a center of attention. He caught snatches of conversations along with whispers he could not make out.
"That's him, over there in the glasses, with the curly-haired kid and the redheaded girl."
"Do you think it's safe...I mean what if his parents are with You-Know-Who?"
"Why'd the old man let him in anyway?"
"My dad says Flyte and Dumbledore have both gone around the bend..."
As they headed to Charms, Ethan kept imagining people turning away as he passed. No one seemed to want to meet his eyes.
Charms class was a blur to Ethan. He had difficulty performing the simple blue flame charm they were working on. When he set his textbook ablaze accidentally, Professor O'Loughlin quickly extinguished the fire, and then asked in an unusually motherly tone, "Are you quite all right, Mr. Lloyd? This is most unlike you, really!"
Ethan was glad to be done with Charms, but then he remembered that Potions was next. As he headed down the hallway in the dungeon, he heard a familiar voice rise to taunt him.
"Now we know why Lloyd was raised with muggles," Simon Brocklebank sneered to his followers. "No self-respecting wizard would associate with his type."
Brocklebank's followers guffawed and nodded.
"Still ticked that he got the snitch before your little friend did, eh, Brocklebank?" Tim retorted. Van Nort, who Ethan was sure was nobody's "little friend," glared at Tim.
"He probably cursed him, Van der Muggle," snarled Simon. "You'd better watch yourself. You could be next."
Katrina Powles stood next to Brocklebank. She turned to her brother and laughed most unpleasantly.
"Wait until Mom and Dad find out you're hanging around with a Lloyd...he's probably as two-faced as his parents!" she said derisively.
"Shut up, Katrina!" Peter answered her, but he looked away from Ethan. "You wouldn't dare tell them..."
"Oh, no?" she smiled. "Watch me, brother dear."
Just then Renfro opened the door of the classroom. He cast his gaze suspiciously around the crowd milling in the hallway, then ushered them inside.
"Come along in," he said, glowering at them. "And whatever you've been squabbling over, don't even think of bringing your arguments into my classroom! That means you too, Mr. Brocklebank."
For the first time, Ethan actually felt gratitude towards Renfro and it calmed him as he and Tim worked together on a potion to reverse curse-induced fevers. They began by boiling alder bark, adding leaves of agrimony, hops, fennel and wormwood and stirring in ground roots of smallage and succory.
"That looks quite sufficient, gentlemen," Renfro said, examining their potion. "How unusual. There may be hope for you yet, Mr. Lloyd."
When class ended, Ethan made a bee line for the door and hurried away, certain that Brocklebank and company would resume their taunts given a chance. Tim caught up with him in the Main Hallway.
"Hey, Ethan!" Tim called. "Slow down, will ya?"
Ethan stopped and turned, certain by now that the entire school held the same opinion of him that Katrina Powles had expressed.
"Come on, Ethan, you can't run away from this," Tim told him. "Even if everyone else in this school believed every word in that article, we'd stand by you. And you can tell the teachers don't believe it. Even Renfro laid off you today."
"Well that's great!" Ethan exclaimed as they continued towards the Assembly Hall for lunch. "If I can just get all the teachers to feel sorry for me, I'll be just fine!"
"That's not it at all," Tim demurred. "They know the Sentinel's out of line on this. After a while, the students will come around, too...at least the ones who think for themselves, instead of letting Brocklebank do it for them."
After lunch, the Bradburys and Harrisons assembled in Bancroft's classroom for History of Magic. Ethan greeted Edwin Malinowski when he passed him at the door.
"Oh, hi, Ethan," he said timidly. Then he looked around as if to make sure no one else was listening and whispered, "Just so you know, I believe your parents, not that paper."
"Thanks, Ed," Ethan said, not sure whether he should be pleased at the Harrison boy's support or upset at his nervousness about expressing it publicly.
Elegant as ever in his burgundy robe, Bancroft addressed the class.
"I realize that we are scheduled to debate the issue of house elf emancipation this class. However, given current concerns, I've decided to cover more recent history today. But please be prepared with your position papers next time."
"Fourteen years ago this month, the war against the dark and desperate wizard named Voldemort came to an end," he continued, ignoring the involuntary gasps from the class at his use of the name.
At this, Ethan put his head down on the desk. Just what I need, he thought. A lecture that will make everyone think about my evil parents.
"As you all know," Bancroft said, "the Headmaster has reason to believe that the Dark Lord has returned. If this is true, it must ultimately mean that the peace during which you were born and raised has been but a respite and war will resume. While we do not yet know how that war will be fought, we can already see the forces of division working to weaken those most likely to resist. That is why I wish to cover the previous war-or the first phase of the ongoing war, more accurately-so that you may understand a history of which you are very much a part yourselves."
"It all began nearly a quarter of a century ago," he said as he paced the front of the room and then stopped to look over the room. "Many of your parents were sitting where you are now, just beginning at Kaaterskill. Many years had passed since the last great evil wizard-Grindelwald-had been overthrown. Many believed that the wizarding world had advanced so greatly that dark magic would never rise again."
He strode across the classroom again towards a large map of the world on the far wall.
"Then, about 1970 or 1971, rumors began to spread," Bancroft said quietly. "Whispers reached our shores of a nameless terror, of a darkness rising in the East."
He gestured towards the map of Europe.
"No one seemed certain whence this new power came. He declared himself in Britain, but the name he used was not known there.
Indeed, he seemed to be a man without a past. Some said he'd learned the dark arts in obscure corners of Eastern Europe, others that he had traveled to remote sections of China or Africa."
"From the moment he emerged," Bancroft continued dramatically, "this wizard manifested a ruthless will to dominate. Skilled at evil and unforgivable curses, his very voice was a powerful weapon which he used to convince some and intimidate others. 'Purity' was his watchword; he proclaimed his hatred for muggles and especially for those wizards and witches born to muggles-to whom he applied the derisive label "mudbloods.""
Bancroft used his voice effectively to convey his tale, and the class was hanging on his every word. Ethan had raised his head again and was watching the professor carefully. After a pause, Bancroft continued.
"This man-for though he immersed himself in the dark arts, he started out as human as you or me-called himself Lord Voldemort. I beg you not to wince when I say that, for to combat evil one must be able to name it. He gathered followers-like-minded wizards and witches, those who shared his hatred for muggles and muggle-blooded wizards, those who felt wronged by the wizarding establishment, the rootless and some who simply wanted a powerful leader."
"In Britain, those who spoke out against Voldemort began to turn up dead. As the decade wore on, his following grew and the British Ministry of Magic was on the defensive. And some on this side of the ocean began to heed Voldemort's messages."
"Too many over here-including the Department of Magic's leaders-told themselves that Voldemort was a British, or at worst, a European problem. What had he to do with America?"
"But by the end of the decade," Bancroft said, walking up the aisle between the rows of desks, "Voldemort's following on this side of the Atlantic was growing. And those who admired him found a leader of their own, one who emulated the Dark Lord, joined him for a time in Britain and then returned to America to raise his banner. This wizard called himself Hafgan."
"There are many evil powers in this world and some sleep for centuries unknown to humans. About fifteen years ago, Hafgan learned of such a power hidden in a magical place," Bancroft said, pointing to a spot just off the coast of North America, "Here, beneath Table Mountain on the island of Newfoundland."
Ethan glanced around him. Everyone was looking at Bancroft attentively, as if they expected that a great secret was about to be revealed. After a few seconds, Bancroft continued.
"To this day, we do not know the true nature of Hafgan's discovery," he said. "I can but tell you what is known about the events that followed, and that is less than you-or I-might wish to know."
"Hafgan informed his master of this discovery. Voldemort apparently felt that the harnessing of this dark power to his will would bring the wizarding world to its knees. Together, he and Hafgan developed a plan to awaken and control the being beneath Table Mountain. This must have involved the most powerful magic, done in greatest secrecy. But somehow another became aware of their design, one whose knowledge came to the attention of the Department of Magic."
"And so," the professor observed, "when the Dark Lord's servants arrived at Table Mountain, a group of 20 American and Canadian aurors were on their heels, not really sure what they would find."
The pause that followed was too much for Marcus Gibson, who blurted out breathlessly, "And what happened when they got there?"
"That, Mr. Gibson, is what we would all like to know," Bancroft replied. "From observations made sometime later, it seems likely that the Death Eaters successfully awakened the power of the Mountain, probably as the aurors arrived. For some reason, they were unable to control the monster they'd unleashed. As the Death Eaters and aurors battled, the power of the Mountain broke over them indiscriminately. Only three things are certain: in the end, the monster was forced back to its slumber beneath Table Mountain, but all the Death Eaters and nearly all the aurors were killed. Only two survived the disaster: a young couple named Griffin and Diana Lloyd."
At this nearly all eyes turned to Ethan, as if the students expected him to confirm Bancroft's tale. Though he suddenly wished he could become invisible, something Bancroft said had raised a question in his mind, and he asked, "But, Professor, you said the Death Eaters lost control of the...the creature, whatever it was. How was it stopped?"
"Excellent question, Mr. Lloyd," Bancroft replied. "No one knows for sure, but my guess is that something your parents did stumped the monster. If they hadn't, you wouldn't be sitting here, today."
While Ethan let that thought sink into his mind, Anne Findlay spoke up.
"But what happened to Hafgan? Was he killed?"
"Some hoped so, Miss Findlay," Bancroft said. "But shortly after the incident, it became clear that he'd escaped Table Mountain himself. The months after the battle saw the worst Death Eater attacks; it seemed that Table Mountain made Hafgan more vicious and desperate. It's likely that Voldemort punished him for the failure; in turn, Hafgan drove his followers to ambush aurors and their families."
"But they stopped...the attacks stopped," Edwin Malinowski said. "It's been years since anything like that's happened."
"Yes and your lives have been mercifully free from such fears," Bancroft agreed. "Which is more than some of your older classmates can say. Only a few months later Voldemort killed a young couple named Potter and tried to kill their only son, only to have the curse backfire. What happened that night is even more mysterious than Table Mountain, but Voldemort was not seen for nearly 14 years after that. His followers melted away, or were hunted down and killed or captured; many repented or claimed they'd acted under duress. But Hafgan simply vanished, as completely as Voldemort himself, so it would seem."
"But, excuse me, Professor," Jeremy Holsapple said, raising one gangling arm. After Bancroft acknowledged him, Jeremy continued, "We don't really know You-Know-Who's back, do we? I mean, where's the proof? And if no one's seen Hafgan for 14 years, why does anyone think he's still alive? Haven't you told us that history is based on fact?"
"Absolutely, Mr. Holsapple, absolutely," Bancroft exclaimed. "But what constitutes a fact? In the case of Lord Voldemort, we have the testimony of an eyewitness. Rather tenuous, you might argue, but there are two reasons we should take it seriously: Firstly, the testimony comes from one whose life has been entwined with that of Voldemort from the beginning; secondly, the greatest wizard of our era has vouched for the truthfulness of the witness."
A sandy-haired Harrison girl who Ethan didn't know raised her hand.
"Professor, I know that Dumbledore has done a lot of great things," she said. "But according to the news, he's not as sharp as he used to be."
"Ah, good point, Miss Gerrits," Bancroft said. "Let's talk about the press. As historians, we must consider how reliable the newspapers are as sources. Particularly today, if any of you have read the Sentinel. Now, how can I tell whether to trust what I read in the papers? Miss Hotaling?"
"Well, the newspaper isn't supposed to take sides," Cynthia Hotaling answered. "It should just report what happened. But..."
"Yes," Bancroft encouraged her. "But what?"
"Well," Cynthia continued. "In my hometown, the paper always favors one party against the other. My dad says you don't want to get on the paper's bad side."
"Does he indeed?" Bancroft beamed. "Wise man, your father. Why do you think a newspaper might favor one party or one side of an issue?"
Red-haired Bram Rozema raised his hand.
"Well, I suppose the newspaper might see whether there was something in it for them," he offered.
"So you think a newspaper could be bribed?" Bancroft asked.
"Sure, the reporters are only human," Rozema asserted.
"Usually true," Bancroft agreed with a sly grin, and Ethan wondered exactly what he meant. "And therefore susceptible to various kinds of persuasion. Now in this case, who might be interested in influencing the news? And what could they offer in return for the right...slant on the Voldemort story?"
"Well, maybe You-Know-Who doesn't want everyone to know he's back," Anne theorized. "And he could threaten the newspapers if they said he was."
"That's one possibility," Bancroft said. "Of course if Voldemort cursed the editors that might be the best proof he's back! Anyone else have a theory?"
Ethan raised his hand.
"The British Ministry might not want to admit it," he said. "After all, they're supposed to know that sort of stuff. And if some teenager found out before them, it wouldn't look good."
"And what might a newspaper get in return for downplaying the teenager's reliability?" Bancroft queried.
"Well, they could send them some galleons," Maddie Morrigan suggested. "But papers want to have good sources for stories. And the government can be a great source, if it wants to be."
"Excellent thinking, Miss Morrigan," Bancroft said. "Now, time's up for today. Next time, it's back to house elf emancipation, but please think about today's discussion when you read what passes for history in the newspapers these days. Good day, now!"
The students filed out into the hall. Bancroft put his hand on Ethan's shoulder as he passed.
"Mr. Lloyd, would you stop by my office after your last class today? Say about 5:15? I'd like a word with you. It won't take long...I won't keep you from dinner!"
"Sure, I'll see you then," Ethan agreed, then he joined the others hurrying off to the greenhouses.
When Music class ended a few hours later, Ethan headed to Professor Bancroft's office on the 2nd floor next to the classroom. The door was open, but Ethan knocked anyway. Bancroft sprang up from his desk and ushered Ethan to a chair opposite his own.
"Come in, come in, Mr. Lloyd," he exclaimed, closing the door behind them. "Thank you so much for stopping by."
Ethan sat and glanced around the office as Bancroft returned to his seat, an ornate armchair with carved mountain lions on the arms. There were a number of maps on the walls, some of which appeared to have small dots of light moving about them. A globe rotated slowly on a table by the window. Most of the wall space was taken up by bookshelves. Ethan's eyes fell on the one painting in the room, a portrait of a grey-haired wizard seated in a chair much like Bancroft's own. Wearing odd eyeglasses shaped like crescent moons, the wizard was reading a thick leather-bound volume with runes on the spine. Ethan saw the old wizard turn away from his book briefly and look out into the room. Ethan started as the intense green eyes of the old man met his for just a moment.
Ethan turned to Bancroft, who'd begun to speak.
"I want to apologize, Mr. Lloyd, if my topic this afternoon made your day more difficult. I know the contents of the morning paper must have been a shock to you. But under the circumstances, I felt it was important to give the students-all of you-some tools to analyze the Sentinel's drivel."
"That's OK, Professor," Ethan replied. "Your class wasn't so bad. Actually, all the teachers seemed to be really...well, nice to me today."
"Glad to hear that," Bancroft said. Then he opened a colorful tin on the desk and pushed it toward Ethan. "Have some fudge-goat's milk, fearfully good, my niece sent it up."
Ethan took a square and popped it into his mouth. Bancroft continued.
"I've been meaning to check in with you anyway, you know, just to see how you're getting on. I do that with all the first years in the house eventually. You are certainly doing fine work in history and I understand that Charms and Defense against the Dark Arts are strong points as well. How do you feel things are going?"
Ethan thought for a moment. Then he said truthfully, "Well, Professor, I really wondered how I'd do. I mean, I didn't even know this world existed before last summer. But now I know this is where I belong; I don't know how, I just know. Even after today."
"You don't know how good that makes me feel, Mr. Lloyd," Bancroft said, passing over the tin of fudge again. "The headmaster and I are always concerned that the students who've grown up in the muggle world adjust well-of course, you're a rather special case. I should tell you that your parents-especially your father-had a great influence on me when I was in school."
Ethan hastily swallowed his fudge and gave the history professor a surprised look.
"Were you in school with them?" he asked. "What were they like back then?"
"They were the Bradbury proctors my first year here," Bancroft said, with a nostalgic sigh. "I daresay I might not have made it through without Griffin's encouragement. I wasn't the most studious youngster and I'm afraid I had a tendency to get into scrapes. Your dad was able to get me out of most of them at first-and later on I managed to avoid them because I couldn't bear to disappoint him."
"Did you keep in touch with them after they left school?" Ethan asked. "Did they talk to you about...you know..."
"Table Mountain?" Bancroft finished Ethan's thought. "Oh, no! I dreamed of following them to auror training, but I was four years behind them. I was finishing up here when they went to Newfoundland. Years later, after I started teaching, I learned that they'd been here after the battle, but that was a secret known only to the Headmaster and his closest aides. As a student-even a 7th-year-I didn't qualify. As far as I knew, they were dead. And of course by that fall, the war was over, and I gave up the idea of being an auror."
Bancroft remained silent. Ethan thought he looked a bit downcast, but he had more questions now.
"So how did you become a teacher, then?"
"Well, it took me a while, but eventually I realized how important it was to properly study our history. I assume Professor Hsu has mentioned that evil wizards have arisen and challenged the good again and again, down the centuries."
Ethan nodded.
"Well, I know Professor Hsu feels these cycles are inevitable, deeply embedded in the nature of our world. But historians feel that humans have some control over their destiny. I believe that one reason for the cycles is that we spend so little time studying how and why the dark wizards arise. After Voldemort's fall, I felt the best thing I could do was to do history-in the hope we could avoid repeating the mistakes of the past. And now, I'm afraid we're about to find whether we have learned anything at all in the last 14 years."
One more question had occurred to Ethan, though he wasn't sure his professor would have the answer.
"I was wondering, Professor Bancroft," he asked. "You said my parents came here after Table Mountain. Do you know whether they left anything important here?"
Bancroft looked at Ethan sharply, and then said, "Whatever makes you ask that, Mr. Lloyd? As I told you, I was still a student at the time, I never even knew of their presence until many years later."
"But did anyone ever tell you..."
"I'm afraid I can't tell you anything more about it, my boy. Now, look at the time!" Bancroft exclaimed, pointing at the clock. "You'll be late for dinner. Remember, if you have any trouble, any at all, you can come to me...but don't forget that you've got a rather good proctor in Mr. Sturtevant. Off you go, then."
With that, Bancroft snapped the lid back on the candy tin, stood up and threw a red plaid cape over his burgundy robe. Ethan got up too; as he left the room, he thought he saw the old wizard in the portrait cast another curious glance his way.
As he walked back to Bradbury Tower, Ethan pondered Bancroft's words and all the ups and downs of a most unusual day. He just had time to drop his bag next to his bed, as the Bradbury first-years were about to head down to dinner.
"Oh, there you are Ethan," Tim greeted him. "We were about to eat without you. Everything all right?"
"Yeah, I'm OK, just had to talk to Bancroft after class," Ethan replied,
"I'm so glad it's Friday," Marcus sighed. "I couldn't write any essays tonight if my life depended on it."
"I'm way too hungry to even think about class," Tim said. "Let's get going."
On the way in to dinner, Ethan didn't even notice that he was still the focus of looks and whispered comments. He was still considering the meaning of what Bancroft had said in class and later-and what he hadn't said.
Ethan distractedly ate his way through the Friday dinner: fried haddock, a small helping of succotash, and a pile of poutine (french fries with gravy and cheese curds, a delicacy to which Tim had introduced him). As he added a spoonful of whipped cream to his coconut cream pie, Kenny Sturtevant sat down across from him.
"So how are you holding up, Ethan?" the proctor asked with a smile that couldn't mask the concern in his voice.
"I'm all right, really," Ethan told him. "There are some advantages to having half the school think I'm going to curse them if they look at me!"
Kenny chuckled, but looked at Ethan hard, as if he thought the joke was forced. Ethan thought for a moment, then leaned over and told Kenny about his meeting with Bancroft. Tim and Anne, who were sitting next to them, listened in with interest.
"You know what I think?" Ethan concluded. "I think my parents brought something back with them from Table Mountain before they went to Madison."
Tim and Anne looked at Ethan, then at each other. Ethan guessed that they were thinking about the sphinx, as he was.
"Well, Bancroft doesn't seem to know," Kenny offered. They hadn't yet told the proctor about the adventure that had kept them out past curfew. "It's a bit of a leap of faith to guess that."
"But it was the way Bancroft reacted when I asked," Ethan insisted. "First he repeated that he hadn't seen them when they came back, then cut off the conversation before I could ask if he'd learned more since."
"So do you think," Tim whispered, "that whatever they brought back, it was the reason they had to go into hiding?"
"Exactly," Ethan agreed. "And I bet that's why they haven't ever come forward to tell their side of the story."
"Wow!" Anne said. "If that's true, I wonder whether that article was meant to..."
"Flush them out?" Kenny suggested. "An interesting idea. A little proof would help. Of course, if you're right, then I should advise you that this is not the sort of thing for first-year students to get mixed up with."
"But are you telling us that?" Anne asked.
"Not exactly," Kenny said archly. "But be careful! I've got to go, but do let me know if you want to discuss this further."
After Kenny left, the three first-years looked at each other and quickly agreed to wait for further discussion.
"Let's think about it for awhile," Ethan suggested.
"And see how it fits with runes and sphinxes," Anne added.
Tim nodded in agreement. As Halloween approached, they spent as much time as possible trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.