BOOK 1
1
Decline is not a closing sunset, but an everlasting sunrise that whispers across the morning dew promises of warmth and growth and love, yet none of these promises are met, for when dawn holds, all the flowers wilt and wither away with time, never to bloom.
The lament of Hogwarts is a song that has brought a phoenix to tears and centaurs to silence. Hers is a song that mourns for witches and wizards, who arrive as curious children and depart as vapid adults, for there is decay deep within, a rot that Hogwarts failed to keep at bay.
But she tried, oh did she try. In the face of decline, Hogwarts did everything she could to provide help to the deserving: she opened secret rooms to young explorers; she revealed rare tomes to noble seekers of knowledge; she led bullies away from their victims, through labyrinthic corridors and paradoxical staircases, confounding them mid-chase.
All of it was for naught it seemed, for her power was spread thin. Many of the castle's secrets slipped away from memory, ancient books were removed from shelves for the supposed safety of students, subjects (such as Magical Theory, Enchantment, and Alchemy) were dropped and the number of professors reduced, the staff turned a blind eye to students engaging in malicious acts, and the student body shrank year after year. There was no respect or interest for the Mysteries, and she wondered if Magic would survive when those raised among the fantastical saw their gifts not as wondrous, but as merely normal.
This was enough to trouble the castle, but she was further disturbed by the acromantulas stretching their colony across the forest nearby. Many magical species native to the woods died as a result. Over time, more and more magical creatures shied away from the grounds, even the fairies who, despite all of their vanity, dared not poke out of their hiding places longer than needed. She was also saddened that her skies, once decorated by crying augureys and stealthy jobberknolls, was now almost entirely deserted of magical birds, except for the hurried owls carrying out their deliveries. In the surrounding mountains, many caves and ruins hid, unexplored for centuries, waiting for someone to bring their treasures to light. It was in these forests and skies and mountains that she felt her magic slowly recede, and she wondered if, after her full retreat, desolation would rule forevermore.
If her grounds were losing magic at the edges, it could not be fathomed what that meant for the lands beyond her reach. Just as Atlantis had sunk and Avalon had faded, was it not possible that other magical lands were eroding with the passage of time? The sense of finality frightened her, and in the flickering of her torches and the cold drafts entering her halls, many of the castle's inhabitants fell into fatalistic moods.
That constant despair largely ceased in the midst of one summer in particular, though it lingered on for some. From the headmaster's tower, an old wizard stared at the Black Lake and questioned the wisdom of his choices. Each year, he felt more claustrophobic within the castle, as if he were an accused man facing trial and the stone walls were closing in. He grew wary of the power he held, but was more frightened, still, at the mere thought of loosening the reins. So, he held on, both hands tightly gripping the window sill, staring out at his domain.
But the castle, she had burst into song towards the end of July. The flames of her torches danced with ecstasy and kaleidoscopic light shone through her stained-glass windows. How could she not rejoice when she recognized his imminent arrival, even from afar? A boy, touched by Fate, would enter her halls at the start of September. Her special quill had sent out his letter and he had opened it, establishing a connection that had shocked her out of her misery. How could she not recognize a prince of Peverell blood? The powers of his line had laid dormant for far too long. Revival could only follow after Death, and here was Death's master, ready to act as a focus, a catalyst, an agent of change; she would do her best to aid Fate's champion in his quest.
2
On the eve of autumn, a class of Hogwarts students were sorted into their respective houses. Such ceremonies are rather straightforward affairs with few surprises; blood runs thick and many a student find themselves following in one or both of their parents' footsteps, prolonging a shallow immortality that carries on in conversations over dinner. The grandfather sits at the head of the table and reminisces over his time at Hogwarts, sneaking out of his dormitory with his sweetheart for midnight trysts; two of his sons laugh obnoxiously and compare their memories of scandalous house parties with much eagerness, blind to the irritated glares their wives send their way, while the third of the patriarch's progeny plays with her fork in boredom, an outcast to the conversation, being the only one sorted into a different house. The children, however, soak up these stories like sponges and carry these tales with them for years until they find themselves on route to Hogwarts Castle, ready to add another page to their family's histories. But on this particular evening, Pluto was at the height of his influence, foretelling of disturbance and change.
The northern winds caressed the Scottish Highlands just as the moonlight embraced Hogsmeade station, well before the arrival of the Hogwarts Express. The station was not much to look at (a couple of small buildings across a thin platform) and the view of the lake was obscured by a few towering pines which loomed large behind the conductor's office. A giant of a man stood on the platform besides a lit torch and checked his pocket watch with increasing regularity. His wait came to an end at the whistle of an approaching train, and then the sound of pistons, before the locomotive finally came into view. A half a dozen torches along the platform lit up in welcome, shining light on the crimson red train.
A wave of students in long black robes and pointy black hats poured out onto the platform, the young ones looking especially lost until the giant man yelled, "Firs'-years, over here! All other students, head to 'em carriages on the road. Firs'-years, with me!"
Upon exiting the train, Daphne Greengrass took a deep breath. Her posture was erect and her walk purposeful, and while she was just as thrilled as her fellow classmates, she restrained her gaze with a certain dignity befitting of her family's station. She was, after all, a princess, even if no one but her parents recognized her as such, but they would all learn soon enough. She carried herself as a member of long-forgotten royalty: there was a serenity in her metallic blue eyes and in the way her dirty blonde hair swept up with the slightest breeze as if the night itself was acknowledging her nobility. At the moment, her focus was singular and she advanced in the giant's direction as he led them through a dirt path between the trees. Through a clearing, Daphne saw the lake, eerie in its stillness, and across from it, a castle looming atop a high cliff. The other kids gasped and stared, open-mouthed, in awe.
"No more'n four to a boat," the giant said, raising a lantern as he looked around for stragglers. "And don't go muckin' about."
Daphne stepped into one of the many small boats that rested ashore, and greeted its two passengers, who introduced themselves as Susan Bones, the redhead smiled with pride when asked if she was related to Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Hermione Granger, a girl with bushy hair who seemed eager to impress all present company with factoids she had picked up from reading her textbooks.
"Daphne," a voice called out. "How rude of you, leaving me behind."
Daphne turned and saw the mirth in Tracey's eyes and internally cursed her friend's dimpled smile. It was difficult to keep a straight face when admonishing her best friend. "You were pestering me and I wanted some peace, even if it was for just a few precious minutes."
"All good things do come to an end, I'm afraid," Tracey said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. She stepped into the boat and beamed at Bones and Granger. "Tracey Davis, nice to meet you."
Daphne ignored the whispered introductions that followed; she was sure that Tracey would dominate the conversation with talk of her experience at the Weird Sisters concert last month and enrapture them with tales of Falmouth, the town in which they were both raised. Instead, Daphne took in her surroundings. The lake was overwhelming in its vastness, a group of carriages trailing around it ever slowly as they headed to the castle. At some point, the boats had started moving and she closed her eyes, sinking into her mind.
Her awareness stretched out. It dove down into the depths, through waters full of tangled weed, and met the biting cold that permeated all. Somewhere, the song of the Mer soothed and entranced; elsewhere, the tentacles of a giant creature moved with great force; throughout, small water demons hunted fish and algae with manic ferocity. And deep in the dark, her awareness became muted and, when confronted with the most solid nothingness, Daphne reemerged with an exhale and opened her eyes. She smiled and her thoughts wandered to River Brue near Glastonbury, and its promise: her birthright. She then caught Tracey staring at her with a knowing look.
With the gliding of the boats, the castle grew ever closer and Daphne felt its magic chant a mournful, yet hopeful, tune. She shivered. The silent music behind the lament was beautiful, but it lacked catharsis. The castle's many towers and turrets stood against the starry night like a giant reaching for, but never quite seizing, the great beyond.
Daphne was startled. She had expected the magic of Hogwarts to be strong, and indeed it was, being one of the last bastions of magical land in all of the British Isles, but she would never have predicted that the castle would be in a state of melancholy, even if there was a rather odd feeling of anticipation trembling underneath. She was curious and wanted to discover the source of these emotions. Perhaps she ought not allow Fate limit her sacred endeavors to the Isle of the Fruit Trees; her mother had always said that there are more ways than one to serve the Mother Goddess.
"The castle is enormous," Bones said. "I don't fancy having to walk from one end of the school to the other to get to class."
"Perhaps if we fly a broom to class?" Tracey suggested.
"That could work, as long as you're not any slower than the Chudleigh Cannons' seeker," Bones giggled.
"Trust me, that's not what you should worry about. If Tracey is flying through the halls, we'll all need beater's bats in order to dodge that bludger," Daphne said provoking more giggles from the redhead.
"Hey!"
"Don't you all know that flying brooms inside the castle is against the rules? Besides, first-years are not even allowed to own brooms." Granger said, frowning in disapproval.
"Perhaps a flying carpet, then?" Tracey asked.
"Those are illegal – the ministry banned them. Carpets have been labelled as muggle artefacts. Dad says it was one of our Ministry's more stupid ideas," Daphne said. Her father often complained whenever new restrictions were placed on magic given that he was rarely convinced by the justification given. His loathing for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office was well-known within Ministry circles and at the dinner table.
"I'm sure the law is there for a good reason," Granger said and her tone seemed to dare them to disagree.
"May as well ban broomsticks. Muggles would probably be confused with why so much craft goes into making a Nimbus." Tracey said seeming to get pleasure out of ruffling the brunette's feathers. Daphne couldn't deny that she too was a bit entertained.
"Ooh look," Bones interrupted.
The boat approached a curtain of ivy underneath the cliff, which seemed to conceal a cave, with light peeking out through the gaps in the vines.
"Heads down!" the giant man yelled.
Daphne lowered her head, then lifted it after getting past the ivy, and found herself in a torchlit tunnel leading to a dreary boathouse in an underground harbour. A couple of wooden boats, much like the ones they had boarded, rested on the rafters in the ceiling. In the interior of the boathouse, on the far end, hung a portrait of a handsome man with brown hair in a red robe.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, may your stay be a most pleasant dream," the man said. "The castle, you ought to know, holds dreamers in the highest esteem."
"Hey there, Percival," the giant man said to the portrait, rather quickly as if to cut off the man from a lengthy speech, before turning his focus back onto the students. "Make sure yeh take the exit on the right-hand side. It'll lead yeh to the Boathouse Steps."
Once the boats had docked, Daphne and her companions exited their boat and walked out of the boathouse, stepping uneasily onto rocks and pebbles as the other students shoved one another, moving forward. They made their way out of the cavern and found themselves at the bottom of a staircase which seemed to lead on up, endlessly, to the crescent moon. The students followed the giant's lead and marched up the stairs, labouring against the height of the cliff. Slightly out of breath, Daphne finally reached the top and entered a covered stone walkway that ran in perimeter around a courtyard.
"This 'ere is the Entrance Courtyard. That large door there on the left leads to the Entrance Hall. From there yeh can get on to the Great Hall and the Grand Staircase. For now, you lot will go through this small door 'ere in the corner. Follow me."
The giant man led them into a small antechamber where a tall witch, in emerald-green robes, stood. Her black hair was tied in a bun that rested neatly underneath a pointy black hat, and through her square shaped spectacles she observed the incoming students in an imperious manner. Once all the students had entered the room, the giant man smiled at them and put his hands together.
"I'll leave 'em to yeh, Professor McGonagall."
"Thank you, Hagrid."
While Hagrid bumbled his way around the students and towards the exit, Daphne observed the chamber's many tapestries. Some depicted the castle, others showed unicorns and centaurs, and a few displayed great knights in the midst of battle. One in particular caught her attention. It portrayed the four founders seated at a wooden table, sharing food and beverage. On the far left sat a plump woman, Helga Hufflepuff, in a yellow dress conversing with Godric Gryffindor, a large muscular man with a red mane, dressed in burgundy robes. Beside the latter sat Salazar Slytherin, a lean man with a long thin beard, sporting a green cloak. His eyes were fixed on his companion, Rowena Ravenclaw, a tall pale woman with long black hair in blue robes; her head rested on the back of her left hand and she seemed to be staring at the ceiling as if her eyes could penetrate its depth and see the skies.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The Start-of-Term Feast will begin shortly. You will all follow me to the front of the Great Hall, where you will be sorted into your respective houses. The sorting is of the upmost importance; you will spend much of your time here with your future housemates. In fact, you may come to see each other as family."
"The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has a proud history, having produced the best witches and wizards Britain has had to offer. You each have a duty to your house, and if you accumulate points by being an exemplary student and staying out of trouble, then you may well contribute towards your house winning the House Cup at the end of the academic year."
"I will return in just a moment after verifying that everything is ready. I suggest you wait quietly and smarten yourselves up, so that you look your best during the Sorting Ceremony."
She left the chamber, and the students broke into whispers.
"She's quite cheery, isn't she?" Tracey asked, adjusting her hat. "How do I look?"
"Flawless," Daphne said. "I suppose it's to be expected – her sternness, I mean. She is surrounded by children every day."
"You say that as if you were already a grown woman."
"I have been described as an old soul."
"I can see people describing you as old, but I'm a bit shocked that they think you have a soul."
"Take that back!" Daphne ordered.
"I wonder – how will we be sorted?" Bones asked, defusing their argument. Granger grew nervous at this and started to recite some textbook passages from memory. Bones looked both awestruck and horrified at this.
It was tradition for the means of the sorting to be a surprise. Daphne's father had told her as much and from what she had gathered by the worried looks and the speculative comments the other first-years were exchanging, it was not a tradition exclusive to the Greengrass family.
The increasingly wild guesswork regarding the sorting method (some suggested a quiz, others a duel, and she could swear she heard someone mentioned fighting a troll), ceased at the appearance of a party of ghosts. Most of the kids gasped, a few even seemed frightened (she assumed they were muggle-born), but she inspected them with an intense gaze, wondering what histories she could pry off of them in conversation. The pearl white phantoms argued as they glided through the walls about Peeves, a poltergeist whose infamous reputation even Daphne was aware of, and then one of them, a stout monk, beamed at the gathered students.
"New students, I'm sure?" The students nodded in unison at the ghost's question. "I hope to see a fair few of you in Hufflepuff! My old house, of course."
"You wouldn't be trying to sway these young minds just before the sorting, my dear Friar?" Professor McGonagall had returned.
"Of course not, Deputy Headmistress. Not at all. I apologize if I gave that impression. We'll be on our way now." The friar led his entourage away through the walls.
"Form a line and follow me," Professor McGonagall told the first-years, leading them out of the antechamber and into the entrance hall, where a golden statue of a man held a miniature model of Hogwarts in one hand and a rolled-up chart in another. Across the hall, a pair of double doors opened at the professor's approach and even Daphne gasped at what beheld them.
The Great Hall had tall walls and was lit by hundreds of candles, floating above four long tables where the rest of the students sat, seeming to drift into a ceiling which took the appearance of the night sky; Daphne recognized some of the constellations and was mesmerized by the sight. Lions, badgers, eagles, and snakes featured on the stained-glass windows at the end of the hall. Golden plates and goblets were neatly placed along the tables, and the students seated on each side were dressed in black robes and black pointed hats much like themselves, though unlike themselves, many sported badges, pins, ribbons, and belts with their respective house colors. Several ghosts intermingled among the student body, welcoming some of them with obvious delight as if ages had passed since their last encounter.
Professor McGonagall led them to the platform at the end of the Great Hall, where the professors sat at a table facing the entire student body. At the center, on a golden throne, sat Professor Dumbledore, who wore long black robes, a thin magenta cloak, and green high-heeled boots. He had long, silver hair and an equally long and silver beard. His bright blue eyes watched, through half-moon spectacles, the group of first-years coalesce before the stool on the platform. His eyes roamed over the group of students until they paused; Daphne tilted her head to her left and, a few steps away, saw a small boy with untidy black hair, green eyes, and round tortoise shell glasses. He was the object of the headmaster's attention.
Suddenly, Daphne's sight opened to misty waters, parting away for the barge upon which she and a hooded man coasted. Callused hands took hold of her wrists and turned them; on each wrist, tattooed snakes writhed in unison and she heard a hissing, coming not from the snakes, but from the man himself. The vision changed. She was back home, knitting a black scarf, only to look up and see three women, one of them spinning a golden thread, the other measuring it, and the third drawing forth a pair of shears. Daphne raised her hand to stop them, only to see that she no longer had the hands of a maiden, but the hands of the crone, and in those shriveled hands rested a white water-lily.
Daphne swayed a bit and found herself back in the Great Hall, with Tracey supporting her. She was dazed by her vision and for the first time that night, she felt nervous. "I'm fine - just felt a bit faint."
Tracey's interrogation was interrupted by a deep bass voice, which, they were surprised to discover, belonged to a worn-out hat that was singing from atop a stool placed beside an owl-sculpted lectern.
'The game is afoot!
There's mystery in the air.
In these hallowed halls,
Trots the Pale Mare.
Hear ye the gallop?
Hear ye the neighs,
Far down the corridor
Deep within the maze?
Welcome to the Labyrinth!
Smell the candle smoke,
Get lost in the mirrors,
Hear the whispers spoke.
Stand at the ready,
Godric Gryffindor said
To the many brave knights
Who guard in his stead.
Be unafraid of toil,
Helga Hufflepuff said;
The castle elves are moved
By the life she led.
The castle has its quirks,
Rowena Ravenclaw said,
Proud of her moving staircase,
Puzzling paths you shall tread.
Dungeons test our guile,
Salazar Slytherin said.
In the cover of darkness,
Ambitions will be fed.
Oh, Lady Hogwarts:
As your loyal shield,
May your desires
My sorting yield.
The castle's sorrow
May soon come to an end.
Her cherished ideals
Are ready to ascend.
I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And there's nothing I can't see,
Try me on, you've got a role to play.
I'll put you where you ought to be.'
The hall burst into applause, and Daphne joined in, pensive, trying to decipher the song's meaning, but the earlier incident still weighed on her mind. She tried to distract herself by looking at the High Table. While some professors seemed curious, perhaps at the hat's words, the headmaster frowned with concern. After the hat bowed to each table, Professor McGonagall stepped forward and unrolled a scroll.
"First-years, remove your hats for just a moment. When I call your name, you will come forward, sit on the stool, and put on the sorting hat, and, after being sorted, will take a seat with your housemates. 'Abbot, Hannah'"
A girl with blonde pigtails hurried to the stool, her hands shaking, and did as she was instructed. Seconds ticked by, until –
"Hufflepuff!"
Abbott headed to the cheering and clapping Hufflepuff table, smiling and waving at the ghost of the Friar along the way.
"Bones, Susan."
"Hufflepuff!" the hat announced shortly after Bones had taken her seat.
The next few notable names offered no surprises. Members of the Boot family were usually sorted into Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, whereas members of the Brown family always ended up in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff; Terry and Lavender were sorted into Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, respectively. Bulstrodes and Crabbes always ended up in Slytherin, and neither Millicent nor Vincent broke the streak. Her friend Tracey was sorted into Slytherin; she winked at Daphne when she got off the stool. After a few more students were sorted, her moment came.
"Greengrass, Daphne"
Daphne stepped forward, grabbed the sorting hat, and sat on the stool with as much grace as she could muster. She placed the hat on her head, making sure not to mess up her hair. In that moment, her anxiety had peaked again. This was the start of a journey and she was committed to making her family proud. The Greengrass family had a history of wealth and political power that she would inherit when the time came, but it was her matrilineal line that fed into her dreams and she had resolved to be the one to fulfill Morgaine's quest.
"Well, there is little doubt as to where you belong," a voice whispered in her head. "Some would scoff at your ambitions, but they don't have the Sight. Yes, if someone has a chance at reopening the Mists, then surely it is you. Make sure you do not lose yourself in a tunnel, my dear girl. Sometimes, the sure path to one's objectives is neither obvious nor straightforward. You will do great things in…"
"Slytherin!"
Daphne smiled, took off the hat, and headed straight towards Tracey, who was making a show of clapping louder than the rest of the Slytherin table. She sat between her friend and Bulstrode; Crabbe and Goyle were on the opposite bench.
"Fancy seeing you here," Tracey said.
"How could I not grace this table with my presence?"
"I thought you destined for Godric's house," Tracey grinned.
"I'll ignore that comment."
With her attention back onto the sorting, she was unsurprised when Jones, Longbottom, Macmillan, Malfoy, Nott, and Parkinson were sorted into the expected houses. She thought the most interesting sorting thus far was that of the Patil twins. Padma and Parvati were quite different in personality so their being split up was not unexpected, but she did not foresee that the latter would be sorted into Gryffindor. From what she recalled, most Patils were sorted into Ravenclaw and Slytherin. She wondered if Parvati's friendship with Parkinson would survive in spite of the house rivalry.
"Potter, Harry."
There was an outbreak of whispers. Daphne was surprised when the boy she had spotted earlier walked to the stool with an air of nonchalance, until the hat was on his head. Then, his eyes widened and flashed with interest.
"So that's Potter?" Tracey whispered. "He's doomed to end up with the lions, isn't he?"
"Can you imagine the reaction if he joined our house?" one of the older Slytherins said.
"The lions would be horrified," Parkinson said. "Not that I'd want a half-blood like him in our house."
"Keep quiet with those type of comments, Parkinson," an older year girl with a prefect badge replied. Tracey and a couple of Slytherins close by had frowned at Parkinson's remark. "You're in the Great Hall, not the damn common room."
A minute ticked by and Potter ignored the increasingly speculative hall of students. Daphne wondered what the hat could possibly be discussing with him to elicit such a trance. She reflected on the strange vision: Potter had provoked her brief venture with the Sight. The one image that stood out was the misty waters, which could only be the entrance to Avalon. Potter was connected, somehow, and unfortunately, it was unlikely that that a Gryffindor would be receptive to polite conversation with a Slytherin.
"Ravenclaw!"
It was the moment of shocked silence, then shattered by enthusiastic applause from the Ravenclaw table, that allowed Daphne to process what had just happened. The hat had sorted Potter into a house other than Gryffindor. The Slytherin table spoke of the development with undisguised interest.
"Look across the hall," Tracey said with glee.
Indeed, the Gryffindors were stupefied. Two redheaded boys in particular were crying rather theatrically on their neighbors' shoulders. They had likely been waiting for this moment, the glory of having 'the boy who lived' join their house, like most of the Potters had before him. Not much was known of Harry Potter; he had disappeared since that famous night and it was common knowledge that Dumbledore had taken him under his protection. One look at the headmaster showed that he too was stunned, before he schooled his face and clapped with a fervor that seemed oddly dignified.
"Well, maybe he's not so bad after all," Malfoy said, ignoring Parkinson's glare. "I think I saw him sharing a compartment with Zabini earlier on the train. I'd have introduced myself if I'd known he was Potter."
In that moment, as she watched the Ravenclaws greet Potter, she decided to keep an eye on him. Perhaps he didn't warrant such interest, but she could not deny that her Sight had reacted to his presence, even if the details of her vision were becoming more elusive to her memory. Still, she had more important goals than to follow a boy around – she had to investigate the castle's magic and see if she could do anything to alleviate her suffering. This seemed a much more fitting task for a servant of the Mother Goddess; she must not forget her duty to Avalon.
