Chapter Two: The Griffin Diary
In a small home nestled in one of Toronto's magical neighborhoods, Giles Onasi hummed a tune under his breath as he occupied himself with setting the pages of the Toronto Oracle on fire, one by one. Even with his duties at the 12th Division, the currently suspended Auror was getting very, very bored. Sergeant Gamboli had no idea that his two oddball detectives were suspended from their other division, so their 12th Division schedule had remained the same in spite of their punishment.
That left Giles with far too much free time and nothing to do but read the Oracle and brood over how the situation had reached this point. As the last parchment roll curled and smoked, Onasi scowled heavily. It wasn't fair that two kids who'd never done anything wrong were being targeted for their gifts. Wasn't fair that those same kids now had to hide and keep their heads down for fear of ending up in the hands of the Unspeakables.
But life wasn't fair – that was, Giles reflected ruefully, a lesson he should've learned by now. The wizard slumped in his chair, trying, as he had many times over the past week, to figure out a way for the Calvins to rejoin the wizarding world without being lynched. Unfortunately, the only solution he'd come up with so far was time travel and making sure their secret stayed intact – not exactly a viable long-term solution, even if, in some wild fantasy world, it worked.
Idly, the Auror wondered if he shouldn't call Roy up and ask if he wanted to go over to the range; though Giles was much more skilled than when he'd first started using his techie firearm, he knew perfectly well that he could always improve. A tapping on his window brought the wizard's head around with a fresh frown.
Most of the time, anyone sending him mail sent it to Auror Division Headquarters; it was simpler and easier, since most of his mail concerned his job in some way, not to mention his 'public' address was fake. There was also the fact that in the wake of Morgana's death, he'd paid the goblins top Galleon for wards on his home against anything and everything malicious. Spells, potions, the odd idiot who tried a ritual cursing. At the time, he'd been praying and hoping against hope that Dustil would be found alive, but as the days and weeks ticked by, he'd realized. Dustil was never coming home and all his precautions – not to mention the wards – had been for nothing. But by then, his address had already been 'changed' and the goblin wards had been in place, which naturally included protection against any sort of cursed mail.
As a bonus, the goblins had included a spell that would alert the Auror to any mail which was cursed, allowing him to identify who had sent it. Purely out of a sense of vindictive glee, the few times he had gotten cursed mail, he'd marked it 'return to sender' and made sure to be around to watch the resulting chaos. It had not taken long for the criminal world at large to get the message and his mail had dropped off to almost nothing.
Reluctantly, Giles put out the fire consuming the last few bits of the Oracle and sauntered over to his window, opening it up and stepping back as a snowy owl swept inside, a bulky package tied to its talons. The owl landed on the nearby perch for visiting owls and extended its leg with an imperious clack of its beak.
Giles freed the package from the owl's leg and opened it up, curious. A note slipped free from the pages of an archaic-looking journal and Onasi snagged it, his eyes narrowing as he turned the small page over to read it.
"Auror Giles Onasi,
Contained within this package is a copy of a diary written by Godric Gryffindor; a diary kept within his family and out of sight for such a time as this. I believe you will find its entries make for quite interesting reading. Included for your reading advantage is a bookmark, one I trust you will find useful.
A Concerned Third Party"
Onasi blinked, tilting his head to the side before he shrugged and opened up the rest of the package, pulling out the diary. He looked up, then around; the owl was gone. The Auror detoured to his kitchen for a bottle of butterbeer, then made himself comfortable in his favorite armchair to read the mystery diary.
On the front of the diary a griffin rampant stood tall and proud, the rampant gold against the red cover of the book. The bookmark was about a third of the way through the tome; Giles flipped the diary open and reached for the bookmark so he could start at the diary's beginning, only to pause as his eyes snagged on a name: Tristan Conté.
Barely a week into the new school year, Godric Gryffindor was alerted by Hogwarts' outer wards to the arrival of an unexpected guest. The redheaded wizard stopped in his tracks, a considering look in deep green eyes. After a moment, Godric, in between his classes, swept down the stairs to Hogwarts' entry hall and out the front doors to see a rider approaching. His mount was lathered with sweat; as the horse pulled up, Godric could see its sides heaving. The rider was scarcely any better as he tumbled from the saddle.
"My Lord Gryffindor," the man gasped, "I bring tidings from His Majesty, Cináed mac Maíl Choluim (1). A nearby village has been destroyed."
"His Majesty wishes our aid?" Godric inquired, a frown appearing on his face. Surely his distant cousin had not forgotten that, by the King's own Royal Writ, the Earldom of Hogsmeade was neutral in all matters concerning the many kingdoms dotting the land.
"No, my lord," the messenger averred at once, pulling a folded letter from his mount's saddlebags. With a bow, the exhausted man presented the letter to Gryffindor.
Godric took the letter and informed the messenger, "Our stables are back down the path and on your left. Helga should be finished with her classes by now; you may leave your mount with her and the house-elves will see to your needs. I will speak with you once I have read the King's letter."
"Thank you, my lord," the messenger replied, bowing again before he tugged his mount after him and departed.
Alone again, Godric opened the letter, noting that the letter was an official proclamation rather than simply a letter.
"To the Earl of Hogsmeade,
Greetings.
Whereas the town of Owlshollow has been destroyed by persons unknown.
And Whereas the rolls of Hogwarts, furnished to the Crown, reveal several of non-magical origin hailing from Owlshollow in current attendance.
And Whereas the town Owlshollow is suspected of having been attacked by persons magical.
Therefore, Let it be known that I, Cináed mac Maíl Choluim, formally request that the Earl of Hogsmeade inform his affected students of the destruction of their hometown.
Further, Let it be known that the Earldom of Hogsmeade is charged with investigating the ruins of Owlshollow to confirm or refute suspicions of an attack upon the residents of that town by persons magical.
Set by my hand and command, the 7th day of September, in the Year of Our Lord 976.
Cináed mac Maíl Choluim"
Godric drew in a deep breath and went to find Salazar. They had work to do.
With the King's Royal Proclamation in hand, the two wizards had no trouble gaining entry to the once bustling town of Owlshollow. Neither wizard permitted himself to react to the devastation around them; the town had been burned to the ground with the slain residents still inside their homes.
Godric felt a chill of foreboding as he surveyed the first few houses and noted clear evidence that the fires had been magically set; no ordinary fire started at all four corners of a building simultaneously and Godric could find no signs that a more mundane fire-starter had been used.
Beside him, Salazar was ashen at the destruction, his silver eyes glittering with outrage and old pain; though Godric hadn't known beforehand how Owlshollow had been destroyed, he felt guilty for bringing Salazar with him…into this.
"If you apologize, I will hex you," Salazar abruptly announced, not even looking at Godric as his wand flicked in a diagnostic pattern. Godric swallowed his words down, guilt warring with admiration for his raven-haired friend's refusal to let his memories slow him down for long. Silver glanced back. "I read the Proclamation, too, Godric; the King said nothing of how Owlshollow was destroyed, therefore, we did not know. And also therefore, you have nothing to apologize for."
Godric let the subject drop, well aware that Salazar had his back up and was likely to react…poorly…to his well-meaning concern. Instead, Godric turned his attention back to the village, searching in vain for any tracks that might belong to the monsters who'd attacked a quiet, innocent little town.
The wind, normally brisk and sharp in this part of the country, was almost nonexistent, as though the tragedy around them had reduced the gusts to a hushed, respectful silence. Halfway through the town, as Salazar knelt to inspect the outside of one house's last remaining wall, two soldiers emerged from a side alley, weapons drawn.
Godric immediately moved to block them, his own sword lifting partway out of its sheath in warning. "Hail and well met," he greeted the pair, recognizing their tabards as ones belonging to the king of a nearby country.
One of them scowled. "Conté send you to see what a fine mess 'e made?"
A scarlet brow lifted. "Conté?"
The other soldier tugged his friend back when the man bristled. "Cor, Edwin, the King of Scotland sent them. They're on our side." It took a moment, but Edwin backed down and his calmer companion filled the two wizards in. "No one survived here, but it's the third village they've destroyed."
"The third?" Salazar demanded, horror in his voice as he looked up from his inspection.
Both soldiers nodded. "No one knows for sure, but there was one 'un who survived in the first town and he claims he saw Tristan Conté, leadin' the attack."
"And who is this Tristan Conté?" Godric inquired.
The surly soldier looked away with a snort. "As if you two don't know."
Salazar opened his mouth, but stopped at Godric's upraised hand. Then Godric got in the soldier's face, growling each word. "Hear me and hear me well, stripling. Any fiend who would slaughter women and children in their beds deserves no quarter, nor shall he get it from us. Moreover, the fiend who committed this treachery…"
Godric's voice shook and Salazar spoke up, his own voice icy where Godric's had been heated. "To trap innocents in their homes and burn them to the ground is beyond the pale." Godric jerked around, his eyes wide with horror, both for the victims and for the memories this was surely evoking in his friend.
"On my honor," Salazar hissed, almost slipping into Parseltongue, "The beasts who did this will be brought to justice, one way or another."
"And mine as well," Godric swore, before pinning both soldiers with a stern look. "Explain, if you can, why this man Tristan Conté would do such a thing."
Godric was surprised at his distant cousin's prompt response to his inquiry, enclosed with his report that Owlshollow had certainly been the victim of a magical attack. He took the letter to his quarters and opened it at once, eager to learn more of this mysterious Conté.
"Cousin,
I am more relieved than I can say at your quick acceptance of my request that you investigate the ruins of Owlshollow. Truly, I have heard whispers of late that the Earldom of Hogsmeade is becoming a threat to my rule in spite of your oaths of neutrality. I did not believe, but I had to be sure, thus my decree that you and yours investigate.
Godric scowled heavily. As if he and his friends would endanger Hogwarts and forsake every last sacrifice it had taken to open the school in the first place.
I see from your inquiry that the same name that has reached my ears has reached yours as well. How matters not, but if we are to deal with this threat, Cousin, you must know all. You may share this knowledge with your fellows, but no more.
Tristan Conté appeared in the Court of a neighboring kingdom shortly after you renounced your place in the line of succession in return for my Writ concerning your Earldom. By all accounts, he presented himself in Court as a humble man of some means; he was well-spoken and highly intelligent. In short order, it was established within the Court that he was a descendant of royalty; what country he hails from is not known. Naturally, the nobles were delighted to have a former royal amongst their ranks and some prevailed upon the king to grant Conté a permanent place at Court.
Had his ascension begun and ended there, it would scarce matter to me, but Conté slowly worked his way higher and higher within the Court, until he was an advisor to the king in all but title. It was then that more of his heritage was revealed: he claimed to be a descendant of the First Ruling Line in his home country and demanded honor and respect as such. The king he served offered a small tract of land and an Earldom, but Conté was not content with what he considered a 'demeaning' offer.
It then came to light that Conté had also worked his way into an identical position of strength within another kingdom; one more distant, but no less formidable. With his treachery exposed, the kings of both kingdoms united to drive Conté out. He and his retinue fled with the knights at their heels and Conté has not been seen since. It was believed for many years that Conté had died at the hands of the knights who pursued him, but after the first village was destroyed, I sent messages to all my people, demanding answers.
Cousin, Tristan Conté is not dead and now he seeks to destroy what he was denied. Only today, messengers arrived from the two kings he tricked, with word that Conté has demanded their thrones in 'recompense' for their attempt on his life. For so long as they refuse, Conté will destroy one village or town a month, until their populations clamor for a new ruler.
Should Conté gain the thrones he seeks, his attention will turn to other kingdoms and, eventually, to Hogwarts. Neutral you may be, Cousin, but I beg you, do not turn me aside in this matter. Bring Conté to justice, Cousin, for all our sakes.
Cináed mac Maíl Choluim"
Godric cursed Conté as he and Salazar inspected the massive pyre in the latest village to be attacked. As with the other villages, every man, woman, and child had been slain, but in this village, Conté's men had dragged the villagers from their homes and lashed them to the pyre that the two wizards stood in front of.
"And so, it begins," Salazar murmured, detachment in his voice. Godric turned, arching a brow in question. "How long, Godric, before the people clamor for another Purge? The kings will have no choice; they cannot allow such atrocities in their lands lest the people rebel."
"Then we must hurry," Godric replied, kneeling down and inspecting the tracks left by the attackers.
"Don't bother," Salazar hissed, earning a querying look from his friend. "They're using the Old Religion, Godric."
Godric groaned in realization. "No wonder you were so frustrated in Owlshollow, Salazar."
"Quite," Salazar deadpanned. "We cannot track these monsters solely with spells, Godric; the Old Religion obscures and blots out their magical signatures. Search the town; they left most of the buildings intact this time and there may be places where they left enough of themselves that I can use the Lost Soul Potion."
The redheaded Godric frowned, uncertain if the Lost Soul Potion was up to tracking a potentially large amount of men, all of whom did not want to be found. Even so, he had no other ideas and they could not allow these attacks to continue.
Giles lowered the diary, his eyes wide. This…was everything he'd wondered about since hearing the bare bones of the tale from Heir Calvin. The beginnings of a millennium-long grudge against Wild Magic and those who wielded it. But reading the account as both a cop and an Auror – not to mention as a part-time member of Team One – Onasi could see that Tristan Conté, despite his unique brand of magic, was just like any of the other Dark Lords throughout history. Jealous of those 'above' him, coveting power, and willing to do whatever he had to do to get that power.
Slowly, Giles put the diary down and went to find himself something stronger to drink. He was going to need it.
Author note: Credit to dunuelos' "Lone Traveler: Professor of Defense" for the idea that Hogwarts is legally enjoined from rebelling against the Crown and, in exchange for being neutral, is, quite literally, its own little fiefdom. Also credit to Izzyaro's "Strange Visitors From Another Century" for Salazar Slytherin's back story, which I've already hinted at.
[1] Kenneth II, King of Scotland from 971 AD to 995 AD