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A House for each Founder; each with their own virtues, each created after their own image and likeness. Godric, proud and brave, valued those who would not coward against anything, who would lay down their own lives to defend their ideals. Rowena, ever the intellectual, sought for her House those of great wits and who desired knowledge above all. Helga, the kindest of them all, wanted for a place in which all could be accepted and regarded as family. And Salazar, the most misunderstood of them all, sought for the survival of his own, as he considered those times to be a very dangerous period for the Wizarding Kind.

Most of the time, thanks to the Sorting Hat and the magic he wielded, the sorting of a student was a most adequate one. However, on a few occasions, he made a mistake. People are as interesting as they are complex, grey like a clouded sky. To read them, that he could do. To know how they would turn out, that he could not. And children suffered because of his mistakes. At first, in the Medieval Age, the chance to move to another House was a forbidden thing, as it would mean an insult to the beloved Founders. However, there came a brave and kind witch by the name of Dilys Derwent, one of the most celebrated Headteachers ever, who saw to put an end to this.

As of today, not many have chosen to change Houses, but the fact one student ever felt the need, it makes it worth it.

'Hogwarts, a history', chapter 103.


Chapter 7 - At last, sincerity

Normality made an act of presence after the eventful first two days of the week.

Just as Daphne had theorised, Malfoy found no reason to annoy him after his talk with Snape. Because of that, the two rivals found themselves in some kind of stalemate—to ignore each other every time they crossed looks was all they did. It felt like a gift from Merlin himself, Ron reckoned. Also, the classes were getting more and more interesting as the days went by. Still, the highlight of the week came on Wednesday.

As every other morning, breakfast took place in the Great Hall when the owls stormed inside through the main entrance. Harry, much to his surprise, received a very strange package, one of long and thin shape. He tried to hide it from those curious eyes, but, of course, Malfoy felt the need to stand up and make a scene. Needless to say that it backfired on him. It turned out that Harry's package was a brand new Nimbus. It made sense given what Ron knew, but this was the moment when Hogwarts learnt about Harry's promotion to Gryffindor's seeker.

Obviously, Ron felt very happy for his friend, however, what really made his week was to see the shock on Malfoy's face as he strode back to the Slytherin table. It was such the giddiness Ron felt that Blaise felt the need to elbow him in the ribs; it made his snickering stop, yet briefly.

Despite that, such a happy moment felt like an old memory. Today, on a warm and sunny Saturday, Ron would meet his parents to talk about his sorting. It was, with no hint of doubt, the most nervous he'd ever been. Where the hell is Percy? Ron cursed for the hundredth time. He should already be here!

Percy was supposed to help him prepare the reunion; as much as possible, that's it. He was, perhaps, the wisest person Ron knew, but also, he was the only brother who could understand him and his reasons.

Just then, as Ron was about to lose his head for good, the classroom's door was almost yanked out of its hooks by a sweaty Percy. "I'm sorry for being late," he managed to say between ragged breaths, trying to loosen up his tie in order to breathe a bit better. "I had some Prefect duty to cover, and it came out of nowhere. I swear the twins are gonna kill me one of these days because of all the work they give me with their damn jokes…"

"Don't worry, Perce," Ron said, even though he'd worried a lot about it. "It isn't as if I got anything to do but wait."

"So, you are going to meet with Mum and Dad, right?" Percy asked, sending his younger brother a sympathetic look. "Well, I'd be nervous too if I were in your place."

Ron gulped down a knot in his throat for the hundredth time in the last hour. "H-How do you reckon I should approach them?" he asked. "I know they will ask me to choose another House, but I want to remain a Slytherin. I'm starting to find my place here after some rough weeks, and I quite like the friends I met." He nodded to those words, as if to give them more power. "They aren't as I first pictured them, Percy. Sure, Blaise is selfish and puts himself above all else, whereas Daphne is as arrogant and proud as anyone can be, but still I like them."

Ron had the impression those two believed in Blood Supremacy, although faintly. It would be a long way, indeed, but it wasn't as if the Hat hadn't warned him.

"I'm glad you've found people you can trust, Ron," Percy smiled. "I have only crossed a few words with them, but they seem like good company. In fact, I think this should be your main weapon against our parents. As you know very well, Mum is gonna be the hardest to convince, but children are her weakness. Remind them what they taught us all, Ron: to never judge someone without knowing their story, to be fair to everyone until proven otherwise. Use that to show them you have not changed, to show them that you still value the way we were raised despite being sorted into Slytherin."

Ron stared at his brother, lost deep in thought but finally glimpsing a ray of hope. "Yes, that could work. Do you reckon it will be enough?" And here came the million-galleons question.

"No, I don't think it will," Percy said with a sigh. "However, it is the best argument you can bring to the table, more so if your words come from the bottom of your heart, as they did when you opened to the twins and I."

"I don't think I'm comfortable enough to tell that to Mum and Dad," Ron confessed. "With you three, I just got carried away and bursted out all my emotions. It wasn't something I had planned, just what my heart told me to do."

"It did not come out of nowhere," Percy said softly. "It was the way you had felt for many years, and the way it came out, so raw and with so much emotion, helped the twins realise it had really hurt you. I can imagine how hard it might be to open up to them, but I just cannot see another way for Mum to really understand how important this is for you. Be ready to use it as a last resource."

Just then, Ron started to fidget with his wand—a habit he'd developed whenever he felt nervous or anxious enough. "I guess you are right, as per usual," Ron sighed, defeated. "I'll do as you just said. I will blurt out everything if that's what I need to convince them."

Percy, however, had turned dead serious out of the blue. "From where did you get that wand, Ron?" he asked. Ron followed his brother's gaze, and then he understood his mistake. "Answer me, now."

I'm so stupid! None of them knew about Gerard and the wand he gifted me, and yet here I am, playing around with it. His family believed he'd hopped into the train with Charlie's old wand, which wasn't far from the truth. However, it now laid at the bottom of his vault, forgotten and dusty. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Oh, come on! This is Percy—if I can't trust him, I can't trust no one.

"It's a really long story," Ron finally said. "Hey, don't look at me like that, as if I was some sort of criminal! I did nothing wrong nor illegal, I swear. In fact, this wand was a gift from some old friend of Mum and Dad. He said he loved the uncles as if they shared blood."

Percy blinked at that, taken aback. "Tell me the whole story," he let out a deep sigh as he massaged his temples. Proof of how stressed he felt was the fact he had taken his glasses out. "And you better be right about not doing anything illegal to get it. Because if I think that you have crossed the line… Let's just say that convincing Mum and Dad will be the lesser of your worries…"


"And so, when I went to bed, all I could think about was my wand," Ron finished his tale. "One made for me alone, not another hand-me-down."

Percy took his time to speak, gaze set on his little brother. "I cannot believe you trusted some stranger you had just met," he said, incredulous. "That was very risky, Ron! You just cannot trust whoever comes to you with promises about valuable goods!"

"It wasn't some total stranger," Ron bit back. "I've already told you—he knew our entire family by name and looks. Besides, I only set my mind on his promise once he and Dad greeted one another. They talked to each other like old friends do, Percy."

"Still, it was very dangerous," Percy went on, "and unwise, too."

That did it.

"You would have done the same if you were in my place!" Ron bursted out. "For years, all I have ever wanted is to have my own wand, and you knew it! I never complained about all those worn out robes I received, nor about those tattered books or the splintered brooms! I have always known that we have struggled with money, and so, I never asked for anything but a wand… But I could not get it because Mum and Dad chose to buy you a bloody owl!"

Percy could but flinch, yet Ron did not care about his reaction. "So, don't you come at me with that crap of being careless! Because you would have done the same… Or maybe not, because the Hat was right about you, Percy! We are similar, but you never had the balls to take the hard decisions. No, you just take the easy way out and pray for everything to be okay, don't you?"

Ron finished his outburst with a ragged breath. Despite that, it only took him a moment to realise he had crossed the line, "I-I'm sorry, Percy!" he apologised with a trembling voice. "I-I did not mean what I said…"

"No, you did well speaking your mind about me," the older Weasley mused, gaze set on the floor. "It seems the Hat told you about my sorting, eh? Well, as painful as it is to say this, you are right—I don't know if I could have taken the choices you take. When I was told that my effort would be rewarded in such a way, I just lost myself in that euphoria and happiness. And the thought that such an expensive gift could not come without a sacrifice did not cross my mind. And it did not until this very moment, although I've had plenty of time to acknowledge it. I just turned a blind eye to your distress. For that, I am sorry."

"Percy…"

But the older Weasley had more to say, "I accept your apology, Ron, and now I ask you to accept mine." Percy then stood up, and he opened his arms widely, beckoning his younger brother to embrace him. "We've both been rather stupid in our own way, and stupid were some of the things we did… What about we learn from these mistakes and try to do better in the future, brother?"

It was in an awkward embrace that the two brothers got in, but one which felt extremely good.

"You've grown up, Ron," Percy said as he patted his brother's back in a proud way. "It fills me with joy to see how much you've matured in just a few weeks. Perhaps a change of environment was all you needed to make us understand how you really felt. I did write a letter to Mum and Dad, trying to convince them to trust you and your decisions. Even so, you are the only one who can make them change their opinion. Be yourself and speak your mind, that's the best advice I can give you."

"Thank you, Perce. This really means a lot…"

"However, there's one promise I want you to make me," Percy said as he squeezed both of Ron's shoulders. "Someday you will tell our parents the truth about your wand. Not right now, of course, but as soon as all the issues get fixed. Because they will."

"Yes, don't worry about that," Ron nodded. "I was going to do it regardless of what you just said. I don't like lying to them. To any of you, for the record. However, this was a secret I needed to keep for myself…"


And with this promise their meeting came to an end, and so Ron walked away from his older brother, ready to meet their parents. But he did it with a heavy heart and with a knot on his throat, since he was not ready for such an encounter.

It took him a while to reach the entrance to the Headmaster's Tower, which was guarded by two ugly gargoyles of grey, polished stone; and they moved aside to reveal a circular platform and a spiral staircase. Ron took a deep breath, trying to gather all amount of courage there was within him. Yet it all went away the moment his feet touched the platform, which lifted him upward.

It reached the top in the blink of an eye, and the door in front of him also opened by itself. He was welcomed into a large and colourful office, filled with plenty of magical instruments which made all kinds of loud and funny noises. There also were countless portraits hung all over the walls, and they belonged to the former Headmasters and Headmistress of Hogwarts, whose eyes took a keen interest in the boy; some showed curiosity, others annoyance and only a few slept through his entrance

"Please, excuse them for their lack of manners!" a voice startled the boy. It belonged to Albus Dumbledore himself, who smiled at Ron from the other end of the room. "They have spent many years with me as their only company. Naturally, your arrival would pull them out of their stupor!"

"H-Headmaster," Ron greeted nervously. "Are my parents here already?"

"They should be on their way!" the Headmaster replied. "I just wanted to share a few words with you before they came. If you fancy so, of course!"

Ron blinked at that. Wait a moment. Does Albus Dumbledore want to have a chat with me? "O-Of course not, Sir!" the redhead spluttered. "I-I don't have any problems with that!"

A wide grin appeared in the Great Sorcerer's face, "Take a seat, then. Do you fancy any kind of sweets? Perhaps a sherbert lemon? Toffee éclairs? I got plenty of them! Though I don't have any of Berttie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. I had a really bad experience with them when I was about your age."

What the hell? "No, thank you, Sir," Ron said instead as he sat on a very comfy and pillowed chair. "I'm good… Now, may I ask what you want to talk with me about?"

"I just wanted to know how you were doing in your first two weeks here. That's all. I was delighted to know that most Professors had nothing but wonderful things to say about you."

"Well, I'm really enjoying classes, more so now, after they got much more interesting. Especially Transfiguration and Charms. Yes, those are the ones I've enjoyed the most so far."

"And what about your house-mates? You all seemed to have a great time whenever my eyes fell upon your group."

It took Ron a bit of effort to find the adequate words, "Well, it was hard at the beginning; that's for sure. We were very different, and our opinions about many matters are still nothing alike. Even so, after these two weeks… I no longer think we are so different, all in truth."

It was a shooting glint which appeared in the Headmaster's eyes, "That's wonderful! For many years I've waited for someone to come here and try to fix this senseless rivalry between Houses. For so long that I couldn't believe the tale the Sorting Hat told me about you. I was incredibly surprised, but more so delighted!" He then stared at the warmth, which had yet to be lit up. "I'm afraid our conversation must come to an end. Your family is about to arrive, and I would not dare to intrude in your privacy."

Dumbledore bid the boy farewell with a playful wink, then he disappeared behind the large bookshelf at the back of his desk. Just then the warmth did roar alit, and the flames welcomed Molly and Arthur into Hogwarts.

Arthur greeted his son with an awkward yet full smile, whereas Molly… She threw herself into Ron, pulling the boy into a tight embrace. Which he returned after a few seconds of hesitation; not due to a lack of want, but because of how astonished he was.

"Oh, you can't imagine how much I've missed you!" Molly said; and her embrace tightened, if that was even possible. Then she broke it, hands still on his shoulders though with a much softer touch. "Are you okay? Are you eating enough? Merlin, you certainly look thinner… And how did the lectures go? Any problems with your house-mates?"

"I'm fine, Mum," Ron said with a widening smile. "I really am."

And the gleam within his mother's eyes sparkled, "So, it's true…" she mused in a low whisper. "Percy's letter, I mean. Your brother tried to calm us down, said that you were fine and that you've even come to make friends…"

"It's all true," Ron said with a shrug. "They are a fine lot, really. Tracey Davis, Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass… We've had our ups and downs, not gonna lie, but that made us stronger and more united. Or so I think."

"I'm glad to hear that," Arthur smiled. "However, I still need to ask you this: why? Your letter took us by surprise, Ronald. By any means did we expect to read that you've joined Slytherin. And that it was your choice… Was it because of something we did? Because of your wand, perhaps? Was it what made you change?"

For a moment he was taken aback. He'd come prepared to make them understand he had not changed, that his decision was not a rushed one and that he believed he could do good within Slytherin. But to hear the guilt in his father's voice? He was totally unprepared for that.

"I have not changed." Those words came out in a faint whisper, but it wasn't as if he needed to say them louder. Ron believed the message was strong enough. "To not have a wand of my own hurt me greatly, that's for sure, but I kinda got past it. But…" And here came the problem. So he followed his gut and spilt out all there was to say. "I have not changed, really. It's still me, the same Ron as always. I just realised that I wanted to be more than just another Weasley. That I did not want to live under the shadow of my brothers anymore. For that, I needed to do this. I needed to be sorted into Slytherin."

For a moment he was left perplexed and how easy it had been this time. Yet it was shortly shattered.

"But why Slytherin?" Molly asked, her hands no longer on his shoulders. "You know how they are… How they've been raised; their beliefs and traditions… You know what some of their fathers did to your uncles! Have you really forgotten all of that? Or, is it that you don't think like us anymore?" The rage within her words had died as they came out. What had started as a furious rambling had ended as a mere whimper; accompanied by watery eyes and trembling lips.

Do they really have so little faith in me? It was the first time Ron asked himself such a question, and he found no answer to it. None he liked, at least.

His face must have shown his hurt, because Arthur was quick to seize word. "Oh, it is not like that, Ron. We know you are still the very same boy who once loved to fall asleep by the creek's shore alongside his brothers. But… Why Slytherin? If you wanted to do something different, to take a path no other Weasley had taken, you could have chosen Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw."

"I chose what I thought was best for me," Ron said firmly. "I have not forgotten anything of what you taught me. This time, however, it's you two who are not being true to your principles—to our principles. It's funny, you know? Although it was my decision to get sorted into Slytherin, I still had plenty of doubts, and even then I did share your mentality. Obviously, there are plenty of vermin there; a bunch of spoiled children who'd always had it easy, their minds full of bigotry and nonsense. Even so, there's good people, too. Like my friends."

Never before had he spoken like that to his parents. Yet it was what his heart told the boy to do. And so he did. "If you have so little faith in me, please, don't worry. None of that bigotry has room in my mind. I will always believe the way you raised me; in the principles and morals you drummed into us all… All I ask is for a bit of faith…"

Now it was a tense, deep silence which made an act of presence. One which couldn't be broken by any of them. And the more it lasted, the hopeless it all seemed to Ron.

"I think you should listen to what Ronald has just said," a voice cut in. Three heads turned around to stare at no other but Albus Dumbledore himself. He carried a heavy book in his hands, and a faint smile on his face. "Excuse my intrusion, for it wasn't my intention, but I found myself with the irresistible need to read this great book. I'm old, you see, and it was long ago when I came to follow what my heart told me, no matter what it is. I have to make use of the time I have left."

He glimpsed at the book's cover, of a light-blue shade. "But once I heard such wise words spoken by a boy of eleven years of age, I just could not allow myself to remain silent. There has always been a great rivalry among Houses, a very unhealthy one, more so between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Mainly because of us, the adults. However, it's always the children who suffer it the most, and the breach gets larger and larger with each year. But then Ronald was sorted into Slytherin. He, a Weasley, hair as fiery and of freckled face as any other before him. Since then, and for the first time in many years, I've been hopeful that change can be accomplished. And not by us, but by the younger generations."

"Albus…" Molly mused. "So you approve of my son's decision? Do you think of it as wise? That he should remain a Slytherin?"

"I neither approve nor condemn it," the Headmaster observed. "This is not a decision which should be influenced by any word of mine. But now that you asked me," he then walked away, though his voice still reached their ears once he got out of sight, shielded by the large bookshelf behind his desk, "it must be due to my old age, but I really thrive to see a bit of change in Hogwarts. Perhaps the day has finally come…"

The Weasleys remained silent for a few seconds, each lost in their own thoughts.

And Arthur was who broke it. "I think we should let Ron stay in Slytherin, if that's what he really wants."

Ron turned around in search of his father's eyes, hopeful for the first time. Yet it was all quickly shattered as he took a look at his mother's face.

"How can you say that?" Molly said in a whisper. "Ronnie can't be in that snake's nest! You know better than I do the kind of people who are sorted into Slytherin. Children they might be, perhaps, but their heads are already full of bigotry and classist nonsense."

"I know, my dear," Arthur sighed. "But we won the War, and many things changed then. Maybe some of those children were raised to become the kind of people we fought against, but not all of them. I know their parents very well, and although vile and classists, they want their children to be different, to know another world but that which led them to follow their Lord. A child changes people, Molly, even the worst lot. You should know that better than anyone else."

Still she doubted, and still he pressed on. "Of course, I'm not saying those bastards changed at all in these years of peace. That will never happen, I'm afraid. Now, I believe children should not be judged by the sins their parents committed. A child has much to learn and much to live, and they can become great people in the future regardless of their upbring. And if our Ronnie helps them, wouldn't that be wonderful? Wouldn't that be what taught our children?"

And no word followed his speech, as both Ron and Molly could not come up with any way to support nor rebuke such a deep piece.

But it was far too beautiful to be true, he reckoned.

"I don't want him to be there," Molly said at last, though with far less firmness in her voice. "It's not how things are supposed to be… I… I need time to think about it." With that, she paced through the warmth and disappeared, engulfed by the flames.

She didn't look at me. Merely an observation at first, it became all Ron could think about then.

"Don't be too hard on her," Arthur said, eyes still set on the warmth. "Your mother is confused. She hates most of the pureblood families, and with a reason. This has not been easy for her."

"Neither was it for me," Ron replied. "All I ask is for you to have a bit of faith in me. Since I got sorted, I started to really appreciate the way you raised me. There are plenty of bigots in Slytherin, more than I care to count, but there's also good people. Spoiled brats, true enough, but not vile. I'm… I'm happy with the decision I took that day, and I stand by it. I'd love for you to trust and support me."

"And we do. That's why we won't ask for a re-sorting. You have my word." And the boy believed him. "However, you gotta make me one promise: that you will stay out of trouble. There's very dangerous people in Slytherin, son, and you should be wary of them."

"Thank you, Dad. I will do my best to make you proud."

They bid each other farewell with a tight embrace; one which shook the distress away from Ron's shoulders. Then Arthur handed him a letter from Ginny when he was about to step into the warmth. "She's been very lonely since you all left," he said, "but your letter made her very happy. She wrote the reply herself."

Arthur disappeared as Ron glanced at the envelope—written there was his sister's name, though with very poor and rounded strokes. It was enough to make him smile. Well, at last I'm free. And it feels so damn good! He waited for the Headmaster to appear, or to hear a word from him. But he was met with silence.

And so he took his leave with a smile on his face.


Later that day, Ron rested under the shadow of a tall oak, atop of a hill with great views to the Lake. It had become his favourite spot in Hogwarts. More so when in need of solitude, as such a moment was.

There, he laid back on the grass with his eyes closed as he enjoyed the cool breeze; it wasn't a cold one yet, but enough to pull his robes tightly around his body. And the sun still shone tall and proud in the sky, and its bright beams did wonder to his mood.

"I told you he would be here," a voice then said from afar, accompanied by the muffled sound of footsteps over the grassy carpet. "He always comes here when he's upset."

Great, it seems that I now have a club of fans. He'd recognised their voices, and so he didn't bother to open his eyes until they took a seat around him. "How's that, Blaise?" Ron said as he opened his eyes at last. "Do you like me so much? I'm blushing here, you know?"

"Shut up," Blaise replied with a groan. "It was Tracey's idea to come here, in your search. I wanted to wait in the common room, you see, but I was outvoted. By the way, it was Nott who told me about this spot."

Too mighty to take a joke, ha! Ron smirked to himself, yet briefly, for his eyes soon fell upon Tracey. "Why were you so impatient? I was going to tell you guys as soon as I went back to the common room."

"Well, yeah, but you did not come back, so…" the brunette mused. "How did it go? You don't look very upset, so… It didn't go so bad, I suppose?"

"You could say so," Ron said with a shrug. "It was different from what I expected, definitely. Now, whether it went better or worse… That's something that I will know in the future."

"But you aren't getting re-sorted, are you?" The need behind her question made Ron sit up in surprise. And when he searched for her eyes, she avoided him.

"I'm not going anywhere. No matter what my parents think of me or my choice." He finally said, trying to ease her with a cheeky grin. "What would you do without me?"

"Not wasting my time here, on a Saturday afternoon," Daphne cut in, coldly yet with the hint of a smile. "But I liked what you just said, that about not letting your parents decide for you just because they do not share your opinion."

"It's a bit ironic to hear those words coming out of your mouth," Blaise pointed out, his brow raised to the skies.

His remark made Daphne blush, and she felt the need to defend herself. "He can do that. His family does not work like ours. Besides, my parents would never dare to pull that on me. More so if I was performing as well as he's done. Surely, they would feel proud of me."

"As much as I try," Ron took the word for himself, "I just can't understand the way you think. It blows my mind how weird your traditions and the relationships with your families are."

"If so, don't try to understand them," Daphne bit back. "It's what I do with yours."

Ron was about to reply with a not-so refined comment about her pureblood antics, but Tracey beat him to it. "Why don't we go back to the castle? We could grab a snack for Ron and then explore the castle! Or we could play chess together. Blaise said he wanted to get better at it."

"I'm in," the redhead sighed, allowing the matter to die before he could regret it. "If Blaise wants to practise, then I'll offer myself to destroy him a few quick games."

"Where was that confidence yesterday, I wonder," Daphne smirked in a way only she could pull out, so proud and cheeky. "If I remember well enough, I beat you three times out of four."

"Well, maybe, but I was tired," Ron grunted as he stood up. He was followed by his three friends, who all stared at him with amused features. "Eh, don't you bloody laugh at me! I was tired. And suffering from a headache, too!"

They laughed, even Blaise, as their way back to the castle began. It was then when Ron accepted that, perhaps, his day had gone a lot better than he thought it would.


"Try again," Elend ordered coldly.

Alexander stood up from the ground, an enraged look on his face. There was mud and sand all over his robes and face, and plenty of scratches and mild cuts of which none bleed anymore. And with a good reason, for he had underperformed in their weekly training session.

The boy took his stance—left leg shifted forward to support most of his weight and wand, clutched in his right hand, in front of his body to protect it. "I'm ready," he announced.

And he started with a weak stunner, if it could be considered as so, followed by some other curses and hexes of simple nature. Elend dodged them easily, stepping through them with the confidence of a man who had done it countless times before. He could close his eyes to make a point, but he decided not to. It would hurt the boy's pride a lot.

Alexander did not lack talent nor determination, but he was far too young to accomplish anything at all; simple as that. A few months shy from turning twelve, he needed to voice out all the incantations. There was nothing he could do to make up to his lack of experience, knowledge and his yet not matured magical core.

Elend decided to close the distance between them. A wooden chair came flying towards him, which he dodged with a simple sidestep, and then shoved his left hand forward. A streak of wind was born from it, so powerful it sent Alexander rolling backwards again and again.

About to command the boy to stand up once again, Elend was surprised by his short temper. Still kneeling on the floor, Alexander's wand was lit ablaze. A fast, bright curse rocketed towards the pureblood lord—a Blasting Curse. And he just slapped it into bright sparks. Not bad at all.

"Enough for today," Elend said instead as he walked toward his son. The boy laid on the sandy ground, totally exhausted as he tried to regain his breath. "You did a good job today. But you need to control your emotions. They fuel magic the most, for the better and the worse. If you lose your temper and allow them to control you, you're dead."

He offered the boy a hand, which he took after a few seconds of hesitation.

"I tried, really," Alexander mused, now back on his feet. "But I just lost it after you used me to wipe the floor for the twentieth time today. Wonder why…"

Elend groaned at his son's sarcasm, for there was no better proof of his weakness of mind. But instead of voicing out his thoughts, he went for a kinder approach, "Also, you really need to stop relying so much on your wand. Magic is everywhere, and it's everything. Ours to take, ours to use."

"Easy to say when you can cast any spell with no need to use your wand," Alexander bit back. "All I can do without a wand is to cast some weak flames. If I cannot touch you with my wand, then what am I supposed to do without it?"

"You said it yourself," Elend said patiently. "Fire is the easiest form of magic for you. Use it." He let out a deep sigh when his son's face did not lose an ounce of frown. "Remember what I taught you. Magic is but energy, manifested in many ways and forms. It comes from us, but also from nature. It comes from the metals the wizards from the Ancient Times used, the Allomancy. It comes from the trees the great wandmakers use in their craft. But that energy is greatly manifested in the Four Elements; both in quality and quantity. Now, there are people who were born with a Talent to dominate them, known as Hidromancers, Pyromancers and the likes. We do not belong to that group. But we are better, for we draw no limits to our skills."

"Fire, Water, Wind and Earth," Alexander recited. "Fire is best for violence, for its uncontrollable nature is drawn to chaos. Water is best to protect, for it feels the need to balance with fire. Wind is best for moving, for its nature is one free and unruled. And Earth is best at balance, yet also the hardest to control."

Elend nodded to those words, happy that his many lectures had not gone to waste. Yet all traces of rage had now disappeared from Alexander's face, now replaced by doubt and curiosity. "Speak your mind," Elend told him.

"Last week, Professor Smith talked to us about the Elements," the boy explained. "It was but a basic introduction. Useful to those new to our world, yet a waste of time for me. But that changed when a certain question was brought up by my friend Killian—were Light and Darkness also an Element? Could they be used as magic?"

"That is, indeed, the debate of the century," Elend replied sourly. "Kyle Smith is a fantastic wizard. A man I came to respect long ago. However, he has always been very close-minded. He is one of the many who still thinks magic can be divided into Dark Arts and Light Arts. That is just not correct. Light and Darkness are but two of magic's properties, present in every aspect of it. Take Water as an example—there's Light in it, for it is the founder of all life, but there is also Darkness, for it can drown one if not controlled."

"So, you think all those debates about what can be considered Dark Arts or not are useless?"

"Basically, yes. There are very, very few things I would consider as pure Dark Arts. Most of those forms of magic which people consider as Dark Arts are but magic used with a foul purpose. Take this in mind and remember it for the rest of your life—it is always one's intention which gives meaning to magic. Always."

Alexander nodded, yet he remained curious and in need of answers, "And what about the wand? You keep saying that I need to not rely so much on it. Yet that's what everyone has done since they were created. Now, I get your point that I need to vary my skill repertoire, father, as it's quite a poor one. However, I do not understand such focus on the matter."

This has turned into a theoretical lesson. Yet Elend did not cut his son's wings and supplied him with all the information he sought.

"In the end, it all comes to our magical core, as it is what allows us to manipulate the energy magic is. Or it should come to that, at least. Ages ago, in the Ancient Times, our kindred did not have wands, so they used their bodies, or even other sources such as certain metals or woods, as conductors. As of today, that is the role of a wand. To facilitate the flow of magic so our body does not suffer the full burden of it. But we have become weaker, used to such facilities, to such perfect tools. Despite all of this, there are several downsides."

"Such as the lack of power?" Alexander ventured. "It's something I read a few months ago, in some book of those you gave me."

"Kind of. All in truth, our magic has benefited a lot from the creation of wands. Not only in terms of efficiency, but of power, as the energy is canalised though a far more efficient conductor. However, there are plenty of spells which cannot be casted through a wand, for their demand of magic is such that a larger conductor is needed. Which is our body. Such magic is far mightier in terms of raw power, but it is also far more demanding and dangerous. More so to someone who has never used his body as a conductor before. Because of that and many more reasons, a good wizard should never rely on his wand too much. It is but just another tool."

And to show his point Elend did extend his arm forward. Suddenly it was set ablaze, flames dancing through his forearm and hand. Soon enough, a blazing arm-sword was born.

"There is also this," he explained under his son's awed eyes. "Had I used my wand to do this, it would have been far easier, and far less dangerous. But then, I would have lost my best weapon, and such a handicap could be fatal in a fight. The more repertory you have, the better wizard you will become. Then, once you have mastered every art there is to master, you will have the chance to choose what style to choose. If one ruled by power and bursts of magic through a larger conductor, or one ruled by control and technique through the use of a wand."

"That's so cool," the boy mused. "Say, if I promise to work even harder, will you teach me this form of magic?"

"I give you my word," Elend said with a faint smile. Just then he did cast away the flames, thus the sword disappeared. There was no trace of the blue silk his sleeves had worn, unfortunately. "But you must be patient, for it will take you years to prepare your body for this. Even to perform the most basic of spells wandlessly is a tough feat to accomplish for a boy of your age."

"If it's possible, then I will do it. I don't care how hard it is."

Like father, like son, Elend thought fondly. Fathership had been a tough thing for him, and he had doubted every of the choices he had taken. How to approach his son; how to speak to him; when to be firm and when to be soft; when to punish him, when to give him a hug. Their relationship was not the closest one, or so he had discovered when comparing it to those of many he knew. Many tears on Alexander's behalf, many headaches and doubts on his.

Yet the pride he felt at times like this, it could not be compared to anything.

"We are finished for today," the lord announced. "You did fine, and I am proud of you. Rest well, as tomorrow you will travel back to Ilvermorny at first light." His words were met by a nod of his. Then he left the chamber.

Elend observed his son until he disappeared through the door, then he turned around and said, "Speak your mind, my old friend."

"Perhaps you shouldn't be so harsh on the boy." Crude and direct those words were, just the same as the man who uttered them.

Nathan Miller stood under the door's frame, where the torches' light was barely able to shed light upon his burly figure. A full head taller than Elend and way more muscled, time seemed to be a useless thing against his fifty years of age. In fact, his short hair and beard, still as brown and unruled as decades ago, gave him the look of a grizzly bear.

It was not the look one would expect from the Head of Security of a Great House. But one could not change such a man, as one could not change the growing of a tree. And for many decades, Nathan had been the most sought-after mercenary in America. Until Elend bought his services for life during the Great War, that was it. Now he stood as one of his most trusted servants. As one of the most important men within the Great House of Shawn.

"Your girl is also attending Ilvermorny, isn't she?" Elend asked back.

"Yes," the man nodded. "She's enjoying it so far, from what she's told me. But this idle chat is not why I came here. Let's not beat around the bush anymore, my lord. Your men are ready, for whatever you need them."

"For whatever I may ask of them?"

"Again you seek an answer you already know," Nathan huffed. "You know your men very well. Those who are here for the money, they will do it. I'm the one keeping them in check, after all. And those sons from lesser lords who owe you a favour, well, they will obey until the first spell is fired. Most of them will think that whatever favour they owe is not worthy of risking their lives. Can't expect more from them, I'm afraid."

"I will deal with those later." To pay a visit to those lesser lords was a task he often delegated to a subordinate of his. Not this time, it seemed. "For now, I want our most trusted men to collaborate with Shana the Fifth. And for you, my old friend, I have a very special task. I want you to track down Jin the Stranger. I want to know every one of his moves and the reason behind them."

It was not a delighted look which Nathan sent him. "That's something I cannot do, Elend. It clearly breaks the premises we both signed in my contract."

"What premises?" Elend demanded. "I bought your services for life. I gave you far more than you ever dreamed you would have. In exchange, all I asked of you was loyalty and results. To assume the command of my men and to carry out whichever task was entrusted to you."

"We agreed you wouldn't ask me to risk my life unnecessarily. Going after Jin the Stranger is but wishing for an early grave."

Elend let out a tired sigh, and beckoned Nathan to follow him. They walked out the training hall, into its large balcony. The picture which welcomed them was a beautiful one, as the clouds seemed to be of fire, painted by the hiding sun of the dusk. It felt like a rainy night.

"You are the only man to whom I may entrust this task." Elend leaned into the stone handrail, and took delight in the dusk. For how pretty it was, it could not warm him enough. "My best soldier, and one of my few friends. I would not do this to you unless it was not necessary."

Nathan chose to stand back, a few steps away from him. "So, that serious, eh?" he sighed in resignation. "I trust your judgement, Elend. I will do it. However, I want to know the full picture—the whys and the whens and the hows. In the past, I might have accepted this task with no regard for my own life. But things have changed. I now have someone to look after. And I love her very much. If you want me to give my all, you better give me a good damn reason to fight for."

"All I am trying to do is to prevent a war before it starts. You were there in the last one, when Voldemort tried to take over the world. We must not allow, under any circumstances, for another monster to be born. I will not allow it."