Fic: "Chalice" for hilarita
Title: Chalice
Author: sporkyadrasteia
Recipient's name: hilarita, who asked for a historical fic
Rating: PG-13, at the most
Character(s): mainly OC's with canon characters sprinkled within.
Warnings: History-warping! :D
Author's notes: Much thanks to my beta, who prefers to remain anonymous. I certainly hope the style here makes sense!
In trouble, are you?
Oh. I see.
Oh, I’m sure. You’ll be fine. You’re not the first one who’s been here for getting across his Age Line. I just saw those lovely beards of those Weasley twins. Did you?
Yes, yes, a chance for glory. Happens to the best of people. I understand. You couldn’t be harshly punished for this.
Well, if you had gotten your slip into the Goblet of Fire, you could have been selected.
It’s a very smart cup, indeed.
Where did it come from, you ask? That’s an interesting question.
*****
If there’s one book I hate, it’s Hogwarts: A History. It was published after my time, but I’ve heard it quoted enough around my portrait to realize that is the true pinnacle of shoddy research and redundant obviousness (inability to Apparate on school grounds and all).
You’ve read it? Did you happen to pick up on the subtle biases?
Yes, well. They are subtle. Anyway, it is written in a very authoritative manner, but never mentions how I found the Goblet of Fire, does it?
Oh, don’t look at me like that. Of course, I did. Nobody mentions me anymore; I’ve got a nice alternate perch in the Ministry, but I’m nothing to, say, Everard snoozing over there. Unfair, don’t you think?
Ah....It’s quite a fascinating story, you see. The Goblet was in fact, in some respect, stolen.
*****
My parents were rather fond of travel.
It is unfortunate that I was stricken with the same affliction.
Being a staff member at Hogwarts of course dampened my ability to travel abroad often, so I actively researched and read instead.
During my readings, I had come across an account of a mysterious Africa kingdom which was solely made of witches and wizards-something like Hogsmeade-in which the magical technology was advanced beyond measure and the level of civilization was unbelievable.
Now the empire of Mali, expanding itself within the African continent, had begun to take over and was infringing upon the territory of this kingdom, Azima, and the citizens were going into hiding. Magic, after all, has always been sought after... and persecuted.
It was a small kingdom, yes, but had proud, secretive royals. There was a curious ceremony too, in which determined princes competed with each other, chosen by a cup of flames.
You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?
*****
Well, it so happened that the kingdom collapsed, disappeared, as it was raided. The people were sold into captivity. I like to believe that the royals, prioritized among them, had a few tricks up their sleeves.
Quite literally.
*****
He spat at the floor of the ship.
My life for a pittance of gold.
His power stripped, his honors robbed, his body shackled.
And now this.
Afolabi was smarter than others like him. He hid his powers, his lifetouch, as they called it back in his own country. He kept his one keepsake safely out of their sight.
If all went well, he will soon find a way out of this place and back to his noble family and his home.
*****
The events after this are unclear. Records speak of a heart failure, a body dropped into dark waters below as the ship continued onto its voyage to the Caribbean plantations. The report remarks the incident as "an unfortunate accident” before digressing to the Captain’s dinner menu.
Curiously, all records seem to omit mention of the ship doctor, a certain Connor Burke.
It seems that only he noticed that a tiny vial of poison was stuck into the poor man’s hip.
If my theory is correct, there must have been another jealous prince on board.
*****
Richard Burke, the young apprentice to his father’s shop watched them whisper excitedly. His uncle had found something interesting, no doubt, as the two men sport expressions of glee. As for Richard, this was a happy moment as he thought of the revenue received for the unidentifiable article.
Richard had been dreaming of new shoes as of late.
*****
I don’t know how long Borgin and Burkes kept the Goblet of Fire in their possession. They didn’t realize it for what it was perhaps, but they certainly understood that it was valuable, no matter how worn or crude it looked in appearance.
I’m sure the periodical blue flames informed them of that.
*****
He tried to gesture the sprightly old wizard to the other curiosities ("Wouldn’t you like to buy this lovely opal necklace for your wife?"), but the stranger laughed and shook his head.
Richard laughed back, a weak, false echo, and hastily guided the man to the less "family-oriented" of his ware.
The man chuckled again. "I’m not interested in buying weapons, son."
"Then, what exactly would you like to see today, my good sir?" Richard finally asked, steeping his tone with impatience.
"I was hoping to see some exotic artifacts... if you have them."
It was a challenge as the man quirked his brow. Richard, now skilled in the arts of flattery and gratification, wore his servile smile once more.
"Why, yes, we do, sir."
He opened the dusty case and watched the man’s eyes light up as they surveyed the contents.
*****
In truth, Professor Milchwick thought as he Apparated back to Hogsmeade for his Transfiguration class, it was hefty price for a coarse, if unusual, type of paperweight.
Of course, he couldn’t wait to boast about it to his colleagues.
*****
Professor Clark sighed between the mountains of papers, all in preparation.
Preparation.
In truth, he was convinced that he already felt more fatigued than his future Hogwarts representative would during the coming year’s Triwizard Tournament (had it been in his power, he would have easily discontinued the rigged, biased competition had not more authoritative voices mentioned “international magical cooperation” and “tradition”).
In his mind, it was all stupid. He was tired of the deceit, tired of the nagging parents lining their children to be the next star pupil of Hogwarts.
*****
“Taken up an interest in African art, have you?” I’d asked.
“I couldn’t help myself, Professor Clark,” he had replied.
We both grinned.
“It’s quite rough, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“The ceremonial cup. I’ve read about it. It’s a very good replica of the traditional royal battlecup that the wizards use there. Very heavy on mysticism, those people. I wonder how you came upon such a piece.”
“I took a little detour to Borgin and Burkes that other day....”
“Ah. I see. Could I borrow it by any chance?”
Grover Milchwick smiled back at me. “Only if you do not break it when giving it back.”
“I shall try my best,” I replied, winking at my good friend.
*****
Sometimes I wondered if I was truly more of a Slytherin than a respectable Ravenclaw. I was far too suspicious, too sly.
Or perhaps, I mused as I retired to my office, I was just a bit more observant, able to notice the barely-visible hieroglyphs carved into the base of the cup.
A champion will be crowned.
I remembered the stories, of course. The festivals of light and heat, dances and dares, each challenge deadlier than the last. Participants chosen on merit and true ability.
Princes were locked in a duel for the throne for each generation, until the throne itself was usurped by the Emperor of Mali. From there, the records stop, no hint of the cup’s location as the royals were absorbed into the prisoners.
But that did not concern me. I had a new idea for this wonderful cup.
*****
To put it lightly, Professor Milchwick was quite miffed.
"I buy this lovely paperweight for my office and you want to steal it to use it a stupid tournament?!" he had shouted at me.
My lips had thinned arguments of "the greater good" and "impartiality" bubbling in my throat.
*****
"What do you think?"
From the other side of the room, Professor Milchwick let out a feeble sigh, defeated. Professor Clark ignored him.
"Vell..."
"I think... I think zis is good. Zis will be fair, non? Is ze goblet reliable?"
"I should think so, Madame Rousseau. And what about you, Alexandros?"
"I think it vill be good to have an impartial judge too."
"Well,” Clark crossed his arms, “that’s it, then."
*****
I had hoped that Hogwarts, A History would describe the first Triwizard Tournament in which the Goblet of Fire was featured in great detail, describing how the headmasters of the three schools had placed strong enchantments on the Goblet, how the champions were chosen, how I, Headmaster Clark, had nearly burnt his finger off in his attempt to extinguish the flames from the Goblet.
But from where this magical phenomenon originated, the book makes no note. It is quite an oddity indeed, buried away under layers and layers of facts.
Dumbledore wouldn’t have known, had I not told him. No one would have.
You say it’s irrelevant?
So does everyone else.
That doesn’t bother me.
What upsets me is that we are too willing to exploit for our own needs. We are too willing to forgive ourselves to perform "for the greater good", so to speak.
You should be condemning me, after all, for failing to return the Goblet of Fire.
Instead, we continue to use it for the Triwizard Tournament.
You say we couldn’t have returned it to a people who didn’t exist?
Such is the powerful reality of situation.
Voldemort, after all, came in here for a few petty offenses, just like you.
Oh, Professor Dumbledore must be here.
Author: sporkyadrasteia
Recipient's name: hilarita, who asked for a historical fic
Rating: PG-13, at the most
Character(s): mainly OC's with canon characters sprinkled within.
Warnings: History-warping! :D
Author's notes: Much thanks to my beta, who prefers to remain anonymous. I certainly hope the style here makes sense!
In trouble, are you?
Oh. I see.
Oh, I’m sure. You’ll be fine. You’re not the first one who’s been here for getting across his Age Line. I just saw those lovely beards of those Weasley twins. Did you?
Yes, yes, a chance for glory. Happens to the best of people. I understand. You couldn’t be harshly punished for this.
Well, if you had gotten your slip into the Goblet of Fire, you could have been selected.
It’s a very smart cup, indeed.
Where did it come from, you ask? That’s an interesting question.
*****
If there’s one book I hate, it’s Hogwarts: A History. It was published after my time, but I’ve heard it quoted enough around my portrait to realize that is the true pinnacle of shoddy research and redundant obviousness (inability to Apparate on school grounds and all).
You’ve read it? Did you happen to pick up on the subtle biases?
Yes, well. They are subtle. Anyway, it is written in a very authoritative manner, but never mentions how I found the Goblet of Fire, does it?
Oh, don’t look at me like that. Of course, I did. Nobody mentions me anymore; I’ve got a nice alternate perch in the Ministry, but I’m nothing to, say, Everard snoozing over there. Unfair, don’t you think?
Ah....It’s quite a fascinating story, you see. The Goblet was in fact, in some respect, stolen.
*****
My parents were rather fond of travel.
It is unfortunate that I was stricken with the same affliction.
Being a staff member at Hogwarts of course dampened my ability to travel abroad often, so I actively researched and read instead.
During my readings, I had come across an account of a mysterious Africa kingdom which was solely made of witches and wizards-something like Hogsmeade-in which the magical technology was advanced beyond measure and the level of civilization was unbelievable.
Now the empire of Mali, expanding itself within the African continent, had begun to take over and was infringing upon the territory of this kingdom, Azima, and the citizens were going into hiding. Magic, after all, has always been sought after... and persecuted.
It was a small kingdom, yes, but had proud, secretive royals. There was a curious ceremony too, in which determined princes competed with each other, chosen by a cup of flames.
You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?
*****
Well, it so happened that the kingdom collapsed, disappeared, as it was raided. The people were sold into captivity. I like to believe that the royals, prioritized among them, had a few tricks up their sleeves.
Quite literally.
*****
He spat at the floor of the ship.
My life for a pittance of gold.
His power stripped, his honors robbed, his body shackled.
And now this.
Afolabi was smarter than others like him. He hid his powers, his lifetouch, as they called it back in his own country. He kept his one keepsake safely out of their sight.
If all went well, he will soon find a way out of this place and back to his noble family and his home.
*****
The events after this are unclear. Records speak of a heart failure, a body dropped into dark waters below as the ship continued onto its voyage to the Caribbean plantations. The report remarks the incident as "an unfortunate accident” before digressing to the Captain’s dinner menu.
Curiously, all records seem to omit mention of the ship doctor, a certain Connor Burke.
It seems that only he noticed that a tiny vial of poison was stuck into the poor man’s hip.
If my theory is correct, there must have been another jealous prince on board.
*****
Richard Burke, the young apprentice to his father’s shop watched them whisper excitedly. His uncle had found something interesting, no doubt, as the two men sport expressions of glee. As for Richard, this was a happy moment as he thought of the revenue received for the unidentifiable article.
Richard had been dreaming of new shoes as of late.
*****
I don’t know how long Borgin and Burkes kept the Goblet of Fire in their possession. They didn’t realize it for what it was perhaps, but they certainly understood that it was valuable, no matter how worn or crude it looked in appearance.
I’m sure the periodical blue flames informed them of that.
*****
He tried to gesture the sprightly old wizard to the other curiosities ("Wouldn’t you like to buy this lovely opal necklace for your wife?"), but the stranger laughed and shook his head.
Richard laughed back, a weak, false echo, and hastily guided the man to the less "family-oriented" of his ware.
The man chuckled again. "I’m not interested in buying weapons, son."
"Then, what exactly would you like to see today, my good sir?" Richard finally asked, steeping his tone with impatience.
"I was hoping to see some exotic artifacts... if you have them."
It was a challenge as the man quirked his brow. Richard, now skilled in the arts of flattery and gratification, wore his servile smile once more.
"Why, yes, we do, sir."
He opened the dusty case and watched the man’s eyes light up as they surveyed the contents.
*****
In truth, Professor Milchwick thought as he Apparated back to Hogsmeade for his Transfiguration class, it was hefty price for a coarse, if unusual, type of paperweight.
Of course, he couldn’t wait to boast about it to his colleagues.
*****
Professor Clark sighed between the mountains of papers, all in preparation.
Preparation.
In truth, he was convinced that he already felt more fatigued than his future Hogwarts representative would during the coming year’s Triwizard Tournament (had it been in his power, he would have easily discontinued the rigged, biased competition had not more authoritative voices mentioned “international magical cooperation” and “tradition”).
In his mind, it was all stupid. He was tired of the deceit, tired of the nagging parents lining their children to be the next star pupil of Hogwarts.
*****
“Taken up an interest in African art, have you?” I’d asked.
“I couldn’t help myself, Professor Clark,” he had replied.
We both grinned.
“It’s quite rough, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“The ceremonial cup. I’ve read about it. It’s a very good replica of the traditional royal battlecup that the wizards use there. Very heavy on mysticism, those people. I wonder how you came upon such a piece.”
“I took a little detour to Borgin and Burkes that other day....”
“Ah. I see. Could I borrow it by any chance?”
Grover Milchwick smiled back at me. “Only if you do not break it when giving it back.”
“I shall try my best,” I replied, winking at my good friend.
*****
Sometimes I wondered if I was truly more of a Slytherin than a respectable Ravenclaw. I was far too suspicious, too sly.
Or perhaps, I mused as I retired to my office, I was just a bit more observant, able to notice the barely-visible hieroglyphs carved into the base of the cup.
A champion will be crowned.
I remembered the stories, of course. The festivals of light and heat, dances and dares, each challenge deadlier than the last. Participants chosen on merit and true ability.
Princes were locked in a duel for the throne for each generation, until the throne itself was usurped by the Emperor of Mali. From there, the records stop, no hint of the cup’s location as the royals were absorbed into the prisoners.
But that did not concern me. I had a new idea for this wonderful cup.
*****
To put it lightly, Professor Milchwick was quite miffed.
"I buy this lovely paperweight for my office and you want to steal it to use it a stupid tournament?!" he had shouted at me.
My lips had thinned arguments of "the greater good" and "impartiality" bubbling in my throat.
*****
"What do you think?"
From the other side of the room, Professor Milchwick let out a feeble sigh, defeated. Professor Clark ignored him.
"Vell..."
"I think... I think zis is good. Zis will be fair, non? Is ze goblet reliable?"
"I should think so, Madame Rousseau. And what about you, Alexandros?"
"I think it vill be good to have an impartial judge too."
"Well,” Clark crossed his arms, “that’s it, then."
*****
I had hoped that Hogwarts, A History would describe the first Triwizard Tournament in which the Goblet of Fire was featured in great detail, describing how the headmasters of the three schools had placed strong enchantments on the Goblet, how the champions were chosen, how I, Headmaster Clark, had nearly burnt his finger off in his attempt to extinguish the flames from the Goblet.
But from where this magical phenomenon originated, the book makes no note. It is quite an oddity indeed, buried away under layers and layers of facts.
Dumbledore wouldn’t have known, had I not told him. No one would have.
You say it’s irrelevant?
So does everyone else.
That doesn’t bother me.
What upsets me is that we are too willing to exploit for our own needs. We are too willing to forgive ourselves to perform "for the greater good", so to speak.
You should be condemning me, after all, for failing to return the Goblet of Fire.
Instead, we continue to use it for the Triwizard Tournament.
You say we couldn’t have returned it to a people who didn’t exist?
Such is the powerful reality of situation.
Voldemort, after all, came in here for a few petty offenses, just like you.
Oh, Professor Dumbledore must be here.