Springfic: "The Friar's Calling (1/2)" for fpb
Title: The Friar's Calling (1/2)
Author: Chthonya
Recipient: fpb
Characters: The Fat Friar (pre-ghost), Sir Cadogan (pre-portrait), famous witches Ignatia Wildsmith and Bridget Wenlock, one or two historical characters and a few recognisable ancestors.
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 5,135 of 12,895
Warnings (highlight to view): Erm... length? ;)
Summary: Long before the Statute of Secrecy, when Kings still sought counsel from wizards and scholars debated magic at the great centres of learning, England seethed as her nobles struggled to check the power of the King - and one young friar found his new path taking an unexpected turn.
Author's Notes: fpb, thank-you for giving me a free rein; given your interests, I hope you enjoy this tale of the Fat Friar. I have been acutely aware that you are far more qualified than I to write it, and I ask you to forgive any errors. Thank-you also to the mods for combining kindness and humour with superb organisation, and for thereby doing so much to promote genfic. Finally, thank-you to the fandom heroes who maintain the Lexicon; I could not have written this story without it.
Betas: The ever-awesome C
The Friar's Calling
Part One: Oxford
Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.
Matthew 5 v 16
"Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem,
factorem caeliet terrae, visibilium omnium et invisibilium."
Brother Thomas murmured the words in time with the priest, his heart swelling with awe at the majesty of God and His works.
"Et in unum Dominum Iesum Christum,
Filium Dei unigenitum
ex Patre natum ante omnia saecula."
He closed his eyes, to better sense the presence of Jesus, who had called St Francis to rebuild His Church and whom Brother Thomas had vowed to follow faithfully for the rest of his life.
"Deum de Deo, Lumen de Lumine..."
His soul soared with the words, glorying in the light of Christ.
"...Deum verum de Deo vero, genitum non factum, consubstantialem Patri;
per quem omnia facta sunt..."
His recitation faltered: the priest had fallen silent.
Across the church, somebody screamed.
Our knowledge of our history in those times is fragmented, as much reliance was placed on records held by Muggle libraries, which were purged after the enaction of the Statute of Secrecy in 1692. However, we may be reasonably certain that the man who came to be known simply as 'The Fat Friar' was first brought to the attention of the Wizards' Council in the year 1231.
Hogwarts: A History
The twilight was scented with herbs and new leaves and the other, less pleasant, smells ubiquitous to all but the most wind-freshened towns. Brother Thomas breathed in the air and the blessed tranquility: only here among his beloved plants was he free from gaping stares or muttered suspicions. He bent down and picked a primrose leaf, crushing it between his fingers. Carefully prepared, it would ease pain and guard against skin blemishes - but he knew it would take all his faith to guard against the blemish on his soul.
He had done penance for the disruption in the church; he had been glad to do so. But he had gained little balm from his confessor, for he did not understand what had happened. All he could remember was the Creed and his joy in communion with his God. Had he been wrong, then, to lose himself thus? Was it prideful, to dare to approach the Lord so completely? Or had the unearthly light his fellows had seen around him been a miracle, a gift from God? And in that case, how could he possibly avoid the sin of pride?
Something rustled in front of him. He stared into the darkness. A man appeared, as though he had always been there and the darkness had merely slipped away like the folds of a cloak. Or a man it would have been, with a thatch of dark hair and a fine red tunic, had he not been illuminated by a faint glow that seemed to come from within.
Thomas fell to his knees, hardly daring to breathe.
"An angel," he gasped. "But I am not worthy..."
To his left, somebody laughed. "Angel? Not likely!"
A second figure, as fair as the first was dark, appeared from behind a tree. The lamp he uncovered cast its light on his companion, who was now wearing a most unangelic expression of amusement.
"Honestly, Will!" said the fair one. "Did I not tell you that was a poor idea?"
'Will' grinned. "But a fine reaction, you must admit."
His friend rolled his eyes. "Next time we're knocking on the door, cloak or no cloak."
Thomas blushed in the darkness, and scrambled to his feet. He had been foolish; he must have imagined the glow on the dark one's skin. He was still unsettled by his experience in the church, that was all. And these two had no doubt heard the rumours and decided to make sport of him.
He edged towards a tree. There was a fine branch lying at its base that would serve him well if the two intruders had a more sinister intent.
The fair-haired man bowed to him. "Please forgive our manners, your grace, and allow us to present ourselves. My friend here is Sir William Peverell..."
"And this is Sir Leonius de Malfoi," the other finished with a bow of his own. "We are at your service."
"D-don't call me 'your grace'," said Thomas, his mind trying and failing to find a plausible explanation for how and why two of the strangest knights he had ever met had appeared in his herb garden. "I'm just a friar."
"A what?" Sir Leonius looked no less confused than Thomas.
"Never mind, Léo." Sir William turned back to Thomas. "But you're not just a- a 'fryer?' You're a wizard!"
"How dare you! I am a faithful servant of the Lord Jesus Christ! I do not practice sorceries; I never have, and I never will!"
The two knights looked at each other; evidently, this was not quite the reaction they had anticipated.
Sir William held up his hands. "Forgive me; I meant no offence. And I would never accuse you of doing dark magic-"
"All magic is evil!" Thomas clutched at the small cross that hung from his neck.
Sir Leonius went very still. "What did you say?"
"Léo." Sir William put a hand on his friend's arm. Sir Leonius shook it off.
"So am I evil because I can do this?" He made a strange movement with his hand, and a ball of white light, the size of a duck's egg, appeared above his palm. "Are you damned because you have the power to do it too? Because from what we've heard, you seem to have demonstrated that ability to half of Oxford last week!"
Thomas stepped back, eyes wide with terror.
"Léo!"
This time Sir Leonius listened. The light popped out of existence. Thomas backed away, still holding his cross.
"Wait! Sir! Er... Brother Thomas."
"Go away."
"You don't need to be afraid of it," said Sir William. "That's why we came - to tell you that you can learn to control it."
"I want nothing to do with 'it' or you," said Thomas, his voice firm with resolve. "Leave me in peace!"
Sir Leonius gaped at him. "You really want to walk away? How can you not want that power? Think of all the good you could do!"
Thomas wrenched the cross from his neck. "Do not tempt me, Satan!" He pointed at Sir Leonius. "By the power of Christ, begone!"
Sir Leonius stumbled backwards, landing hard in a bed of sage. Thomas stared for a moment. Then he fled down the path.
Sir William grinned down at his fallen friend.
"Well. That was fairly conclusive, would you not agree?"
Now the preacher stands as a father to those he teaches, for he casts the seeds of the Word out of which they may be given life in Christ. And he is at the same time their mother, for he devotes the affection of his love to the minds of those he teaches...
Robert Grosseteste, 1168-1253
The city of Oxford has ever presented a graceful face to the world, but this evening its beauty was lost on Brother Thomas. A summons to see the Master of Students was not to be taken lightly, particularly when one had - however inadvertently - set the whole town in an uproar.
His tentative knock having been answered with a command to enter, Thomas was surprised to see that Master Robert already had a visitor. But as he made to withdraw, he was beckoned in with a warm smile.
"Welcome, Brother Thomas." Master Robert turned to his other visitor, who was toasting his toes by the fire. "John, may I present Brother Thomas, one of my most promising students." He waved Thomas to a vacant chair. "Thomas, this is my old friend, Master John Selwyn. He believes he can help you with your current predicament."
Thomas sat, peering curiously at Master John. He was sure he had not seen him before; with his red hair and beard both dramatically streaked with grey, his was not a face to be forgotten. He must be a visiting scholar, then: a foreign one, by the unfamiliar cut of his scholar's robe. Possibly he was an acquaintance from Master Robert's studies in Paris.
"I must start with an apology, Brother Thomas," said John. "I am told you had an encounter with two of my colleagues a few days ago. They far exceeded their instructions, and I am most sorry for the intrusion."
Thomas stared. The only people he had seen since that day in the church - saving his brother friars, his teacher and the steady stream of gawkers he had glimpsed through the gate - were the soi-disant knights in his herb garden.
Master Robert smiled encouragement at him. "Could you tell John what happened in the garden?"
Thomas looked at his feet. He tried to avoid thinking about that night, but his trust in his teacher lent him the courage to remember.
"I was just checking the plants," he said. "And they... suddenly they were there. I don't know how; the gate had been locked for hours. They must have got over the wall somehow." He clasped his hands tightly together.
"And then?" prompted Master Robert.
"They accused me of sorcery," Thomas admitted. "I told them they were wrong, and one of them-" His voice trailed away. "But I told them to leave, and one of them fell over, and I came back inside and barred the door."
Master John leaned forward in his chair. "One of them fell, you say? He gave me to believe he had been pushed."
"I never touched him!"
"He told me that also."
Thomas gazed into the fire, as if it could burn away the memory and his anguish with it.
"You have nothing to fear, Thomas," said Master Robert. "Master John has heard many tales far stranger than the one you told me. Would you allow me to continue?"
Thomas nodded, still staring into the flames. Master Robert took up his tale. "Brother Thomas told me that your young man offered him magical powers, at which he panicked and commanded the tempter to leave, invoking the name of Christ. But-" His voice shook slightly. "But he said that then he felt a strange power move within him, reaching out to strike. And then the young man was lying on the ground."
Thomas closed his eyes. Could he ever do enough penance for that act? In seeking to repel Satan, he had instead allowed the Dark One to strike through him.
He felt a hand on his arm. He looked up to see Master John, concern etched into every line of his face. "Do not worry, Brother Thomas," John said. "Sir Leonius suffered no harm. And you need not fear for your soul. Gifts such as yours, when newly awoken, often manifest in unexpected ways. When you have learned to control them you will no longer risk hurting yourself or others."
Thomas flinched away. "I don't want to control them! I want rid of them!"
Master John sighed. "They are a gift from God, Brother Thomas. Would you reject that?"
Thomas did not reply. He had little to do with magic, and had strenuously ignored rumours that his father employed a wise woman to invoke favourable winds for his merchant ships. Witches and their works were rightly feared; they were known to cause milk to sour and crops to fail, or to strike good men with the curse of impotence. And this man dared to say that supernatural powers were of God! It screamed blasphemy, yet Master Robert claimed Master John as an old friend. Had his Superior been wrong then, to appoint Master Robert to teach theology to the friars?
Master John slapped the arms of his chair. "You tell him, Robert!"
Master Robert leaned forward to poke the fire. "I trust that you are sincere in your belief, John, and you surely know more of this than I do. And yet... seeking knowledge is one thing. But sometimes you trespass on the Creator's role, and that is more than I would dare."
"You could say the same of the master mason, or the farmer who selects which animals to breed," Master John retorted. "And, like them, I will have to answer for my choices in the end." He looked at Thomas and Master Robert in turn. "You know that I would not lead Brother Thomas into evil. And he will be less likely to take himself down that path if he can understand and control his magic."
This stirred Thomas to speech. "I have done no magic!"
Master John snorted. "Half of Oxford says you have."
"All I did was say the Creed!"
"It seems that you focussed on light, and in doing so filled the church with it," said Master John. "What say you, Robert?"
Master Robert smiled. "You know of my interest in light," he said. "You may well imagine that I've pondered this at length. Was God displaying magic, when He brought forth light, and from it called the world into being? Light, I could accept as a sign from God. But the other thing... that, I suspect, is more in your area of expertise than mine. Perhaps the two are unrelated..."
"But with one coming so soon upon the other, I doubt it," said Master John. "It would be better all around for Brother Thomas to come to me, and you know it."
"I would be sorry to lose him," said Master Robert. "He is a diligent student and the desire to serve burns bright in his heart."
Master John turned to Thomas, who had resumed his study of the leaping flames. "You will be able to serve all the more, Brother Thomas, once you have learned not to fear what is within you. And perhaps you could do us a service, too: Master Robert tells me you have some skill as an apothecary?"
"My aunt taught me a little," Thomas replied warily. His father had never approved of his interest in his mother's family's trade, and he suspected it was partly to remove him from his aunt's influence that he had been sent to Oxford. For Thomas to take vows as a friar had definitely not been part of the plan, and he knew that this latest incident could only worsen his father's opinion of the worth of an Oxford education.
Master John, thankfully, did not share those views. "Well, then." He smiled. "We could use someone with the ability to brew simples and to tend the plants used to make them."
Thomas looked at Master Robert.
"Master John is Master of a School of Magic," Master Robert explained. "He proposes to offer you a place there."
"And you think I should go? I joined the Order to follow God and serve His people, not to learn sorcery."
"I, too, am wary of the magical arts," said Master Robert, "but Master John, I do trust. And there are many ways to serve God. Although in the end it is not up to me, nor to you either, as well you know."
Thomas nodded; he would go where his Superior told him to go. But how could he discuss this with Brother Agnellus?
"I suggest you lay the issue before the Lord in prayer," said Master Robert. "If you wish, we will talk on it further. I can speak to Brother Agnellus for you, if you would like."
Thomas rubbed his forehead, feeling suddenly weary. "Is it far, this school?" he asked.
"Yes," said Master John. "It is far to the north, just over two weeks' ride if the conditions are favourable. If you decide to make the journey, I would, of course, arrange for an escort. The school can be difficult for first-time visitors to find."
"In that case, I suggest you find someone other than his recent visitors," said Master Robert. "Brother Thomas likes to keep his feet on the ground."
Master John smiled. "Have no fear, Robert. I know just the man for the task."
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
Psalm 23 v 1-3
Brother Thomas had his doubts about the escort. At first, he had been relieved to see that his companion for the next couple of weeks matched his own short build; he had always felt slightly intimidated by the towering men-at-arms his father had employed. But now, as they jingled along yet another lonely track through yet another dark wood, he was inclined to wonder whether he would not, after all, have preferred someone with more than a mustard-seed's chance of intimidating any potential attackers.
"Have no fear, good Friar," cried the little knight, as Thomas peered into the shadows for the thousandth time. "What Master John's Charm cannot deter will not survive the skills of Sir Cadogan!"
"Master John's Charm? What mean you by that?" asked Thomas, declining to comment on Sir Cadogan's much vaunted and scantily evidenced skills.
"Master John is a great magician, and it is a great honour to be sworn to his service!" exclaimed Sir Cadogan.
Thomas waited.
"He cast an enchantment on these harnesses; unless we wish it otherwise, we will pass unseen and unheard."
Thomas barely stopped himself from dropping his reins. Instead, he felt the leather carefully, but could find nothing untoward about it. That unsettled him even more. To be able to hide under such an enchantment must surely endanger a man's soul! Thomas felt for the cross around his neck and resolved again to resist temptation.
Or had he already succumbed to it, having abandoned his calling to serve the poor in favour of this immersion in unholy arts? Master Robert had insisted that not all paths were laid by agents of good or ill, so that turning from one that was good did not necessarily mean that the other was evil. Also, he had assured Thomas that Master John was a good man who would ensure that the strange powers that had awoken within him did not lead him or others into harm. Thomas had prayed a silent vigil before the sacred presence in the friary church, and come to think that the recent events might be a sign that he was not, after all, destined to walk the path he had formerly embraced with all his heart. And so he had made his decision.
But still, he doubted.
First, Sir Cadogan had taken him south, to a small square just north of London's bridge. Here there was a market which, Sir Cadogan had explained, was frequented by traders in magical items. Despite himself, Thomas had been fascinated by the brightly coloured stalls, particularly that of the apothecary with its diverse range of herbs and roots both familiar and unfamiliar. But before he could enquire into the uses of some of the stranger substances, Sir Cadogan had drawn him into a shadowy doorway.
He had entered with some trepidation, as this was where he was to procure a wand. He had protested this necessity to Master John by letter, which Master Robert had contrived to send for him. A reply had come, impossibly quickly, in which the Master had explained that a wand was merely an instrument for focusing a person's magical ability and that, far from leading Thomas to do harm, it would be an essential tool for teaching him to avoid it.
Yet to Thomas, a wand sat ill with a monk's coarse robe and stout staff: a reluctance that the pale-eyed proprietor of the shop was quick to observe. Indeed, the wands themselves seemed to echo Thomas's aversion, as one after the other failed to evoke the signs for which Master Ollivander was attentively watching; several seemed almost to jump out of his hand of their own accord. At last, a short oak wand, which Master Ollivander claimed had a core of unicorn hair, responded with a small spark. So surprised was Thomas that he barely stopped himself from dropping it. Master Ollivander was quick to wrap it, press the parcel into his hands and bundle him out of the door, explaining that the Master of Hogwarts had arranged to pay for it as an advance on his apothecary's stipend.
Then, they travelled slowly north, spending the nights in simple inns or under the trees, wrapped in blankets that seemed to repel rain and dew by a means about which Thomas did not enquire. It was not the style of travel he had expected to adopt as a friar; he had not expected to mount a horse again after turning his back on his family's wealth, and every hoofprint seemed to bear him further away from the life of holy poverty he had envisaged for himself. But Sir Cadogan insisted that there was no time for Thomas to beg or work for food and shelter, and his knowledge of which inns served the finest ale went some way towards helping Thomas to adapt.
The ale in the city of York, when they reached it, proved to be warmer than the welcome. They chose to stay at an inn, as Thomas feared awkward questions had they imposed upon the newly established friary. But while the gold carried by Sir Cadogan procured them supper and a bed and the barest courtesy that went with them, it did not spare them sidelong glances or suspicious stares. The hostility abated somewhat after it was established that they were come from Oxford and bound for a destination far to the north, but they were glad to quit the city by the Bootham Bar the next morning.
That night, they prepared to camp under the stars. But scarcely had they sat down beside their small cooking-fire, when they heard a large animal crashing towards them.
"Will the Charm hide us from that?" Thomas whispered.
"I have no idea, my fine young friar!" exclaimed the knight. "But I have no intention of putting it to the test!"
And with that, he heaved his sword from its scabbard and boldly faced the direction of the noise.
Thomas cast an eye over the nearby trees. He judged one or two to be climbable, but he reluctantly reached for his staff.
"Stand fast, you scurvy cur!" roared Sir Cadogan.
Amazingly, this appeared to have some effect. Certainly, the ominous sound of snapping branches had ceased.
Thomas moved to stand beside Sir Cadogan. A dishevelled man peered back at them, running a sooty hand over his sweaty brow.
"Fire!" shouted the stranger, pointing wildly behind him. "Fire at the Netherthorpe!"
"Fire, you say?" Sir Cadogan lowered his sword. "Where, my good man?"
"That way!" shrieked the man. "Down the hill and across the ford."
Sir Cadogan sheathed his sword, turning to Thomas. "What are you waiting for?" he cried. "There may be innocents in need of aid!"
The wild-looking man made to rush away into the woods. Thomas barred his escape with his staff. "And where are you going?"
The man stared at him for a moment. Then, "To get help, man. To get help!"
"But who are...?" But the man had dodged around the friar and his staff, and was gone.
Sir Cadogan was already thrashing through the woods in the direction the man had indicated. Thomas sighed, then smothered the fire, hurriedly packed their pots and led the two horses after him.
There was a fire; the stranger had been telling the truth about that. The night was filled with the frenzied bellowing of beasts running amok. Thomas arrived just as the barn roof collapsed in a swarm of sparks, leaving the walls a dark silhouette against the inferno within. Thomas carefully tethered the horses a safe distance away and ran forward to help.
A large man, soot and sweat running mingled down his face, blocked his path. "There's nowt to be done there," he said in an accent that Thomas could decipher only with difficulty. "May as well let it burn itself out."
"But is anyone hurt? Is the Lord of this estate not here?"
"Him? Not likely." The man spat on the ground. "He's one of them Romans. Never even set foot in the place."
"Are you in charge, then? I have some salves with me that work well against burns."
The man eyed him from toe to tonsure. "Come on then."
Thomas spent the next hour tending to those who had battled the fire; fortunately, none had sustained more than minor burns. Sir Cadogan, disappointed to find that there was, after all, no one in need of rescue, had unstrapped his sword and was scurrying around the fields after some oxen that the oxherds claimed had bolted. Eventually he returned, empty-handed but wearing a glow of satisfaction nonetheless.
They spent the night in the ploughman's hut, and continued on their way the next morning. But barely had they reached the woods when a slight figure clad in leather armour stepped out in front of them.
"Cadogan," he drawled. "What brings you here?"
Sir Cadogan flushed, but drew himself up to his full, albeit hardly imposing, height. "I am escorting Brother Thomas here to Hogwarts, as I am sure you well know, Sir William." He turned to Thomas. "Brother Thomas, may I present-"
"We've met," said Thomas and Sir William at once, for indeed it was the very same Sir William as had invaded his herb garden two months previous. Evidently, those with magical gifts were immune from Master John's charm of concealment.
Sir William grinned. "So, Brother Thomas, you decided to come after all? Congratulations."
"We shall see," said Thomas, who remained to be convinced that it was a matter for congratulation.
"And what brings you here?" asked Sir Cadogan.
Sir William leaned against a tree. "Special assignment for the Wizards' Council," he said languidly. "A special secret assignment."
Sir Cadogan rolled his eyes. "Well, I have an assignment of my own, so if you have no desire to speak to us, we shall be on our way."
"Oh, I never said I did not wish to speak to you," said Sir William. "You were at that farm whose barn was burned last night. Do you know who holds it?"
"Some Roman who has never so much as visited the place," said Thomas.
"I thought as much." He turned to Sir Cadogan. "Did you happen to notice any signs that the fire was magical in origin?"
"No," said Sir Cadogan. "We were too busy helping to save livestock and tend burns to stand around noticing things."
Sir William pursed his lips. "Have you, by chance, happened on any other burning farms in the area?"
"No. Why should-"
"You will be aware, though, that this is not the first such attack on properties that send revenue to Rome?"
Thomas blinked. "Are you saying that what we saw last night is part of a plot... a protest against Romans being appointed to English benefices?"
"More to do with the fact that the Pope is using them to siphon off England's wealth without providing the care of souls that they are supposed to support," said Sir William. "But you seem to know a lot about it."
"My teacher at Oxford oft spoke against it," explained Thomas. "And one could hardly live in Oxford and not be aware of the resentment at the King's preference for foreign advisors. And, too, my father was a merchant; it paid to follow such disputes as could threaten trade."
"And what do you think of it?"
"Hold on, Sir William," said Sir Cadogan. "If you dare to accuse Brother Thomas of involvement in this plot, you will have to answer to me!"
"I think I shall manage to sleep undisturbed." Sir William looked at them both in turn. "The Wizards' Council suspects magical involvement in this latest unrest. So it sent me to investigate, and I found... you."
"This is ridiculous!" Sir Cadogan protested. "You know I cannot-"
"Oh, nobody suspects you, Sir Cadogan."
"Are you seriously suggesting that I..." Thomas gaped. "You dare to question my honour?"
"And he doesn't even know any wizards," put in Sir Cadogan. "Saving you and Master John, of course."
"Peace, my brothers." Sir William raised his hands and took a step backwards. Thomas suddenly realised that he was gripping his staff so that it pointed at Sir William. Blushing slightly, he relaxed.
"I meant no offence, Brother Thomas," said Sir William. "The Wizards' Council expects me to be thorough." He offered his hand; after a moment, Thomas, and then Sir Cadogan, shook it.
"You said that your father is a merchant?" asked Sir William. "I am surprised he did not provide for you more comfortably for such a long journey."
"I renounced all that when I joined the Friars Minor," Thomas explained. "I chose to serve God, not Mammon, and so I own nothing."
Sir William stared, and then laughed. "So you follow a quest of your own, then? I can see why you and Sir Cadogan get on so well."
"Speaking of quests," said Sir Cadogan, "we have several miles to make today."
Sir William bade them farewell, then stepped off the track and disappeared into the trees, still chuckling.
"Why does he not use the path?" asked Thomas.
"Oh, he probably has a broomstick hidden there," said Sir Cadogan with barely suppressed bitterness. "His sort fly everywhere, even for journeys from one village to the next."
"Fly? On a broomstick? You mean... those stories are true?"
"Of course! How else would magical folk get around? You should hear them, expounding on the slow pace of horseback travel! As to which, while I admit that sitting on a broom can reduce a journey by a few days, those few days are sorely needed before the traveller can sit on anything else." He patted his horse. "Give me Flossie here any day."
Thomas nodded, but his thoughts were far to the north. Would they expect him to ride a broomstick, when he finally arrived? How else would magical folk get around? But if God had meant for man or wizard to fly, would He not have given them wings?
Sir Cadogan's hearty slap on his back jerked him back to the present. "Come on, Brother Thomas," said the little knight. "You heard Sir William; we each have a quest to follow. And today mine is to ride hard enough to reach the Hag and Hounds by sunset. We must drink to our adventure!"
"Adventure is hardly something I wish to celebrate," muttered Thomas. But he smiled nonetheless.
Part Two: Hogwarts
Author: Chthonya
Recipient: fpb
Characters: The Fat Friar (pre-ghost), Sir Cadogan (pre-portrait), famous witches Ignatia Wildsmith and Bridget Wenlock, one or two historical characters and a few recognisable ancestors.
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 5,135 of 12,895
Warnings (highlight to view): Erm... length? ;)
Summary: Long before the Statute of Secrecy, when Kings still sought counsel from wizards and scholars debated magic at the great centres of learning, England seethed as her nobles struggled to check the power of the King - and one young friar found his new path taking an unexpected turn.
Author's Notes: fpb, thank-you for giving me a free rein; given your interests, I hope you enjoy this tale of the Fat Friar. I have been acutely aware that you are far more qualified than I to write it, and I ask you to forgive any errors. Thank-you also to the mods for combining kindness and humour with superb organisation, and for thereby doing so much to promote genfic. Finally, thank-you to the fandom heroes who maintain the Lexicon; I could not have written this story without it.
Betas: The ever-awesome C
The Friar's Calling
Part One: Oxford
Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.
Matthew 5 v 16
"Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem,
factorem caeliet terrae, visibilium omnium et invisibilium."
Brother Thomas murmured the words in time with the priest, his heart swelling with awe at the majesty of God and His works.
"Et in unum Dominum Iesum Christum,
Filium Dei unigenitum
ex Patre natum ante omnia saecula."
He closed his eyes, to better sense the presence of Jesus, who had called St Francis to rebuild His Church and whom Brother Thomas had vowed to follow faithfully for the rest of his life.
"Deum de Deo, Lumen de Lumine..."
His soul soared with the words, glorying in the light of Christ.
"...Deum verum de Deo vero, genitum non factum, consubstantialem Patri;
per quem omnia facta sunt..."
His recitation faltered: the priest had fallen silent.
Across the church, somebody screamed.
Our knowledge of our history in those times is fragmented, as much reliance was placed on records held by Muggle libraries, which were purged after the enaction of the Statute of Secrecy in 1692. However, we may be reasonably certain that the man who came to be known simply as 'The Fat Friar' was first brought to the attention of the Wizards' Council in the year 1231.
Hogwarts: A History
The twilight was scented with herbs and new leaves and the other, less pleasant, smells ubiquitous to all but the most wind-freshened towns. Brother Thomas breathed in the air and the blessed tranquility: only here among his beloved plants was he free from gaping stares or muttered suspicions. He bent down and picked a primrose leaf, crushing it between his fingers. Carefully prepared, it would ease pain and guard against skin blemishes - but he knew it would take all his faith to guard against the blemish on his soul.
He had done penance for the disruption in the church; he had been glad to do so. But he had gained little balm from his confessor, for he did not understand what had happened. All he could remember was the Creed and his joy in communion with his God. Had he been wrong, then, to lose himself thus? Was it prideful, to dare to approach the Lord so completely? Or had the unearthly light his fellows had seen around him been a miracle, a gift from God? And in that case, how could he possibly avoid the sin of pride?
Something rustled in front of him. He stared into the darkness. A man appeared, as though he had always been there and the darkness had merely slipped away like the folds of a cloak. Or a man it would have been, with a thatch of dark hair and a fine red tunic, had he not been illuminated by a faint glow that seemed to come from within.
Thomas fell to his knees, hardly daring to breathe.
"An angel," he gasped. "But I am not worthy..."
To his left, somebody laughed. "Angel? Not likely!"
A second figure, as fair as the first was dark, appeared from behind a tree. The lamp he uncovered cast its light on his companion, who was now wearing a most unangelic expression of amusement.
"Honestly, Will!" said the fair one. "Did I not tell you that was a poor idea?"
'Will' grinned. "But a fine reaction, you must admit."
His friend rolled his eyes. "Next time we're knocking on the door, cloak or no cloak."
Thomas blushed in the darkness, and scrambled to his feet. He had been foolish; he must have imagined the glow on the dark one's skin. He was still unsettled by his experience in the church, that was all. And these two had no doubt heard the rumours and decided to make sport of him.
He edged towards a tree. There was a fine branch lying at its base that would serve him well if the two intruders had a more sinister intent.
The fair-haired man bowed to him. "Please forgive our manners, your grace, and allow us to present ourselves. My friend here is Sir William Peverell..."
"And this is Sir Leonius de Malfoi," the other finished with a bow of his own. "We are at your service."
"D-don't call me 'your grace'," said Thomas, his mind trying and failing to find a plausible explanation for how and why two of the strangest knights he had ever met had appeared in his herb garden. "I'm just a friar."
"A what?" Sir Leonius looked no less confused than Thomas.
"Never mind, Léo." Sir William turned back to Thomas. "But you're not just a- a 'fryer?' You're a wizard!"
"How dare you! I am a faithful servant of the Lord Jesus Christ! I do not practice sorceries; I never have, and I never will!"
The two knights looked at each other; evidently, this was not quite the reaction they had anticipated.
Sir William held up his hands. "Forgive me; I meant no offence. And I would never accuse you of doing dark magic-"
"All magic is evil!" Thomas clutched at the small cross that hung from his neck.
Sir Leonius went very still. "What did you say?"
"Léo." Sir William put a hand on his friend's arm. Sir Leonius shook it off.
"So am I evil because I can do this?" He made a strange movement with his hand, and a ball of white light, the size of a duck's egg, appeared above his palm. "Are you damned because you have the power to do it too? Because from what we've heard, you seem to have demonstrated that ability to half of Oxford last week!"
Thomas stepped back, eyes wide with terror.
"Léo!"
This time Sir Leonius listened. The light popped out of existence. Thomas backed away, still holding his cross.
"Wait! Sir! Er... Brother Thomas."
"Go away."
"You don't need to be afraid of it," said Sir William. "That's why we came - to tell you that you can learn to control it."
"I want nothing to do with 'it' or you," said Thomas, his voice firm with resolve. "Leave me in peace!"
Sir Leonius gaped at him. "You really want to walk away? How can you not want that power? Think of all the good you could do!"
Thomas wrenched the cross from his neck. "Do not tempt me, Satan!" He pointed at Sir Leonius. "By the power of Christ, begone!"
Sir Leonius stumbled backwards, landing hard in a bed of sage. Thomas stared for a moment. Then he fled down the path.
Sir William grinned down at his fallen friend.
"Well. That was fairly conclusive, would you not agree?"
Now the preacher stands as a father to those he teaches, for he casts the seeds of the Word out of which they may be given life in Christ. And he is at the same time their mother, for he devotes the affection of his love to the minds of those he teaches...
Robert Grosseteste, 1168-1253
The city of Oxford has ever presented a graceful face to the world, but this evening its beauty was lost on Brother Thomas. A summons to see the Master of Students was not to be taken lightly, particularly when one had - however inadvertently - set the whole town in an uproar.
His tentative knock having been answered with a command to enter, Thomas was surprised to see that Master Robert already had a visitor. But as he made to withdraw, he was beckoned in with a warm smile.
"Welcome, Brother Thomas." Master Robert turned to his other visitor, who was toasting his toes by the fire. "John, may I present Brother Thomas, one of my most promising students." He waved Thomas to a vacant chair. "Thomas, this is my old friend, Master John Selwyn. He believes he can help you with your current predicament."
Thomas sat, peering curiously at Master John. He was sure he had not seen him before; with his red hair and beard both dramatically streaked with grey, his was not a face to be forgotten. He must be a visiting scholar, then: a foreign one, by the unfamiliar cut of his scholar's robe. Possibly he was an acquaintance from Master Robert's studies in Paris.
"I must start with an apology, Brother Thomas," said John. "I am told you had an encounter with two of my colleagues a few days ago. They far exceeded their instructions, and I am most sorry for the intrusion."
Thomas stared. The only people he had seen since that day in the church - saving his brother friars, his teacher and the steady stream of gawkers he had glimpsed through the gate - were the soi-disant knights in his herb garden.
Master Robert smiled encouragement at him. "Could you tell John what happened in the garden?"
Thomas looked at his feet. He tried to avoid thinking about that night, but his trust in his teacher lent him the courage to remember.
"I was just checking the plants," he said. "And they... suddenly they were there. I don't know how; the gate had been locked for hours. They must have got over the wall somehow." He clasped his hands tightly together.
"And then?" prompted Master Robert.
"They accused me of sorcery," Thomas admitted. "I told them they were wrong, and one of them-" His voice trailed away. "But I told them to leave, and one of them fell over, and I came back inside and barred the door."
Master John leaned forward in his chair. "One of them fell, you say? He gave me to believe he had been pushed."
"I never touched him!"
"He told me that also."
Thomas gazed into the fire, as if it could burn away the memory and his anguish with it.
"You have nothing to fear, Thomas," said Master Robert. "Master John has heard many tales far stranger than the one you told me. Would you allow me to continue?"
Thomas nodded, still staring into the flames. Master Robert took up his tale. "Brother Thomas told me that your young man offered him magical powers, at which he panicked and commanded the tempter to leave, invoking the name of Christ. But-" His voice shook slightly. "But he said that then he felt a strange power move within him, reaching out to strike. And then the young man was lying on the ground."
Thomas closed his eyes. Could he ever do enough penance for that act? In seeking to repel Satan, he had instead allowed the Dark One to strike through him.
He felt a hand on his arm. He looked up to see Master John, concern etched into every line of his face. "Do not worry, Brother Thomas," John said. "Sir Leonius suffered no harm. And you need not fear for your soul. Gifts such as yours, when newly awoken, often manifest in unexpected ways. When you have learned to control them you will no longer risk hurting yourself or others."
Thomas flinched away. "I don't want to control them! I want rid of them!"
Master John sighed. "They are a gift from God, Brother Thomas. Would you reject that?"
Thomas did not reply. He had little to do with magic, and had strenuously ignored rumours that his father employed a wise woman to invoke favourable winds for his merchant ships. Witches and their works were rightly feared; they were known to cause milk to sour and crops to fail, or to strike good men with the curse of impotence. And this man dared to say that supernatural powers were of God! It screamed blasphemy, yet Master Robert claimed Master John as an old friend. Had his Superior been wrong then, to appoint Master Robert to teach theology to the friars?
Master John slapped the arms of his chair. "You tell him, Robert!"
Master Robert leaned forward to poke the fire. "I trust that you are sincere in your belief, John, and you surely know more of this than I do. And yet... seeking knowledge is one thing. But sometimes you trespass on the Creator's role, and that is more than I would dare."
"You could say the same of the master mason, or the farmer who selects which animals to breed," Master John retorted. "And, like them, I will have to answer for my choices in the end." He looked at Thomas and Master Robert in turn. "You know that I would not lead Brother Thomas into evil. And he will be less likely to take himself down that path if he can understand and control his magic."
This stirred Thomas to speech. "I have done no magic!"
Master John snorted. "Half of Oxford says you have."
"All I did was say the Creed!"
"It seems that you focussed on light, and in doing so filled the church with it," said Master John. "What say you, Robert?"
Master Robert smiled. "You know of my interest in light," he said. "You may well imagine that I've pondered this at length. Was God displaying magic, when He brought forth light, and from it called the world into being? Light, I could accept as a sign from God. But the other thing... that, I suspect, is more in your area of expertise than mine. Perhaps the two are unrelated..."
"But with one coming so soon upon the other, I doubt it," said Master John. "It would be better all around for Brother Thomas to come to me, and you know it."
"I would be sorry to lose him," said Master Robert. "He is a diligent student and the desire to serve burns bright in his heart."
Master John turned to Thomas, who had resumed his study of the leaping flames. "You will be able to serve all the more, Brother Thomas, once you have learned not to fear what is within you. And perhaps you could do us a service, too: Master Robert tells me you have some skill as an apothecary?"
"My aunt taught me a little," Thomas replied warily. His father had never approved of his interest in his mother's family's trade, and he suspected it was partly to remove him from his aunt's influence that he had been sent to Oxford. For Thomas to take vows as a friar had definitely not been part of the plan, and he knew that this latest incident could only worsen his father's opinion of the worth of an Oxford education.
Master John, thankfully, did not share those views. "Well, then." He smiled. "We could use someone with the ability to brew simples and to tend the plants used to make them."
Thomas looked at Master Robert.
"Master John is Master of a School of Magic," Master Robert explained. "He proposes to offer you a place there."
"And you think I should go? I joined the Order to follow God and serve His people, not to learn sorcery."
"I, too, am wary of the magical arts," said Master Robert, "but Master John, I do trust. And there are many ways to serve God. Although in the end it is not up to me, nor to you either, as well you know."
Thomas nodded; he would go where his Superior told him to go. But how could he discuss this with Brother Agnellus?
"I suggest you lay the issue before the Lord in prayer," said Master Robert. "If you wish, we will talk on it further. I can speak to Brother Agnellus for you, if you would like."
Thomas rubbed his forehead, feeling suddenly weary. "Is it far, this school?" he asked.
"Yes," said Master John. "It is far to the north, just over two weeks' ride if the conditions are favourable. If you decide to make the journey, I would, of course, arrange for an escort. The school can be difficult for first-time visitors to find."
"In that case, I suggest you find someone other than his recent visitors," said Master Robert. "Brother Thomas likes to keep his feet on the ground."
Master John smiled. "Have no fear, Robert. I know just the man for the task."
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
Psalm 23 v 1-3
Brother Thomas had his doubts about the escort. At first, he had been relieved to see that his companion for the next couple of weeks matched his own short build; he had always felt slightly intimidated by the towering men-at-arms his father had employed. But now, as they jingled along yet another lonely track through yet another dark wood, he was inclined to wonder whether he would not, after all, have preferred someone with more than a mustard-seed's chance of intimidating any potential attackers.
"Have no fear, good Friar," cried the little knight, as Thomas peered into the shadows for the thousandth time. "What Master John's Charm cannot deter will not survive the skills of Sir Cadogan!"
"Master John's Charm? What mean you by that?" asked Thomas, declining to comment on Sir Cadogan's much vaunted and scantily evidenced skills.
"Master John is a great magician, and it is a great honour to be sworn to his service!" exclaimed Sir Cadogan.
Thomas waited.
"He cast an enchantment on these harnesses; unless we wish it otherwise, we will pass unseen and unheard."
Thomas barely stopped himself from dropping his reins. Instead, he felt the leather carefully, but could find nothing untoward about it. That unsettled him even more. To be able to hide under such an enchantment must surely endanger a man's soul! Thomas felt for the cross around his neck and resolved again to resist temptation.
Or had he already succumbed to it, having abandoned his calling to serve the poor in favour of this immersion in unholy arts? Master Robert had insisted that not all paths were laid by agents of good or ill, so that turning from one that was good did not necessarily mean that the other was evil. Also, he had assured Thomas that Master John was a good man who would ensure that the strange powers that had awoken within him did not lead him or others into harm. Thomas had prayed a silent vigil before the sacred presence in the friary church, and come to think that the recent events might be a sign that he was not, after all, destined to walk the path he had formerly embraced with all his heart. And so he had made his decision.
But still, he doubted.
First, Sir Cadogan had taken him south, to a small square just north of London's bridge. Here there was a market which, Sir Cadogan had explained, was frequented by traders in magical items. Despite himself, Thomas had been fascinated by the brightly coloured stalls, particularly that of the apothecary with its diverse range of herbs and roots both familiar and unfamiliar. But before he could enquire into the uses of some of the stranger substances, Sir Cadogan had drawn him into a shadowy doorway.
He had entered with some trepidation, as this was where he was to procure a wand. He had protested this necessity to Master John by letter, which Master Robert had contrived to send for him. A reply had come, impossibly quickly, in which the Master had explained that a wand was merely an instrument for focusing a person's magical ability and that, far from leading Thomas to do harm, it would be an essential tool for teaching him to avoid it.
Yet to Thomas, a wand sat ill with a monk's coarse robe and stout staff: a reluctance that the pale-eyed proprietor of the shop was quick to observe. Indeed, the wands themselves seemed to echo Thomas's aversion, as one after the other failed to evoke the signs for which Master Ollivander was attentively watching; several seemed almost to jump out of his hand of their own accord. At last, a short oak wand, which Master Ollivander claimed had a core of unicorn hair, responded with a small spark. So surprised was Thomas that he barely stopped himself from dropping it. Master Ollivander was quick to wrap it, press the parcel into his hands and bundle him out of the door, explaining that the Master of Hogwarts had arranged to pay for it as an advance on his apothecary's stipend.
Then, they travelled slowly north, spending the nights in simple inns or under the trees, wrapped in blankets that seemed to repel rain and dew by a means about which Thomas did not enquire. It was not the style of travel he had expected to adopt as a friar; he had not expected to mount a horse again after turning his back on his family's wealth, and every hoofprint seemed to bear him further away from the life of holy poverty he had envisaged for himself. But Sir Cadogan insisted that there was no time for Thomas to beg or work for food and shelter, and his knowledge of which inns served the finest ale went some way towards helping Thomas to adapt.
The ale in the city of York, when they reached it, proved to be warmer than the welcome. They chose to stay at an inn, as Thomas feared awkward questions had they imposed upon the newly established friary. But while the gold carried by Sir Cadogan procured them supper and a bed and the barest courtesy that went with them, it did not spare them sidelong glances or suspicious stares. The hostility abated somewhat after it was established that they were come from Oxford and bound for a destination far to the north, but they were glad to quit the city by the Bootham Bar the next morning.
That night, they prepared to camp under the stars. But scarcely had they sat down beside their small cooking-fire, when they heard a large animal crashing towards them.
"Will the Charm hide us from that?" Thomas whispered.
"I have no idea, my fine young friar!" exclaimed the knight. "But I have no intention of putting it to the test!"
And with that, he heaved his sword from its scabbard and boldly faced the direction of the noise.
Thomas cast an eye over the nearby trees. He judged one or two to be climbable, but he reluctantly reached for his staff.
"Stand fast, you scurvy cur!" roared Sir Cadogan.
Amazingly, this appeared to have some effect. Certainly, the ominous sound of snapping branches had ceased.
Thomas moved to stand beside Sir Cadogan. A dishevelled man peered back at them, running a sooty hand over his sweaty brow.
"Fire!" shouted the stranger, pointing wildly behind him. "Fire at the Netherthorpe!"
"Fire, you say?" Sir Cadogan lowered his sword. "Where, my good man?"
"That way!" shrieked the man. "Down the hill and across the ford."
Sir Cadogan sheathed his sword, turning to Thomas. "What are you waiting for?" he cried. "There may be innocents in need of aid!"
The wild-looking man made to rush away into the woods. Thomas barred his escape with his staff. "And where are you going?"
The man stared at him for a moment. Then, "To get help, man. To get help!"
"But who are...?" But the man had dodged around the friar and his staff, and was gone.
Sir Cadogan was already thrashing through the woods in the direction the man had indicated. Thomas sighed, then smothered the fire, hurriedly packed their pots and led the two horses after him.
There was a fire; the stranger had been telling the truth about that. The night was filled with the frenzied bellowing of beasts running amok. Thomas arrived just as the barn roof collapsed in a swarm of sparks, leaving the walls a dark silhouette against the inferno within. Thomas carefully tethered the horses a safe distance away and ran forward to help.
A large man, soot and sweat running mingled down his face, blocked his path. "There's nowt to be done there," he said in an accent that Thomas could decipher only with difficulty. "May as well let it burn itself out."
"But is anyone hurt? Is the Lord of this estate not here?"
"Him? Not likely." The man spat on the ground. "He's one of them Romans. Never even set foot in the place."
"Are you in charge, then? I have some salves with me that work well against burns."
The man eyed him from toe to tonsure. "Come on then."
Thomas spent the next hour tending to those who had battled the fire; fortunately, none had sustained more than minor burns. Sir Cadogan, disappointed to find that there was, after all, no one in need of rescue, had unstrapped his sword and was scurrying around the fields after some oxen that the oxherds claimed had bolted. Eventually he returned, empty-handed but wearing a glow of satisfaction nonetheless.
They spent the night in the ploughman's hut, and continued on their way the next morning. But barely had they reached the woods when a slight figure clad in leather armour stepped out in front of them.
"Cadogan," he drawled. "What brings you here?"
Sir Cadogan flushed, but drew himself up to his full, albeit hardly imposing, height. "I am escorting Brother Thomas here to Hogwarts, as I am sure you well know, Sir William." He turned to Thomas. "Brother Thomas, may I present-"
"We've met," said Thomas and Sir William at once, for indeed it was the very same Sir William as had invaded his herb garden two months previous. Evidently, those with magical gifts were immune from Master John's charm of concealment.
Sir William grinned. "So, Brother Thomas, you decided to come after all? Congratulations."
"We shall see," said Thomas, who remained to be convinced that it was a matter for congratulation.
"And what brings you here?" asked Sir Cadogan.
Sir William leaned against a tree. "Special assignment for the Wizards' Council," he said languidly. "A special secret assignment."
Sir Cadogan rolled his eyes. "Well, I have an assignment of my own, so if you have no desire to speak to us, we shall be on our way."
"Oh, I never said I did not wish to speak to you," said Sir William. "You were at that farm whose barn was burned last night. Do you know who holds it?"
"Some Roman who has never so much as visited the place," said Thomas.
"I thought as much." He turned to Sir Cadogan. "Did you happen to notice any signs that the fire was magical in origin?"
"No," said Sir Cadogan. "We were too busy helping to save livestock and tend burns to stand around noticing things."
Sir William pursed his lips. "Have you, by chance, happened on any other burning farms in the area?"
"No. Why should-"
"You will be aware, though, that this is not the first such attack on properties that send revenue to Rome?"
Thomas blinked. "Are you saying that what we saw last night is part of a plot... a protest against Romans being appointed to English benefices?"
"More to do with the fact that the Pope is using them to siphon off England's wealth without providing the care of souls that they are supposed to support," said Sir William. "But you seem to know a lot about it."
"My teacher at Oxford oft spoke against it," explained Thomas. "And one could hardly live in Oxford and not be aware of the resentment at the King's preference for foreign advisors. And, too, my father was a merchant; it paid to follow such disputes as could threaten trade."
"And what do you think of it?"
"Hold on, Sir William," said Sir Cadogan. "If you dare to accuse Brother Thomas of involvement in this plot, you will have to answer to me!"
"I think I shall manage to sleep undisturbed." Sir William looked at them both in turn. "The Wizards' Council suspects magical involvement in this latest unrest. So it sent me to investigate, and I found... you."
"This is ridiculous!" Sir Cadogan protested. "You know I cannot-"
"Oh, nobody suspects you, Sir Cadogan."
"Are you seriously suggesting that I..." Thomas gaped. "You dare to question my honour?"
"And he doesn't even know any wizards," put in Sir Cadogan. "Saving you and Master John, of course."
"Peace, my brothers." Sir William raised his hands and took a step backwards. Thomas suddenly realised that he was gripping his staff so that it pointed at Sir William. Blushing slightly, he relaxed.
"I meant no offence, Brother Thomas," said Sir William. "The Wizards' Council expects me to be thorough." He offered his hand; after a moment, Thomas, and then Sir Cadogan, shook it.
"You said that your father is a merchant?" asked Sir William. "I am surprised he did not provide for you more comfortably for such a long journey."
"I renounced all that when I joined the Friars Minor," Thomas explained. "I chose to serve God, not Mammon, and so I own nothing."
Sir William stared, and then laughed. "So you follow a quest of your own, then? I can see why you and Sir Cadogan get on so well."
"Speaking of quests," said Sir Cadogan, "we have several miles to make today."
Sir William bade them farewell, then stepped off the track and disappeared into the trees, still chuckling.
"Why does he not use the path?" asked Thomas.
"Oh, he probably has a broomstick hidden there," said Sir Cadogan with barely suppressed bitterness. "His sort fly everywhere, even for journeys from one village to the next."
"Fly? On a broomstick? You mean... those stories are true?"
"Of course! How else would magical folk get around? You should hear them, expounding on the slow pace of horseback travel! As to which, while I admit that sitting on a broom can reduce a journey by a few days, those few days are sorely needed before the traveller can sit on anything else." He patted his horse. "Give me Flossie here any day."
Thomas nodded, but his thoughts were far to the north. Would they expect him to ride a broomstick, when he finally arrived? How else would magical folk get around? But if God had meant for man or wizard to fly, would He not have given them wings?
Sir Cadogan's hearty slap on his back jerked him back to the present. "Come on, Brother Thomas," said the little knight. "You heard Sir William; we each have a quest to follow. And today mine is to ride hard enough to reach the Hag and Hounds by sunset. We must drink to our adventure!"
"Adventure is hardly something I wish to celebrate," muttered Thomas. But he smiled nonetheless.
Part Two: Hogwarts