Springfic: "The Friar's Calling (2/2) for fpb
Title: The Friar's Calling (2/2)
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 handful of recognisable ancestors.
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 7,760 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
Part One: Oxford
The Friar's Calling
Part Two: Hogwarts
If Badger take thee to her burrow
Thy feete be firmly on the earth.
Thou fear not work to plough thy furrow
And loyal friendship proves its worth.
Songs of the Sorting Hat, Vol III
The walls of the castle glowed like a beacon in the afternoon light. Despite his misgivings about their destination, Thomas felt only overwhelming relief at the sight. The last few days had been the hardest of the whole journey, as he and Sir Cadogan had pushed their way through trackless bog, eking out their dwindling stores of dried meat while being eaten themselves by the near-invisible but omnipresent midges. Sir Cadogan's descriptions of meals he had enjoyed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry made Thomas's mouth water, and this alone would have drawn him eagerly through the gates.
Master John was at the door, his hands extended in welcome. Three boys in black scholars' robes scampered up; two led the horses away and the third tugged Sir Cadogan towards a stone-walled passage, bombarding him with excited questions.
"Sir Cadogan is one of the few knights who has any time for the students," said Master John. "Now that they know he has arrived, they will give him no peace." He smiled. "'tis good for both sides: a perfect marriage of eager audience and indefatigable storyteller."
He led the way down a corridor that lay opposite the one taken by Sir Cadogan. "Sir Cadogan stays in the Guest Wing when he visits," Master John explained. "Usually we need to find the right House for new residents before we can allocate rooms, but as you are to look after our herbs, I've given you the Apothecary Master's rooms. They are somewhat small, but previous occupants have found their proximity to the gardens useful."
'Small' was not the first description that came to mind when Thomas saw his new abode. There was certainly space enough for a large writing-table, a long workbench, and shelves from floor to ceiling. Master John caught his look. "Aye, it looks spacious enough now. But you will not be saying that when the place is full of seedlings and dried herbs and inquisitive students."
The bedchamber behind was barely large enough for the bed, on which Thomas would gladly have spent the rest the rest of the evening, had not common courtesy and a rumbling stomach compelled him to accompany Master John to dinner.
At first glance, there was nothing untoward about the sight that greeted Thomas as he entered the Great Hall. The few dozen students seated around four long tables, the chatter bouncing off the stone walls, the pungent scent of mutton and herbs: all this was familiar from the friary. What he had not expected to find was, seated next to his place at the raised staff table, a woman.
He took his place uncertainly. He was no stranger to women: before joining the friars he had played his part in the games of courtship, and he had used his skills with herbs to treat man and woman alike. But the fraternities of friary and university had no place for women, and he had no idea of how he was expected to respond to finding one here. Especially one in the prime of life, with piercing blue eyes, a fine matching gown, and tendrils of glossy black hair threatening to escape from the bronze mesh that confined them.
Thomas swallowed.
Master John came to his rescue. "This is Mistress Wenlock, our Master of Arithmancy," he explained. "Bridget, this is Brother Thomas."
Her status as a scholar, particularly a scholar of a subject unknown to Thomas, did nothing to put him at ease.
She sniffed haughtily. "Not another dyed-in-the-wool Muggle, I hope, who has never even met a witch?"
"I meant no offence, Madam," said Thomas stiffly.
"You meant no offence. But you are yourself offended to find yourself seated next to a woman?"
"Not at all!" Thomas protested. "I just... I am not accustomed to mixing with ladies so freely."
"Oh, I know all about that," she said. "Have I not seen my former fellows, even those less able than I, gain stature in Bologna and Paris and Oxford, while I have to hide my true identity even to correspond with the Muggle scholars?"
"If I have offended, then-"
She sighed. "No more than any of them. One gets so weary of it. Please forgive my discourtesy."
"And mine, if I..." He trailed off at her glare. Had his years in sackcloth really rendered him so incapable of conversing with a lady?
"Look," she said, holding his gaze. "You have had a hard journey and you are tired and I believe that you did not mean to be rude. So I shall say this to you, but I shall say it once only. If you do not learn - and learn quickly - to work with witches as well as wizards, your time here will not be easy. Just look around you." Her sweeping gesture took in the hall.
Thomas looked again at the students. With a shock, he realised that almost half were girls, and of the older students their proportion was even greater.
"Hogwarts has always admitted girls," she told him. "How could it not, when untrained witches pose as great a danger as do untrained wizards? And, while we are refused entry to Muggle institutions, this is one of the few centres of scholarship open to women who have no desire to join a nunnery."
"But is it not... I mean, does it not...?"
"Does it not what?"
Thomas felt himself going red. "Well, unmarried men and women, living in such proximity... Does it not lead to temptation?"
She shrugged. "The temptations of men are their own business. And those witches concerned about such things know well how to protect their virtue."
She poured ale into Thomas's tankard. "But here, I am being poor company to one who is weary. Will you not tell me about your journey?" And she proceeded to question him about every aspect of the terrain over which he had passed, and the weather he had experienced there. By the end of the meal his head was spinning, and it was not from the weak but delicious ale. At the far end of the table, Sir Cadogan had found merrier company, judging by the blasts of laughter issuing from that direction.
After the meal, Thomas wanted nothing more than to retire to his little cell to pray and to sleep, but Master John laid a hand on his arm as they rose from table. "I can see you are exhausted," he said apologetically, "but I must beg your indulgence for one final formality."
He led the way to his tower office, where Thomas sank gratefully into a wide chair. Master John poured honey wine for each of them.
"No doubt Sir Cadogan has regaled you with tales of the Houses of Hogwarts," he began. "It is customary for us to Sort students the night they arrive, usually in front of the assembled body of the school. But as you have arrived alone, I thought it would be easier for you to be Sorted in private."
Thomas nodded his appreciation. Sluggish with fatigue, it was only now occurring to him that the process might involve some form of magic, but he was almost too tired to care.
Master John stood to fetch a large box from a high shelf. "This will likely seem strange to you," he said, "but there is no reason to worry. All we need to do is find where your personal gifts will be best nurtured. But if you disagree with the judgement, it is up to you in the end." He reached into the box and pulled out an old-fashioned wide-brimmed hat. Thomas looked at it blankly.
"This belonged to Godric Gryffindor, one of the four Founders of the school," Master Thomas told him. "All you need to do is put it on; do not worry if it slips over your eyes. Godric was reputed to have a rather large head."
Gingerly, Thomas took the hat. It was just a normal hat, albeit somewhat faded.
"And this will tell you where I belong?"
"I certainly will, young man!"
Thomas dropped the hat; it rolled to the floor. It was not just faded, it was torn; and he could have sworn that the voice had issued from the tear! He had thought such objects existed only in legend, but as he stared, the material to either side of the tear moved of its own accord.
"Well, really!" said the voice. "'tis a poor way to treat a valuable artefact such as myself!"
Master John picked up the hat. "I am sorry," he said to Thomas. "Godric Gryffindor always did have a strange sense of humour."
"I was not joking!" said the hat.
They must have put something in his food, Thomas decided. Or else he was so exhausted, he was seeing things that were not there.
He made no protest when Master John gently placed the hat on his head.
"Interesting," said the voice he could not possibly be hearing. "There is much fear in you, yes indeed. But still, you made the journey, and that shows you have the courage to face your own fears as well as the hazards of the road. You are a good scholar, yet I sense that is not where your true passion lies. You have great dreams, Thomas, though your ambition is not to serve yourself but to minister to others in the service of your God. Yes, Helga would have been proud to welcome you to Hufflepuff House."
Master John removed the hat. "Well, Brother Thomas? Do you agree?"
Thomas blinked. It was as if the object had read his soul - or perhaps his pride. Why did it make no mention of the temptations to which he so often submitted? Of his liking for good food and good ale, of the afternoons when he neglected his studies to feel the warmth of the sun in his garden?
"I cannot disagree, Master," he said. "But I fear the judgement was too kind."
Master John laughed. "And if there was ever a doubt that you belong in Hufflepuff, it is hereby dispelled. Come, Brother Thomas, I have kept you from your bed for too long. Let me show you the way back to your rooms, and I will send someone to fetch you when it is time for breakfast. We can speak further thereafter."
As they reached to the ground floor, Thomas paused. "Could I prevail upon you to show me the way to the chapel?" he asked. "In Oxford I was used to going to pray before breakfast, and I would greatly like to resume the habit." And, he did not add aloud, he would need all of God's strength to face the strangeness of this new world.
Master John tugged at his beard. "A chapel... Let me see. I think you may find one on the seventh floor. I could show you after breakfast, if that would suffice?"
"You 'think'? Is it so rarely used?"
"It is there for those who need it," replied John. "You must understand that among our students we number Jews and followers of older gods. We Christians can seek to lead them to Christ by example, but we do not impose our worship upon others. It is important that we teach the safe and moral use of magic; we cannot take the risk of pushing them away from us completely."
"But... their souls!"
"Have been the cause of much argument within the Wizards' Council over the years, I assure you. It is far too large a topic to debate in the corridor when you are hardly able to stand upright; there will be time enough to discuss it in the weeks ahead."
Thomas said nothing as Master John showed him to his door. How many of those happy students he had watched at dinner were strangers to Christ? He would do what he could to rectify that: was this, perchance, the real reason he had been sent here?
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Matthew 5 v 8
"Lux."
Thomas focussed on the wand, but nothing happened. Nor had anything happened on his previous twenty attempts.
He tried to hide his relief. Perhaps they had been wrong about him. Perhaps they would send him back to Oxford, where he belonged.
Master John frowned. "Remember, Brother Thomas, the wand just channels what is there already. You need to feel the light inside you, not just say the word."
"But how?"
"You showed you know the answer to that in Oxford. You know you can do this!"
"That was by the power of the Lord, not the power of magic!"
"Then trust in the power of God. The two are not inseparable."
For Thomas, that was perilously close to blasphemy. "It just feels wrong to command what was previously freely given," he said miserably.
"Then do not command. Try asking for the the light to come forth."
Thomas's shoulders sagged. "Ask that the Lord permit magic?"
"Why not? That is the source of your difficulty, is it not?"
Why not? Because He would not so permit, thought Thomas. And yet, the Lord was present here, as He was present in all places at all times. And a vigil night of prayer had prompted him to come here, not stay on his former path.
He closed his eyes, clasped the cross he wore, and prayed. Lord, forgive me if I am trespassing. You know I seek only to do Your will. If this truly be what you wish of me, then let it be so.
He opened his eyes, cradling the Light of Christ in his heart.
"Lux." He spoke the word quietly.
A faint light glowed at the tip of his wand. As Thomas gazed in wonder, the light brightened to fill the room.
Master John smiled.
Thomas did not notice: he was rapt in the glory of the light.
Little is known about the years immediately following Brother Thomas's arrival at Hogwarts, and his ghost has consistently declined to elaborate, saying merely that 'There is more wisdom in service than sophistry' or 'It is better to till the soil of the present than to bury oneself in the past'. Occasionally, while watching a feast in which he, as a ghost, can no longer partake, he has also been known to give the sage advice 'Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you may die'.
Hogwarts: A History
Master John's words twelve years earlier had not been misspoken, Thomas thought as he searched for space on his shelf for a bottle of freshly prepared Oil of Yarrow. His workroom had long felt too small, though somehow there was always room for one extra jar.
He turned to clean the residue from his small cauldron, and heard his door creak open.
"Mistress Wildsmith!" He greeted his visitor with a smile, despite himself. He had been right to fear the presence of women: to his shame he had found the struggle against lustful thoughts a constant distraction, although, with prayer and advice from his bemused former Master in Oxford, he had kept to his vows and striven to regard the women of Hogwarts with brotherly affection. But Mistress Ignatia Wildsmith's merry laugh had lifted his heart from the moment she had arrived in his classroom six years previously, and as she had matured, so had his regard for her.
Today, however, her normally-sunny disposition seemed clouded. "What troubles you?" he asked.
She entered the room, closing the door behind her. "I have a request to make of you, Master Thomas."
He smiled. "Surely that cannot be a cause for such concern?"
"It is, if you might not grant it."
"Well, I can hardly grant it if you refuse to tell me what it is, can I?"
She drew in a breath. "Would you accept me as your apprentice?"
Thomas blinked. "That would be completely inappropriate! How can you even ask?"
Her face fell. "I was not aware that you found such fault in me."
Oh, she was right: how could he find fault with one such as her? And knowing that, how could he possibly work with her in the close proximity of master and apprentice?
"You know I do not," he said. "But... I thought your preferred field was Alchemy?"
She plucked at the hem of her sleeve. "I do wish to continue my studies of Alchemy," she admitted. "But the bare elements sometimes seem so lifeless! You work with life renewing itself, over and over; those mysteries are so much deeper."
"And I would be glad of your help," Thomas admitted in turn. "But it still seems to me that you would be better served if Mistress Goldwright directed your studies."
"She has not the time. She has two apprentices already, and soon she will also have a Muggle student who is coming from Oxford to learn from her."
"A Muggle?" Thomas's eyebrows shot up. "Master Black will not be pleased about that." Thomas did his best to avoid the Master of Dark Arts, whose contempt for those of non-magical backgrounds was notorious.
Mistress Wildsmith smiled, as he had hoped she would. "Indeed he will not," she agreed. "So you see, Mistress Goldwright lacks the time to properly supervise my studies. And if I have to leave..."
"No, that would never do," said Thomas. It was not a selfish sentiment, he insisted to himself. The world outside the walls of Hogwarts held few opportunities for women with enquiring minds.
"So, you agree then?"
Thomas ran his hand through his hair, heedless of the tiny white yarrow petals he was depositing there. "What could I teach you?" he asked. "I have still so much to learn myself!"
"And that is why you are a good teacher," she insisted, her eyes shining. "Mistress Goldwright and Mistress Wenlock are so sure of their knowledge, they refuse ever to discuss anything!"
He sensed he was losing the argument, with himself as well as with her.
"I will need to speak with Master John," he told her. And as she gave a cry of delight and skipped out of the room, he knew he would, as well, need to listen carefully to his Master in heaven.
He said to a friar preacher, "Three things are necessary for temporal well-being: food, sleep and jest." Again, he enjoined upon a certain friar who was melancholic to drink a cupful of the best wine for his penance; and when he had drained it, albeit with much aversion, he told him, "Dear brother, if you had that penance a few times you would end up with a better conscience."
Thomas of Eccleston, writing about Master Robert Grosseteste, c. 1250
The feast that celebrated Thomas's twenty-fifth year at the school was a merry one, helped in no small part by Sir Cadogan, who had contrived to be present, along with several of his fellow knights. Thomas looked out over the Hall, as he had during his first meal there, and found it difficult to countenance that he had once found the place strange. This was a true community of learning: one with all the usual petty frustrations and rivalries of an enclosed group of people, it was true, but also one where minds could roam free, unhindered by concerns of rank or sex or even religion. The world of Oxford seemed unbearably stifled in comparison.
There had been times when he had wondered whether he had been wrong to be so long out of that world, and he had resolved to go back as soon as another arrived who could preach the Word and shepherd the souls of the students. But none had come, and so he had stayed. There was little left for him out there, in any case: his former Superior, Brother Agnellus, was long dead, and his revered Master Robert had recently followed into the next life. The aunt who had bequeathed him her love of the soil lay beneath it now, and the remainder of his birth family had preferred to forget him since he had donned his friar's robe. No, his true family was here: Master John was nearing ninety and moved more carefully now, but still guided the school with a firm but fair hand; Mistress Wenlock's hair had greyed but was, if anything, more wild than ever; and Mistress Wildsmith had grown to glowing maturity as Thomas had filled out with the bulk of middle age.
She was a Master in her own right, now, her researches having prompted Master John to award her responsibility for brewing the simples and potions for which Thomas provided the plants. They still worked closely together, and she attended every one of his occasional classes on theology and natural philosophy, though of late he had oft seen her in deep discussion with Mistress Wenlock.
She drew admiring glances from more than one of the knights, as she led the way from the hall to the Staff Common Room, to which Sir Cadogan had earlier supervised the delivery of a barrel of Thomas's favourite Hogsmeade mead.
"Now, there be a maid who would brighten my days," said a voice beside him, slightly slurred with the effect of several pints of ale.
Thomas looked up, and recognised Sir William. "She is a good friend and a very skilled Potioneer," he retorted. "As you would know if ever you bothered to avail yourself of her salve. Anyone would think you took pride in displaying your scars to the world!"
"Ah, but many ladies find them impressive," said Sir William, a roguish twinkle in his eyes. "Shows them a man is able to fight for their honour."
Thomas laughed. "Well, you will find scars of little help here. I can assure you that Mistresses Wenlock and Wildsmith would merely call you an idiot and insist that they could very well fight for themselves."
"But clever ladies like those would know that Muggle knights do not respect one of my age who shows no marks of battle."
"That, I grant you."
They had reached the common room, where Sir Cadogan, with a theatrical flourish, offered them each a goblet of mead. "So tell me," Thomas asked, "what is the latest from the world beyond these walls?"
"Oh, much the same." Sir William grimaced. "The King still seeks to dilute the provisions of the Great Charter, the barons still seek to prevent him from doing so. Rumours of conspiracy still pop up like mushrooms after a rainy night. And everyone complains about taxes."
"And the Wizards' Council still cannot reach a decision on which side to support," added Sir Cadogan.
Thomas nodded. "Master John mentioned something of that. He is urging neutrality, he said."
"Which will never happen," said Sir William. "Not while Sir Henri claims to have influence over the King, and Lady McMillan spits fury over His Highness's foreign advisors."
"And what of your father's view?" asked Sir Cadogan.
"He fears the autocratic tendencies of the King," Sir William replied. "He is among those who fear that the persecutions suffered by the Jews may be visited next on wizards. But nor does he entirely trust the barons: their allegiances are too volatile. And setting wizard against wizard would weaken us all."
"So he plans to stay perched on the wall?" Sir Cadogan was incredulous. "When we are sworn to-"
"Shhh!" Sir William nodded towards the mead barrel, from where Sir Leonius, who was son to the aforementioned Sir Henri, approached.
"What a serious conversation you look to be having!" exclaimed the newcomer.
"Merely catching up on the news from outside," said Thomas, forcing a merry smile. Sir Leonius had aged better than his friend since that fateful day in the herb garden; unlike Sir William, he appeared not to balk at using salves to maintain his appearance.
"And what of the news from inside?" Sir Leonius asked. "Has anyone bedded Mistress Wildsmith yet?"
Sir Cadogan spluttered. "How dare you speak of the lady in such a fashion!"
"Perhaps you should ask her, if the issue concerns you so greatly," said Thomas.
Sir Leonius merely grinned. "Perhaps I will."
He sauntered away, making straight for Mistress Wildsmith, whom he had soon engaged in lively conversation.
"How does he do it?" asked Sir William, dolefully.
"'tis the French in him," suggested Sir Cadogan.
"And the lack of scars probably helps," added Thomas.
If each of them wondered what had so engaged Mistress Wildsmith's interest, they did not have long to wait. She resembled nothing more than her sixteen-year-old self as she sought out the corner where the three of them had found chairs.
"Sir Leonius tells me he can get the tuber I need!"
"'tis a true fairy story," muttered Sir William. "The hero with the magic root ever wins the fair maiden."
"What tuber?" asked Thomas, mildly affronted that she considered his stock deficient.
"Now, Mistress Wildsmith," said Sir Leonius, coming up behind her, "that is between the two of us, is it not?"
But Mistress Wildsmith was unrepentant in her excitement. "Well, you know Mistress Wenlock has been helping with my research? According to her calculations, we need a tuber with very particular properties if we are to shift the elements just so, and-"
"And Sir Leonius has this mystery tuber?" Thomas interrupted before she could attempt to engage them in the intricacies of advanced Arithmancy, which always made his head ache.
"There is an old peasant woman on my father's estate in France who brews a potion with the properties that Mistress Wildsmith requires," said Sir Leonius.
Sir Cadogan winked at Sir William. "Told you it was the connection with France."
Sir William ignored him, and addressed Sir Leonius. "And you plan to give Mistress Wildsmith this herb?"
Sir Leonius smiled. "I trust we can come to some arrangement. The potential rewards are huge."
"Rewards?" asked Sir William testily. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"Travelling powder!" said Sir Leonius, who had perhaps imbibed rather more mead than discretion required. "How long was your journey here, Brother Thomas? Two or three weeks? Even by broom it takes several days. Imagine if instead you could cover that distance in hours!"
"Perhaps even minutes," said Mistress Wildsmith.
"What on earth are you talking about?" Sir William said again.
Thomas sat up straight. "You truly think it can be done?" he asked quietly.
"It would put the inns out of business," said Sir Cadogan, looking alarmed.
"No!" Sir Leonius exclaimed, jabbing a finger at Sir Cadogan to emphasise his point. "We will make the inns' business! Of course, those who do not offer a portal will suffer, but every town and village will need one, and the innkeepers will pay handsomely to host it."
"Just think, Brother Thomas," said Mistress Wildsmith, "even living here, we could visit our families!"
"I am more than happy to remain at Hogwarts, thank-you," he replied.
"Oh, ye of little faith," she teased.
"Do not contract with him, Mistress Wildsmith," said Sir William suddenly. "There are other ways to obtain the root you need. I would gladly-"
"Jealous, Will?" Sir Leonius grinned.
"Indeed not! I just, I feel she should not make herself beholden to you." Sir William gazed tipsily at Mistress Wildsmith.
"Silly!" She ruffled his hair, blind to Sir Leonius pursing his lips behind her. "Do you really believe I am incapable of contracting a fair arrangement? You have been too long among Muggles. Next you will tell me my mind is unfit for scholarship!"
"Come, Mistress Wildsmith," said Sir Leonius, holding out his arm to her. "Let us leave the naysayers to their mead."
"Something has touched their brains," said Sir Cadogan, as they watched the pair of them walk away.
"And if not," said Sir William gloomily, "both of them will be rolling in gold."
It was her failure to prevent the split of the Wizards' Council over the Baron's War of 1264-1265 that led to Lyra Black's removal from her position as its Chief. She was succeeded by Barberus Bragge, a wizard whose most celebrated achievement would be the introduction of the Golden Snidget into the game of Quidditch, the prevailing opinion of the Electors appearing to be that politics was far too serious to leave to those who took it seriously.
Bathilda Bagshot, in A History of Magic
Over the following years, Sir Leonius was seen more frequently at Hogwarts than he had been hitherto; Thomas grew accustomed to seeing him fly down to the village. Often, he would return on foot, with Mistress Wildsmith on his arm - much to the despondency of Sir William, who had started to visit the castle on the slightest pretext.
"'tis not him, you know," Thomas told him one day, after the knight had stomped in muttering about her radiant countenance. "She always has that look when steeped in her work."
"That is not all she is steeped in," Sir William retorted. "What do you know of women, anyhow?"
Thomas kept his counsel. Mayhap he knew little about women in general, but Mistress Wildsmith he knew better than either of her two suitors.
In truth, he was not eager to see either of them succeed. Now that he stood in danger of losing it, he had come to an ever greater awareness of how much he valued his own friendship with her; he had grounded her fire, and in turn that fire had lit up his soul. But he could see that she longed for a passion equal to her own, and he would not wish to deny it to her, whether in the end she be ignited by the bravado of Sir William or the ever-questing ambition of Sir Leonius.
Sir Cadogan they saw but rarely. His occasional visits delighted a new generation of students, but his face grew increasingly dark when asked about his travels beyond the school.
It came about, one day in the spring of 1263, that Thomas looked up from his work in the garden to catch sight of Sir Cadogan's familiar round figure leading his familiar round horse towards the castle. That evening, Sir Cadogan, Thomas and Mistress Wildsmith took a quiet supper in Mistress Wildsmith's outer room, this being one of the increasingly rare weeks when neither Sir Leonius nor Sir William were present.
"There is going to be a war," Sir Cadogan told them, when their conversation turned to politics. "The King still refuses to accept the oversight of the barons' council, but the barons insist on the rights granted them by the Provisions of Oxford. The Earl of Leicester has vowed to fight, and I am going to join him."
"No!" cried Mistress Wildsmith.
"What sort of knight would I be if I did not?" asked Sir Cadogan "If the King is allowed to rule unchecked, what sort of tyranny might we endure?" He had never looked more sombre.
"You are advocating treason," murmured Thomas.
"Pray do not think I take it lightly!" said Sir Cadogan. "I have agonised over this for weeks! But I am sworn to the Wizards' Council, not the King, and if the Council cannot provide leadership, all I can do is follow my conscience."
Thomas could not reply. He had known his own struggles with his conscience; he was in no position to judge those of another.
They waved farewell to Sir Cadogan the next morning.
"You know he has only survived thus far because the other knights watch over him," said Mistress Wildsmith quietly.
"The support of good friends is a shield not to be dismissed," Thomas replied. "As is the protection of the Lord. I will pray daily for Sir Cadogan's safety."
She smiled. "And I will write to Sir William."
Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
Psalm 23 v 4
War did not come that spring; the King capitulated to the barons after the city of London joined their revolt, and peace sat uneasy over the country. But the following year the conflict broke out anew.
Thomas saw little of the knights during this time. True to his word, Sir Cadogan remained with the Earl of Leicester's forces. Sir Leonius still made the occasional visit, but Sir William seemed to have abandoned his quest for Mistress Wildsmith's affections.
Thomas was enjoying a fine May morning when a large shadow passed over him. He looked up from his weeding in time to see a broomstick land heavily just outside the castle entrance. Its rider rolled onto the grass and lay still. Thomas dropped his fork and ran.
The castle doors opened; Mistress Wildsmith raced down the steps.
"William!" she cried, kneeling beside the man on the ground. For it was he, though Thomas would scarcely have recognised their friend behind the hollow cheeks and matted hair.
Sir William clutched at her arm. "Beg pardon," he wheezed, wincing as he tried to sit up.
"How are you hurt?" Thomas asked, casting his thoughts through his stock of herbs and salves.
"No... Just tired... damnable broomstick, begging pardon, Mistress-"
Others were issuing from the castle now. Thomas knelt beside Mistress Wildsmith and put an arm around Sir William's shoulders. "Can you stand?"
"No time," croaked the knight. "Sir Cadogan... hurt... fever." He pulled a pouch from his tunic. "From Léo." He handed it to Mistress Wildsmith; she almost snatched it from him. Sir William closed his eyes and leaned back on Thomas's shoulder.
Mistress Wildsmith glanced inside the pouch. "Where?" she asked.
"Lewes. The Dreaming Dragon"
"A tavern?"
"Where else?" He cracked a ghost of a smile, which dissolved into a coughing fit.
She laid a hand on his shoulder. "We thank you, Sir. 'tis a great deed you have done. But now you must rest."
She leapt to her feet. "Brother Thomas, fetch your bag and meet me in my room." She pointed to a lanky student who stood next to Thomas. "Master Prewett, see that Sir William is taken to the infirmary."
Thomas and Master Prewett exchanged a bewildered glance.
"Do as I say!" she snapped. "And do not tarry!"
She picked up her skirts and ran into the castle. Thomas, his confusion outweighed by the urgency of her manner, followed.
When he arrived at her room, a fire blazed in her hearth. She knelt before it, muttering under her breath. She glanced up as he entered.
"Please, pass me the pestle and mortar. And a knife."
He did as she asked, falling easily into the working pattern they had established in her apprentice days.
From Sir Leonius's pouch, she took a twisted white root and a stone sliver. She shaved half of the root into the mortar, then tapped the stone with her wand. It crumbled to powder; she ground it together with the root. Then she sprinkled it over the hearth and mantle, pointed her wand into the fire and sang out a spell: "Sub-i-un-go."
The whole fireplace glowed bright white for an instant. She sat back on her heels as the orange flames and soot-covered stone reappeared.
"It will have to be you who goes," she said.
"Goes? Where?"
"To Lewes, of course! Sir Cadogan has need of us."
He stared at her. "Lewes is near the south coast of England! Do you know how long it will take to get there?"
She smiled, and held out a small jar. "Not long, if you use this."
He took the jar from her. Inside a silver powder sparkled as if alive.
"Is this..." He looked up, slowly. "You really did it?"
She nodded. "I should have told you before, I know. But we wanted to make some more tests... It works, though. Sir Léo and I have both used it to travel between here and the inn at Hogsmeade."
He gazed at it in wonder; then his mind caught up. "And you want me to use it, to travel across two countries! But that is sorcery!"
"Of course it is sorcery! That is what we do at this school, is it not?"
Yes, of course it was. But he had restricted himself to magic that merely nudged the natural order of things: hastening the healing of a wound; nudging a seedling to grow in the direction he required. He had striven not to trespass on God's prerogative, and this scheme of Mistress Wildsmith surely did that.
She stood and put a hand on his arm. "Please, Brother Thomas. Jesus raised his friend Lazarus from the dead. Do you really think He would condemn you for helping yours?"
There was no time to wrestle with his conscience. In going, he was acting purely to help a friend in need. If he was to be judged for that, he would have to answer for it.
"Tell me how it works," he said.
"Do you remember teaching us how light is the source of all, that when expanded infinitely it generates fire and air and water and earth?"
Thomas nodded. Many times had he pored over Master Robert's writings on light since that long-ago day in the church.
"So I thought, if all comes from light, then all can be reduced to light. And in the sphere where all is light, there can be no solid barriers. So if we link two fires, one where matter creates light and the other where light regains form, we can travel between them, regardless of their physical separation."
Thomas found this almost impossible to follow. Which was, he knew, why she belonged in Ravenclaw House while he did not.
"But what of the powder?"
"The stone Sir Léo sent me is from the fireplace in Lewes; by mixing it with the root, I have used it to link this fireplace to that one. The powder protects you while you travel through the sphere of light, and directs you to your destination."
"Yes, but-" He frowned, frustrated. "You know I cannot grasp the theory in these few minutes! And nor do I need to. You say you have travelled this path and come out unscathed, and I trust you. So how do I use it?"
"My apologies. You sprinkle powder onto the fire. When the flames turn green, you can go. Just focus on your destination, and step into the flames."
He stared at the fire. He was not afraid, but... but no, he was afraid. He was about to walk into a world of fire, and it would have taken a man far braver than he not to wonder if he would find the way out again.
She smiled at him. "I found with Sir Leonius that if I augmented the linking spell while he was travelling, I could make his journey smoother. 'The support of friends is a shield,' you said. Let me be your shield, so that together we can be Sir Cadogan's."
If he delayed any longer, he would delay forever.
He made sure his bag of salves was secure, stepped up to the fireplace, and took a handful of powder from the jar. He returned the jar to Mistress Wildsmith, breathed slowly in and out, and scattered the powder over the flames.
For a long minute, nothing happened. And then he saw a green tinge at the base of the fire, which rapidly spread so that the whole hearth was filled with bright emerald flames.
"The path is open," said Mistress Wildsmith, holding tight to her wand. "Go well."
He nodded. Oh Lord, he prayed, if this is Your will, let me come safely to Sir Cadogan's side.
He smiled nervously at Mistress Wildsmith. She smiled back. "The Dreaming Dragon," she said. "At Lewes."
"The Dreaming Dragon," he repeated. The Dreaming Dragon at Lewes. The Dreaming Dragon at Lewes.
And he stepped into the flames.
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,
et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Kyrie, eleison.
Christe, eleison.
Kyrie, eleison.
Thomas often reflected, in later years, on that terrible journey. How, if there should be no solid barriers, had he received so many bruises? Why, if he had ascended somehow to the sphere of light, had he felt himself spinning through smoky darkness?
The theoretical implications he would leave to Mistress Wildsmith. The important thing was that it had worked: that when at last he had lain still and found he could still breathe, and opened his eyes and found he could still see, his gaze had fallen on a completely different room from the one into whose fireplace he had stepped. A room where a short man tossed fitfully in a bed, and a fair man jumped up to greet him with a mixture of astonishment and awe.
He did not travel by that method again. He nursed Sir Cadogan until he was strong enough to make the journey, then travelled back with him to Hogwarts, making sure to visit as many of his favourite inns as could reasonably be said to lie on their route. Sir Leonius accompanied them for part of the way, and if he was wont to request a private audience with each innkeeper, and if the innkeepers would stare curiously at Thomas afterwards, then Thomas did not care to pay it much heed.
Meanwhile, Mistress Wildsmith was nurse to Sir William, whose strength recovered more quickly from his headlong flight north than did his inclination to remount his broomstick. By the time the others returned, the two had already set a wedding date. They chose to settle in Hogsmeade; by the time of their nuptials, Mistress Wildsmith had started to reap the rewards of Sir Leonius's bargaining abilities, which afforded her the means to build a comfortable house with a small estate and a large fireplace. This she soon linked both to the Hogwarts potions room and Sir Leonius's manor in England, where Sir William stabled a horse for his occasional journeys south for the Wizards' Council.
Sir Leonius, in turn, would 'take the flue' to visit his friends in the north, though his visits became less frequent with the passing years. His family's estates were not so blessed with distance from the centres of power, which obliged him to spend more time in court to be sure of safely navigating the turbulent political waters. For his part, he probably did not regard this as a misfortune; certainly he was usually successful in turning a situation to his advantage. If he was disappointed he had not been so victorious in his pursuit of Mistress Wildsmith, he did not show it. He soon found a wife among the court gentry, with whom he fathered a fine son.
As for Sir Cadogan, he had sustained injuries at Lewes that, along with his increasing age, enabled his friends to persuade him that he could honourably retire from the active life of a knight. And so he avoided the bloodbath at Evesham the following year, and lived to enthral many more students with tales of chivalry, and to enjoy many more pints of ale with his friends.
Brother Thomas continued his work in the gardens and halls of Hogwarts, shepherd to all students but most especially to the Hufflepuffs, whose virtues were so often overlooked by others. He who had never sought to carve out a place in history had, through his teaching of Master Robert's theories, seeded a revolution that would transform the lives of magical folk down the ages. Which only went to show (as he would tell anyone who regarded him with undue awe) that one could never predict the path God would call one to follow, and that the best thing anyone could teach was the will to listen to Him and the moral strength to act on what was heard.
All lives draw to a close, and all tales with them. Sir Cadogan's heart failed where his courage had not, and he dropped dead while attempting a solo re-enactment of the Battle of Lewes for the History students. All of Hogwarts and most of Hogsmeade (including all who frequented the inn) turned out to mourn his passing, and Mistress Wildsmith (now styled Dame Ignatia by virtue of her marriage) commissioned his portrait for Hogwarts so that his spirit and stories would remain.
Dame Ignatia continued to refine her travelling powder; her legacy needs no elucidation. She and Sir William were blessed with several children and many grandchildren, despite the years he had spent astride a broom, and the wealth brought by her inventiveness enabled her to see each of them settled comfortably.
And for Brother Thomas, there came a time when bending to tend his beloved plants became too painful, and at last he had reason just to sit enjoying the warmth of the sun, directing his students in the proper care of plants and by this teaching them the proper care of people. When walking became difficult, he gave thanks for his ground floor room near the garden that Master John had assigned him all those years before. There were days, however, when he was confined to his bed, and then he found it impossible to avoid thoughts of what was to come. He discovered, if he had not known it all along, that his fear of performing magic had been suppressed, not overcome, and memories of every occasion on which he had used his unnatural powers reared up to haunt him with the fear of judgement.
So perhaps he was not surprised to find himself standing beside his bed, miraculously free of the pains of old age, gazing down on his motionless body. Some may speak of death as an adventure to be embraced, but Brother Thomas had never sought adventure. And, too, there had still not come to Hogwarts one who could continue his gentle care for the souls of the students.
Generations of students have passed through the halls of Hogwarts since that time, and many have been touched by his presence. And we may hope that he himself has little regret for the course of his death: though it has been many centuries since he has tasted the pleasures of food or drink, he is often to be found in a sunny corner of his beloved gardens, enjoying his eternal peace in the light.
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 handful of recognisable ancestors.
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 7,760 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
Part One: Oxford
The Friar's Calling
Part Two: Hogwarts
If Badger take thee to her burrow
Thy feete be firmly on the earth.
Thou fear not work to plough thy furrow
And loyal friendship proves its worth.
Songs of the Sorting Hat, Vol III
The walls of the castle glowed like a beacon in the afternoon light. Despite his misgivings about their destination, Thomas felt only overwhelming relief at the sight. The last few days had been the hardest of the whole journey, as he and Sir Cadogan had pushed their way through trackless bog, eking out their dwindling stores of dried meat while being eaten themselves by the near-invisible but omnipresent midges. Sir Cadogan's descriptions of meals he had enjoyed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry made Thomas's mouth water, and this alone would have drawn him eagerly through the gates.
Master John was at the door, his hands extended in welcome. Three boys in black scholars' robes scampered up; two led the horses away and the third tugged Sir Cadogan towards a stone-walled passage, bombarding him with excited questions.
"Sir Cadogan is one of the few knights who has any time for the students," said Master John. "Now that they know he has arrived, they will give him no peace." He smiled. "'tis good for both sides: a perfect marriage of eager audience and indefatigable storyteller."
He led the way down a corridor that lay opposite the one taken by Sir Cadogan. "Sir Cadogan stays in the Guest Wing when he visits," Master John explained. "Usually we need to find the right House for new residents before we can allocate rooms, but as you are to look after our herbs, I've given you the Apothecary Master's rooms. They are somewhat small, but previous occupants have found their proximity to the gardens useful."
'Small' was not the first description that came to mind when Thomas saw his new abode. There was certainly space enough for a large writing-table, a long workbench, and shelves from floor to ceiling. Master John caught his look. "Aye, it looks spacious enough now. But you will not be saying that when the place is full of seedlings and dried herbs and inquisitive students."
The bedchamber behind was barely large enough for the bed, on which Thomas would gladly have spent the rest the rest of the evening, had not common courtesy and a rumbling stomach compelled him to accompany Master John to dinner.
At first glance, there was nothing untoward about the sight that greeted Thomas as he entered the Great Hall. The few dozen students seated around four long tables, the chatter bouncing off the stone walls, the pungent scent of mutton and herbs: all this was familiar from the friary. What he had not expected to find was, seated next to his place at the raised staff table, a woman.
He took his place uncertainly. He was no stranger to women: before joining the friars he had played his part in the games of courtship, and he had used his skills with herbs to treat man and woman alike. But the fraternities of friary and university had no place for women, and he had no idea of how he was expected to respond to finding one here. Especially one in the prime of life, with piercing blue eyes, a fine matching gown, and tendrils of glossy black hair threatening to escape from the bronze mesh that confined them.
Thomas swallowed.
Master John came to his rescue. "This is Mistress Wenlock, our Master of Arithmancy," he explained. "Bridget, this is Brother Thomas."
Her status as a scholar, particularly a scholar of a subject unknown to Thomas, did nothing to put him at ease.
She sniffed haughtily. "Not another dyed-in-the-wool Muggle, I hope, who has never even met a witch?"
"I meant no offence, Madam," said Thomas stiffly.
"You meant no offence. But you are yourself offended to find yourself seated next to a woman?"
"Not at all!" Thomas protested. "I just... I am not accustomed to mixing with ladies so freely."
"Oh, I know all about that," she said. "Have I not seen my former fellows, even those less able than I, gain stature in Bologna and Paris and Oxford, while I have to hide my true identity even to correspond with the Muggle scholars?"
"If I have offended, then-"
She sighed. "No more than any of them. One gets so weary of it. Please forgive my discourtesy."
"And mine, if I..." He trailed off at her glare. Had his years in sackcloth really rendered him so incapable of conversing with a lady?
"Look," she said, holding his gaze. "You have had a hard journey and you are tired and I believe that you did not mean to be rude. So I shall say this to you, but I shall say it once only. If you do not learn - and learn quickly - to work with witches as well as wizards, your time here will not be easy. Just look around you." Her sweeping gesture took in the hall.
Thomas looked again at the students. With a shock, he realised that almost half were girls, and of the older students their proportion was even greater.
"Hogwarts has always admitted girls," she told him. "How could it not, when untrained witches pose as great a danger as do untrained wizards? And, while we are refused entry to Muggle institutions, this is one of the few centres of scholarship open to women who have no desire to join a nunnery."
"But is it not... I mean, does it not...?"
"Does it not what?"
Thomas felt himself going red. "Well, unmarried men and women, living in such proximity... Does it not lead to temptation?"
She shrugged. "The temptations of men are their own business. And those witches concerned about such things know well how to protect their virtue."
She poured ale into Thomas's tankard. "But here, I am being poor company to one who is weary. Will you not tell me about your journey?" And she proceeded to question him about every aspect of the terrain over which he had passed, and the weather he had experienced there. By the end of the meal his head was spinning, and it was not from the weak but delicious ale. At the far end of the table, Sir Cadogan had found merrier company, judging by the blasts of laughter issuing from that direction.
After the meal, Thomas wanted nothing more than to retire to his little cell to pray and to sleep, but Master John laid a hand on his arm as they rose from table. "I can see you are exhausted," he said apologetically, "but I must beg your indulgence for one final formality."
He led the way to his tower office, where Thomas sank gratefully into a wide chair. Master John poured honey wine for each of them.
"No doubt Sir Cadogan has regaled you with tales of the Houses of Hogwarts," he began. "It is customary for us to Sort students the night they arrive, usually in front of the assembled body of the school. But as you have arrived alone, I thought it would be easier for you to be Sorted in private."
Thomas nodded his appreciation. Sluggish with fatigue, it was only now occurring to him that the process might involve some form of magic, but he was almost too tired to care.
Master John stood to fetch a large box from a high shelf. "This will likely seem strange to you," he said, "but there is no reason to worry. All we need to do is find where your personal gifts will be best nurtured. But if you disagree with the judgement, it is up to you in the end." He reached into the box and pulled out an old-fashioned wide-brimmed hat. Thomas looked at it blankly.
"This belonged to Godric Gryffindor, one of the four Founders of the school," Master Thomas told him. "All you need to do is put it on; do not worry if it slips over your eyes. Godric was reputed to have a rather large head."
Gingerly, Thomas took the hat. It was just a normal hat, albeit somewhat faded.
"And this will tell you where I belong?"
"I certainly will, young man!"
Thomas dropped the hat; it rolled to the floor. It was not just faded, it was torn; and he could have sworn that the voice had issued from the tear! He had thought such objects existed only in legend, but as he stared, the material to either side of the tear moved of its own accord.
"Well, really!" said the voice. "'tis a poor way to treat a valuable artefact such as myself!"
Master John picked up the hat. "I am sorry," he said to Thomas. "Godric Gryffindor always did have a strange sense of humour."
"I was not joking!" said the hat.
They must have put something in his food, Thomas decided. Or else he was so exhausted, he was seeing things that were not there.
He made no protest when Master John gently placed the hat on his head.
"Interesting," said the voice he could not possibly be hearing. "There is much fear in you, yes indeed. But still, you made the journey, and that shows you have the courage to face your own fears as well as the hazards of the road. You are a good scholar, yet I sense that is not where your true passion lies. You have great dreams, Thomas, though your ambition is not to serve yourself but to minister to others in the service of your God. Yes, Helga would have been proud to welcome you to Hufflepuff House."
Master John removed the hat. "Well, Brother Thomas? Do you agree?"
Thomas blinked. It was as if the object had read his soul - or perhaps his pride. Why did it make no mention of the temptations to which he so often submitted? Of his liking for good food and good ale, of the afternoons when he neglected his studies to feel the warmth of the sun in his garden?
"I cannot disagree, Master," he said. "But I fear the judgement was too kind."
Master John laughed. "And if there was ever a doubt that you belong in Hufflepuff, it is hereby dispelled. Come, Brother Thomas, I have kept you from your bed for too long. Let me show you the way back to your rooms, and I will send someone to fetch you when it is time for breakfast. We can speak further thereafter."
As they reached to the ground floor, Thomas paused. "Could I prevail upon you to show me the way to the chapel?" he asked. "In Oxford I was used to going to pray before breakfast, and I would greatly like to resume the habit." And, he did not add aloud, he would need all of God's strength to face the strangeness of this new world.
Master John tugged at his beard. "A chapel... Let me see. I think you may find one on the seventh floor. I could show you after breakfast, if that would suffice?"
"You 'think'? Is it so rarely used?"
"It is there for those who need it," replied John. "You must understand that among our students we number Jews and followers of older gods. We Christians can seek to lead them to Christ by example, but we do not impose our worship upon others. It is important that we teach the safe and moral use of magic; we cannot take the risk of pushing them away from us completely."
"But... their souls!"
"Have been the cause of much argument within the Wizards' Council over the years, I assure you. It is far too large a topic to debate in the corridor when you are hardly able to stand upright; there will be time enough to discuss it in the weeks ahead."
Thomas said nothing as Master John showed him to his door. How many of those happy students he had watched at dinner were strangers to Christ? He would do what he could to rectify that: was this, perchance, the real reason he had been sent here?
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Matthew 5 v 8
"Lux."
Thomas focussed on the wand, but nothing happened. Nor had anything happened on his previous twenty attempts.
He tried to hide his relief. Perhaps they had been wrong about him. Perhaps they would send him back to Oxford, where he belonged.
Master John frowned. "Remember, Brother Thomas, the wand just channels what is there already. You need to feel the light inside you, not just say the word."
"But how?"
"You showed you know the answer to that in Oxford. You know you can do this!"
"That was by the power of the Lord, not the power of magic!"
"Then trust in the power of God. The two are not inseparable."
For Thomas, that was perilously close to blasphemy. "It just feels wrong to command what was previously freely given," he said miserably.
"Then do not command. Try asking for the the light to come forth."
Thomas's shoulders sagged. "Ask that the Lord permit magic?"
"Why not? That is the source of your difficulty, is it not?"
Why not? Because He would not so permit, thought Thomas. And yet, the Lord was present here, as He was present in all places at all times. And a vigil night of prayer had prompted him to come here, not stay on his former path.
He closed his eyes, clasped the cross he wore, and prayed. Lord, forgive me if I am trespassing. You know I seek only to do Your will. If this truly be what you wish of me, then let it be so.
He opened his eyes, cradling the Light of Christ in his heart.
"Lux." He spoke the word quietly.
A faint light glowed at the tip of his wand. As Thomas gazed in wonder, the light brightened to fill the room.
Master John smiled.
Thomas did not notice: he was rapt in the glory of the light.
Little is known about the years immediately following Brother Thomas's arrival at Hogwarts, and his ghost has consistently declined to elaborate, saying merely that 'There is more wisdom in service than sophistry' or 'It is better to till the soil of the present than to bury oneself in the past'. Occasionally, while watching a feast in which he, as a ghost, can no longer partake, he has also been known to give the sage advice 'Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you may die'.
Hogwarts: A History
Master John's words twelve years earlier had not been misspoken, Thomas thought as he searched for space on his shelf for a bottle of freshly prepared Oil of Yarrow. His workroom had long felt too small, though somehow there was always room for one extra jar.
He turned to clean the residue from his small cauldron, and heard his door creak open.
"Mistress Wildsmith!" He greeted his visitor with a smile, despite himself. He had been right to fear the presence of women: to his shame he had found the struggle against lustful thoughts a constant distraction, although, with prayer and advice from his bemused former Master in Oxford, he had kept to his vows and striven to regard the women of Hogwarts with brotherly affection. But Mistress Ignatia Wildsmith's merry laugh had lifted his heart from the moment she had arrived in his classroom six years previously, and as she had matured, so had his regard for her.
Today, however, her normally-sunny disposition seemed clouded. "What troubles you?" he asked.
She entered the room, closing the door behind her. "I have a request to make of you, Master Thomas."
He smiled. "Surely that cannot be a cause for such concern?"
"It is, if you might not grant it."
"Well, I can hardly grant it if you refuse to tell me what it is, can I?"
She drew in a breath. "Would you accept me as your apprentice?"
Thomas blinked. "That would be completely inappropriate! How can you even ask?"
Her face fell. "I was not aware that you found such fault in me."
Oh, she was right: how could he find fault with one such as her? And knowing that, how could he possibly work with her in the close proximity of master and apprentice?
"You know I do not," he said. "But... I thought your preferred field was Alchemy?"
She plucked at the hem of her sleeve. "I do wish to continue my studies of Alchemy," she admitted. "But the bare elements sometimes seem so lifeless! You work with life renewing itself, over and over; those mysteries are so much deeper."
"And I would be glad of your help," Thomas admitted in turn. "But it still seems to me that you would be better served if Mistress Goldwright directed your studies."
"She has not the time. She has two apprentices already, and soon she will also have a Muggle student who is coming from Oxford to learn from her."
"A Muggle?" Thomas's eyebrows shot up. "Master Black will not be pleased about that." Thomas did his best to avoid the Master of Dark Arts, whose contempt for those of non-magical backgrounds was notorious.
Mistress Wildsmith smiled, as he had hoped she would. "Indeed he will not," she agreed. "So you see, Mistress Goldwright lacks the time to properly supervise my studies. And if I have to leave..."
"No, that would never do," said Thomas. It was not a selfish sentiment, he insisted to himself. The world outside the walls of Hogwarts held few opportunities for women with enquiring minds.
"So, you agree then?"
Thomas ran his hand through his hair, heedless of the tiny white yarrow petals he was depositing there. "What could I teach you?" he asked. "I have still so much to learn myself!"
"And that is why you are a good teacher," she insisted, her eyes shining. "Mistress Goldwright and Mistress Wenlock are so sure of their knowledge, they refuse ever to discuss anything!"
He sensed he was losing the argument, with himself as well as with her.
"I will need to speak with Master John," he told her. And as she gave a cry of delight and skipped out of the room, he knew he would, as well, need to listen carefully to his Master in heaven.
He said to a friar preacher, "Three things are necessary for temporal well-being: food, sleep and jest." Again, he enjoined upon a certain friar who was melancholic to drink a cupful of the best wine for his penance; and when he had drained it, albeit with much aversion, he told him, "Dear brother, if you had that penance a few times you would end up with a better conscience."
Thomas of Eccleston, writing about Master Robert Grosseteste, c. 1250
The feast that celebrated Thomas's twenty-fifth year at the school was a merry one, helped in no small part by Sir Cadogan, who had contrived to be present, along with several of his fellow knights. Thomas looked out over the Hall, as he had during his first meal there, and found it difficult to countenance that he had once found the place strange. This was a true community of learning: one with all the usual petty frustrations and rivalries of an enclosed group of people, it was true, but also one where minds could roam free, unhindered by concerns of rank or sex or even religion. The world of Oxford seemed unbearably stifled in comparison.
There had been times when he had wondered whether he had been wrong to be so long out of that world, and he had resolved to go back as soon as another arrived who could preach the Word and shepherd the souls of the students. But none had come, and so he had stayed. There was little left for him out there, in any case: his former Superior, Brother Agnellus, was long dead, and his revered Master Robert had recently followed into the next life. The aunt who had bequeathed him her love of the soil lay beneath it now, and the remainder of his birth family had preferred to forget him since he had donned his friar's robe. No, his true family was here: Master John was nearing ninety and moved more carefully now, but still guided the school with a firm but fair hand; Mistress Wenlock's hair had greyed but was, if anything, more wild than ever; and Mistress Wildsmith had grown to glowing maturity as Thomas had filled out with the bulk of middle age.
She was a Master in her own right, now, her researches having prompted Master John to award her responsibility for brewing the simples and potions for which Thomas provided the plants. They still worked closely together, and she attended every one of his occasional classes on theology and natural philosophy, though of late he had oft seen her in deep discussion with Mistress Wenlock.
She drew admiring glances from more than one of the knights, as she led the way from the hall to the Staff Common Room, to which Sir Cadogan had earlier supervised the delivery of a barrel of Thomas's favourite Hogsmeade mead.
"Now, there be a maid who would brighten my days," said a voice beside him, slightly slurred with the effect of several pints of ale.
Thomas looked up, and recognised Sir William. "She is a good friend and a very skilled Potioneer," he retorted. "As you would know if ever you bothered to avail yourself of her salve. Anyone would think you took pride in displaying your scars to the world!"
"Ah, but many ladies find them impressive," said Sir William, a roguish twinkle in his eyes. "Shows them a man is able to fight for their honour."
Thomas laughed. "Well, you will find scars of little help here. I can assure you that Mistresses Wenlock and Wildsmith would merely call you an idiot and insist that they could very well fight for themselves."
"But clever ladies like those would know that Muggle knights do not respect one of my age who shows no marks of battle."
"That, I grant you."
They had reached the common room, where Sir Cadogan, with a theatrical flourish, offered them each a goblet of mead. "So tell me," Thomas asked, "what is the latest from the world beyond these walls?"
"Oh, much the same." Sir William grimaced. "The King still seeks to dilute the provisions of the Great Charter, the barons still seek to prevent him from doing so. Rumours of conspiracy still pop up like mushrooms after a rainy night. And everyone complains about taxes."
"And the Wizards' Council still cannot reach a decision on which side to support," added Sir Cadogan.
Thomas nodded. "Master John mentioned something of that. He is urging neutrality, he said."
"Which will never happen," said Sir William. "Not while Sir Henri claims to have influence over the King, and Lady McMillan spits fury over His Highness's foreign advisors."
"And what of your father's view?" asked Sir Cadogan.
"He fears the autocratic tendencies of the King," Sir William replied. "He is among those who fear that the persecutions suffered by the Jews may be visited next on wizards. But nor does he entirely trust the barons: their allegiances are too volatile. And setting wizard against wizard would weaken us all."
"So he plans to stay perched on the wall?" Sir Cadogan was incredulous. "When we are sworn to-"
"Shhh!" Sir William nodded towards the mead barrel, from where Sir Leonius, who was son to the aforementioned Sir Henri, approached.
"What a serious conversation you look to be having!" exclaimed the newcomer.
"Merely catching up on the news from outside," said Thomas, forcing a merry smile. Sir Leonius had aged better than his friend since that fateful day in the herb garden; unlike Sir William, he appeared not to balk at using salves to maintain his appearance.
"And what of the news from inside?" Sir Leonius asked. "Has anyone bedded Mistress Wildsmith yet?"
Sir Cadogan spluttered. "How dare you speak of the lady in such a fashion!"
"Perhaps you should ask her, if the issue concerns you so greatly," said Thomas.
Sir Leonius merely grinned. "Perhaps I will."
He sauntered away, making straight for Mistress Wildsmith, whom he had soon engaged in lively conversation.
"How does he do it?" asked Sir William, dolefully.
"'tis the French in him," suggested Sir Cadogan.
"And the lack of scars probably helps," added Thomas.
If each of them wondered what had so engaged Mistress Wildsmith's interest, they did not have long to wait. She resembled nothing more than her sixteen-year-old self as she sought out the corner where the three of them had found chairs.
"Sir Leonius tells me he can get the tuber I need!"
"'tis a true fairy story," muttered Sir William. "The hero with the magic root ever wins the fair maiden."
"What tuber?" asked Thomas, mildly affronted that she considered his stock deficient.
"Now, Mistress Wildsmith," said Sir Leonius, coming up behind her, "that is between the two of us, is it not?"
But Mistress Wildsmith was unrepentant in her excitement. "Well, you know Mistress Wenlock has been helping with my research? According to her calculations, we need a tuber with very particular properties if we are to shift the elements just so, and-"
"And Sir Leonius has this mystery tuber?" Thomas interrupted before she could attempt to engage them in the intricacies of advanced Arithmancy, which always made his head ache.
"There is an old peasant woman on my father's estate in France who brews a potion with the properties that Mistress Wildsmith requires," said Sir Leonius.
Sir Cadogan winked at Sir William. "Told you it was the connection with France."
Sir William ignored him, and addressed Sir Leonius. "And you plan to give Mistress Wildsmith this herb?"
Sir Leonius smiled. "I trust we can come to some arrangement. The potential rewards are huge."
"Rewards?" asked Sir William testily. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"Travelling powder!" said Sir Leonius, who had perhaps imbibed rather more mead than discretion required. "How long was your journey here, Brother Thomas? Two or three weeks? Even by broom it takes several days. Imagine if instead you could cover that distance in hours!"
"Perhaps even minutes," said Mistress Wildsmith.
"What on earth are you talking about?" Sir William said again.
Thomas sat up straight. "You truly think it can be done?" he asked quietly.
"It would put the inns out of business," said Sir Cadogan, looking alarmed.
"No!" Sir Leonius exclaimed, jabbing a finger at Sir Cadogan to emphasise his point. "We will make the inns' business! Of course, those who do not offer a portal will suffer, but every town and village will need one, and the innkeepers will pay handsomely to host it."
"Just think, Brother Thomas," said Mistress Wildsmith, "even living here, we could visit our families!"
"I am more than happy to remain at Hogwarts, thank-you," he replied.
"Oh, ye of little faith," she teased.
"Do not contract with him, Mistress Wildsmith," said Sir William suddenly. "There are other ways to obtain the root you need. I would gladly-"
"Jealous, Will?" Sir Leonius grinned.
"Indeed not! I just, I feel she should not make herself beholden to you." Sir William gazed tipsily at Mistress Wildsmith.
"Silly!" She ruffled his hair, blind to Sir Leonius pursing his lips behind her. "Do you really believe I am incapable of contracting a fair arrangement? You have been too long among Muggles. Next you will tell me my mind is unfit for scholarship!"
"Come, Mistress Wildsmith," said Sir Leonius, holding out his arm to her. "Let us leave the naysayers to their mead."
"Something has touched their brains," said Sir Cadogan, as they watched the pair of them walk away.
"And if not," said Sir William gloomily, "both of them will be rolling in gold."
It was her failure to prevent the split of the Wizards' Council over the Baron's War of 1264-1265 that led to Lyra Black's removal from her position as its Chief. She was succeeded by Barberus Bragge, a wizard whose most celebrated achievement would be the introduction of the Golden Snidget into the game of Quidditch, the prevailing opinion of the Electors appearing to be that politics was far too serious to leave to those who took it seriously.
Bathilda Bagshot, in A History of Magic
Over the following years, Sir Leonius was seen more frequently at Hogwarts than he had been hitherto; Thomas grew accustomed to seeing him fly down to the village. Often, he would return on foot, with Mistress Wildsmith on his arm - much to the despondency of Sir William, who had started to visit the castle on the slightest pretext.
"'tis not him, you know," Thomas told him one day, after the knight had stomped in muttering about her radiant countenance. "She always has that look when steeped in her work."
"That is not all she is steeped in," Sir William retorted. "What do you know of women, anyhow?"
Thomas kept his counsel. Mayhap he knew little about women in general, but Mistress Wildsmith he knew better than either of her two suitors.
In truth, he was not eager to see either of them succeed. Now that he stood in danger of losing it, he had come to an ever greater awareness of how much he valued his own friendship with her; he had grounded her fire, and in turn that fire had lit up his soul. But he could see that she longed for a passion equal to her own, and he would not wish to deny it to her, whether in the end she be ignited by the bravado of Sir William or the ever-questing ambition of Sir Leonius.
Sir Cadogan they saw but rarely. His occasional visits delighted a new generation of students, but his face grew increasingly dark when asked about his travels beyond the school.
It came about, one day in the spring of 1263, that Thomas looked up from his work in the garden to catch sight of Sir Cadogan's familiar round figure leading his familiar round horse towards the castle. That evening, Sir Cadogan, Thomas and Mistress Wildsmith took a quiet supper in Mistress Wildsmith's outer room, this being one of the increasingly rare weeks when neither Sir Leonius nor Sir William were present.
"There is going to be a war," Sir Cadogan told them, when their conversation turned to politics. "The King still refuses to accept the oversight of the barons' council, but the barons insist on the rights granted them by the Provisions of Oxford. The Earl of Leicester has vowed to fight, and I am going to join him."
"No!" cried Mistress Wildsmith.
"What sort of knight would I be if I did not?" asked Sir Cadogan "If the King is allowed to rule unchecked, what sort of tyranny might we endure?" He had never looked more sombre.
"You are advocating treason," murmured Thomas.
"Pray do not think I take it lightly!" said Sir Cadogan. "I have agonised over this for weeks! But I am sworn to the Wizards' Council, not the King, and if the Council cannot provide leadership, all I can do is follow my conscience."
Thomas could not reply. He had known his own struggles with his conscience; he was in no position to judge those of another.
They waved farewell to Sir Cadogan the next morning.
"You know he has only survived thus far because the other knights watch over him," said Mistress Wildsmith quietly.
"The support of good friends is a shield not to be dismissed," Thomas replied. "As is the protection of the Lord. I will pray daily for Sir Cadogan's safety."
She smiled. "And I will write to Sir William."
Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
Psalm 23 v 4
War did not come that spring; the King capitulated to the barons after the city of London joined their revolt, and peace sat uneasy over the country. But the following year the conflict broke out anew.
Thomas saw little of the knights during this time. True to his word, Sir Cadogan remained with the Earl of Leicester's forces. Sir Leonius still made the occasional visit, but Sir William seemed to have abandoned his quest for Mistress Wildsmith's affections.
Thomas was enjoying a fine May morning when a large shadow passed over him. He looked up from his weeding in time to see a broomstick land heavily just outside the castle entrance. Its rider rolled onto the grass and lay still. Thomas dropped his fork and ran.
The castle doors opened; Mistress Wildsmith raced down the steps.
"William!" she cried, kneeling beside the man on the ground. For it was he, though Thomas would scarcely have recognised their friend behind the hollow cheeks and matted hair.
Sir William clutched at her arm. "Beg pardon," he wheezed, wincing as he tried to sit up.
"How are you hurt?" Thomas asked, casting his thoughts through his stock of herbs and salves.
"No... Just tired... damnable broomstick, begging pardon, Mistress-"
Others were issuing from the castle now. Thomas knelt beside Mistress Wildsmith and put an arm around Sir William's shoulders. "Can you stand?"
"No time," croaked the knight. "Sir Cadogan... hurt... fever." He pulled a pouch from his tunic. "From Léo." He handed it to Mistress Wildsmith; she almost snatched it from him. Sir William closed his eyes and leaned back on Thomas's shoulder.
Mistress Wildsmith glanced inside the pouch. "Where?" she asked.
"Lewes. The Dreaming Dragon"
"A tavern?"
"Where else?" He cracked a ghost of a smile, which dissolved into a coughing fit.
She laid a hand on his shoulder. "We thank you, Sir. 'tis a great deed you have done. But now you must rest."
She leapt to her feet. "Brother Thomas, fetch your bag and meet me in my room." She pointed to a lanky student who stood next to Thomas. "Master Prewett, see that Sir William is taken to the infirmary."
Thomas and Master Prewett exchanged a bewildered glance.
"Do as I say!" she snapped. "And do not tarry!"
She picked up her skirts and ran into the castle. Thomas, his confusion outweighed by the urgency of her manner, followed.
When he arrived at her room, a fire blazed in her hearth. She knelt before it, muttering under her breath. She glanced up as he entered.
"Please, pass me the pestle and mortar. And a knife."
He did as she asked, falling easily into the working pattern they had established in her apprentice days.
From Sir Leonius's pouch, she took a twisted white root and a stone sliver. She shaved half of the root into the mortar, then tapped the stone with her wand. It crumbled to powder; she ground it together with the root. Then she sprinkled it over the hearth and mantle, pointed her wand into the fire and sang out a spell: "Sub-i-un-go."
The whole fireplace glowed bright white for an instant. She sat back on her heels as the orange flames and soot-covered stone reappeared.
"It will have to be you who goes," she said.
"Goes? Where?"
"To Lewes, of course! Sir Cadogan has need of us."
He stared at her. "Lewes is near the south coast of England! Do you know how long it will take to get there?"
She smiled, and held out a small jar. "Not long, if you use this."
He took the jar from her. Inside a silver powder sparkled as if alive.
"Is this..." He looked up, slowly. "You really did it?"
She nodded. "I should have told you before, I know. But we wanted to make some more tests... It works, though. Sir Léo and I have both used it to travel between here and the inn at Hogsmeade."
He gazed at it in wonder; then his mind caught up. "And you want me to use it, to travel across two countries! But that is sorcery!"
"Of course it is sorcery! That is what we do at this school, is it not?"
Yes, of course it was. But he had restricted himself to magic that merely nudged the natural order of things: hastening the healing of a wound; nudging a seedling to grow in the direction he required. He had striven not to trespass on God's prerogative, and this scheme of Mistress Wildsmith surely did that.
She stood and put a hand on his arm. "Please, Brother Thomas. Jesus raised his friend Lazarus from the dead. Do you really think He would condemn you for helping yours?"
There was no time to wrestle with his conscience. In going, he was acting purely to help a friend in need. If he was to be judged for that, he would have to answer for it.
"Tell me how it works," he said.
"Do you remember teaching us how light is the source of all, that when expanded infinitely it generates fire and air and water and earth?"
Thomas nodded. Many times had he pored over Master Robert's writings on light since that long-ago day in the church.
"So I thought, if all comes from light, then all can be reduced to light. And in the sphere where all is light, there can be no solid barriers. So if we link two fires, one where matter creates light and the other where light regains form, we can travel between them, regardless of their physical separation."
Thomas found this almost impossible to follow. Which was, he knew, why she belonged in Ravenclaw House while he did not.
"But what of the powder?"
"The stone Sir Léo sent me is from the fireplace in Lewes; by mixing it with the root, I have used it to link this fireplace to that one. The powder protects you while you travel through the sphere of light, and directs you to your destination."
"Yes, but-" He frowned, frustrated. "You know I cannot grasp the theory in these few minutes! And nor do I need to. You say you have travelled this path and come out unscathed, and I trust you. So how do I use it?"
"My apologies. You sprinkle powder onto the fire. When the flames turn green, you can go. Just focus on your destination, and step into the flames."
He stared at the fire. He was not afraid, but... but no, he was afraid. He was about to walk into a world of fire, and it would have taken a man far braver than he not to wonder if he would find the way out again.
She smiled at him. "I found with Sir Leonius that if I augmented the linking spell while he was travelling, I could make his journey smoother. 'The support of friends is a shield,' you said. Let me be your shield, so that together we can be Sir Cadogan's."
If he delayed any longer, he would delay forever.
He made sure his bag of salves was secure, stepped up to the fireplace, and took a handful of powder from the jar. He returned the jar to Mistress Wildsmith, breathed slowly in and out, and scattered the powder over the flames.
For a long minute, nothing happened. And then he saw a green tinge at the base of the fire, which rapidly spread so that the whole hearth was filled with bright emerald flames.
"The path is open," said Mistress Wildsmith, holding tight to her wand. "Go well."
He nodded. Oh Lord, he prayed, if this is Your will, let me come safely to Sir Cadogan's side.
He smiled nervously at Mistress Wildsmith. She smiled back. "The Dreaming Dragon," she said. "At Lewes."
"The Dreaming Dragon," he repeated. The Dreaming Dragon at Lewes. The Dreaming Dragon at Lewes.
And he stepped into the flames.
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,
et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Kyrie, eleison.
Christe, eleison.
Kyrie, eleison.
Thomas often reflected, in later years, on that terrible journey. How, if there should be no solid barriers, had he received so many bruises? Why, if he had ascended somehow to the sphere of light, had he felt himself spinning through smoky darkness?
The theoretical implications he would leave to Mistress Wildsmith. The important thing was that it had worked: that when at last he had lain still and found he could still breathe, and opened his eyes and found he could still see, his gaze had fallen on a completely different room from the one into whose fireplace he had stepped. A room where a short man tossed fitfully in a bed, and a fair man jumped up to greet him with a mixture of astonishment and awe.
He did not travel by that method again. He nursed Sir Cadogan until he was strong enough to make the journey, then travelled back with him to Hogwarts, making sure to visit as many of his favourite inns as could reasonably be said to lie on their route. Sir Leonius accompanied them for part of the way, and if he was wont to request a private audience with each innkeeper, and if the innkeepers would stare curiously at Thomas afterwards, then Thomas did not care to pay it much heed.
Meanwhile, Mistress Wildsmith was nurse to Sir William, whose strength recovered more quickly from his headlong flight north than did his inclination to remount his broomstick. By the time the others returned, the two had already set a wedding date. They chose to settle in Hogsmeade; by the time of their nuptials, Mistress Wildsmith had started to reap the rewards of Sir Leonius's bargaining abilities, which afforded her the means to build a comfortable house with a small estate and a large fireplace. This she soon linked both to the Hogwarts potions room and Sir Leonius's manor in England, where Sir William stabled a horse for his occasional journeys south for the Wizards' Council.
Sir Leonius, in turn, would 'take the flue' to visit his friends in the north, though his visits became less frequent with the passing years. His family's estates were not so blessed with distance from the centres of power, which obliged him to spend more time in court to be sure of safely navigating the turbulent political waters. For his part, he probably did not regard this as a misfortune; certainly he was usually successful in turning a situation to his advantage. If he was disappointed he had not been so victorious in his pursuit of Mistress Wildsmith, he did not show it. He soon found a wife among the court gentry, with whom he fathered a fine son.
As for Sir Cadogan, he had sustained injuries at Lewes that, along with his increasing age, enabled his friends to persuade him that he could honourably retire from the active life of a knight. And so he avoided the bloodbath at Evesham the following year, and lived to enthral many more students with tales of chivalry, and to enjoy many more pints of ale with his friends.
Brother Thomas continued his work in the gardens and halls of Hogwarts, shepherd to all students but most especially to the Hufflepuffs, whose virtues were so often overlooked by others. He who had never sought to carve out a place in history had, through his teaching of Master Robert's theories, seeded a revolution that would transform the lives of magical folk down the ages. Which only went to show (as he would tell anyone who regarded him with undue awe) that one could never predict the path God would call one to follow, and that the best thing anyone could teach was the will to listen to Him and the moral strength to act on what was heard.
All lives draw to a close, and all tales with them. Sir Cadogan's heart failed where his courage had not, and he dropped dead while attempting a solo re-enactment of the Battle of Lewes for the History students. All of Hogwarts and most of Hogsmeade (including all who frequented the inn) turned out to mourn his passing, and Mistress Wildsmith (now styled Dame Ignatia by virtue of her marriage) commissioned his portrait for Hogwarts so that his spirit and stories would remain.
Dame Ignatia continued to refine her travelling powder; her legacy needs no elucidation. She and Sir William were blessed with several children and many grandchildren, despite the years he had spent astride a broom, and the wealth brought by her inventiveness enabled her to see each of them settled comfortably.
And for Brother Thomas, there came a time when bending to tend his beloved plants became too painful, and at last he had reason just to sit enjoying the warmth of the sun, directing his students in the proper care of plants and by this teaching them the proper care of people. When walking became difficult, he gave thanks for his ground floor room near the garden that Master John had assigned him all those years before. There were days, however, when he was confined to his bed, and then he found it impossible to avoid thoughts of what was to come. He discovered, if he had not known it all along, that his fear of performing magic had been suppressed, not overcome, and memories of every occasion on which he had used his unnatural powers reared up to haunt him with the fear of judgement.
So perhaps he was not surprised to find himself standing beside his bed, miraculously free of the pains of old age, gazing down on his motionless body. Some may speak of death as an adventure to be embraced, but Brother Thomas had never sought adventure. And, too, there had still not come to Hogwarts one who could continue his gentle care for the souls of the students.
Generations of students have passed through the halls of Hogwarts since that time, and many have been touched by his presence. And we may hope that he himself has little regret for the course of his death: though it has been many centuries since he has tasted the pleasures of food or drink, he is often to be found in a sunny corner of his beloved gardens, enjoying his eternal peace in the light.