Perhaps it was something to be grateful for: after Potions came the weekend. Two full days of freedom meant the young witches and wizards barely had to see any professors at all.
When Lynn ran into Draco in the Great Hall, he couldn't quite keep a trace of pity out of his eyes. Snitching wasn't exactly noble, but Lynn really didn't want to waste any more time on the little ferret. The way Draco kept glaring at him made it obvious—even without using his brain—perfectly clear the Slytherin was plotting something nasty. Rather than play childish games, Lynn figured it was better to just let Snape handle it.
The result was that Draco, while still shooting venomous looks at Lynn, suddenly felt an inexplicable chill down his spine. He had no idea why, but a sense of impending doom washed over him. Instinctively he clutched his belt and yanked his trousers up harder.
He'd already fastened them tightly with the belt, yet Draco still didn't dare relax. The utter social suicide of the Start-of-Term Feast had left him practically mute ever since arriving at school; he certainly hadn't bragged to a single classmate.
Draco's Hogwarts life was, to put it mildly, not going well.
Lynn had no such troubles. Gryffindor was a house where making friends came easily; the little lions were open and warm-hearted, and laughter constantly spilled out of the common room.
After finishing the first week of term, the very first weekend in September felt like a gift from heaven. The Great Hall was noisier than ever, and the Gryffindor table was easily the rowdiest.
The Weasley twins plopped down directly across from Lynn and Harley, the inseparable pair who also happened to be Gryffindor's most popular clowns and the house Quidditch team's Beaters. Their popularity was off the charts.
"Afternoon, Lynn! Afternoon, Harley!" The twins greeted them with identical cheeky grins the moment they sat down. "We heard what you two pulled off; bloody brilliant!"
"Uh… what exactly did we do?" Lynn asked, genuinely confused.
"Look over there!" The twins pointed dramatically at the giant hourglasses on the wall. "See the sand? It's actually running upward!"
"Ever since Bill started at Hogwarts, Gryffindor has never—never—been in the positive after the first week."
"Last year was tragic," George continued. "Somebody blew up a cauldron in Snape's class and accidentally splattered his robes. House lost a whole twenty points on the spot. This same day last year, our hourglass was still thirty-odd gems in the red."
"Do you have any idea, Harley," Fred said theatrically, "you've created a legend? You actually earned points in Snape's class. That's more shocking than McGonagall inviting first-years to her club."
"But if Harley got the points in Snape's lesson," Lynn said slowly, "does that mean I definitely didn't get invited to Professor McGonagall's club?"
The twins exchanged a look and burst out laughing.
"Actually, she mentioned it in Friday's lesson," Fred said. He cleared his throat, then did a pitch-perfect imitation of McGonagall's stern Scottish clip, complete with a stiff expression:
"You are third-year students now. I refuse to accept that after one summer holiday you have forgotten how to correctly turn a mouse into a teacup; this is the most basic Transfiguration. Your first-year juniors have already mastered the skill. I do not expect you to match him and produce a cup with no residual animal characteristics whatsoever, but at the very least your teacups must not still have tails, nor should they squeak and scamper about the desk. I do not wish, in this year's Transfiguration Tournament, to have your juniors replace you as Hogwarts representatives."
Fred finished the impression; George spread his hands helplessly. "So now we've been blessed with a surprise quiz next week. Anyone who fails… well, let's just say you'll be helping Professor Sprout stir fertilizer by hand. Trust me, that punishment puts you off food for a solid week."
"Transfiguration Tournament?" Lynn echoed.
"Yeah! Inter-school competition," Fred explained. "The students chosen to compete get into the professor's special club. Transfiguration, Potions, and Charms always participate; Herbology is less frequent, maybe every two or three years, because Castrobusher is so far away they usually compete with Ilvermorny instead."
"But speaking of cool tournaments," George leaned in excitedly, "the Triwizard Tournament is held every four years and it's mental. Last year it was at Durmstrang. Charlie absolutely slaughtered them. The final task was fighting a gigantic horse-shaped kelpie to snatch the golden cup it guarded. That thing was enormous, ten times bigger than the one in the Black Lake. Charlie said when it was in horse form it was easily seven or eight storeys tall."
"Triwizard Tournament?!" Lynn's jaw dropped.
"Yeah, no surprise you haven't heard of it," Fred shrugged. "It's a centuries-old tradition between Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. It was banned for a while, but about a hundred years ago it started up again. Apparently a Hogwarts alumnus, after graduating, went and beat the robes off every wizard in Europe, giving Hogwarts massive prestige, and they restarted the tournament because of him."
"A… Hogwarts… alumnus?" Something about the story tugged at Lynn's memory, but he couldn't quite place it.
"Oh, he's a proper legend," the twins said in unison, eyes shining.
"Our great-grandmother was Vice-Headmistress at the time; she saw everything with her own eyes. Back then there was this huge poacher syndicate called the Ashwinders (literally 'Fire-Ash Snake Party') that had grown terrifyingly powerful and brazen. The Forbidden Forest had practically become their base; black markets everywhere, the stench of blood drifting out of the trees."
"But in the slightly over two years after that alumnus enrolled, he pretty much single-handedly wiped the Ashwinders off the face of the earth. And even after graduating he kept going after poacher rings, causing absolute carnage across Europe, from the continent all the way to Africa. There's still a statue of him in the plaza at Uagadou to commemorate his extraordinary contribution to protecting magical creatures."
"Some people tried to pin the 'Dark wizard' label on him, but come off it! The man's a Gryffindor hero! Sure, his chain-Avada Kedavra was a bit terrifying—one spell and whole crowds dropped dead—but that doesn't change the fact he charged straight ahead on the path of justice!"
Lynn fell silent.
He now knew exactly who this "legendary alumnus" really was.
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