Hogwarts, 1162

The door of the Common Room swung to a close with a soft, timid click. The sound itself reached nary an ear, yet the power of that click echoed throughout the room like a mighty blast. The assembled students fell silent and ceased their banal motions. The older students found chairs, the younger sat on the floor and, as one, they turned to face a bench at the center of the room. More than a door separated them from the rest of the castle now, more than the animate suit of scale armour which guarded the portal, more than the social conventions which divided the Houses. They were bonded as rule-breakers, outlaws and traitors.

A tall, broad-shouldered seventh-year placed himself at the hub and mounted his wooden throne. He wore the same robe as his classmates, but his golden trim flourished with each gesture and his scarlet fabric flickered and billowed with righteous indignation. He threw back his head, dismissing the mass of lank brown hair which obscured his vision, and swept his steel-grey eyes across the room. His name was Marcus Roarke.

Marcus raised a sheaf of parchment clutched in his right hand. The other students cringed. From nothing more than Marcus's gaze, they knew this parchment contained a list of the most heinous crimes imaginable. Before Marcus had said a word, they were horrified that such a disquieting record might be read aloud; then they were given to awe that their leader had already endured this disturbing testimony; and, finally, they were filled with hot, boiling anger for the perpetrators, along with absoulte confidence that, if he were only given the necessary weapons, Marcus would deliver just vengeance.

"Martina," he said softly.

The students flinched and waited. The name 'Martina' was, as yet, unkown to them.

"Martina," said Marcus again. "Martina Helga Hufflepuff."

The crowd gasped.

"There is more," declared Marcus, gripping the parchment angrily. "Rowena Ravenclaw was born Rowena de Dingwall. It was not the custom to take a surname in the Highlands. 'Ravenclaw' was merely a nickname." He paused to permit an outraged murmur. "Yes, a nickname. It gets worse, my friends. Salazar Slytherin claimed to be from Norfolk, but would you trust Salazar? ("No!" cried several students.) Nor would I -- I checked the local registries. There are no Slytherins in Norfolk, there were no Slytherins in Norfolk. The letter z is not even used in Norfolk!" Marcus raised his voice, his knuckles white with fury. "Salazar Slytherin my eye! He's more likely to have been born Willy Jones! Deceiver! Cheat! Deceivers all!"

He allowed the parchment to drift to the floor, where it lay as an invitation to verify his claims. But the crowd sat still, as Marcus knew they would, trusting him utterly, fixated on his words.

"Middle names, nicknames, and made-up names!" spat Marcus, ignoring the fact that plurals didn't really apply. "We have been wronged, my friends!"

"Wronged!" they shouted.

"Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin have cheated Godric!"

"They cheated Godric!"

"They've cheated us!" bellowed Marcus.

"We've been cheated!" yelled some. "Godric cheated us!" declared a first-year boy, missing the point.

Marcus set his jaw and raised a fist. "How much longer will we stand for this outrage?"

"No longer!" said some. "No more than a week!" and "Three days at most!" offered others.

Marcus wisely reverted to yes/no questions. "Are we a lesser House? ("No!" they answered.) Shall we allow the other Houses to hold us in contempt? ("No!") Will we permit this stain on Godric's honor? ("No!") Are we willing to fight?"

"No!" said the first-year boy, who was still not following very well. "Yes! Fight!" hollered the others.

"Who is willing to lead the charge?" raged Marcus. "Who will stand in the vanguard, who will be the first to die?"

"I will!" and "I shall die for Godric!" answered many of the students, rising to their feet.

"Alas, no," said Marcus. He turned in a slow circle, his robe shimmering with sadness, his eyes fading from steel to the color of dusk. "It may yet come to pass that some of you must perish. But it is my destiny to lead in all things, and I will be the first to die."

Many of the students choked back sobs. A fourth-year girl broke down and wept.

"Harden thy hearts," implored Marcus. "It is a day for martyrs! Let a thirst for justice be thy fire, let truth be thy sword, and, yeah, though our lives should end in battle, our cause will be immortal! Let the brunt of thine anger fall unyielding upon thy foes! Let them quiver at our wrath!" Trembling with emotion, tears streaming down his face, Marcus swept back his robes and reached for his pocket. "Now is the hour we draw wands together! FOR GODRIC!"

"FOR GODRIC!" they cried. "FOR GODRIC!"

  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Doris Elphick, Headmistress of Hogwarts, was an easy-going woman of middle years who enjoyed the quiet, scholarly life. She was sitting in her office one morning reading over the latest letter from her brother (detailing his adventures with fantastic beasts) when there came a timid knock at the door.

"Come in, Cuthbert," she said.

The Deputy Headmaster opened the door and stepped inside. "How did you know it was me?"

"My dear Professor, none but you can knock so timidly."

"Timidly," squawked Doris's parrot from a nearby silver perch.

Doris set aside her letter. "What's on your mind?"

The Deputy Headmaster ran a hand through his thin, greying hair. He was a thin, greying man, two score older than the Headmistress, but he'd never aspired to the Head position himself. Teaching was his only passion. "I fear we have a rebellion on our hands, Headmistress."

Doris furrowed her brow. "A rebellion?"

"Yes," said Cuthbert, who remained standing. "Did you happen to notice the absence of maltesers in last night's desert? Maltesers are always served with Friday supper."

"Ah," said Doris, nodding her head. "The house-elves pushing for another pay cut, are they? Well, I'm putting my foot down this time, bad enough they insist on working naked--"

"It wasn't the elves," interrupted Cuthbert. "The maltesers were taken in a raid."

It was not so much the shock of a malteser raid that made Doris suddenly alert, but the fact that the normally-timid Deputy Headmaster had interrupted her. "Sit down, Cuthbert," she instructed. "A raid by whom?"

The grey-haired Cuthbert took a seat on the oppposite side of the desk. "I'm sure it was the Fliffindors."

"Fliffindors?" repeated Doris.

"Fliffindors," parrotted the parrot.

"The Fliffindors are agitating for an alteration of the historical records," said Cuthbert with a look of disgust.

"Surely, this could be handled by their Head of House?"

"Professor Wiblin seems to be, er... sympathetic," said Cuthbert nervously. "She's not taking sides, but she's barricaded herself in her office. I think she wants to see how it plays out."

"That's not a bad idea," said Doris, looking around her own office to evaluate the potential for barricading.

"Professor!" chided Cuthbert. "We've got to do something!"

"Oh, fine," sighed Doris. "Exactly what sort of change do they want?"

"Alliterative equity," said Cuthbert. "They feel slighted because the founders of the other Houses have first and last names beginning with the same letter. Seem to think it's a bunch of bunk. So the Fliffindors want the records changed to read Flodric Fliffindor instead of Godric Fliffindor."

"Why not do it, then?"

Cuthbert spluttered with outrage, but before he could speak, a deep voice from behind the Headmistress weighed in:

"I do not approve."

Doris turned in her chair to face a smart-looking hat which sat on a shelf next to a golden goblet.

"Ha!" said Cuthbert. "We cannot change what is written, it would make contradictions. The Sorting Hat speaks for the founders!"

"I suppose...." muttered Doris.

"I suggest we encourage some inter-House rivalry," said Cuthbert. "After all, the Fliffindors are only one quarter of the student population. If they stand to gain, then the Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Slytherins stand to lose, right?"

"They might not see it that way," argued Doris. "They could see an opportunity to make their own demands. The Hufflepuffs might want another house color to go with black, maybe; the Slytherins could invent some cockamamie story about Salazar leaving behind a monster instead of fleeing the school in defeat; and the Ravenclaws might want their Common Room moved from the basement to the sixth floor."

"There is no sixth floor, Headmistress."

"There was on Tuesday," she corrected. "It's a funny sort of castle. Very dynamic."

"Be that as it may," said Cuthbert, who was not fond of change, "I believe the Fliffindors mean to attack the other students straightaway. If we encourage them to fight--"

"Not a chance," interrupted the Headmistress. "Think about it: Where do all the brave and bold students end out?"

"Fliffindor!" said the Sorting Hat.

"Fliffindor!" said the parrot.

"Hush, Tawkes," said Doris to the parrot. "Cuthbert, you don't fight fire with fire, if you follow the elemental parallels here. We can get other students to help, but not by fighting."

"But then... what?"

"The Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins have their own qualities, and I think... perhaps... we can make use of them to resolve this complaint from Fliffindor."

"Fliffindor!" squawked Tawkes.

  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Rianna Baird slept late on Saturday morning, but she was still the first to wake in the fifth-year Ravenclaw dormitory. They were all a bit groggy, she knew, from the effects of malteser withdrawl. Between several yawns, she put on her robes and then drew her wand to restore the long pair of braids in her honey-colored hair.

Rianna loved to talk, but she hesitated to wake her dormmates. Instead, she went out to the common room where a few other students had managed to pull themselves out of bed. After a bit of needling from Rianna, a seventh-year confessed to overhearing a rumor about some sort of rebellion from the Fliffindors.

"Rebelling how?" she demanded. "Against what?"

But the others shrugged indifference, showing much more interest in books, comfortable chairs, and whatever leftover chocolate they could scrounge from their hidden stores than any conversation about the doings of Fliffindor.

Fuming, Rianna stormed out of the Ravenclaw Common Room and into the empty hallway. Bad enough that they should refuse a bit of chat, but to drop such teasing little hints and then ignore her! Well, she had friends in other Houses. If nothing else, she could even find a Professor. Rianna had been to Headmistress Elphick's office a few times -- she'd never been in trouble, of course -- well, not serious trouble -- she'd been told off for talking in class -- but she hadn't been sent to the Headmistress for that -- anyway, the Headmistress was a right fine conversationalist. "As long as Elphick is around, there will always be someone to talk to!" she declared aloud.

Rianna suddenly froze. An annoying chitter was coming from somewhere, accompained by the flap of wings. The chitter grew louder, and a small, green bird fluttered from the nearest stairway and dropped a crisp, clean, black piece of fabric at her feet.

"Tawkes?" breathed Rianna.

"Fliffindor!" said the parrot.

She was not so desparate as to try talking to a parrot, but Rianna recognized the black bundle. "The Sorting Hat!" she cried, placing it on her head.

"Fliffindor!" squawked the parrot.

"Shoo!" Rianna waved her hand and the parrot flew off. "Hello, Sorting Hat," she said. "Everyone's a bit off this morning, you know, I guess that's what happens when you get used to maltesers, well, I wonder if it has anything to do with the Fliffindors? I know lots of them, they're really nice, even though they can be hotheaded, so I'm sure they have a legitimate complaint, but I couldn't get anyone else in Ravenclaw to talk about it, but I'll bet somebody knows, somebody other than the Fliffindors, I mean, I was going to try to find Kenneth -- Kenneth Quinn, from Slytherin, do you know him? Of course you would, you Sorted him, didn't you, you seem to have a very good memory, I'll bet the founders would be really proud--"

"Ahem!" interrupted the Sorting Hat. "If you'd like to know what's going on, I'll tell you."

"Oh!" said Rianna. "All right."

And so the Sorting Hat told her all about the meeting in the Headmistress's office.

Bemused and uncertain, Rianna set off for the Great Hall to see if breakfast was being served late, all the while regaling the Sorting Hat with a detailed story of how she'd accidentally learned the hair-braiding spell while trying to invent a way to make shoes stay on with string.

"Psst! Rianna!"

She turned and saw Kenneth Quinn, a handsome sixth-year from Slytherin, poking his head out of the broom closet in the antechamber to the Great Hall.

"Oh, hello, Kenneth," said Rianna. "Do you know you're standing in a broom closet?"

"Yes," said Kenneth pleasantly. "Do you know you're wearing the Sorting Hat?"

"Of course," said Rianna. "Did you know the Fliffindors are having a rebellion?"

"I did," answered the Slytherin boy, glancing around nervously. "Did you know you have four braids in your hair today?"

"That I did not," admitted Rianna. "I must have forgot to undo them before going to bed."

"Malteser withdrawl," said Kenneth.

"Indeed. But how did you know about the rebellion?"

Kenneth jerked a thumb toward the entry doors. "They've already had a battle out on the lawn. With the other students waking up in small groups, the Fliffindors are picking them off one by one. They've got an army of slugs out there."

"What? But they couldn't!" Rianna strode toward the doors and stepped outside, with Kenneth reluctantly following. "Slugs can't get into the castle or grounds, it's impossible. Haven't you read Hogwarts, a Very Brief History?"

"No," said Kenneth, as they stepped outside. "But there they are: slugs by the hundreds."

Seeing the lawn covered with slugs, Rianna reluctantly agreed that, yes, there they were.

"They don't seem to be attacking, though...." said Kenneth.

"Then we still have time," suggested Rianna. "Here's what the Sorting Hat told me...."

  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Headmistress Doris Elphick was penning a response to her brother, trying to remember a bit she'd read about Erumpents somewhere, when the door to her office burst open.

"Doris!" panted Cuthbert. "I mean, Professor -- Headmistress -- whoever you are, the Fliffindors have attacked!"

"Fliffindors!" squawked Tawkes.

"So soon?" she said, putting aside her letter and forgetting everything she ever knew about Erumpents. "Is it serious?"

"They've been hitting the other students with slug-belching Curses. Made a mess of the lawn."

"That it?"

Cuthbert took a slow, deep breath. "This is serious, Headmistress. It's only a matter of time before they step up the attacks--"

"Oh, fine," she said, rising to her feet and grabbing the parrot. "Let's go have a look-see."

The Headmistress and Deputy Headmaster turned in place and Apparated to the front lawn.

  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Pop!"

"Good morning, Professor Elphick," said Rianna.

"Pop!"

"Hello, Professor Binns," said Kenneth.

"Fliffindors!" squawked the parrot.

"I think we have that under control," smiled Rianna. She held a small, golden object in one hand that looked like a pair of rounded disks. With her other hand, she gestured toward the lawn.

A number of slugs remained, but these were rapidly being cleaned up by students. There was no sign of active violence -- Professor Elphick knew the Ravenclaw girl and the Slytherin boy in front of her, and she recognized a number of Hufflepuffs on the lawn, but none of them seemed the least bit frightened. The only kerfuffle seemed to be a tight crowd of excited Fliffindors some twenty paces away.

"You've defeated the Fliffindors?" said Professor Binns hopefully.

"Not exactly," said Rianna. "I asked the Sorting Hat for help, and it dropped this on my head." She held out the joined golden disks. "I think it belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw. Anyway, I saw a fellow from Fliffindor trying to Jinx somebody, so I threw it at him. But it just came right back to me, isn't that odd? And then I remembered what Kenneth told me when I'd explained the whole rebellion issue to him."

"And what was that?" asked Elphick.

"I told her to 'get out of it'," said Kenneth.

"Full circle," said Rianna cryptically. She threw the golden disks, watched as they spun about in midair, then caught them upon their return. "I figured out that the conflict was between the Fliffindor's interpretation and the Sorting Hat's interpretation, so I chucked the Sorting Hat at that fanatic from Fliffindor and decided to let them fight it out."

"You what?" protested Binns.

"Very good," said the Headmistress. "And it looks like we're about to find out how the battle turned out."

Sure enough, the broad-shouldered Marcus Roarke was heading toward them. He had several cuts on his face but victory burned in his eyes. He carried a sword in one hand, set with rubies, and the Sorting Hat in the other. The hat was now ripped, frayed, and generally beaten.

"I gave up," said the Sorting Hat unnecessarily. "Stupid Fliffindors can have it their way."

"Fliffindor!" cried Tawkes.

"Then it is done," said Marcus arrogantly, tossing the hat to Elphick. "The record will show our founder as Flodric Fliffindor!"

"No!" choked Binns. "You can't--"

"Oh, pipe down," chided the Headmistress. "Yes, I think we can make the change, Mr. Roarke. But first, a few details: Where did you get that sword?"

"From the hat," he said. "I think it belonged to Flodric, and it proves I am a true Fliffindor!"

"I was trying to bribe him," argued the Sorting Hat.

"You'll have to return the maltesers, of course," continued Elphick. "And I'll still expect you to serve detentions for Jinxing the other students."

Marcus lifted his chin, proudly displaying his bloody scratches. "I fear neither detention nor death for the honor of Flodric!"

"Fliffindor!" squawked Tawkes.

"Of course you don't," said Elphick kindly. She examined the young man's face and added, "I had no idea the Sorting Hat was so violent."

"I bet he did it to himself," said Kenneth under his breath.

Marcus glared at the Slytherin, but did not deny the charge. He held up the sword and said, "I want this engraved with our founder's name as lasting testimony to his alliterative greatness."

"Oh, brilliant," snorted Kenneth. "People don't write their names on their swords, everyone will know it's fake--"

"All the same, it's a nice gesture," interrupted Elphick, before Marcus burst a vein.

"Now-- if we do all that," stuttered Binns, realizing he'd been defeated, but seeking a silver lining. "Once the sword is engraved, I think both it and that disk-thingy from Ravenclaw should stay with the school so we have at least one solid piece of history from the founders. And we should declare this a day for giving thanks that these artifacts have come to us."

"Yes, fine," said Professor Elphick.

Rianna smiled and handed the golden double-disk over to the Headmistress. "And now for something really confusing," she said. "There's a village in Wales named Godric's Hollow. Named after your beloved founder, Flodric Fliffindor. And they know it."

"Fliffindor!" squawked Tawkes.

"Crud," said Marcus. "How about... Godric Giffindor? No... Godric Gryffindor!"

"Done!" said Elphick.

"One last thing, then," said Roarke.

"Yes?"

"The parrot must die."

  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

One year later, Professor Doris Elphick invited Professor Cuthbert Binns to her office for a quiet dinner to mark the occasion. 'Thanks for the Founders' Artifacts Day' had been forgotten within the week, much to Cuthbert's dismay, and Doris was trying to console him.

"You'd think we could've at least had a feast," muttered Cuthbert.

"Oh, cheer up," said Doris. "The elves are serving maltesers, doesn't that count for something? Speaking of elves, I think they're going to agree to wear tea towels. But I'll have to slash their vacation time and sick leave. Something for something, right?"

"History..." said Cuthbert, looking toward the packed display case where Fliffindor's Sword (as he still preferred to think of it) lay between Ravenclaw's yo-yo and Hufflepuff's Cup. "Who will remember history? Real history?"

Doris sighed. "The moral of the story, Cuthbert, is that a person's legacy is defined by their principles and virtues. The heirs of Gryffindor will be brave and bold. I pity the man who seeks to capture the meaning of the founders by way of arbitrary names and material objects. Now slug down some mead and we'll make up a story about a secret chamber, just for fun."

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