8 Knowledge

Relaxing on the hawk throne, I was grateful that Anton had added the cushioning charm to make the chair more comfortable. Tapping my fingers thoughtfully on the cover of my journal, I started with the question I considered most important, "Is it possible to change the future?"

Taken aback at the questions, Anton narrowed his eyes and studied the serious look on my face and carefully responded, "That depends on what type of knowledge of the future you have. For the most part, knowledge of the future comes in two different varieties, prophecies and visions."

Confused, I asked, "Aren't those the same thing?"

Shaking his head, he clarified, "There are huge differences between prophecies and visions. A vision is about a possible future. If you know what's coming, you can begin to make changes, but you have to remember, the more you change the more the outcome is changed as well. It could even change to the point where you have no idea what is going to happen. On the other hand, a prophecy is different; it's impossible to change a prophecy."

"But, if you know the future, shouldn't you be able to circumvent the prophecy?" I stubbornly argued.

Shaking his head, he responded, "That's not how it works. Look, a vision can be changed because it is only one possible future based on people's most likely actions, but there are still many different choices people could make that could lead to a different outcome. A prophecy is only issued when every possible future leads to a certain event. No matter what choice you make, the ending is always the same. That is why prophecies are rare. Think about how many different choices people make. Now imagine that every possible path leads to the same conclusion. That is why it's impossible to change prophecies."

Nodding my understanding, I clarified, "So, if I theoretically knew of some deaths of people I wanted to save, I would need to wait till the last minute to save them. Otherwise, if I take action too early, the future could change in such a way that I would have no idea what was going to happen."

He shrugged and replied, "That would be your best bet. But, trying to change the future can be frustrating at best, there have been plenty of wizards who drove themselves mad trying to manage the future."

Opening my journal to the first page, I found two names staring back at me, Cedric Diggory, and Sirius Black. I was sure that there were others that Voldemort and his followers killed, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember their names. While my memory of this life was nearly perfect, the memories of my previous life have been fading, it's like trying to remember a dream, it's easy to remember the dream, but the details become fuzzy.

The most important name on my list is Cedric's name, if I can't save my best friend, then what the hell is the point of knowing about the future? As much as I would like to help Sirius get out of prison, I can't risk changing anything that will put the knowledge of the future at risk. Otherwise, Wormtail will kill Cedric in our sixth year during the Triwizard tournament.

Burying my guilt towards Sirius, I consoled myself that I would take action to make sure he didn't die early. Realizing that I hadn't spoken anything for several minutes, I moved on to other topics that I needed to be clarified.

Deciding to tackle a problem that I had been trying to think of a solution for, I asked, "Do you know anything about the magical trace that gets put on underage wizards when they start school?

Anton's eyes twinkled while he stroked his wild beard and said, "Ah, the trace. It was a controversial topic back in my day. The trace was one of the main reasons why I resigned from the council. That's when I saw the writing on the wall; the council was changing. We went from almost no interference in wizarding lives to hexing and tracking our children. A few years after I resigned, the council was dissolved and the Ministry of Magic took its place, and I'll bet it's only gotten worse. Although even I have to admit, they figured out a clever way to implement the hex."

Wanting to avoid the trace if possible, I asked eagerly, "How does it get put on?"

Smirking at me, he taunted, "I'll give you a hint; it's something that every underage wizard goes through. Let's see if you can guess what it is."

Running over everything, I've learned about this world, both from the books and over everything I've learned over the last ten years. I guessed, "Does it happen when you buy your first wand?"

Grinning at me, he replied, "Not a bad guess, but no, it has to do with your invitation to Hogwarts. The invitation is a magically binding agreement. When you send the reply that you will be attending, you must sign your name. That is how the trace gets attached. Every wizard must be very careful when signing magical documents; if a hex or a curse is attached, it is exceedingly difficult to break. The reason why it's so difficult is that if someone willingly signs their name to something, it allows the magic to sink deep within them. Besides, I imagine that if you can break the trace, the Ministry would find out almost immediately, the better way would be to trick it somehow temporarily."

Seeing my disgruntled stare, he consoled me, "But I don't think you need to worry about the trace too 's mainly used to track magic out in the muggle world. As long as you are on our property, they wouldn't be able to tell it was you that cast the spell."

We continued to speak over questions and ideas that I had until I realized that I had been away from home for most of the day, and my mother was probably about to send out a search party. Reassuring Anton that I would be back soon, I left the tower to head home.

In the following months, I spent every free moment I had at the tower. One of my favorite spots in the tower was on the third floor. Where there was a library containing Anton's collection of books.

While I was glad to be able to read more books containing magic, most were useless without a wand. What good was a book of spells that required a wizard to have a wand?

Before I knew it, the fall of 88 had arrived, and I turned 11, knowing that Hogwarts was less than a year away. I redoubled my efforts at trying to learn all I could, it was slow going, but I was confident that I would probably be one of the most prepared first-year students to attend Hogwarts in a while.

A few weeks after my birthday, I was watching the twins run around the house. They never seemed to run out of energy. Feeling a tap on my shoulder, I turned to see my father standing behind me. He made a motion with his head, indicating I should follow him.

After arriving at his study, he found his way to his favorite brown recliner. He motioned for me to take a seat across from him. We sat in silence, the only noise being the pop and crackle from a small fireplace. Knowing that my father would speak once he was ready, I just enjoyed sitting with him.

In a low voice, he said, "You know, you'll be leaving us next year for Hogwarts. So, I was hoping to spend more time with you before you left. It seems like I've barely seen you over this last year. I was hoping you might want to start coming to the workshop with me."

A pang of guilt flashed through me, regarding how much time I've spent at the tower lately.

He continued, "I know you normally spend your mornings learning with either your grandmother or your mom. But, I thought that it's high time for me to do my part in your education. No son of mine isn't going to excel at charm-work and enchanting."

After looking around to make sure no one was close, he leaned in and whispered, "Your mother and I have a little bet going on about what your favorite subject will be, charm-work, or potions. She keeps on bragging about how much of a head start she has, considering that she has spent years teaching you all about potions. But I'm confident that my workshop will lure you into the wonderful world of enchanting, by the time I'm through showing you how everything works, I sure potions will seem rather tame."

Ecstatic that I would finally be allowed to go to the workshop where he did all his charm work. I eagerly responded, "Nothing would make me happier; I have always wanted to see how you make everything in the shop."

The next day at breakfast, mom eyed me suspiciously, while dad smugly sipped his coffee. The twins, oblivious to the silent competition going on between mom and dad, started complaining that they didn't want to begin schooling with grandmother. I winced, feeling sorry for them, as their hands were destined to cramp up, trying to meet grandmother's calligraphy standards.

When breakfast was finished, we used the floo network to travel to Fawley Wondrous Enchantments in Diagon Alley. The front of the shop was full of enchanted items, on one side of the shop were larger things like magical tents, vanishing cabinets, school trunks enchanted with various spells woven into them. On the other were smaller, more delicate pieces, such as mirrors, clocks, and other small household items.

Seeing the front of the shop was always exciting, but I had never been to the basement where he enchanted everything. Heading downstairs, we came to a massive steel door containing our family's crest. He pulled out his wand and tapped the stars seven times in what seemed like a random pattern. Once he finished, the door swung open, showing a vast rectangular workshop. Tables lined the walls, full of items, and knickknacks that he was working on.

The middle of the workshop was empty except for a table in the very center, surrounding the table was a large circle etched into the stone floor. After studying the strange loop for a moment, I turned to my dad and asked, "What is the circle for?"

Seeing what my attention was focused on, he responded, "That's a protective warding spell I cast so that I can experiment with new spells and enchantments inside safely. You have to be careful when doing experimental enchantments; if you mess up your charm work, there is a chance for the results to be rather explosive."

Eager to see how objects were enchanted, I asked, "Are you working on anything new right now?"

Popping open his briefcase, he reached in and pulled out some old parchment and replied, "Well, that's what I was hoping to show you. Recently, at your grandmother's, I came across some old drawings of your grandfather's work that he had been working on outside the warehouse."

Looking over the parchment, I saw several sketched broomstick designs on the parchment. Confused, I asked, "Didn't all of grandfather's work burn up in the fire or was stolen by Whithorn?"

In a somber tone, he replied, "I think that these were some ideas for future designs that he drew at home but never got to take to the warehouse. This may have been one of the last things my father worked on. I was hoping that we could work on it as a father and son project."

In my mind, I began imagining how we were finally going to take down Whithorn and the Nimbus Racing Company, finally getting revenge for my grandfather. Eagerly I asked, "Can we be finished before I go to Hogwarts next year?"

As soon as I asked the question, dad started shaking his head. He replied, "There's no way we could have it finished before you leave for Hogwarts. Designing a quality broomstick isn't as simple as putting charms onto a broom and flying off into the sunset. Many standard charms don't last very make charms last longer, enchanters often have to design variations of the charm to see what's most effective.. That's why there is such a variation in the quality of brooms. My father spent years designing custom charms for his design. If there weren't any variation in spells, all flying broomsticks would be equal. If we want to build a broom that can beat the nimbus, we'll have to start from scratch, not to mention, brooms have dozens of spells laid into them, so we will have our work cut out for us. There are other things to consider as well. Such as materials, matching the best type of wood to charms can be tricky, one variation of a spell may work great with one kind of wood, but perform differently in another type. It will take years for us to build a broom better than the nimbus. After all, they have a twenty-year head start on us. If we want to make a broom faster than theirs, we will have to get creative.

Hearing the magnitude of the project didn't sway me at all. I would do anything to get revenge for the pain and suffering Whithorn has put my family through. Growing up without a family in my previous life had made me realize that the most precious thing in my life was my family. May God have mercy on anyone who dared to harm my family, because they would get none from me.

Wanting to banish the violent train of thought my mind was wandering down, I asked, "What are we going to name it?"

With a wistful smile, Dad responded, "When I was young, dad always said he was going to make a broom that could shoot across the sky like a bolt of fire. What do you think about naming it the firebolt?"