The Weight of Our Names

Founders’ Week

By Tuesday morning, Blackridge had become almost unrecognisable.

The transformation had happened overnight, as though the school itself had awakened before dawn and quietly decided to remind everyone why it had remained one of Britain’s most prestigious institutions for centuries. Banners bearing each House’s colours hung from the stone balconies overlooking the central courtyard, their fabric stirring gently in the cold autumn breeze. Fresh arrangements of white roses and dark green ivy framed the entrance to the Assembly Hall, while polished brass lanterns had appeared along pathways that, only the day before, had looked perfectly ordinary.

Students slowed as they crossed the grounds, not because they were late for lectures, but because there was suddenly something new to notice wherever they looked. Maintenance staff moved carefully between buildings carrying ladders and crates of decorations, professors paused in conversations with alumni who had already begun arriving for the week’s academic events, and portraits that normally watched the corridors in silent indifference now gleamed beneath freshly polished frames.

Founders’ Week had officially begun.

Evelyn lingered for a moment on the steps outside West House, adjusting the strap of her satchel as she watched the campus wake around her. There was an unmistakable energy in the air — not loud or chaotic, but expectant. Even the first-years, who still had little understanding of the traditions surrounding the celebration, seemed swept along by the excitement of the older students.

Benjamin joined her moments later, carrying two books under one arm and balancing an apple in the other.

“I’ve decided,” he announced with complete seriousness, “that whoever thought decorating an entire campus in three days was a reasonable tradition has clearly never met students.”

“You’ve been here six years.”

“I’ve been complaining about it for six years.”

Alexander caught up with them just in time to hear the remark.

“And yet,” he observed dryly, “you volunteered last year.”

Benjamin looked genuinely offended.

“I was manipulated.”

“You signed the form.”

“They offered free biscuits.”

Evelyn laughed, the sound carrying briefly across the courtyard before disappearing beneath the ringing of the morning bell.

“I still can’t believe biscuits were enough.”

“You underestimate my priorities.”

Together they joined the steady stream of students heading towards the Old Lecture Theatre, where the first event of Founders’ Week was already drawing an unusually large crowd.

Unlike ordinary lessons, the annual Founders’ Debate Showcase was open to every year group. Students packed the rows of tiered seating, eager to watch Blackridge’s strongest speakers argue before professors, visiting alumni and a handful of distinguished guests who had arrived earlier than expected.

Professor Langley stood near the front, speaking quietly with two former graduates dressed in tailored suits whose names Evelyn vaguely recognised from financial journals. When he noticed the sixth-years entering, he offered them a brief nod before returning to the conversation.

Benjamin surveyed the nearly full theatre.

“This many people voluntarily came to watch debates.”

“They came to watch the best students debate,” Alexander corrected.

“Still concerning.”

The first sessions passed quickly. Fourth-years discussed environmental policy with surprising confidence, while a pair of fifth-years argued opposing sides of a constitutional reform proposal that earned polite applause from the audience.

Then Professor Langley stepped onto the stage once more.

“Our final debate this morning,” he announced, “will feature two students whose academic rivalry has become.. familiar to most of this faculty.”

Soft laughter spread through the room.

Evelyn had a feeling she already knew where this was going.

“Miss Evelyn Carter.”

She stood.

“Mr Cassien Ashcombe.”

A murmur rippled through the audience.

Benjamin leaned back in his chair with exaggerated resignation.

“I knew it.”

Alexander folded his arms.

“So did everyone else.”

Evelyn descended the steps towards the stage without looking at Cassien, though she was acutely aware of his presence as he approached from the opposite aisle. They arrived behind their respective lecterns at almost the same moment.

Professor Langley allowed the silence to settle before speaking again.

“The motion is simple. Tradition is the greatest strength of British institutions. Miss Carter will argue against. Mr Ashcombe will argue in favour.”

Benjamin quietly whispered, “He’s done that on purpose.”

“He absolutely has,” Alexander replied.

Evelyn rested her fingertips lightly against the edge of the lectern.

Across from her, Cassien met her gaze with the calm expression she had come to recognise over the past several weeks.

Neither smiled.

Neither needed to.

The debate began.

Cassien spoke first.

His opening argument was measured, elegant and delivered with the effortless confidence expected of someone who had spent his entire life addressing rooms filled with influential people. He spoke of continuity, identity and institutions that survived because they respected the foundations upon which they had been built.

Several visiting alumni nodded approvingly.

When he finished, Professor Langley turned towards Evelyn.

She waited a heartbeat before responding.

“Tradition,” she began, “is valuable only when it continues to deserve our loyalty.”

The room became very still.

She didn’t raise her voice.

She never needed to.

“If institutions refuse to question themselves, tradition stops being a strength. It becomes an excuse.”

A few students exchanged interested glances.

Cassien listened without interrupting, though she noticed the faintest movement of his eyebrow when she dismantled one of his earlier points before building her own argument around it.

For nearly twenty minutes, they challenged one another with the precision of experienced opponents.

Neither relied on theatrics.

Neither attempted to embarrass the other.

Instead, every question demanded another answer, every answer created another question, until the discussion felt less like a competition and more like two exceptionally sharp minds testing the limits of the same idea.

By the end of the debate, even the younger students had fallen completely silent.

Professor Langley looked from one speaker to the other before allowing himself the smallest smile.

“I believe,” he said, “that both sides have just demonstrated precisely why debate remains one of Blackridge’s oldest traditions.”

The theatre erupted into applause.

As Evelyn gathered her notes, she heard one of the visiting alumni remark quietly to another,

“They’ll make formidable barristers one day.”

His companion smiled.

“Or politicians.”

Cassien glanced towards Evelyn as they stepped away from the lecterns.

“You anticipated my second argument.”

“So did you.”

“You changed yours.”

“You would have dismantled the first version.”

For the briefest moment, something resembling amusement flickered across his face.

“I would have.”

Before either of them could say anything else, Professor Langley approached, carrying a folder tucked beneath one arm.

“Excellent work,” he said, looking between them. “Now, if the two of you have finished terrifying my younger students, I’d like a word.”

He gestured towards a smaller seminar room adjoining the theatre.

Inside, several familiar faces were already waiting.

Celeste sat near the window, leafing through a printed schedule. Damian leaned back comfortably in his chair, balancing it on two legs despite the disapproving look he received from one of the professors. Oliver stood beside the fireplace speaking with another sixth-year Evelyn recognised from the prefect council.

Professor Langley closed the door behind them.

“I’ve selected this year’s Founders’ Committee.”

He looked around the room.

“And congratulations.”

Professor Langley waited until everyone had taken their seats before placing a slim folder on the centre of the table.

“Every year,” he began, “a small group of senior students is entrusted with organising the Founders’ Dinner and the Winter Charity Ball. Contrary to popular belief, this involves considerably more than choosing flowers and tablecloths.”

Damian let his chair fall back onto all four legs with a quiet thud.

“So we’re actually expected to work.”

“You are expected,” Professor Langley replied without missing a beat, “to represent Blackridge. Which is significantly more difficult.”

A ripple of laughter travelled around the room.

Even Damian surrendered with an exaggerated sigh.

“I preferred my version.”

Professor Langley opened the folder and distributed several sheets across the table.

“The committee will coordinate guest reception, seating arrangements, student volunteers and the academic exhibition in the Great Hall. Every decision must be approved by staff, but I expect the planning to come from you.”

Evelyn accepted her copy and immediately began reading through the schedule. There were dozens of names, deadlines and responsibilities neatly divided across the week. Before anyone else had reached the second page, she had already found three practical problems.

She raised her hand.

“The reception timetable overlaps with the exhibition rehearsal. If the same volunteers are assigned to both, half of them won’t arrive on time.”

Professor Langley looked down at his own papers.

A thoughtful smile appeared.

“You’re right.”

Damian leaned towards Celeste and whispered just loudly enough to be heard,

“She found an error in under thirty seconds.”

Celeste barely looked up.

“I’m surprised it took that long.”

Across the table, Cassien quietly reached for the schedule.

Without a word, he studied the pages for a moment before speaking.

“If we move the rehearsal to the west gallery instead of the Great Hall, both events can happen simultaneously.”

Evelyn looked at him.

“That would work.”

“It also avoids redirecting guests through the main staircase.”

Professor Langley nodded with clear approval.

“Excellent. Make the change.”

Benjamin, who had somehow been assigned to the committee despite insisting he possessed no organisational skills whatsoever, rested his forehead dramatically against the table.

“I haven’t said a single useful thing.”

Alexander, seated beside him, didn’t even glance up.

“You’ve been here five minutes.”

“I’ve already peaked.”

Another laugh circled the room, easing whatever tension had remained after the morning debates.

For the next hour, the committee divided responsibilities between them. Celeste volunteered to oversee the alumni reception with the effortless confidence of someone who had attended similar events her entire life. Oliver accepted responsibility for coordinating the prefects, while Alexander agreed to supervise the academic exhibition.

Benjamin stared at the remaining list.

“So.. what’s left for me?”

Professor Langley adjusted his spectacles.

“Logistics.”

Benjamin frowned.

“What exactly does logistics mean?”

“It means,” Evelyn answered before the professor could, “making sure everything is where it’s supposed to be before someone notices it isn’t.”

He blinked.

“..That sounds suspiciously like actual work.”

“It is.”

“I regret joining already.”

“You volunteered,” Alexander reminded him.

“I continue making poor life choices.”

By the time the meeting ended, the afternoon sun had begun slipping lower beyond the tall windows.

Professor Langley gathered the remaining documents into a neat stack before addressing them one final time.

“I’ve selected this committee because each of you excels in different ways. If you spend the week trying to prove you’re individually indispensable, you’ll fail.”

His gaze travelled slowly around the room.

“If you learn to trust one another, you’ll organise one of the finest Founders’ Weeks Blackridge has hosted.”

The students quietly nodded before rising from their seats.

Damian stretched his arms above his head.

“So,” he announced, “who wants to place bets on how long it takes before someone argues?”

Benjamin immediately raised a hand.

“Five minutes.”

“I’ll give them three,” Damian replied.

Celeste closed her folder with a soft snap.

“You two are impossible.”

“No,” Damian corrected. “Experienced.”

Evelyn had only just reached the corridor when she realised someone had fallen into step beside her.

Cassien.

Neither of them spoke immediately.

Students flowed around them as they crossed the stone gallery overlooking the central courtyard below.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“You reorganised the entire meeting before anyone else had finished reading the schedule.”

She glanced sideways.

“Someone had to.”

“I noticed.”

There was no mockery in his voice.

If anything, it sounded strangely matter-of-fact.

She smiled despite herself.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

For a brief moment, neither of them seemed particularly interested in continuing the argument that would normally have followed.

Then Benjamin’s voice echoed from farther down the corridor.

“Carter!”

She turned.

“We’re meeting after dinner about the volunteer rota!”

“I’ll be there.”

Benjamin looked past her towards Cassien before grinning in unmistakable amusement.

“Don’t let Ashcombe bully you into colour-coding everything.”

Cassien answered before Evelyn could.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

Benjamin’s grin widened.

“That’s exactly what someone planning to do it would say.”

He disappeared around the corner before either of them had the chance to respond.

Evelyn let out a quiet laugh.

“I think he enjoys provoking people.”

“He enjoys surviving the consequences.”

They reached the staircase where their routes divided.

For the first time in years, stopping there didn’t feel like standing opposite an enemy.

Only two students who happened to have far too much work ahead of them.

Behind them, Professor Langley remained in the now-empty seminar room, filing away the committee lists.

Another member of staff paused in the doorway.

“You’ve put Ashcombe and Carter on the same committee.”

“I have.”

“Deliberately?”

Professor Langley smiled as he straightened the papers.

“They’re the two brightest students I’ve taught in years.”

The other professor folded his arms.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Langley looked towards the corridor where the students had disappeared.

“No.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“..But I suspect this week will be considerably more interesting because of it.”