Disclaimer: This is JK Rowling's world, and her characters. This is not a true Harry Potter™ story.
AN: Not really a story of The Founding, but more of Rowena Ravenclaw. I hope you like it!
I have now got a beta - thank you, Cecelle! She has looked at this chapter, and I've reposted.
Again, hope you like it!
Creating Hogwarts, Through an Eagle's Eyes
Chapter 1: The Norman Demon, and New Lessons.
I am a scholar. There is no denying it. I love to teach, and I appreciate those who do well at tasks set.
I was not always one. Before the demise of Ravenclaw; the death of Salazar; the creation of the Unforgivables; before Mirielis, who was given to Morrighan, I was not. Mostly, however, before I knew Death. Then, I was not interested in such things. I was more like Helga and Godric; loving life and love, more than all else. However, time changes things. I became a scholar for necessity's sake, and now, I cannot stop it. Amazing, that. It is almost like an addiction, this knowledge. Or perhaps a Numbing Potion.
Life sees sorrow. Life also sees joy, though. Perhaps Helga and Godric are right – perhaps I should embrace life, live looking forward to the day, love the chances given to me. Yet perhaps, I am not ready to do so.
Knowledge can change many things. It can help to make life better, you know. I am sure Death found my knowledge very annoying. So, knowledge really can be very useful.
Anyway, the point of this is, I set a task to some of my students. Research the Wars of this time. They did so. However, it was a poor result. Much was missing – much that I have experienced. I asked them why it was not there. I asked them, what happened to Janna, daughter of Morrighan? What happened to the Spells of Knowledge? They stared at me, blank looks upon their faces. None of them knew of it. And how could I fault them, when I realised there were no records?
I went to Helga and Godric with this problem. Helga smiled at me and told me to create one, then. But how could I, mere Rowena, create a record of the Wars? Godric smiled, and said that I was more than capable of doing so. Honestly, men! Helga, I suppose, came to my rescue. She said if I could not bring myself to do so, perhaps instead, I could record my own story, my tale. And she smiled and said perhaps Godric and her could do so, too.
Godric did not look very happy at this, and to be honest with you, neither did I. It seems a very ostentatious thing, to write about your own life. Very ambitious. Salazar would have liked it, though.
I suppose, that is why I must do it. For the memory of Salazar. And for Mirielis and Janna. And for all of those others that are gone. For I have seen a lot, and they deserve memory, recognition. For them; that is why I must do this.
So here you go; here is my life. And, if I have anything to do with it, you will see Helga's and Godric's, too
-
I stepped forward and curtsied, my face held down in faux-demureness, as I had been taught. "Your Majesty," I said, attempting to control my voice – I did not want The Norman Demon to hear my fear and take advantage of it, as I knew he would.
Staying with my face held down, I did not feel the heat of that Summer's day, that heat which, after he left, filled me like a fever until I changed out of my horrible, formal dress. Instead, I prayed for this conversation to end – for Lady Time to speed up her carriage, and by doing so, carry me away from Him.
I heard my Mother speak, and wished the conversation would move onto another topic. "This is my daughter, Rowena. She will be of eight years this Autumn coming, your Majesty."
"I see. Lady Aldiytha, you will be changing her name to that of her father's, I presume?"
I looked up at the King in shock, forgetting my lessons and that He might notice my fear. Change my name? They were right! He was born of Lucifer and his demons, come to destroy us all. God save us!
My Mother, like an Angel sent by God, rescued me from this fate. Her voice serene, I heard her speaking, "I see no reason to do so. I would have her grow up to be the Lady Rowena of Ravenclaw, daughter of Sir Lyolf; rather than the Lady Rowena Lyolfsdaughter. My husband was a noble man, of honour and valour, and he will not be forgotten. Yet, Ravenclaw is a mighty estate, of a proud heritage. Only the Crown can boast that it deserves higher respect – something that the Crown demands by default. I would rather not see that forgotten, either. She will, I think, keep her name."
I looked at my Mother in awe. Irrespective of the King's wishes, she looked at him with her face as calm as if she was deciding what wine she would like for dinner.
Unfortunately, He seemed angry at this speech. "You are defying the King? I would not advise doing so. Treachery is a deadly game, Lady Aldiytha Godinsdaughter, and I do not think you could play it."
I drew in my breath, quickly. He was about to jump on us, to ravage us. He would surely tear our limbs from our bodies, and, once he had eaten his fill, leave the remains for his pet vultures.
However, I had, yet again, underestimated my blessed Mother. "You may think that, Highness. Maybe you are right, maybe you are wrong. It is irrelevant. I am not attempting to defy you. I am requesting my right, as Lady Aldiytha of Ravenclaw, daughter of Godin. My right, and the right of any other Lady of Ravenclaw, is to keep our title, and not take that of any man. I will only defy you if you refuse me my right, and even then, I will not defy you willingly."
The King, unfortunately, just laughed. "My dear Lady, I think you are mistaken. Godinsdaughter and Lyolfsdaughter are not titles! No, I am not giving you titles. Merely ways of identification. Everyone must have a surname."
He had a small, spiteful smile on his face, which made me fearful and angry at the same time. I had led a sheltered life, as the next Lady of Ravenclaw.
"But my Lord, we have identification. It does not have to be your father's name; it can be anything! Including where you are from. My daughter and I are from Ravenclaw." My Mother's voice, unhalting as ever, held a touch of the insolence she had grown fond of berating me for, and I smiled: at her victory over King William, but also, at the fact that she had used what I was told off for.
"Very well, Aldiytha Ravenclaw. Will your maids be taking the same name? They are, after all, also from Ravenclaw," he said quickly, his voice malicious.
I hated him before, but now I also despised him. As absurd as it sounds, in this short time, I had gone from feeling terror, to competitiveness, to, with that last comment, disdain. He seemed petty, and low. Of course, just because his techniques were low, did not mean he had won. My Mother was quick to respond. "I do not think they wish to do so, My Lord," she said. "Now, dinner is nearly done, and I am sure none of us wish to make our appearances without refreshing. I will see you at dinner."
With that victory, she swept out of the room, and I quickly followed, my head held high, as elation soared through my body.
-That was my earliest memory. Quite a vivid one, too. My dislike of King William was firmly ingrained due to this; something that I am deeply grateful for. Before that day, I had heard maid's gossip and stablemen's horror stories, when they were unaware of the little girl hiding behind the banister or in the horses' stalls. Fear was the only thing that I could connect with the King of the Normans, at that time. Now, however, my Mother, powerful and serene as always, had defeated him and his laws with a few well-placed words. He was an enemy, oh yes, but no longer a talisman for my fears.
My Mother, of course, was the object of rapt admiration by many, afterwards, and even I, unruly child that I was, developed a feeling of respect and awe. Mother, noting the change, I am sure, must have decided that now was the time. My induction into witchcraft was a few weeks after the departure of the disgruntled King.
-
"Rowena, come here." My Mother's authoritative voice came from the doorframe of my nursery, and I reluctantly dropped the hewn wood that was supposed to be the castle of King William and walked over to her.
"Yes, Mother?" I questioned, still obedient after the King's defeat of not long ago.
She began walking down the carpeted corridor, and I followed, wishing I could go back to my toys.
"How is your education coming along?"
For once, I did not have to lie. Schoolwork came easily to me, as easy as flight comes to a bird. "It is going well, Mother. My alphabet is good, and I have a grasp of numbers up to thirty seven, now."
"I see. And what of your bible studies?" Came her next question.
"They go well, too, Mother." I neglected to mention that it was only good for a mediocre person – compared to my alphabet and my numbers, I was doing terribly. I saw no fun in learning the scriptures by heart. Even now, I see it as pointless.
She lifted a torch off the wall, and went up the stairs. They led to the attic, and I was curious. I had never been up there, and neither had the servants. They had their own wing, and were forbidden to enter here. Convinced of an adventure, my pace quickened.
"I see. So tell me, daughter. What does the Bible say about witchcraft?"
I did not know. I gave a vague answer, known by many, hoping that it was acceptable. "It is the skill of Satan. It is evil, and should be abhorred."
"Really, Rowena? Where in the Bible does it say that?"
"Err… Luke?" I guessed, nervous. I knew that even if by some miracle I got it right, she would know that I had been guessing.
She did not, however, chastise me, and sit me in front of the Bible for an hour, leaving the adventure to another day, perhaps never. Instead, she laughed, and I relaxed, thoroughly amazed. "You were guessing, weren't you? The truth is, Rowena, that it does not say that."
I looked at Mother, surprised. "It does not? But, every one says it is so."
"That is because most believe it to be so. However, that is because that is the way they interpret witchcraft – they cannot understand why else one would have power, and how else one could get it."
I did not understand the logic of that. "Yet, Kings have power, Mother."
"And the power of Kings comes from God, Rowena. You should know that," she looked disapproving.
"Yes, I should." I quickly agreed.
We reached the top of the stairs, and I moved quickly towards the door, excitement making me feel more alive. This was far better than attacking the castle of King William, or even sneaking off to try swimming in the river.
Again, my Mother laughed, and I wondered why she was so amused at me. Blushing, I fell back, waiting for her.
"Can you keep a secret, daughter?"
"Yes, Mother," I promised, quickly.
"This is no light thing," she warned me. "If you do not, it will mean death, and worse than death, torture."
I looked at my Mother, suddenly scared, before nodding. "I will keep it, Mother, do not worry."
She looked at me, before deciding I was obviously trustworthy. She turned towards the door, and reached in her pocket. However, instead of retrieving a key, she held a thin piece of wood, about a foot long.
"Daughter, seeing as witches do not get their power from Satan, what do you think about them?"
I paused, considering this. She would want a good answer, and I really wanted to know the secret, and what the piece of wood was for. "There is no reason to suggest they are evil, and none to suggest they are good, either. I would say they are like normal humans – some are evil, and some are good."
"Very good," my Mother said.
She turned her attention back to the door, and, pointing the stick at it, said to me, "Remember, Daughter, secrets. Keep quiet, whatever you do."
I nodded, mystified and scared.
"Alohamora," she said, and the door swung open.
I did not scream, although I nearly fainted, and I am sure my eyes must have widened till they were competing with the moon. Despite my Mother's revelation, this was so sudden, and for her to be a witch… my Mother had always been a rock, despite the fact that I could ill afford one in such uneasy times – the saying 'Don't keep all your eggs in one basket' springs to mind. We had to learn to be independent. It was easy enough to lose our rocks.
I was stunned, and what my Mother did next did not help. She put her hand on my back, and smiled at me. "Remember that time the Lady of Hartsworth's dress burst into flames? And that time the son of the Lord of Kenton found himself in the river, twenty yards from where he had been previously? Those were things you unconsciously wanted to happen, Rowena. A wand just focuses that wish."
I was a witch. My Mother was a witch, and so was I. In that afternoon, it was not just a case of my whole world changing. I had changed. I was scared; I did not know what to think.
My Mother led me into the attic, and then turned to me. "Rowena, dear, do you remember the time the Stables caught fire?"
I thought of the fire. Horrible, red flames; heat so bad you had to stay away. The terrified screams of the horses. Vassals were running there with water that made no difference. Some of them were burnt, many running away in the process. I just screamed. Screamed and looked for Mother.
"Yes, Mother," I said, avoiding her eyes, fearing, maybe, what I would see in them – the witch, or, worse, the Mother I knew and loved.
"Rowena, that fire was stopped because of magic. If not for that, several people might have died, and the horses certainly would have. Many of them nearly did, but I healed them. Magic does not mean evil, dear, as you said yourself."
I nodded. It forced me to think logically, allowed me to make my own decision. It alleviated my fears, a little.
What she did next helped a little, as well. She summoned a book, and transformed it into a toy knight. So magic had uses, after all! I was delighted.
-
My Mother soon introduced the idea of her teaching me magic. I was eager to learn, yet soon changed my mind when I realised how much hard work it was. My mother wished to teach me theory, first, though she bought me a wand. Ten and a half inches, willow, unicorn hair. I loved it. Yet, I did not use it for nearly six months.
The desk in that room became more familiar – and more hated – to me, than any other thing I have known. Even know, I can picture it in my mind's eye; the ink stains, the worn through cushion my Mother had, reluctantly, place upon the chair. I can see the grain of the wood, the knot that looked like a horse's eye to me.
I hated those lessons, then – so monotonous – yet now, I would give anything to have them back. To have my Mother, lecturing me on the correct wand movements, to have the sound of horses and the smell of the apple orchard floating in through the window as I worked. Now, life is far different.
Yet, enough of that! This is not supposed to be me reminiscing; I will not wallow in self-pity! For today, however, this will be enough. It is nearly night, and I have essays to mark.
AN: So what did you think? I hope you liked it, I know I'm not a very good writer. I want to say thank you for reading it, but I would also like to ask you, if you review (which, by the way, please do!) to point out any way I could improve – any way at all. Please let me know!
Tania xx
7/2/2005 (British date - meaning 2nd February)
As I've now reposted, so I'm going to respond to the reviews I've got here.
littlewolf-moony: Wow, thank you! I'm glad you think I'm a good writer. As for her knowing magic - that just didn't seem to make sense, in such prejudiced times. A child doesn't automatically know when to keep secrets, and when not to - or, in fact, what to keep a secret. It would have probably been better if she was fifteen, for example, but then, I thought, she would be too prejudiced, and too far behind. Thank you for reviewing!
cecelle: Wow, now I feel great! I know you already know this, but I thought I'd say it again - thank you for reviewing, and I'm glad you think I'm good!
Tania xx