This was originally written for HP Silencio on Livejournal, the annual fest for dialogue-free fanworks. My sincere thanks to hikorichan, who navigated my confused tenses with ease and whose comments made for a much better story.
-oO Finding The Way Home Oo-
Helga sat back with a contented sigh, basking in the warmth of the blazing fire. She'd finally got the charms right – the fireplace almost didn't smoke at all, despite the crackling, roaring heat.
The king of Scotland himself didn't have lodgings this fine. It was just as well he didn't know Hogwarts existed; kings could be dangerous.
They'd done a good day's work, the four of them, despite not moving a single brick the whole day. The argument had been simmering under the surface ever since they'd laid down the first stone, but now it was finally settled. Godric would get the brave of heart – no surprise there – and Salazar those with pure blood and ambitions to match. Rowena, who like many clever people was liable to confuse wisdom and intelligence, had got her wish too.
Once they'd got that settled, the real difficulty had been deciding which students would belong to whom – where did cunning end and perception begin? The Sorting Hat was an admirable solution to the problem, and Helga was almost tempted to point out that Godric had used his head rather than his heart to come up with it.
She'd held her tongue, though. She was too close to realising her own ambitions to upset the applecart now.
Despite not being particularly brilliant, Helga had spent quite a lot of time with the brightest minds of the wizarding world. She'd even travelled to the great Arab madrasas of magic in Cairo and Córdoba. Among the Muggles she'd been disguised as a man, but as soon as she was among her own kind she proudly wore her witch's robes. They welcomed all sorts there: that's how she'd got the idea for a school in the first place.
The Muslim worlds had many charms. Helga tried to build some of its more appealing features into their new school, like an actual bathing room. No matter how temptingly she'd described the steaming wonders of Al-Andalus she hadn't been able to persuade the others to stretch to a full hammam, but at least their students would be clean.
It had taken a while to get used to the smell again when she'd returned north. During her travels she'd found people mostly were the same everywhere, however, whether they were dirty or clean.
Helga knew very well the other three smiled and shook their heads behind her back. Good old Helga, she never caused any trouble. Give her the rejects, the ones that didn't fit in anywhere else; she'd only be too happy to take them.
For all their long words and convoluted minds, they'd never understand why.
It was all well and good being clever, or fancying yourself as the next Salazar Slytherin (and the would-be pretenders hadn't reckoned with the original, if that's what they were aiming for). It didn't mean you were anything special once you left school. Helga's students wouldn't be able to rely on their wits, brawn or lineage to make their way in the world. They'd have to work hard instead, just like they would need to do at Hogwarts.
That was how you carved your way in the world, through diligence and hard work; the sooner they learnt that, the better.
Helga admired the flames stretching obediently towards the ceiling, with nary a flicker in the persistent draft from the as-yet uncovered windows. Hadn't it worked well for her? She'd never been the best at anything, and yet she was building the finest school the world had seen, using magic few of her contemporaries even knew existed.
Her little badgers would plough their furrows in the years to come, and quietly they would shape the world of magic. That was why she'd asked for so little from the other founders: she put her faith in her own. The Ravenclaws would be too busy debating theories, and the Slytherins would constantly be at war with the Gryffindors – these past few months had made that abundantly clear, with Godric and Salazar jumping at any excuse to be at each other's throats. It would be left to her Hufflepuffs to run things.
She hoped they'd do it well: that would be her lesson to teach them.
The little boats creaked uncertainly above the dark water and Justin wondered why no one else looked worried about the lack of life vests.
There would be no one waiting on the other side of the lake to welcome him to Hogwarts (or to drag him out of the water in case he fell in), no waiting elder brother eager to show him the ropes like there would have been at Eton. Before he'd set off on the train this morning, Mummy told him that it didn't matter which sort of school you went to, hard work and applying yourself would pay off. He hoped it was true, because he didn't know how else he'd fit into this new world of giants and sweets that moved on their own accord.
The boat silently came to a rest at the end of the tunnel beneath the castle and Justin disembarked with the others, careful not to get his boots wet in the puddles on the rocks. His heart was beating uncomfortably fast as he climbed up the path after the others. When they emerged into the open air, beneath the bulky outline of the castle towering above them, Justin suddenly felt reassured. Something inside him shifted into place and reduced his fears to butterflies of normal anxiety. He was home, of sorts, and everything was going to be all right.
Maybe it was his imagination; maybe the castle's own magic put him at ease and allowed him to walk into the giant Great Hall with his head held high, never looking back to his Muggle life.
Seventy years later, he got the same feeling of belonging when he opened the door to his new office for the first time. It went deeper than knowing he deserved it, that he'd beat his opponents fair and square. He belonged here, just like he belonged in the wizarding world and at Hogwarts.
He was home.
The new Minister for Magic smiled and sat down at his desk, already eyeing up the teetering stack of parchments awaiting his attention. Musing on his place in the world was all very well, but there was work to be done.
Before he got started, though, he clicked his fingers in the direction of the fireplace. It burst into blue and green flames that soon settled down into a crackling fire, just like the one he remembered from the cosy Hufflepuff common room all those years ago.
THE END