AN: This is going to be a dark mystery fic, angsty if I actually managed to write it right. Also, it is crossover set after the finale for Merlin. (Yeah I am really feeling down). And for a change I own nor Merlin neither Harry Potter. As always sorry for my English, it isn't my native language. Please feel free to point out any mistakes.
Spoiler alert: HP Deathly Hallows (info concerning Founders era), Merlin - finale.
The Origin of the Wards
The wards! That was all the four founders could think about as the building of the new school was nearly finished. This dream come true, this haven, their new home needed without question powerful wards.
It was not something they would have a problem with. What worried them was the maintenance. They wanted them to hold just as powerfully after they were long since gone.
Salazar looked out of the window. The lake was glistening in the morning sun. There was smoke coming out of the strange hut at the edge of the forest, that caused a heated debate about the wisdom of choosing this spot for their school. He blinked. The door of the hut opened. A stranger made his way across the grounds and sat by the lake.
Salazar could feel stranger's power. He had no doubt about his identity. He wasn't sure if he was angry at him or felt pity for him, although he sure regretted how the past played out.
The sun was getting higher, the stranger was sitting by the lake. He could go there and ask the living legend for help and advice concerning the wards. He didn't, because Salazar prided himself to be ambitious and sly.
This stranger was despite all, the hero of the wizarding world. Someone all the little wizards and witches heard tales about growing up. A warlock, whose name not even Christians managed to turn into mud.
Salazar didn't want to meet him. He didn't hold his failure to fulfil his destiny against the man, but he had a feeling the man might actually be holding it against himself. Salazar knew, that if he were in his shoes, he would. Of course, he was curious about the man. He had few ideas about what to expect.
If he went there, he could meet a broken man. A sight for sore eyes, that would make even the bravest men shiver as cold sweat would pour down their backs.
If he went there, he could meet a bitter man whose words would haunt him for the rest of his life. Too terrible to believe in, yet ringing true enough to always creep back at you and question all.
If he went there he could meet an immensely wise man, whose eyes would hold acceptance of the past and present and hope for the future in equal measure.
Salazar wasn't sure, which option scared him the most. He didn't want to face any of them. Yes, he was curious, but curiosity killed a cat. Salazar certainly wasn't a cat, but despite how history will paint him, he quite liked them.
There were potions to brew, wards in parseltongue to create and then to add to the scheme of wards to be constructed. Yes, he had plenty of reasons to lock himself in his chambers, hopefully by the time Godric manages to break down the doors (again), the stranger would be gone.
Helga was preparing lists of supplies, they would need to get before admitting any students, she never noticed any stranger.
Godric was sleeping away his hangover. He didn't notice anyone either.
Rowena saw him as she was thinking about appropriate locations for ward-stones. Just like Salazar she knew, who the stranger was. Unlike Salazar, she was in a way a cat - too curious for her own good.
But she wasn't just curious. She belonged to the people, who thought, that stupidity killed the cat and curiosity got blamed.
She saw this stranger. She knew the legends. If he had succeeded in his destiny, there wouldn't be any witch hunts today. In a way, she hated him for falling, but she hated him being worshipped as a hero despite his failure, even more.
She knew he could help and so she approached him. She got into a heated debate about intricate workings of obscure branches of magic, like only a Ravenclaw can. There was nobody to see her lead the stranger to the basement. Nobody else to hear the heart-wrenching confession of how tiring immortality is. Nobody to see them reach the very heart of Hogwarts. There was nobody else to see the first layer of wards being erected. Nobody to witness the famous Rowena Ravenclaw use an altered version of one of the darkest spell in existence on the exhausted legendary warlock. She liked it that way. No witnesses to question her morals.
It wasn't hard either to persuade Godric, that he somehow charmed these stairs to move. And that he did help her with setting up some of the wards.
It wasn't hard to feed Helga and Salazar some story about natural deep-magic line powering the wards and the sudden seemingly sentiment-like behaviour of the castle being caused by magic being semi-sentiment. They never really immersed themselves in such theoretical waters.
She didn't even feel bad about it. It wasn't like Emrys was happy. He was afraid he was slowly losing his sanity. It wasn't like her lie was something designed to hurt her friends. It just kept prodding questions away. This way there were no pointless discussions about morality and children were safe.
So what if the beautiful sparkling lake gained gloomy heartbroken aura overnight? If students took to calling it "Black lake"?
No, she didn't feel guilty about it. Not until Salazar stumbled across the heart of Hogwarts, across her deepest secret. Not until Salazar told her, he thought better of her. Not until he left and his name become a mud. Just because he disliked muggles, who would burn them at pyre and claim it was for their own good. To save their souls. Just because he didn't trust these, who would call themselves devils and unnatural.
Not until the ghost of her little girl looked at her with the same mixture of disgust and disappointment and told her, that she wasn't sure, what was worse, what she did or what she let it lead to.
Not until Helena asked her: "Are you proud of yourself, mother? You drove uncle Sal away and let his name become a curse! Are you happy with your accomplishments? How can you even sit here and pretend that your conscious is clear? I wonder, how can he stand it? I wonder how can you stand yourself, knowing you hurt such a wonderful forgiving person?"
That speech was the last time her daughter spoke to her.
The so-called Grey lady would later, much later (about a millennium later) idly think, that history got one thing right. The founders weren't the same since Salazar left and the school itself was gloomier.
Deep in the bowels of the famed school of witchcraft and wizardry can be heard a steady heartbeat. The immortal testament of Rowena's dark secret. The reason for the school's mischievous personality and the warm embraces, that it had for all its strays.