She was one of the first muggle born witches to attend Hogwarts. From a less than humble background she becomes one of the greatest witches of her time and breaks the heart of one of the most influential wizards.
It was warm under the blanket, and Maude was reluctant to move from her mother's side and start the days work. But the weak morning sun was creeping through the shutters, the city was starting to awaken and everything had to be ready before the mid-morning, when the inn opened. Moving softly, trying not to disturb her mother, Maude slid out of the bed and set her bare feet on the rough floorboards.
She dressed quickly in the half-dark of dawn, pulling her work dress over her chemise and securing her long red hair with a single white kerchief. Her breath rose around her in puffs of white as she slipped her worn leather shoes onto her small feet and draped a shawl across her shoulders. She scooped icy water into her hands from the bowl on the coffer at the end of the narrow bed, splashing it onto her face to chase away the last vestiges of sleep. She gasped with shock, having anticipated, and indeed dreaded, the water being much cooler than it was as she bathed her face in a pleasant warmth. Perhaps a ray of early summer morning sun had struck it before she woke, she supposed.
Now fully dressed, her green eyes lingered on her mother, Ailith. Her health was failing and she needed far more rest nowadays. But the innkeeper was a wicked spinster with eyes only for profit and a small heart, and so the young Maude would rise early each day and retire late each night in an attempt to complete all of the work that both she and her mother were expected to do to earn their tiny room and scraps of food.
Maude left the room and made her way to the hall, where she brought the fire roaring back to life sat a savoury pottage and a kettle of water on to heat. It was the middle of the month, when the rushes on the floor were supposed to be changed, and Maude swept and gathered the stinking rushes, trying not to breath in the repulsive scent of spilled alcohol, urine and rotting food that pervaded the stirred air. After her final trip to the midden heap in the yard, she went to the fire to stir the pottage for the patrons breakfast and grabbed some lavender that sat drying next to it. She spread it around the floor in an attempt to repel the foul air of the previous rushes before spreading new ones.
The noises of guests rising drifted through the inn and Maude ran back to the room to rouse her mother. She gently shook her, "Mother, come on, it's time to get up."
Ailith coughed, loud and rough, her skin stark and pale in the light streaming through the now open shutters. "Maude," she croaked. "It's so late, why didn't you wake me?"
Maude's hand slid to her mother's shoulder. "You needed rest, mother. You're not well."
Ailith staggered from her bed and dressed slowly, her joints stiff. She was only thirty four, but her movements resembled those of an old crone.
"You get ready, mother. I'll set the trenchers in the hall and meet you there." Maude touched her mother's hand and left the room, collecting a large pile of wooden trenchers on her way to the hall. She set them at regular intervals along the wooden tables. The tables set, she went to the fire, where her mother was stirring the thick pottage, adding ladles of water to thin it out and make it last longer.
"Maude, you should collect the bread. There isn't much time left." The first of the guests had meandered in to the hall, making a beeline for the pitchers of watered-down cider that sat in the middle of each table.
Maude ran from the inn, weaving in and out of the people, carts and horses crowding the street. She panted as she stopped at the bakers.
"Well, young Maude, you are late today. Better get a move on." He handed her a linen package and she handed him the coins supplied by the innkeeper.
"Thank you," She breathlessly turned and ran back to the inn. She had just laid the first of the loaves along the first table when the inkeeper came down. "Ailith!" She barked at Maude's mother. "Go and see to the rooms. Maude here can keep an eye on the hall." The large woman had ripped apart a loaf while she was speaking and now dipped it into a pot of honey, stuffing it into her mouth greedily. Ailith had risen from the fire and was about to leave the hall when she spoke again. "Make sure to wash the sheets, Ailith. I don't pay you for nothing."
Each time Maude tried to help her mother, the innkeeper found something else for her to do. The pitchers had been refilled as they emptied, more bread had been bought, and a second batch of pottage made. Although the inn was not particularly busy during the day, the matron ensured that a steady stream of patrons reached deeper into their money pouches, their spirits high as mead replaced cider at noon and the hot sun beat down ever more intensely. As the day turned towards night, a great influx of people arrived, loud and boisterous, the stench of sweat filling the air around them.
The innkeeper waddled over. "Get your stuff from your room. You and your mother are sleeping in the hall tonight. These men are riding to muster for the king to fight against the Vikings. They're worth more than your keep." She pointed at the far corner of the hall, as far from the fire as it was possible to get. "You'll be sleeping there."
Maude went to the room she shared with her mother to gather their belongings. With a muster in the North, men would be arriving each day for weeks. And soldiers, Maude knew, were to be feared. Especially mercenaries who owed their loyalty only to whoever paid the highest. She pulled a thin rolled pallet from under the bed and put it in the coffer, closing the lid and dragging it to the hall. It wasn't too heavy for her slight adolescent frame, being only half filled despite holding all of their belongings.
The coffer stored in the far corner, she returned to the fire to make something for the evening meal. She had to find a way to make the rough, sinewy bits of meat that she had available into a tasty dish for a hall too full of knights and mercenaries. Stew, she decided, would be best. But she was only eleven, her birthday having fallen as the great light streaked across the sky, that terrible omen, and so she sought the help of her mother. The innkeeper was busy entertaining the knights, simpering and promising the best rooms in all of the town, so it was no hardship to slip past her.
It was late evening, but the warmth of the long summer day lingered. But when Maude spied her mother, she had to stifle a scream. Ailith had spent almost all day out in the midsummer heat and it had taken it's toll on her abused body. She was slumped against the stable wall, white faced and panting. Maude ran to her and pulled her up.
"Lean against me, mama. Come on." She walked her slowly through to the hall and sat her on the coffer. "Stay here, mama. I'm going to get some mead for you." She grabbed a pitcher from the nearest table, it was half full of mead. She ran to the yard, drew water from the well, and added it to the earthen-ware jug. Back at her mothers side, she held a cup to her dry lips and held her breath as her mother struggled to swallow. She stood her mother up, pulled the coffer from the wall and placed it as a barrier between her mother and the rabble in the hall. She set out the pallet and laid her mother down upon it, where she promptly fell asleep.
"Oh, mama. What am I going to do?" Tears crowded her eyes as she turned to face the hall.