This is just going to be a set of, surprise, surprise, seven one-shots, probably chronological, depicting the Founder's era and the seven sort-of sins the founders commit. And yes, I am a Ravenclaw. I will try to be impartial….
Pride
Godric settled himself down in the chair closest to the fire in the staffroom, stretching his arms behind his head and yawning. It had been a long day, unfortunately there had been a minor scrap between some students, over some long running family dispute about the ownership of some fields, but Helga was with them now, and he was sure that the younger boy's nose could be reattached quite simply. He gazed out of the window over to the lake and the forbidden forest, watching the students mingle in the dying summer light.
Hogwarts. His creation. Well, not only his of course. But it had been he who had thought of it. He had been downing something slightly more alcoholic than it perhaps should have been at an hour slightly later than it should have been and it had struck him. A school. It was a strange idea: most muggle children were uneducated, and even the rich were educated at home. A school, a university for children, was practically unheard of, at least in 11th century Scotland. But once he had thought of it, he couldn't get it out of his head. It was perfect, a school, a place of education for magical children to learn the necessary skills to survive and keep magic accomplished and strong.
The door was pushed open, and Rowena backed into the room, keeping the door open with her back whilst grappling with a pile of parchment, which she promptly deposited on the wooden table with a satisfying thump. Essays no doubt. He smiled at her in greeting, receiving one in return, tired but happy. It had been Rowena who had developed his idea from its bare bones into something functional. She, with her unsurpassable intelligence, had devised the perfect curriculum, from all walks of magical life, and had created the lesson plans for virtually all lessons they had taught, from first year Charms to seventh year Transfiguration. She had rejected Godric's idea of a Duelling curriculum, instead convincing him to run it as an optional club. Considering the number of problems duels already caused in Hogwarts, in retrospect he considered this very wise.
She looked tired, he thought, and vowed to take on more marking in the future. Beautiful though she was, fatigue was evident under her eyes. Godric smiled at his last thought, many men in his position would have approached Rowena with a marriage proposal: she was beautiful, intelligent and long since widowed. To him however, she was still Rowena, his childhood friend and surrogate little sister, and instead he contented himself by making her hair dance with his wand. A quick hex to his wand arm from over her shoulder stopped this, it being most difficult to cast spells when one's arm is momentarily turned to stone. Damn she was quick.
The door opened once more and Helga bounced in. Not that this was uncommon, Helga bounced everywhere. With her copper ringlets, rosy complexion and, ample, endowments, she was the complete opposite of elfin, pale and dark haired Rowena, and in temperaments they differed still. Yet in spite of this they were closer than perhaps even he and Salazar, shown by how the two women began talking in half sentences, not needing to qualify anything the other said.
Perhaps it was these differences that made Godric look at Helga in an entirely way to Rowena.
She of course had been instrumental in devising the school's pastoral system. Rowena, though by no means heartless, was not a natural in the art of giving comfort or affection. Helga put in place prefects and tutors, hired the house elves, created multiple recipes for them to follow and with her undeniable skill as a mediwitch had designed the system for the Hospital Wing, and ruled over it with more care and efficiency than either he or Rowena could ever have managed.
She began reporting the health of the now re-nosed third year, and discussing with Rowena the suitable punishments to give out. This prompted a low chuckle from Salazar in the corner. He had presumably been there all along, but typically, he was not noticed until he needed to be.
Whilst he then engaged in an animated discussion with the two women about the exact distinction between impressive and slightly impish duelling and flat out violence, Godric's mind turned to Salazar's creation. The houses.
It was, in many ways, a good idea. Four houses, headed by each of them, allowing them to cultivate the talents of students most like themselves, and to help them make like-minded friends. Salazar was also in the belief that competition between the houses, in the form of House Cup and house points, was also necessary to develop ambition and cunning.
At times like this, however, when Gryffindors and Slytherins fought bitterly against one another, he wondered if it was worth it.
Still, despite its faults, as he watched his three best friends bicker amicably, Rowena and Salazar hurling witty retort one after the other at each other and Helga laughing along, he couldn't help but be proud of their creation.
He knew Pride was a sin to muggles. But he didn't necessarily think that it was wrong.