Griffin Scholarly
And the Seven Silver Boarhounds
Prologue
On a good day the dark alleyways of Knockturn Alley were less than inviting; on a bad day, they could turn away the most determined of wizards. Today, even though it was the middle of summer, and the middle of the day, the sky was almost black and heavy drops of rain came down and plopped on the dusty cobblestones. The winds whistling through the tight lanes and rocking the squeaking shop signs from side to side were nearly at gale force.
A man shrouded heavily in black and purple robes walked against the wind, a hand shielding his face from the wind and rain. He coughed as the rising dust crept into his nostrils and he turned down a particularly small and dank alleyway.
He emerged in a small cul-de-sac on the other side, four or five shops at most crowding into each other and looking as though they too were trying to shield themselves against the foul weather. Although each building looked terrifically old, the paint peeling on their rotting doors, their stone walls dirty and crumbling, they each held a definite sense of regality. The ground here was cobblestone too, but it was a lighter shade of grey and looked as though it could have once been white, or perhaps cream. A marble fountain of a snake stood in the centre of the court, towering fearsomely with a weak stream of slimy yellow water trickling from its gaping mouth; looking disturbingly like venom.
The man stalked up the stairs to the middle building; a rusty hinged, black sign hung from above the door. A green snake was painted on it spitting silver stars, but there was no name. The tall and ornately trimmed entrance had no doorknob, but a silver keyhole was situated at the top of the door. He reached out a spindly hand from his robes and whipped out his wand from his deep pockets. He pointed the wand tip at the keyhole and muttered
"Alohomoras Potens."
The door swung open slowly with a creak like an old man huffily not wanting to be rushed. The man whipped his wand back into his pocket and muttering stepped into the darkness inside…
Hundreds of miles away at exactly ten past twelve on the same Monday, Eirolwyn Scholarly was finally lying peacefully; her pale lips no longer emitting screams that had filled all members of the Scholarly Manor with dread. Now everything was calm and still.
A crib stood in a room several rooms away from Eirolwyn, carved from the finest pine and crested with a magnificent large eagle with the lower torso of a lion. Inside a very small child had been placed just seven minutes before, wrapped in a black silk shawl. The room was dank and dark; decorated with fearsome portraits, an empty but grand fireplace made of cold stone and wicked looking weapons that decked the walls. The shawl was irritating to the newborn's skin, and hardly kept in any warmth at all, but still she lay quietly, her small eyes closed and her soft, little, pink lips slightly open, emitting steady little breaths.
She had fine golden hair on her head and little hands with tiny ladylike fingernails already formed. As she slept, a servant kept a stern and suspicious look on her, as though he expected the tiny thing to suddenly get up and start wreaking havoc on the Manor.
For several days more mother and child slept, only awakening occasionally to look around, before drifting off once again. Then suddenly, at six o'clock on Monday afternoon, Jacob Scholarly, master of the Manor (second only to his wife) finally got sick of this, and told servants to rouse her.
Looking sickly, from a difficult pregnancy and labour, and lack of several days, Eirolwyn meekly followed her husband into the chamber of their second child.
"Look at it." Commanded Jacob briskly, "It's too small."
Eirolwyn stared at her child. It had blonde hair, just like hers…
As she looked, the child suddenly woke, glanced with bright green eyes (an attribute no Scholarly had ever possessed), at its parents. Then without warning, the child broke it's week long silence by bursting into tears; its face rumpled and rapidly turning from a creamy pale complexion, to a beetroot color.
Eirolwyn's stomach lurched.
"Not another screamer!" She cried exasperatedly and brushed past her husband, and out of the room. Jacob stood where he was for a second, a furious expression on his face, then he too turned, glaring at a servant maid standing anxiously by the door.
"WELL DON'T JUST STAND THERE! FIX IT!" he roared, knocking her sideways as he left the room.
Nodding and quivering slightly, the maid walked over, picked up the child and began quietly singing a tune she'd once heard a man in a pub humming. Immediately the little thing grew quiet, and stared at the girl curiously.
Smiling as she swayed from side to side with the baby in her arms, she kept singing the only bit of the tune she knew.
"Hush little babe,
You must be quiet,
The creatures in the forest are listening.
Hush little babe,
Don't make a noise,
Hush little darling baby child.."
Over and over she sang, becoming more and more quiet, until with a whisper, the child slowly fell asleep once more. She carefully placed her in the cot and immediately rushed off to get her a bottle of warm milk for when she woke.