Dear Diary,

Another problem about castles: they're impossible to furnish.

Luckily, Salazar (without my permission, I might add) took it upon himself to clear a large section of the forest for some sort of sporting arena. The sport, from what I have gathered, is a perfect waste of magic and good brooms, as well as incredibly violent. That comment did nothing to deter Salazar, who simply used it as a way to show off his scars to Rowena. And now, because of that, Godric is now determined to learn how to play. The lucky part comes from all the wood clearing that part of the forest has provided, which we all quickly converted into chairs, bed frames, bookshelves, and tables for the large dining hall.

Another thing they did without my permission was to choose their own rooms. Well, Godric and Salazar did. Godric accidentally blew a hole in a wall and decided, instead of fixing it, to connect it to a nearby tower. He then decided he wanted to live in that stupid hole. Salazar, slightly more tactful, did not blow up a wall. He instead tried to get as far from Godric as possible, and then added a magic wall in the dungeons. I would have told him that I worried about his health, being down in the dank dungeons, but he would not have listened.

On that note, what on earth possessed those men to add dungeons to a school for children? Idiots! Maybe it was a good thing Salazar had taken them over.

At first I had no idea where Rowena was sleeping. That is, until I realized she was simply curling up in what was quickly turning into a library. She had been spending most of her time converting all the things in her head to books. By the time I found her, she was nearly drowned in ink and hadn't eaten all day. I remedied both as quickly as I could, before Godric stole her away talking about how she should have her room in a tower, just like him. She agreed, and Godric made sure that Salazar saw all of it.

While the boys' antics are annoying, the fact that Rowena still seems oblivious to them comforts me.

During dinner tonight, the idea of sorting our prospective students came up. I made sure to tell them I was against it. The idea of sorting eleven year olds (eleven, we all agreed, was a good age for schooling to start. By then, there was really nothing more they could learn away from this school, and could be decently trusted with a wand) was laughable. Salazar went on and on about it, and I used the opportunity to probe his mind.

What I discovered was that by eleven, Salazar still had not stopped wetting the bed. That ended at age thirteen. I then went to Godric. His childhood surprised me, and so his agreement on the idea was fair. Rowena… Well Rowena still sucks her thumb and cannot stay present for an entire conversation.

And yet the idea that the children would be sorted at all, into groups referring to the four of us, made it clear that this idea, this school, was no longer solely mine. I must admit, I felt a little betrayed. So I had changed the subject.

"Shouldn't we decide what to name the school?" I asked, finishing off a second piece of apple crumble. "Before we begin thinking about what to do with students we do not even have."

That sparked a horrible debate. Godric wanted the place named after his hometown, Godric's Hollow, while Salazar wanted the school to be named whatever school translated to in Parsletongue.

Rowena, who had been poking her pudding with her spoon and mumbling at it, finally looked up at the rest of us. "Hogwarts is a good name," she asserted, before turning back to the pudding.

"That's not a real word," I countered, quick to shoot it down.

"I like it!" Godric said, smiling heartily at the still distracted Rowena.

Salazar scowled. "Well I like it more!"

What was once a cozy retreat is now a castle monstrosity named Hogwarts. My small victory this time is that none of them know where I sleep at night. We have some barrels near the kitchen, now empty, so no one even thinks to look around them. My personal cozy retreat, with low ceilings and curved windows, is just beyond that.

Some of us don't need flashy towers to be happy.

-Helga