Vindictive

Chapter 1: Beltaine

Genre: Drama/Angst/Romance/General (in that order)

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The idea for this story came from my muse, who inspires creativity in me. God bless her.

Warning: Later in the fic, there may be sexual content. MAY -- (I'm still deciding.) After all, they are adults, and this is partly a love story.

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The festival of Beltaine, honoring the old gods of Britain and the Fair Folk, was held every spring at a large plain, populated by both wizards and non-magic folk. It marked the coming of a new summer, at the half way point between the spring equinox and midsummer. Every year, I journeyed several days to reach the only place where magic and muggle walked together at festival.

The scent of frankincense and lilac drifted in the air amid the bustle of the celebrations. Green, pink, blue, and yellow were popping up everywhere like spring flowers. Plates of strawberries and oatmeal were placed on long tables in the dining area, followed by jugs of the finest of wines and the most crisp of salads. The tables were covered with linen cloths embrodiered with honeysuckle and hawthorn, the flowers of Beltaine.

At Beltaine, the veil of the faerie world and that of the mortal is at its thinnest. Therefore, magic can be explained at the festivals as the work of the Fair Folk among the people. Drunk as the muggles (and some of the wizards) are, they would believe anything.

Although I did enjoy the festival, much of the muggle rites confused me. They would light two bonfires on the eve of Beltaine and lay with each other in the haunting night, symbolizing the union of the Great Goddess and her Horned Consort. I had never participated in any of those rites, even as some of my friends willingly opened their arms to other wizards in imitation of the muggle way.

This year, being as she had never gone to the festival, I dragged along my closest confidante--Helga Hufflepuff. Helga had hair like ripened wheat and eyes like cornflowers. She had skin tanned to a golden glow and sweet lips that seemed to always curve in a joyous smile. She was tall, with sloping shoulders and curved in all the right places. She was one of the most beautiful witches of this age, though she would never admit it.

Helga was also the kindest person you could ever know. She was benevolence in itself. She was the maiden they sent out into forests to lure unicorns. She was the innocent they sacrificed to angry gods. She was also one of the most powerful witches in Britain, and therefore extremely dangerous. Even though she would never hurt a life willingly, Helga could master spells that even the most powerful had trouble with--things like double headed curses and turning someone inside-out. And even if she didn't bring her 'wrath' on anyone, I would, as soon as I knew someone had taken advantage of her.

This particular year, the Wizard's Council had summoned the most prominent wizards of our time to the celebration to discuss a growing problem: the mistrust of the muggles. The problem originated with the Roman Empire. They had conquered Britain, leaving it in Roman control. The Romans had also accepted the teachings of the Catholic Church of Christ, which said that magic was evil, the work of Satan, and that all witches and warlocks should be condemned to Hell. While some of the muggles live peacefully with the magical folk, many had already feared our powers. The Church only gave them more reason to do so. They had began to persecute and stone the wizards and witches they knew, so it was only logical that the Wizard's Council reach a decision on what action to take.

Helga had been very reluctant to go, for in her little village of Nunion, she had been a loved character and she couldn't possibly think any of the muggles there would attack her. I, of course, knew better. There was always one or two ignorants driven by prejudice or bitterness to terrible actions. Helga, being the pure soul she was, could never understand that. I had finally convinced her to go by pointing out that she was, too, a powerful witch, so she was obligated to attend.

Perhaps it was a bad idea to take her there. She was dazzled by all the wonders the festival had to offer, sampling foods here and there, examining herbs, striking up conversations with dubious characters, and wandering all over the place. But she liked it, and what could I do? I met with the Chief of the Wizards' Council, Eamonn Grayson, a muscled character with a mop of gray hair and a ferocious scowl, and reported that I, Rowena Ravenclaw, and my companion, Helga Hufflepuff were in attendance. He looked me up and down, assessing my character (and body, much to my disgust) with a glance.

"So this is the famous Rowena Ravenclaw," he sneered. "I never thought one rumoured so adept at magic would be so... young." One of his companions, a small, rat-faced midget of a man, began to laugh uproariously.

I didn't say anything, for I had encountered this sort of greeting several times before. All of the wizards who had done so were threatened by the potential they saw in me. I simply winked and walked away, leaving them to their laughter. Of course, that's when their stone seats crumpled to little pebbles underneath them and bruised their prized rumps. It was quite amusing how they yelled in indignation.

Finally, Helga came back from her exploring, her arms full of herbs. She grinned at me, explaining each plant and their properties tirelessly, creating along the way recipes for new brews to help with stomach problems or other healer's responsiblities. I smiled and nodded, listening half-heartedly. After all, Helga was the healer, not me.

The meeting of the Wizards' Council was to be held at a round patch of grass a little removed from the celebrations. There were stools, one for each one of the wizards attending, and most of them were already filled. Many of the wizards and witches had old, lined faces, tanned and rugged from centuries studying in dark caves. They wore long, dark robes and had equally somber expressions. There were only a few younger magic users there including Helga and me. As we sat, Eamonn approached for his speech. He gave me a heated glare and I smirked back at him as a challenge. He squinted his eyes a little before looking away and adopting an imitation of the looks on the elders' faces.

"I suppose you all understand why I have called you all here today, at the festival of Beltaine. This way, no muggles would think it strange a bunch of wise ones... and some not so wise... are gathered at a single place." The added segment was obviously directed at me. I lifted my eyebrows gently and smiled indulgently.

"The muggles have began to commit heinous, unforgivable crimes against our fellow brothers and sisters. There have been reports of burnings, hangings, and stonings across Britain and much of Gaul. The Roman Empire, of course, is at fault. However, we cannot target it for punishment because we are only a small number compared to its armies. At the same time, we cannot stay in the open and be targeted by this maddened peoples. The common consensus is that we should pull back from muggle company and go into hiding, or at least, hid our powers. If this is agreed on by the Council, it would be imperative for all of you to go back to your towns immediately and warn the wizards and witches you know to do the same. All those in agreement, say aye. If no, say nay."

A wizard to my right stood up, his long grey beard barely concealing his bulging front, said, "Aye!" Another wizard followed suit. Then a witch. Then two wizards. Soon, everyone was standing and chanting "Aye!" Everyone except a single man wearing green robes, with shrewd green eyes and long, silky black hair. His face was thin, with high cheekbones and pale skin. He was also young, around twenty-one or so.

"Master Slytherin," said Eamonn with a hint of testiness in his voice, "you do not agree?"

The man with the strange green eyes examined his wand. "No," he replied. I shivered in my gown at the sound of that voice--smooth and dangerous, like a the movement of snakes.

"And why not?" demanded Eamonn, a hand at his own wand, as if challenging the other. By now, the chanting had died down and everyone turned to look at the green-eyed man curiously.

"Because muggles are despicable creatures," he said without so much as a blink. "Why should we hide from them? We are so much better."

"Are you suggesting we wait for them to pick us off one by one?" demanded Eamonn, his face turning as red as cranberry. "Are you suggesting we stay in the open for them to target?"

"No. Simply make them fear us and they will stay away."

"Fear does much damage, Master Slytherin," I said, moving forward. "This fear that you speak of may be our undoing. If they fear us enough, they will group together and rise against us in rebellion, slaughtering us. History has taught many this lesson."

The man looked at me for a long time with his unblinking green eyes. Then, a corner of his mouth curved into a wry smile. "Rowena Ravenclaw, if I'm not mistaken," he said, getting up.

I smiled. "And you must be Salazar Slytherin."

At that note, the atmosphere seemed to calm and the others began to murmur amongst themselves.

Salazar Slytherin had made quite a reputation for himself over the last couple of years. His family, all wizards and witches, had been killed when the Roman soldiers, thinking they acted on God's will, laid siege onto their castle in the middle of the night. Salazar had been visiting a friend and returned home as the castle began to burn in a great conflagration. He summoned up a storm with his powers in his anger, annihilating most of the soldiers and putting out the fire at the same time. When he searched among the wreckage, all he found was the head of his six-year-old sister. The rest of his family had been burned down to scraps of bones. He was already a wizard of repute, but after the deaths of his relatives, he launched into a fury of work, creating several potions of great might and spells of pain and healing.

He had also not quite forgiven himself for not being there when his family died.

"I've heard much about your accomplishments. Did you really study in the Isle of Avalon with the Lady of the Lake herself?" he asked.

"Yes. We are still quite close. And you? I've heard you delved into the studies of the druids."

"Oh, that was nothing. I found the writings of Circe to be much more useful."

"Truly? Circe did wonders with Transfiguration. I thought that was Godric Gryffindor's strong point."

"No, he prefers his battle-cry. You should see him when he's fighting. Half the Norsemen and Saxons run away at the sound of his bellowing only," Salazar deadpanned.

At that moment, a broad-shouldered young man slammed down his heavy hand onto Slytherin's shoulder. He had waves of red-gold hair that rippled and shone and a neat, masculine beard. He was barely taller than Salazar, but emitted a natural aura that deemed him a leader of men. At his side, he strapped on a long, broad sword, in set with large rubies. He wore burnished dragon-leather armor around his chest and dragon leather gloves and boots. He also had a sweeping crimson cape that danced in the wind. This was Godric Gryffindor, a commander in a muggle army and a brilliant warrior. He and Salazar were rumoured to be close friends.

"Talking about me, Salazar?" he said rhetorically as Salazar winced from his friendly blow.

"No, we were talking about the winds," Salazar replied, voice dripping sarcasm.

"That's what I thought." Godric had a loud, hearty laugh, a laugh that he released right then. He turned his attention to me and bowed. "Godric Gryffindor at your service, madam."

"Rowena Ravenclaw. It's an honor to meet you, Master Gryffindor," I responded automatically.

"Please, call me Godric!" he bellowed, taking my hand. "And it is my honor, Rowena--do you mind if I call you Rowena? I've heard much about your intellect from my sister, Gwyneth."

"And I, you, from my male associates," I replied. He grinned, reminding me of a leering wildcat, and nodded.

"Who is this heavenly creature?" he asked, turning his brown eyes on Helga, who stood silently behind me all this time.

"Helga Hufflepuff, Master Gryffindor." Helga came forward, demurely, with her blue eyes of the sky cast down at her orange slippers.

"This is Helga Hufflepuff?" laughed Godric in a loud voice. "I've heard of your loveliness, but this is beyond all expectations! Now, my dear, permit to show you around this place and acquaint myself with you more!" He led Helga off to the festivities then, talking excitedly in that deep voice of his. I smiled to myself, noting how everyone was taken with Helga as soon as they saw her. Salazar watched them off silently, then looked again at me.

I knew I was no amazing beauty. I was small of stature, with dark brown, unruly curls that cascaded down to my waist. I had grey eyes of the sea and pale, untanned skin on a sharply made face with a pointed chin and outlined cheekbones. I had small fingers and feet and was not as well endowed in the womanly areas as Helga. Behind my back, people referred to me as the little faery witch, with the blood of the Old Ones in me. What I did not have in looks, I made up for in skill. I could outwit the wisest of men and confuse the most devious of criminals. I devoured books like a starved vulture a corpse. I had nimble fingers and feet, though I preferred learning to spinning.

I was, however, taken with Salazar. Though Godric was a genial enough man, he was molded in the cast of most men these days--big, blunt, and bloodthirsty. Salazar seemed clever, as if he could understand the workings of my mind better than most men and I could understand him better than other, less profound women. I smiled the best I could at him, for I was no social butterfly, and he, after a moment's consideration, held out his hand to me.

"Would you care to dance?" he asked solemnly, as if it were a business issue.

The musicians had begun to play a slow, sweet melody that spoke of spring's awakening and summer's advance. I nodded and took his hand, stepping and spinning among the other dancers. We traded partners for a while, he going to a fat, half-drunk matron, I to a lecherous old man with five missing teeth. He smirked at the expression on my face when the old man started to feel my bottom, then I laughed silently while the matron tried to kiss Salazar by gripping his face between her fat, sweaty hands, and planted her lips on his face as he twisted and struggled comically. We switched partners again. He received a young muggle woman who batted her eyelashes coyly at him and I received a young man with acne sprouting on his chin who held me like a Blasted-End Skrewt--as far from him as possible. After a few more switches, we were in each other's company again, laughing under our breaths at the people we had just danced with.

"How long have you known Godric?" I asked, as we whirled to an empty patch of grass to rest.

He waited a while before answering. "Ten years, now. I met him when I was a boy of twelve."

"Did you become close companions immediately?" I asked, perching on a large rock.

"Ha! Of course not!" Salazar said briskly, though his eyes were laughing. "Our mothers were close friends. But Godric and I, we hated each other on first sight. Then, one day, when I was fifteen, I saved him from a snake and he started to follow me around constantly--like some puppy. I had to hex him just to be able to relieve myself alone! Oh... that's not an appropriate subject for a lady such as you, is it?"

A chuckle escaped my lips before I could help it. "It doesn't matter. You are a Parseltongue, correct?"

"Yes, but everyone knows about that. What about you and the 'heavenly creature'? How did you meet?" he said, meaning Helga.

"We studied together under Queen Maeve," I replied. "She came to my defense when another student said I was an ugly little thing, with my pointed features. I loved her ever since."

He was silent for a while, then said, "She is a kind thing, isn't she."

"Thing?" I repeated, affronted. "Women are not things, Master Slytherin!"

Salazar fixed upon me an incredulous stare, then began to chortle. "No, they certainly are not. You would know, wouldn't you, Miss Ravenclaw."

"Please," I asked, hoping I wasn't blushing, "call me Rowena." However, the heat in my cheeks only confirmed my worst fear.

He gave a wry smile. "Very well, Rowena. Then I am Salazar to you."

I nodded congenially and we moved onto other topics, laughing and arguing and being thoroughly entertained in each other's company.

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As dusk came, the musicians packed and departed. Lanterns were hung up around the area and the cacophony of the festival died down to low murmurs and giggles. The bonfires were to be lighted any minute now, and the coupling was to start soon. I sprang up from my seat in sudden urgency. "Where's Godric and Helga?" I exclaimed. Salazar merely looked puzzled.

"Why do you need to find them?" he asked. "We can watch the celebrations here by ourselves."

I was tempted, very tempted, to stay with him. At the night of Beltaine, many are captured with sudden ardour and would push themselves on any near. However, I had to find Helga before she was pulled away by a mad youth in search of a mate. I could not let her do so, for she was still a virgin, having no time to experience the touch of a man.

When I explained this to Salazar, his face changed and he agreed to help me find her. Grimly, we searched among the crowds, finding not my friend or his. We split up and inquired after them, but to no avail. Finally, Salazar came through the crowds, dragging a drunk Godric with him. Helga was no where to be seen.

"But, Sally..."

"Don't call me that!"

"I don't want to mate wi-chu. You're not a woman. Way... have you been keeping something from me?" Godric grinned and spilled a mug of firewhisky onto Salazar's robes.

Salazar fixed onto him an angry glare. "Where is Helga?"

"The Goddess Incarnate? I dunno..." Godric waved at me. "Hello faery girl! Can you find your Lady for us?"

I rolled my eyes. "Better leave him under a tree and look for her ourselves," I replied peevishly. Though it was very common for people to think I was of faery blood, I hated to hear them say it.

"You shouldn't. He may get abducted by the Lady and her Folk," said a muggle girl, slightly pudgy with eyes that shone with lust. "I'll take him if you don't want him."

Salazar and I exchanged glances. He shook his head, loathing to give his friend to a treacherous muggle.

"Fine," I said. The girl squealed in excitement and dragged him, half-mumbling, half giggling, away.

"You shouldn't have done that," Salazar said heatedly. "He may wake up in a jail, or with his hand cut off, or perhaps he may not awaken at all."

"I hardly think a girl like her could chop off Godric's hand," I said dryly, taking off to find Helga. Salazar scowled and followed reluctantly, muttering under his breath about women. I hardly hid my smile.

As the night advanced, I was more and more afraid for Helga. She was certainly in the company of someone--who though? I would much rather her spending her first time with Godric than at the mercy of a brutal, cruel man. However, I could not simply go crawling in the bushes, disturbing the couples in their frantic lovemaking. It would be almost blasphemy to the Goddess, too. Finally, when it became clear that only Salazar and I were left alone, we went together to a canopied area, listening the sounds of lovemaking in the night.

I was very worried and I kept getting up to pace and thump my head in despair. What if she came back a broken woman, dazed and a husk of herself? Many women, having a bad experience in their first time, would retreat to an inner barricade and not shine like before. I would murder all the men in the world before I see Helga become less than herself. Salazar tried to ignore my pacing, but, at last, he yelled at me very crossly to calm down. She was old enough to take care of herself, he declared. I shouldn't be so nervous. This was Beltaine, a time for enjoyment, for pleasure!

I obeyed reluctantly and we passed the night drinking wine and waiting for the day.

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When I awoke, the area was stirring and murmuring with early activity. I had fallen asleep on the grass, my head on Salazar's knee. He himself was leaning his upper body against a large rock in a very unsophisticated way, a bottle of beer in his hand. I smiled a little, watching him, then all of a sudden remembered Helga. I sat up and let out a little yelp. Salazar came awake and studied me for a moment as I scrambled to brush the grass off of my skirt and get my shoes on neatly.

"You should brush your hair," he commented, taking a swig of the beer. I had a good mind to kick him in the head--affectionately, of course.

"So should you," I retorted, gathering my curly locks into a bundle and tying it with an azure ribbon.

His hair was full of little grass pieces, sticking out wards. He glanced at a strand and scoffed. "I look good with green in my hair."

"Of course," I said, rolling my eyes. "And now I must find Helga."

I swept away, looking among the sleeping forms for any sign of my friend, while Salazar stayed behind in that little shelter, sipping more beer. There were plenty of couples lying nude and entwined in each other's arms. Being no stranger to men's secret parts, I did not look away when I saw their member sticking out in pleasure. I scrutinized the women's faces intently, yet I did not find Helga anywhere. I did, however, find Godric. He was in the arms of three pudgy, though pretty, girls. The look on his face was laughable, to say the least--vacant and happy and rather stupid. I nudged him with my toe. "Wake up, Godric."

He stirred a little and I tried again. "Wake up."

Godric opened his hazel eyes blearily and looked up at me. "Care to join us?" he asked drowsily.

"No. I need you to help me find Helga," I replied. Then he snapped awake and realized, to his proper horror, he was laying face up and completely nude, while I was standing by his side.

"Good Goddess!" he exclaimed, reaching for his cape, a blush stealing onto his cheeks and down to his... well, let's just say down.

I chuckled a little at his embarrassment. "Salazar is waiting in one of the old stalls," I said. "See if you can find her with his help."

"Salazar?" he asked, confused. "How would you know where... OH!" His eyes widened in mirth as he strapped on his sword and pulled on his trousers. "Salazar doesn't enjoy the arms of women much these days," he said with a naughty smirk. "Was it good?"

I flushed. "We did not partake in... the passions of Beltaine, Master Gryffindor!" I huffed. "We stayed together to make sure we did not go off with some stranger. We were drinking wine and beer! At this moment he is chugging down his wonderful drink, which is probably his true mistress!" My heart, however, was beating rather rapidly at the thought of Salazar.

"Wine and beer? You?" Godric laughed. "Very well. I'll go find him and enlist his help."

I nodded and proceeded again with my search. Finally, I found her alone, looking rather moonstruck, by a large arbour. Her hair was unplaited and her orange gown considerably rumpled. Her eyes shone as she stared off into space and her cheeks were rather pink. A breeze came by, brushing her hair against her cheek almost tenderly. She closed her eyes and smiled dreamily.

Fearing the worst, I approached her.

"Good morn, dear Rowena," she said without turning to look at me.

"Where were you?" My voice trembled with barely controlled agitation. "No, wait. I know where you were. Who were you with?"

"A man, silly," replied Helga with a brilliant smile. "A gentle, loving man with wonderful hands and such tender lips. His eyes were so special, too. One was green and the other was gray." She giggled suddenly. "He made love to me. Doesn't that sound funny? Made love. No, we didn't make love, we were love! Touching, clinging, holding. He left though, just before you came. Never was there such a wonderful man!"

"Helga, I've been worried sick!"

"Why would you be? You were with Master Slytherin the whole time. Weren't you happy with him?" she asked innocently, at last pulling her eyes away from the distant place she was regarding. She glanced at me. "You didn't make love," she said with a knowing smile. "Don't worry, he likes you. I know. I saw you dancing with him yesterday."

"Oh, Helga! How could I be happy when I didn't know where you were, if you were safe or not? You are my little sister, gentle and harmless! I could never be happy when you are missing!"

Helga grinned and I noticed for the first time how she shone like a jewel with happiness. "Oh, Rowena, I think I'm in love!"

"What? You barely know this man!"

"But he took my innocence and I gave my heart to him in that moment," she said, leaning against my shoulder and wrapping her arms around my waist. "I love him and he will be happy with my blessing, wherever he goes, whatever he does."

"Do you even know this man's name?" I asked, a little sadly. I thought Helga was acting foolishly. After all, she didn't know this man at all. How could she love him after one night?

"Oh, yes. He is called Conor." She lifted her hands to her burning cheeks. "He has the most wonderful light brown hair that falls in his eyes and around his neck and--"

"What do you mean Conor? Don't you know his surname?" I demanded. "If you love him so, you should marry him."

"No, I can't. He's on a mission from the heavens. He has to journey to Gaul and pursue his studies."

I couldn't believe how utterly gullible she was. She should have compelled him to marry her, not leave her like some used toy. More likely than not, he wasn't going to pursue anything but other beautiful women. Nonetheless, I could not seek him down and make him marry dear Helga, so I gritted my teeth and directed her to the empty stall where Salazar and Godric were to find them sprawled on the ground, drinking beer. The supplier of the beer grinned at us as we entered and I could see the pile of gold he had on the table--Salazar and Godric's gold.

With Helga's help, we dragged them out of the tent and left them underneath a strong, icy current of water from a pipe I charmed in my pent up anger to shoot at them and only them.

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(Just to clear something up: "Being no stranger to men's secret parts" means Rowena is not virgin.)

Please Review and make Rowena happy! After all, she is the narrator.

But I'll be happier, just so you know.

Oh, and I used much Celtic religion and stuff in here. (Been reading too much Celtic stuff.) The Lady is the Faerie Queen in a sense, and her folk is her Court. The worship of the Goddess is still primary in Britain at this time. (I think.) I tried to make this as authentic as possible. If I'm wrong in any detail, don't hesistate to correct me.