Hello fellow Potterheads!So this is my first fanfiction, hence I'm sorry in advance if the writing seems rusty in some parts. I've always wondered how the 4 Hogwarts founders became the legends they were known for, and how exactly Hogwarts was founded. So this is my interpretation! I hope you enjoy this story, and please feel free to leave any constructive criticism

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and I do not seek to generate any profit out of this story. Only the amazing JK Rowling owns these characters

Chapter One- The Four Beginnings

In the streets of Godric's Hollow, a fairly prosperous and growing village in English Mercia, news spread like wildfire amongst the townsfolk from market stall to market stall, from shop to shop, from home to home. A beacon of hope settled over the settlement in the West country for finally, after many years, a heir had been born to the Gryffindor estate. The Gryffindors were a wealthy family who's patriarch, Lord Valiant Gryffindor was a powerful ally of King Alfred: as a result of Valiant's high standing in court, the Gryffindors were gifted ownership of Godric's Hollow and it's surrounding farmland. Valiant had been wed to Lady Catrina for many years and both tried to produce an heir, but to no avail. But luck finally was in the Gryffindor's favour in the summer of 971 AD for the sound of a baby boy crying echoed through the hallways of Gryffindor Manor which stood proud and mighty on a hill overlooking the village.

'He looks beautiful, Valiant, doesn't he?' said Catrina as she admired her baby son who lay in his cradle. The small family of three were in Catrina's private quaters in the west wing of the manor, where Catrina had suffered a seven hour labour.

'Indeed, and that he is a boy is a greater blessing to our family', said Valiant proudly. 'Not only will the name of Gryffindor continue for many generations, but a powerful alliance shall be formed between our family and another through his marriage'

'Hold it in, Valiant, our son's only but a babe yet', laughed Caterina, picking her son up from her cradle and holding him in her arms. 'He's far too young for us to be thinking of political advantages'

'Oh, very well', said Valiant, rolling his eyes. 'Though I must say, he has inherited my family's good looks. Our son will grow up to be quite the stunner amongst the ladies'

'Oh, your arrogance', giggled Caterina. 'Let's just hope our son doesn't grow up to be as arrogant as you'

'Yes, let us hope he inherits my looks instead', teased Valiant. 'What shall we name him?'

'Valiant the second, after you?', asked Catrina. 'Perfect name, given your self-importance?'

'No, I don't want my son to share my first name, I want him to stand out amongst the crowd!', said Valiant, his inherited arrogance brimming. 'How about Godric?'

'Godric?', asked Catrina.

'The perfect name', said Valiant. 'Our son shall carry within his name our family's powerful name and the name of our beloved home. Godric Gryffindor'

'Godric Gryffindor it is then', smiled Catrina, ever the dutiful wife. She looked down at her baby son, who's brown eyes were wide with wonder and who's small arms were waving about within the finest blanket anyone of their standing could afford.

In the middle of a young patch of woodland in Wales sat a small cottage made of stone and timber. The cottage was accessible by a bridge running over a stream, and on a crooked sign on the door were written the letters, in Welsh, Hufflepuff's Remedy Supplies. A girl of six years sat on the bank of the stream outside the cottage, using her magic to cause balls of water to elevate from the river and burst into a thousand droplets, forming rainbow colours as they came into contact with sunlight which infiltrated the top of the trees above. The girl giggled as she elevated one ball of water after the other with the mere movement of her hand- it was her favourite pass-time activity whilst her father and mother were busy brewing potions for their livelehood.

'Helga, dinner's ready!', called Ceri Hufflepuff from the doorway to the cottage when the sun began to settle. Helga excitedly skipped to her front door, her light brown hair flying around her as she ran. Inside the cottage was a single room divided into two: on one side was the small kitchen, living room and two doors leading off to the bedrooms, and on the other side an apothecary where vials and tubes bubbled in different potions.

'It's fish!', exclaimed Helga excitedly as her mother brought the fish supper to the dinner table where her and her father Alric sat. Alric was the owner of the Hufflepuff Apothecracy, producing potions (mainly for medical purposes) and selling them to clients in villages and towns in their side of Wales. Alric's potions were renowned for their remarkable instantaneous affects, curing any malady in almost a matter of seconds. But what the public thought to be a lucky combination of rare herbs and chemicals was in fact thanks to Alric and Ceri's magic- the Hufflepuff ancestry was rich with magic, and their ancestors had done well so far to hide their powers from the outside world given the current climate of witch hunts.

'You've outdone yourself this time, Ceri', laughed Alric as he indulged in his meal. Their business was successful, but the profit they generated was only enough for them to pay for their home and supplies.

'Thanks', smiled Ceri, and she got out her wand and said 'Accio Salt'; a small tub of salt elevated from the sideboard and made it's way to the dining table, and Ceri sprinkled some salt on her fish before continuing. 'Do you like your dinner, Helga?'

'Yes, mummy, fish is my favourite!', laughed Helga, and her excitement was chanelled by her magic and thus the tub of salt exploded, and salt rained down on the table like snow. Before Ceri could mutter a spell to clean up the mess, however, the door banged harshly. The three Hufflepuffs eyed the door nervously- who could be visiting them at this hour?

Alric drew his wand and made his way towards the door. He asked 'Who is it?'

A familiar voice rang from the other side of the door.

'It's me, Aran. I bring bad tidings!'

Satisfied, Alric opened the door to reveal Aran. He was a regular customer of Alric and Ceri's as well as the only person outside the family to know of the Hufflepuff family's magic after accidentally walking in on Ceri and Alric chanting a spell during the production of a potion. He had sworn to keep the secret, but it seemed the secret was out judging by the look of horror on his face.

'Alric, I bring bad news! Your pimple-curing potion aroused suspicion amongst people in a hamlet a few miles away from here, and their chief believed you to be using magic to brew your potions!', Aran said. 'The chief immediately called for a witch-hunter, and I just came across a witch hunter and a dozen men of his just less than a mile from here. They're armed with swords and crossbows and other weaponry I cannot bring myself to say! You must flee!'

'Oh no', said Alric, his mind frozen. He was horrified: his entire life had been built around magic, and now it was to be taken away. He turned to his wife Ceri.

'Ceri listen to me! You must take Helga and flee whilst you can!', said Alric.

'I'm not leaving you here alone!', fought back Ceri. 'We both use our magic to fight these witch hunters!'

'You don't understand!', pleaded Alric. 'You stay here with Helga and you both are sure to die! These witch-hunters are ruthless, they will not think twice before cutting down our daughter like they've cut down hundreds of our kind! They're muggles!'

'But-'

'Alric is right, Ceri!', said Aran. 'Take Helga and go! Me and Alric will distract them long enough for you two to escape with your lives!'

Helga began to cry as she watched her parents argue. She did not know what was happening, but she knew something wrong had happened, seeing as her parents never fought and her Uncle Aran always seemed happy on his visits, but he looked pale and scared now. Then, Ceri was there. She looked into her daughter's eyes which were wide with horror.

'Helga, listen to me', said Ceri, horror coursing through her veins. 'You and me are going on a little adventure. I'll put your cloak on and we can leave soon, okay?'

'But why?', asked a confused Helga. 'Is daddy coming with us?'

'AAAAAAARRRRGGGHHHHHH!'

The sound of the battle cries of the witch-hunters reached the cottage, all it's inhabitants horror-struck.

'No, dear', said Ceri. She took Helga's cloak from the hanger and quickly wrapped her daughter in it. She put on her own travelling cloak quickly and grabbed her daughter's hand. Alric gave Ceri a few shillings and advised her to run east as far away from Wales as possible.

After exchanging an emotional farewell with her father, Helga felt her mother's hand pull her away and they both ran from the cottage via the back door, down the bridge and along a small path in the woods. Ceri ran and ran, making sure to not leave her daughter's hand. They ran up a hill and emerged onto the hilltop which gave them a view of the forest below. Helga stopped running and started to cry.

'I'm scared', she cried, and Ceri picked up her daughter and held her in her arms. She felt her daughter's tears stain her travelling cloak and then a terrible scream stained the air. Ceri turned around and knew that the scream had issued from the area in the woods where her home was. It was Alric. And in that instant, in that heartbeat, Ceri knew she would never see her husband ever again.

It was the presense of Helga which prompted Ceri to carry on and not give up to the depression threatening to overwhelm her. She turned around, turning her back on her old life forever and looked at the path which wound down the hill into the mountains in the distance, beyond which lay the border into England. And so the mother and daughter ran off into the night with the little money and food they had left, running as though they would never stop, running from the witch hunters which had destroyed their lives forever.

A beauiful castle elegantly overshadowed the beach on the Anglia coast in the East. The castle belonged to the ancient House of Ravenclaw, whom had reigned over Anglia for many years due to their distant relation with royalty. It was a cold autumn evening and a chill iced over the sea, up the cliff and through the seams of the castle, a chill which could not even be blocked by the palace's raging fireplaces and torches. But none felt the chill Lady Louisa felt when she had finally given birth to a baby girl. Her husband, Lord Harold of Anglia, after all, desired a son to continue the line of Ravenclaw...

As expected, Lord Harold was rumoured to have had a temperous rage when he found out that his first born was a girl. The citizens of the nearby village all noted the king's fake and forced smile when he announced the news of his daughter's birth in a public announcement in the palace courtyard. Within the royal households, servants and maids kept far away from the king's quaters as possible as a year into Princess Rowena Ravenclaw's birth he was still in a distasteful mood behind closed doors. But baby Rowena had another secret, a secret only Louisa and her new maid, a Welsh woman named Ceri only knew: Rowena had magic. It was when Rowena was crying her lungs out one stormy night, and her distress was amplified by her sorcery which caused a vase to explode and a candle to burst into flames.

'If Harold ever finds out', said Louisa one night in her private chambers as she cradled a sleeping Rowena in her arms, Ceri standing to the side.

'My Lady, do not worry', replied Ceri in her Welsh accent. 'I promised to keep secret the Princess' magic, and I will forever. You have my trust'

'Thanks', smiled Louisa. 'I feel as though I have no one in this world apart from you and Rowena. The ladies at court see me hostile for taking Harold's hand in marriage from them. If anyone knew of Rowena's magic, they would for sure reveal it to the King to spite me'

'Do you really think that the King would have baby Rowena killed, my lady?', asked Ceri, her eyes wide with fear.

'My husband hates sorcery above anything else', replied Louisa. 'And he's never really loved Rowena from the beginning, because she's a girl. So yes, I-I think he would kill her'

And the Queen and her maid continued to bear the burden of Rowena Ravenclaw's magic to save her from the fires that awaited those with sorcery, at the heart of a kingdom where magic was punishable by death.

A young boy of four sat at a campfire deep in the forests of southern Scotland. The clan that surrounded the campfire had taken the orphan boy in: it was due to the boy's powers and his ability to speak with snakes that they took pity on the orphan and took him in, to protect him from a society of Muggles who persecuted sorcerers day after day, year after year. The group that young Salazar Slytherin was with were preparing to travelling south to York to collect supplies from allies in the city- food, weapons and money to ensure the clan's survival. This was the reality of that era: magic folk uniting in small clans and forced into hiding from the ever growing power of the Muggle Society.

Salazar bore the marks of the brutality of Muggles: a dark scar etched across his cheek shaped like a snake, the mark of the flames from which he attempted to save his burning parents. From the day of his parents' death, hatred had poisoned Salazar's pure heart, and he vowed, even from a young age, to take his rightful revenge from the Muggles. The clan's elder, Ari, approached Salazar.

'We are ready to cross the border, young Salazar', said Ari, as the other magicians packed their supplies into bags. Salazar nodded and packed his belongings: his wand crafted by Ari, a locket bearing the serpent symbol of the Slytherin family that Salazar's father had given to him before his death and a small cage containing Salazar's single companion, an adder.

'Sleeeep tight, sssnaaaake', said Salazar in his parseltounge.

The clan reached York after four days of walking and camping. The city was bustling with talking and singing beyond the twenty-feet high stone boundary walls. Plans were made that half of the clan would await on the outskirts, whilst the other half would venture into the city and recieve the supplies from their ally. Salazar waiting nervously with his half of the clan outside the walls as Ari led his half into York. It was not even five minutes, however, before Salazar heard screams and battle cries beyond the walls: something terrible had happened.

'We've been betrayed, surely!', said one of the elders horrorstruck as Muggle soldiers, armed with blood-stained swords, swarmed out of the city gates towards the area where Salazar and the clan stood. Everyone raised their wands and a mingled cry of 'Stupefy!', and 'Reducto!', and even 'Avarda Kedavra!' shot the air. Spells collided with muggle guardsmen and some fell, but most charged on. They were outnumbered, four to one.

Salazar ran as the battle between his clan and the guardsmen continued. He tripped and stumbled as he ran to the cover of a nearby tree and watched from behind the bark as sword made contact with flesh, and the cries of his last protectors stained the air. When each one of the clan members lay dead in pools of their crimson blood which stained the cobblestones of the York roads, it was then that Salazar realised he was all alone. The illusion that he was protected by others greater than him had now vanished, and he ran away from his dead protectors, away from the ruthless Muggles and York, his heart turned stone cold against Muggle society forever.