"Miss Granger, may I help you?" Professor Dumbledore looked down at her, eyes twinkling.
She shifted, and bit her lips. She was a seventh-year Gryffindor, she wasn't afraid! "Professor Dumbledore, sir. I was assigned a project, for History of Magic, to research the Founders."
"Ah, yes, I am aware of the project." Those blue eyes, which saw everything that transpired within the school, were amused.
"Harry mentioned that he'd talked to the Sorting Hat, after his Sorting. I was wondering if maybe I could ask the hat for stories of the Founders. It is part of them, after all." She lifted her head, hope, and defiance, written on her features.
Amazing that such a bright young woman, who has suffered so much for the sake of her friends, still has the hope and bright spirit of a child untouched by these sorrows. He mused, looking down on her. "Why, Miss Granger, that is a very novel idea. But, I am afraid that I cannot welcome you to try just yet. I will, however, tell you when you may."
She looked delighted. She nodded, and left, and he went back to his guests, shooting one glance at the Sorting Hat, shabby, and beaten, as always.
That Saturday, when most Gryffindor students were cozy in their common room, Hermione showed up once more, and sat in a chair, notebook in hand, smiling slightly as he laid the Hat on her lap.
"I will be in the other room, if you need me." He said, softly. "There are many stories the Sorting Hat won't tell. But perhaps, perhaps a clever young lady can convince the Hat to speak, where an old and tired man does not really care to try."
She was alone with the Hat, raising it onto her head.
Well, what have we here? I Sorted you into Gryffindor. What do you need of me?
She closed her eyes, and spoke softly into the air. "Sorting Hat, I want to know about the Founders, the Four, and those they love, and those that helped them. I want to know about the Founding."
Well you do, do you? The Hat murmured.
**********
"And one and two and…." Helga led the group in coordinating their magic.
The very last tower turret, the very last piece of the school, landed gently where it was supposed to be, as the Keystone reached out, and spun it into the buildings.
The four wizards looked at each other, and smiled brightly. Grown men and women, they abandoned decorum and proper behavior. Despite the fear of Muggles, they showered sparks into the sky, they laughed, danced, cheered, and sang.
"We're finished!"
"It's built! We can begin!"
"Oh, I never thought we'd actually get to try!"
"This calls for a celebration." Salazar said, chuckling, as Godric swept the little blond witch up into a hug, spinning her about. Helga squeezed him back with just as much enthusiasm.
Rowena spoke, her normally severe and reserved presence lightened by the sheer delight sparkling in her eyes. "What shall we call the school?"
Everyone froze, and their eyes went dark, as they thought. Godric sighed mournfully, "I know what name I'd like. But…."
"I know, Godric." Rowena laid one hand on his broad shoulder.
Salazar spoke. "We should call it Hogwarts." He looked exceedingly clever, and he shot a glance at Godric, as if expecting some sort of confrontation.
His opponent blinked, and then burst into a massive smile. "I never thought you'd ever say that, Salazar."
"Yeah, well, occasionally even I can admit a use for the damned thing." Salazar snorted.
Even Rowena, with her long dark hair, and sparkling blue eyes, flinched. Godric sighed mournfully, but some anger sparked to life in his eyes. Helga gave Salazar a stern look.
But Rowena was the first to speak, in the increasing tension. "We have finished building the school, and now all we have left to do is raise the wards, so next year we can have students. Seeing as how such a major hurdle has passed, I recommend going down to the inn beyond the lake. We can celebrate there, and we are not to bring up The Issue."
Godric stared at the school, as if trying to pierce it with his eyes.
"And leave your hat here!" Helga said, spluttering. "That mouse-eaten thing would scare off a dragon!"
"Aw, but Helga, it's my favorite hat!" Godric said, eyes turning pleading.
Rowena and Salazar both smiled at the successful distraction of the mourning wizard.
"I don't know how you've ever managed to attract girls with that horrible smelly thing, but it clearly needs to go into the depths of one of Salazar's fens! Where its smell belongs!"
"Hey! Watch whose home you're insulting, Hufflepuff!" Salazar protested. "I for one, have no objections to Godric's hat. As long as he casts a Smell Nullifying Charm. It hasn't been washed in years!"
Godric tensed. "No, it hasn't. I'll even wash it, and cast a Patching Charm on it, if you'd like, Salazar." He gave a half bow, courteous and well mannered.
"That sounds fair, and equitable." Rowena said, sighing. "Go, Godric. I'll fetch the soap from the tents if you'll head to the lake right now."
"Do you want him to kill that poor kraken?" Salazar quipped. He rubbed his shoulder, and shot the bolder wizard a hard glance. "Watch that strength, giant's child!"
"Hey!" Godric straightened, and shot him a glare. "I am not!"
Helga snickered. "No you're not. Salazar, don't irritate him."
Rowena's wand flicked to the battered, tattered and much abused hat perched on the red-gold mane of hair. Magic swirled around it, and Godric yelped, ducking away from the magic, the hat fluttering in air, before it landed on him.
"Flowers! You made it smell like flowers!"
"I think it smells nice." Helga said sweetly.
"Yeah, but flowers?" Godric sniffed. "It doesn't smell right! It smells like a woman's hat!"
"Well it doesn't look that way." Salazar chuckled.
Godric held it before him, aiming his wand at it, muttering under his breath. The hat 's frayed appearance vanished, large patches appearing on the holes, and thin spots. The stitching wasn't perfect, but it'd hold. Then he sniffed, and wrinkled his nose. "I'll smell like some sort of maiden, or a matron trying to hide her age."
Salazar grimaced. "Most women I know don't smell that strongly of flowers either!" He pinched his nose, and shot Rowena a hard look. "No more scenting spells with the washing spells. That's way too powerful."
Rowena shrugged. "He can learn his own scenting smell."
Helga sighed, and rolled her eyes. "Godric, close your eyes. Imagine a scent you love, something you can take a deep breath of, and smile."
A smile graced the wizard's face, and Rowena frowned. "It's gonna smell like a dead fish."
Salazar snickered, and shook his head, as the chubby little witch instructed their much taller friend in the spell most witches loved, and most wizards didn't come within a mile of.
Helga's expression was one of pleased delight. "It smells of heather!"
"I could have told it would." Salazar quirked a smile. "Godric loves the heather. He's from the moor after all."
"But do you like the scent of the fens?" Helga gave the slender, smaller wizard a hard look.
"Well, some of the things, yes. Others, no. But I really don't like the reputations everyone keeps putting on them. I mean, each place has its beauties, just like each creature has its own virtue."
Godric grinned, and put the hat back on his head. Sadly, nothing would keep the tip from falling over. It still looked battered and beaten, but at least it looked like someone wasn't rolling in dirt on a regular basis.
***** Somewhere, in another time, and another place, someone flinched a little. And the hat she was wearing chuckled. I have been washed lately, you know. The Deputy Headmistress makes certain I am clean before each Sorting *****
Arms linked, the four friends strolled down the hill, leaving the massive structure, many bits of it only held up by magic, waiting behind them.
**********
Hermione blinked, and looked up at the dark brim above her head, before she began to write quickly, scribbling notes on the paper. Her writing, small but precise, looked a little like Godric's.
Now where did that thought come from? She wondered, and shivered.
From me, of course. I do have a little bit of each member of the Four in me. The Hat commented easily.
"Why did his handwriting look so neat? Literacy wasn't prized in those days."
No, it wasn't. Helga had to learn to write with assistance from Rowena, and Salazar wasn't the best, but Godric, for a brief while, had been educated in a monastery. He hadn't quite sworn the oaths as a brother when he was booted out for being a wizard. He'd worked in the scribe's section. Helped keep the records. The Sorting Hat chuckled.
Hermione gasped, and giggled, writing the information down madly.
"Can you show me some of that?"
If you really want. It is where he got the idea for the school, after all. But, perhaps, you would rather not sit through boring lessons, and skip straight to when he left.
"I wouldn't mind learning everything I could."
Godric himself did not think of them often, except as an example. They were a useful tool, and nothing more. He did not belong there, but he had found it a home for awhile.