Badger's Stump
Helga, the groundskeeper, stomped across the meadow under a mid morning sky. It was autumn, the season of early morning chills and early evening hearth fires. The first days of mulled wine and apple cider. The leaves were all beginning to turn as the trees prepared for a months long sleep. All this she felt in the natural magic about her. I seeped up from the land and she read it like a familiar old book.
Helga, or Professor Hufflepuff, as her apprentices insisted on calling her, stopped at the edge of the forest. She took a deep breath, enjoying the clean air. Current events would pass, bur for now there was little enough to enjoy.
Since Sal's disappearance, the politics of the school had gotten far too complicated. First was the matter of someone to take over teaching Sal's students. They didn't want any of the other founders to teach them. Helga had heard of dueling in the lower dungeons over the privilege of the position. This is not what the four of them had intended.
Not even Sal.
Second, much slander had come upon her old comrade in the past weeks. Not from Rho or Godric, of course, but from some of the students. They were citing old superstitions about snakes and Parseltongues. That was what prompted the unbidden thought of 'not even Sal.' It was this kind of nonsense that Helga had intended to stamp out with this school.
Finally, Godric had sunk into a depression. He and Sal had been good friends.
Ah well. Helga was a simple woman. That is, she was uncomplicated. You got what you saw with her and she always dealt with the world one problem at a time, here and now.
Helga waded through the forest. For over an hours she walked, giving brief greeting to hose creatures she was friendly with. The earthy smell began to relax her and she began to become one with the forest around her. Life in the forest was simpler. There was no worry over the leader of the serpent's den or of the future.
She sighed as she entered a familiar clearing. Her clearing. In the center was the stump of an ancient oak felled years ago by a storm. It was curiously chair shaped and Helga sank into it, feeling the power of the place. It was a cosy seat for one who wished only to escape the over complexities of a life filled with humans. Even if only for a little while.
Wizards were a dying breed. Few saw it, but in the coming centuries, it would become obvious. Living with muggles was the only solution. Sal was wrong about that. It wasn't that they were dangerous. A single muggle was generally as rational and intelligent as any wizard. But as a group, the followed a herd mentality that could be devastating. Even as a group of wizards could. The distinction was meaningless in that context but was the basis of Sal's ire. And yet a group of wizards in such a mob was far more dangerous.
Ah well.
Helga let the ancient power of the stump seep into and relax her. She didn't want to think on that again. Not just now. For a little while... just to feel, as nature felt. That's what she wanted. Just to feel...
Silently, she began to cry.