Summary: Here begins the trouble between muggles and Lord Salazar. Personalities clash and the beginning of the end of the Hogwarts dream becomes a reality for our hero.
Disclaimer: JK Rowlings creation is her own, the only profit I am making is the enjoyment of creating a story based on her works.
Lord Standforde
The beginning of the end of my career at Hogwarts started with the issue of muggle born wizards and witches. Or to be more precise; the issue whether or not muggle born wizards should be permitted on Hogwarts grounds. I must say many hours were spent discussing this very issue. Some may have been given the impression I detested the thought of muggle blood entering the school. History I am aware does not view me too kindly. But I had my reasons for being worried and cautious over the admittance of muggle born apprentices.
Godric, with his notions of honour, was determined that any with magical ability should be taught. He believed leaving the youngsters alone would threaten them. Rowena agreed with him determined that she should make a name for herself in both the magical and non magical worlds. My concern was however, what danger we put ourselves in by revealing our world and giving access to our world to those who may oppose us. Furthermore, a child may have a chance in life if the parents did not notice their child's gifts. But to blatantly inform parents? Godric has no concept that some parents would kill their own flesh and blood; or worse disinherit them. There is always the chance the parents would find out about the child; but why should we act as agents to point out the existence of magic?
Magic has become a dirty word in society. Already outcast for our 'eccentric' behaviour we are now the enemies of the muggle world.
Helga Hufflepuff was a true cornerstone for Hogwarts in the days of debate of who should and should not be admitted to Hogwarts. Mild and meek she never joined in our arguments. She listened – truly listened with an unbiased ear to both sides of the story. She had away of participating in debates of using arguments for both for and against and she only made suggestions never demands. For this I can truly say dear Helga was a much better person than I. And I loved her for it.
Love? I hear you ask. There was no grand love story between Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin!
Ah but there were feelings. Helga, the dear compassionate soul that she is looked after my children in my days of distress of loosing their mother. I could not identify my feelings of admiration and companionship as love. If I had back then, maybe things would have turned out differently.
In the end however, I conceded to Godric that it was only fair that muggle borns should have access to magical education. However I would not have them in my cohort. I would not risk my house to spies from the outside. My dream meant too much to me for that. Godric and the others may risk enemy penetration of Hogwarts but I certainly was determined to make the school the safest place for my apprentices.
One of the first muggle borns to be invited to Hogwarts was Beacen Standforde, the son of Lord Flinn Standforde the Lord Chancellor and confident to the King. Poor wretched boy. If only Godric had not sent that letter to Lord Standforde.
It was well known that his lordship did not have fond feelings for his 'odd' child, the only son of his third wife. At first I presumed that there must have been something wrong with Beacen to have caused such public ire from his father. But I was soon to learn the fault lay not with him.
Dear Hufflepuff had spent many hours sitting and waiting on Lord Standforde into letting Beacen come to Hogwarts. Being such an important and imposing figure, Lord Standforde was extremely agitated and dead set against letting Beacen attend.
When Helga set me a letter by owl (it was becoming a craze in the wizarding world), she was certain the boy's life was in peril. She unlike Godric knew it would not take much prompting for Lord Standforde to publicly denounce and execute his young son. Due to her distress and unnecessary feelings of inadequacy I jumped at the opportunity to help her.
I sort the place Helga was staying at as soon as I reached London and then we both marched over to Lord Standforde's residents ready to convince him and on Helga's part ready to kidnap the boy.
We reached the gates before midday and was greeted by Lord Standforde at his front door. My heart sank as Helga whispered to me the man's identity as we crossed the courtyard. He was such a surly grim character that I immediately thought the worst and assumed Beacen was dead.
"Lord Slytherin," Lord Standforde called out to us when we were not ten paces from where he stood at the door. "Lady Hufflepuff…"
I caught my eyebrows from rising. I was never called 'Lord' outside of Hogwarts castle. Only my students called me Lord Magister and only when they were in quite a bit of trouble, which being students of magic was quite often. I never expected his prestigious lord to address one such as I with a title of dignity.
"I told him you were the son of a Duke in Normandy," Helga whispered frantically. "He is so much more agreeable when he thinks he is talking to one of noble birth."
Again my eyebrows were in danger from disappearing under my fringe. I caught myself and nodded my head regally in Lord Standforde's direction and allowed myself to blink slowly and gaze about as if I was assessing Lord Standforde's estate. I must say I was surprised at Helga's little 'white' lie on my behalf.
Standforde however stepped forward in a hurried manner which indicated that he was over with pleasantries. "Lord Slytherin," he repeated this time I caught the sneer in his tone. "I am Lord Flinn Stanforde, the Lord High Chancellor, Royal advisor, the…"
"I know who you are milord," I sneered back letting the ice tones creep through. "Trust me I am not interested in your titles."
Standforde stood back glowering at me with large hateful eyes. He looked like he had been struck as if no one had ever dared to stand up to him before. Knowing Helga she would have brilliantly played her role as a comforter and adviser. I was none of these things. I was here to plainly force him into making a decision.
Beside me I could hear Helga's hitched breath. Without looking behind myself I knew she was blushing with embarrassment.
"Yes… well…" Lord Standforde stuttered, still somewhat dazed by my attitude. "My son. Take him. Teach him. Don't send him back unless I call for him."
They were the only words he had for us. He abruptly turned on his heal and stormed back inside leaving us alone in the dusty courtyard.
However only seconds later a young boy appeared the flesh of his cheeks were crimson with embarrassment and shame. I knew at once this was the famous Beacen Standforde.
In his right hand he carried a small bag of possessions. Much smaller than I expected from the son of a lord. Helga later shared with me that Beacen had little choice what he could take with him. His father would not let him have anything that 'belonged to him'. The only concession was a few pair of clean shirts and breeches. Helga had to find more supplies once we had reached Hogwarts. This caused quite a stir amongst the other apprentices that the Lord Chancellor sent his son to us as a pauper.
I don't know much about the persona of Beacen Standforde. Helga took him in as one of her apprentices. But he was rather unhappy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The older apprentices scorned him as the 'Standforde Bastard'. Being the child of a third wife was not the most honourable position to find oneself in. Especially considering Lord Standforde had 'divorced' his second wife in doing so. Furthermore being the unloved, unwanted and shamed son made Beacen's position low in the ranks of the students. The younger apprentices would not even speak with him afraid that the coldness of their elders would be attached to them as well.
But there is one thing I can say in Beacen's favour. He was a good student. Whether because he had no companions or because he was studious, he became known for his studies. He would often be seen in the libraries studying for hours and hours on end. I can admire him for making the best of a dreadful set of circumstances.