Disclaimer: Everything here (besides the few things you don't know) belongs to JK Rowling, creator of the worlds of Harry Potter.
A/N: Hello! I finished this chapter sooner than I thought! (But, then again, it could be the fact that I'm ignoring my homework that helped a bit...).
Anyway, just to let you know, I'll attempt updating both this story AND The Story of Four Friends later on this week – we'll just have to wait and see how much homework gets piled up, now shall we?
Enjoy!
Chapter 2 – And So We Meet Again
"As much as we would have liked to, we cannot lie to ourselves concerning the illustrious Founders of Hogwarts.
"The common belief, inspired by the hundreds of years that passed since they lived, is that their way to the founding of the school was smooth of obstacles and free of objections.
"This presumption, however, is far from correct.
"The reader will do well to remember that in those days, the power center of the Wizarding World was the Council of Warlocks – whatever the Council wished for was a rule in the community. None dared to object in fear of death. The Council was ruthless, no doubt, even though we have no true records of the punishments given.
"In the Founders' time, the Chief Warlock of the Council was Lord Ambrosius, a man fashioning himself the heir of the great Merlin himself. He was the strongest of the Council leaders in all its years of existence. He was also the last of the true influential leaders.
"But before we even begin with Lord Ambrosius' opposition to the will of the Founders, as will be discussed in further chapters, we must first take into count the conflicts between the Founders themselves before their final decision to oppose the greatest force in the Wizarding World in those days..."
- Hogwarts, A History; Author unknown
Rowena and Helga were enjoying a ferocious game of Wizard's Chess. Rosalind, Rowena's mother, was mending one of her daughter's dresses. Rowena was quite hopeless with thread and needle. She once asked her mother what she found so enjoyable in mending things the Muggle way when she could just as easily mend them with a wave of her wand. Rosalind smiled and told her that in a few years she would understand.
It's been six years since that question. Rowena still did not understand.
Rosalind used to be a beautiful woman and was a very strong witch, but the years that passed since the tragic death of her husband made her weary of life. Her once raven-black hair was streaked with grey. Her pale skin wrinkled and her eyes were constantly mournful. Rowena knew full well that the only reason her mother was still alive was because she felt obliged to take care of her daughter and protégé.
The cheerful fire was quite a contrast to the horrid weather outside. The Glen was a natural funnel, making it impossible to be out of the house during the winter storms. Snow hit the small house with force. They heard the thumps of it on the tightly closed shutters.
Nothing prepared the three women enjoying their evening to the door bursting open and the two cloaked men tumbling inside.
Rosalind jumped out of her seat, dropped her sewing, drew her wand and stood poised for attack.
Helga jumped so high in her seat that the chessboard fell on the ground, the various little figures shrieking in indignation.
Rowena sat, frozen in her chair. Has her magic failed? Are the Muggles coming to finish what they had started two years before? Will she have to fight for her life that day?
"Ow! I think I broke something." One of them whined.
No. Obviously not people preparing for the kill.
"Me, too." The other groaned.
Rowena suddenly found her voice; her anger at being so frightened covering her shock. "Who on earth are you?!" She demanded, surprising the men, Helga, Rosalind and herself.
The first one who spoke raised his head from the floor. He was familiar, though she could not remember where she had seen him before. The long, untidy mane of black hair covered a fair portion of his face, but she managed to catch a glimpse of bright blue eyes. Where have I seen this man before? She tried to think. The man gave her a funny look and asked, as though echoing her own thoughts "Have I seen you before?" Then he groaned and touched his head gingerly. "I think I'm developing a concussion."
"You can't develop a concussion, Godric." His companion chided him before groaning as well and getting up to his feet. He, too, seemed awfully familiar. "Mind showing us where we can stow our horses before we explain who we are and what we're doing here?"
Rosalind, still holding her wand in hand, led them outside.
"I know these people, Helga." Rowena said quietly. "I know I've seen them before."
"Could be village people." Helga suggested with a shrug.
"They were most certainly not village people. Give me a second – I know I remember them from somewhere."
A few minutes later, Rosalind and the men came back – her wand was still pointing at them. "Sit." She said roughly and then turned to mutter a locking charm on the front door.
The men obeyed her immediately and settled themselves near the fire.
"Well?" She asked.
"Well what?" The man called Godric muttered, rubbing his head.
"Well, who are you? You are obviously of the magic community – for you have managed to get to the house. Who are you and what are you doing here?" Rowena interrupted her mother hotly.
Godric looked up at her from his seat, his eyes narrowed. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere. You're the girl who glared at me back in the inn all those years ago. I never forget a face. Especially not one that makes evil faces at me."
Only then it struck Rowena. She suddenly realized where she had seen the two before. She glared at them. "You scared my friend."
Godric glared back at her. "You keep a grudge! It's been five years ago, and besides, we never meant to scare her. Was it our fault that her parents decided to wed her at thirteen? I don't think so!"
"You could have said no! You didn't have to listen to Helga cry every night for a week! You didn't have to convince her that you won't come back to take her away! You didn't-"
"How could we have known that she is such a frightened little thing? We assumed the parents will realize we cannot and will not take her for wife! You are just bringing up an old grudge and mulling it over again! You-"
"Godric!" The second man snapped at the same time Helga said "Rowena!"
The bickering two quieted down, still glaring at each other.
"Good." A quiet voice said from near the fire. Rosalind Ravenclaw took up her sewing again and went back to work while she watched the four young people. "It's about time you will keep your mouths shut. Rowena, Helga, I want the two of you to go to your room and go to sleep. It is late."
"But Mother-" Rowena began.
"Now, Rowena." Rosalind said in the same quiet voice.
"Yes, Mother."
The two girls picked up their chessboard and pieces and went to the back of the house where they slept.
While Helga washed her face and hands in the small bowl on their nightstand, Rowena pushed a few more logs into the fireplace.
Why are they here? She could not help but wonder. They walked into our lives one evening, changing the way Helga saw the world entirely and then in the same evening left. We always thought they will never come back. Why are they here again? Why did they not reject the Hufflepuffs proposition to begin with and spare Helga and myself all that sorrow? Why-
"I never guessed they were our kind." Helga finally said, surprising Rowena out of her quiet reverie. The other girl finished washing herself and slipped into her nightdress. Now she sat on the edge of their bed and brushed her long golden locks.
"What?" She asked, startled.
"I said I never guessed they were our kind. You know, wizards? All these years I've been thinking of what would have happened had they accepted Mother and Father's suggestion. I sometimes just lay in bed and thought of what kind of future I would have if I was to marry such a person. I thought about it so many times that it became sort of my private fantasy. But never in all the variations of thought I had did I think they were wizards."
Rowena shrugged. "These days you can't possibly tell who is magic and who is not. You can't tell it to anyone in fear of being denounced and burnt at the stake. They could have been Muggles for all we knew and they could have been wizards." She was silent for a while before speaking again. "They must be very influential even in the Wizarding World – considering their attire and steeds and the way they carry themselves. What I am wondering about is what business brings them here? What could possible bring two such lords into this hole?"
Helga looked at her helplessly. "I don't know, Raven. I'm just as surprised as you are. The Glen leads to nowhere. If they were heading somewhere else they would have stayed in Caerwyn Valley. The only place the Glen leads to is here. Maybe they're here for your mother?'
"Possible. But no one has tried to contact us for over ten years as far as I can remember. We never even got a letter of condolences when Father died." Rowena said with a sigh.
It was still hard for her to think of it. Her father was always a very central figure in her life and now that he was dead... Helga often cried after it happened – saying that it was all her fault, that if she was not stupid enough to get caught, it would not have happened. Rowena, however, being the completely honest person that she was, admitted to herself and then told it to the tearful girl that had she had a second chance to do it, knowing the consequences, she would have done the same thing.
Dwelling on it will do me no good She told herself and blinked away the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She then continued. "No one had shown interest in Mother's research for years, as well – but that's the only reason I can think of for someone to walk willingly into the Glen."
She would have continued discussing it with her friend, but the soft, even breathing coming from her direction told her Helga fell asleep. With a gentle smile on her face, she washed herself, slipped into her nightgown and slid between the sheets of their bed, falling asleep immediately.
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There are shouts all around her and it is immensely hot. She is holding her wand tightly in her clenched hand, tears falling on her cheeks. She is eighteen.
She knows for sure that were they to fail, Helga – her only friend and constant companion for the past nine or so years – is going to die the next day. She could not let that happen.
Fire. They surrounded the house containing Helga with fires. Was it not common knowledge that witches could not pass a ring of fire? If it was not for the situation they were in, she would laugh.
She looks up to Father. He has that grim expression on his face again. The same expression he wears whenever she asks about her grandparents – the ones she never met.
Her eyes move to Mother. She also has a horrible expression on her face – as if she knows saving Helga will cost the small family a lot.
She has to be brave. If Mother and Father are going to face this, so is she. She will not let her friend perish in the flames.
Her insides burn with an eternal fire, ready to consume anyone who stands in her path. But she knows better than that. This fire has to be harnessed – to be used in the appropriate time for maximum effect.
"Get her out from the back!" Father shouts to her and to Mother. "I will distract them! We will meet back home! Get a move on, Rosalind! We have not got much time!"
And Mother complies, dragging her behind. They circle the house and reach the barred window of Helga's room.
Mother mutters a spell to put out a small portion of the circle of fire and they walk through. Mother then says something she cannot hear above the sudden sound of fighting on the other side of the house.
Father is there – fighting for them.
The bars on the window are gone.
"Come on, Helga!" She shouts and pulls her friend out.
They run through the village and into the Glen. Mother covers for them from behind. She holds Helga's hand and pulls her onward. Mother keeps on hurrying them from behind.
They finally reach home and they wait. Father will be back in no time.
In the meanwhile Mother gives Helga something clean and warm to wear and she starts cooking dinner for the four of them.
They wait for Father. And wait. And wait.
She feels like she can't wait anymore. She takes hold of her wand and slip out of the house while Mother is cooking and Helga is sleeping in the chair next to the fireplace.
She runs back to the village. It is already dark, but she knows her way around – she grew up here.
She reaches the village and still no sign of Father.
Then she hears the screams of pain.
She sneaks through the deserted alleyways and from a street corner, away from sight, she has a good view of the village square.
There is Father.
And he burns.
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"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh! No! No! Don't! Please! Father! Father!!!"
"Raven! Raven! Calm down! Please!"
Rowena was sitting in bed, the image of her father on his death pyre still on her mind. She did not have that dream for over a year now.
Perhaps dream was not the right word for it. It was a nightmare, and she was reliving the events of the night they attempted to save Helga from the villagers yet again.
Next to her, Helga was also sitting in bed, her face pale in the light of her wand. "Rowena," She said softly. "What happened?"
Rowena sighed and put her face in her hands. "Nothing, Helga. Just the old nightmare again. I can't imagine what caused me to dream it again after so long. What time is it?"
"Something along the lines of two hours before dawn – maybe a bit less. Why?" She looked at her in concern.
"Nothing. Go back to sleep, Helga. Please don't mention this to Mother."
Helga nodded and went back to sleep. Rowena waited for well over half an hour before she was certain her friend was fast asleep again. She then got up, slid out of her nightgown, quickly buttoned up her dress, not bothering with all the skirts, pulled on her cloak and sneaked out of the room, careful not to make any sound.
The house was quiet. When she entered the main room, she saw the two shapes of the strangers lying on the floor, huddled inside their cloaks. She opened the front door with extra care and walked outside.
During the night the storm abated and now a thick coat of snow covered the ground, undisturbed. The sky was dark, but she could she a faint grayness just where the top of the Glen's eastern wall touched the sky. It was going to be a very gloomy day, fitting her mood.
She was not an introvert, depressed person by nature. Sure, she was not Helga, who managed to find the ray of light in every situation, but she never found much need in dwelling over unnecessary things and wasting time over sulking and mere trifles. No, Rowena Ravenclaw was a very practical young woman.
This time, however, there was no logical and practical answer to her inner turmoil. Why was it that on the day the two strangers from the past had arrived the old nightmare had come back? Was it something about them that triggered her dreams?
It has something to do with that Godric fellow! She decided I shouldn't have let him get to me! If I was not so upset with what he said I would not have been so vulnerable to the nightmare! But even saying this to herself sounded wrong.
She did not get along well with the Godric fellow, that much was true, but she bickered with people before. It never happened after arguments with Helga and Mother.
Was it something to do with the two wizards' quest? Maybe they were thinking so badly about their mission that it somehow intruded her sleep?
She shook her head in disgust. It sounded so wooly!
A premonition, perhaps? Was her next idea. But she never believed in the Art of Divination, and premonitions also fell under that category. Besides, what kind of premonition is having to relive something dreadful from your own past?
Almost distractedly she wandered into the small stable attached to the house where Father's old horse used to live in till last winter when he finally succumbed to death.
Oh, good old Roland Rowena thought, a soft smile spreading on her face. She used to love that old creature. Father often let her ride him when she was little (Naturally, he held Roland's bridle – but that never mattered to her). He lived much longer than the average horse. She supposed it had to do with a bit of mixed blood.
He was already an old horse in her first recollections of him. When Father was in the mood, he used to tell her stories of his past, when Ronald was a warhorse, carrying him to battle for the Wizarding World, and he was a young wizard, before meeting Mother and settling down in the Glen to start a family.
Both her parents dreamed of a large family. Two daughters and four sons, they wanted, but it all came crumbling down on them.
Rowena's birth was a hard one and Rosalind's body was badly damaged. She could not conceive again.
Being an only daughter never bothered Rowena. She was pampered to a fault, but still managed to grow out of being a spoilt brat. She supposed Helga had a lot to do with it.
Her parents let her run wild and never bothered to reprimand her when she stayed awake till long after midnight, glued to a thick tome in wavering wand-light.
Then Helga came and turned her world upside down.
The cheery little girl made her see that there were other things than climbing trees and reading books. She taught her the games she played with her Muggle friends and introduced her to the word friendship.
Up till eleven years before, she never had any friends. When she wanted to talk to someone, her parents had to fill in that job. When she wanted to play, she would climb trees and explore the valley. She was a very curious child and wanted to know as much as possible.
Upon the minute of her arrival, Helga announced that she does not mind climbing trees, but if they were going to do so, Rowena will have to as she says the next day.
That resulted in a day spent in playing tag and throwing a pig's bladder between them.
Rowena loved her friend dearly for giving her another view of life.
She still liked books, though.
She sat on last year's pile of hay – the bit Roland never got to use and looked at the two noble horses standing there.
Was this how Roland looked when he was young? Proud and tall? So haughty, yet so beautiful?
And was Father like the two noblemen sleeping in her house? She tried to imagine that kind man wearing their clothes but failed miserable and ended up laughing like a madwoman, rolling in the hay.
A sudden noise coming from the entrance to the stable made her stop. She looked up and her own hazel eyes met Godric's blue ones.
He was wearing a simple brown tunic owned by her father. Mother probably lent it to him, seeing as their clothes were soaking wet the previous night.
While her father looked like a simple peasant in that tunic, this man still looked regal and dominant.
A slow blush grew up her cheeks. It was so embarrassing being caught like this by a nobleman.
To her horror, a smile crept to his lips. His eyes twinkled merrily and then, without warning - he began laughing.
A/N: Ok! You know the routine: Enjoyed this? Hated it? Anything you want to ask or make clearer? Just want to make my day better?
Review!
Kakachipchip: Thank you! I was a bit afraid to upload this to begin with because I wasn't sure if anyone would be interested. I'm glad I was proved wrong!
Cecilia Orechio: Thank you very much! The excerpts from Hogwarts, A History are made up by me. I'm trying to make each one in context to the chapter.
Freespirit65: Heh, thanks ((grins widely)) Oh, yes, I do know how school is ((shudders)) in fact I'm escaping homework this very minute. Oh! And I'm going to check out your story soon!
Eratosthenese: Thanks. I will continue! I'm enjoying this too much to just stop now!
Shadow-n-the-dark: I'm sure there are other stories concerning the Founders out there – but I never read any of them. I'm honoured that you've decided on reading my own story! Thank you!
Courtney8591: I hurried up! But unfortunately I cannot guarantee that future updates will be as quick as this one...
Stay tuned for next chapter! I'll try and finish it as soon as possible! Seeya!