-
Scowling vaguely to himself the young man made his way over to the pub's scruffy stable yard. It was an unusual village, this one, he thought. A dirty row of houses backing onto the marshy remnants of a stream, the single tavern had no sleeping quarters so any traveller would be forced to stay in the old stone church, sitting isolated to the west of the other buildings, a ten minute walk up a barren hill. He'd stayed in many places across the sprawling ruins of the Holy Roman Empire but this small establishment had to be one of the saddest bunch of rocks he'd come across thus far.
"Pathetic, isn't it?" He muttered to his recently acquired black gelding, firmly tightening the girth strap and sending the tipsy stable hand off with a glare. "Half an hour short of London, burning five years olds under accusations of witchcraft, yet they're so bloody isolated they haven't even heard of the plague… and 'stay in the church' he tells me," a disgusted snort, "I think not."
Five minutes later found the same horse and rider thundering over a dark heath, chilling wind nipping at their heels as they followed an old Roman road up to the southern gate of the city.
"What can I do you for, Sire?"
"Get this horse rubbed down, I want him well stabled this time. Fresh hay."
"Right you are Sire." The straggly looking boy ducked back into the crowd, scrambling over to the inn before popping back with an older boy who accepted a silver coin in return for taking the horse.
Casting a fugitive glance about him the man pulled his cloak closer and set off into the crowd gathered in the street market.
London was a strange place these days. Once Rome's greatest stronghold in all the Britannic Isles, it had been reduced to a dilapidated shell, used by muggles only for trading until reclaimed by Alfred the Great almost a century past. Since his death it had fallen back into the hands of the Danes and its future was in every way uncertain.
"We live in changing times, boy."
The words of his father resurfaced in his mind as he quickened his pace, swiftly passing over the river, remaining as inconspicuous as possible.
Changing times indeed.
Dangerous times.
"Us wizards, people like you and I of magical descent, can sense a storm brewing. The times where we are looked upon with respect are all but up. The days of Merlin and his like are over. Roman Catholicism spreads and with it a discontent that has perhaps always lingered but never truly been realised."It had been years ago since he last spoke to his father, he'd travelled much of the known world since, learning more and more of the ancient magicks as he went. Greece, the remnants of Rome, Gaul, Bohemia even as far as Egypt, across the sea. He'd learnt much. The summoning of demons, the breaking of curses, the rites of necromancy and manuscripts of the Heathen gods. He'd discovered that the works of Merlin and other things his father taught him barely scratched the surface of the true potential of magic.
However, for all his research and experiences of new brands of magic, he found one thing consistent throughout the whole world. The growing prejudice. It seemed there was not one place the Church's movement had not reached. Muggles everywhere, who had once respected and revered magic, living alongside its possessors in harmony and understanding, now rose up to purge the earth of those who for so long had protected them.
"They say witchcraft is the work of the Devil. And that the world must be rid of it."He had been born into the highest of families, aristocrats, some of the few remaining steadily in Britain since the fall of Rome. Their house, once a Roman villa, had been transformed into a castle-fortress with the coming of Saxon and Viking invasions but with enough persuasive talking his great-grandfather had formed all sorts of alliances with the Kings, attending Court whenever possible and manipulating the new primitive parliament into doing things it never would have considered alone. The role had of course been passed from father to son but with the growing mistrust within the followers of the Church it seemed that this position, so openly exposed to muggles, would no longer remain safe.
"Witch burnings, Salazar. It has begun in Rome and the notion is spreading thick and fast, just this morning four peasant folk in town were burnt at the stake. Four peasants registered under Ollivander's."
He leaves the market, scarf drawn over his face as he quick marches through a dilapidated street, home to a large number of plague victims.
The older he grew the more aware he became of his parents increasing contempt of the muggles they had worked alongside for so long. The tolerating respect that had always been present in their talk of Alfred the Great, the first King of Britain, and his line of successors was no longer detectable as they spoke of their current sovereign.
"It is spreading through Court. The new king has always taken kindly to such notions. No sense. I've said it before and I'll say it again, son, that man would not even have the practicality to breathe were it not for myself and my fellow councillors. It's no wonder London still remains in such a state with mindless muggles such as him on the throne…"
Around the time of his coming of age his parents had told him much of the resistance movement they were part of. A group of wizards banding together in an attempt to hide the existence of magic from the rest of the world. The told him of how vital their role within the King's confidence was. How vital it was their magical breeding was not found out.
"The Coven has been reassembled in Diagon Alley. Wards are being put up as we speak. The street is to be hidden from all muggles. Magic only. Do you understand?"
He liked to think he understood their desperation, but the darker the situation grew the more isolated he became, moved from their home in the fens of East Anglia to a largish house between London and Winchester. His parents kept him well masked, he was barely even allowed to visit Court without an escort of undercover mage servants.
"It's not hiding, merely a safety precaution. The King doesn't take kindly to anything out of the ordinary. Anything that could be taken as witchcraft is destroyed and that would include us. It is vital we remain unsuspected, we are the Coven's main spies in the King's inner circle. The only spies. Our cover must not be blown and as such you, as our son, must stay out of the public eye. It is for not only ours but your own safety, and that of the Wizarding World as a whole. Tonight will be your last official visit to Court, your mother has had robes laid out for you upstairs, and Salazar, do try to be polite…"
Kept within their own lands and nowhere else he practiced the magic his father taught him in secrecy within the walls of their house. People were told he was sickly, taken to bed permanently with illnesses. This isolation meant he was ever uncertain of exactly what was happening outside. He had no idea of how dire the situation was, with his parents rarely even coming home, until one night, on the dark of the moon when his mother and father returned, after a full fortnight, out of breath and looking less like the noble, refined figures of his childhood than he had ever seen them before.
"He knows! … No! I don't know how, only that you must get away! Take my horse- no! Take a servant's horse! Less noticeable. Ride fast until dawn breaks, north. No! South! Across the sea, into Gaul. Away from here… No. Your mother and I must stay. We must send out final warnings to the Coven… We are disarmed. We have no time until they arrive, they think you're away in the country! They won't start looking until tomorrow, please, son. Leave us."
He had done as they said. Rode fast and never looked back while the sky remained dark, but when he reached the sea, clouds tinting pink with the rosy fingers of dawn, something stopped him boarding the ship. Turning his horse back, mind racing with the words his father had spoken, he rode north disguised as a servant of the King and it was as such that he gained entrance to the witch burning taking place a mile west of his parents house. As he watched the kindling crackle as smoke mingle with screams he promised to never look back again. He would continue their cause eventually, but before then he needed the follow the last wishes of his father, he needed to find the person he was without his family's wealth and status backing him. He needed to become someone else and gather the knowledge to strike back,
"Patter Nostrum…. To your altar we bring you two fiends from the depths of Hell itself, agents of the devil doing his work in your sacred lands. Our Father, it is in your name we shall burn these abominations…"
But now, several years since, at the age of seventeen, he left the country, he was back. Back in London and on a mission.
He'd arranged with another wizard he'd found in Rome, a man from a family much like his, of the Coven, up in York, to meet outside Gringotts Bank in London. Godric Gryffindor, he said his name was. They'd spoken briefly of their stories and backgrounds, touching on plans that would have to be made when back at home, but in a pilgrimage hostelry, surrounded with Catholic monks it had not been safe. So, they arranged that a year to that day they would return to London, meet in the historical street of Diagon Alley and discuss what would need to be done to secure the future of magic, before it showed signs of dying out for good.
A fire crackles in the edges of his subconscious, punctuated by the writhing of smoke shrouded figures and the sharp, ear splitting sound of tortured screams. He slams to a halt, eliciting a startled gasp from a nearby mother with infant. Breathing fast and shallow he physically shakes his head to end the stream of memories.
With a frustrated growl he kicks the wall and throws open the doors of the Leaky Cauldron.
"What?" he hisses at the gaggle of creatures round the bar eyeing him oddly.
The only fully magical inn in the country. He remembers being so baffled when his father bought him here, dressed in his best robes like he was meeting something more important than royalty.
"Father… it's got straw on the floor."
The man had just laughed. "What you'll find beyond these walls are more noble than any King that sits on the throne, more precious and beautiful than anything money could buy you. Magic. Pure and undiluted with muggles and their beliefs. This is where we got you your wand, boy…"
"What? Here? In this filthy pub?" The disdainful, shocked face of a young boy stared dumbfounded around and the grubby looking (and obscenely loud) customers.
With a satisfied chuckle, "No, this is simply the gateway, guarded as I told you, with every protective spell known to man. What I really bought you here for… is just through this door…"
A soft intake of breath as stones shift at the lightest touch, revealing something he wouldn't have dreamed possible. "Wow…"It's been years, but the inn looks no cleaner, the barman just as old. Filling a pint of ale behind the old wooden bar he frowns at the young, aristocratic man in travelling robes.
"You been here before, boy? You look awful familiar."
The traveller looks up and grins a grin that tells tales of things he's plotted from months and years. "You knew my father, once upon a time. I'm here to rejoin the Coven."
There are hushed whispers followed by abrupt silence. Suddenly he has everyone in the room's attention.
Feeling awkward he looks around, "Did I say something wrong?"
The landlord snaps at the drinkers and they quickly turn back to their tankards, but it's clear they're listening hard.
"You keep that talk of the Coven quite, you hear? The Coven's not been running for three years now, boy. Since the burning of the Slytherins and Jacobsons… It's a lost cause." He looks straight at Salazar, straight through him with stern mismatching eyes, "I dunno where you've been, boy, but there ain't no Coven anymore and it's unlikely there will be again. Muggles are drivin' us out. Diagon Alley's just about tha only safe place in this city if you can't hide your magic, an' without the Coven most people don't even know it exists."
Stunned, he struggles a response, "But why's nothing being done?"
The landlord's blue left eye turns on him with something akin to pity (the right brown one is focussed on a powder blue cloaked figure sidling shiftily along the back wall), "It's too dangerous, boy. The richer families are drawin' themselves out of the royal circles, guarding their properties and the like. Other folk are moving here, like refugees, they are. The streets been expanded more than once to hold them all. Some people are worrying we might get under siege, but we've been too clever, see. These guards will hold muggles out for a good millennia yet." He stands up straight, casting a glance towards the door. "But you be careful, boy, don't go a-speaking about the Coven 'round here. They say it's been cursed. Its members are all but gone. Dead or dying. There may yet be a way to save witchcraft, Mister, but resistance ain't it. We'd be fighting a losing battle. So you keep talk of your Coven under wraps, yeah? And try thinking of another way to save us all."
In a mild form of shock he nods.
"What's your name, boy?"
He starts and stares at the man before answering, "Slytherin. Salazar Slytherin. And I've been away for a long time."
The pub's still and silent again but he's finished his ale with his dark cloak around him he's leaving, tapping the stones to gain himself access to the street beyond.
"Dear Circe," he mutters, staring at the bumbling mass of people barging their way to and fro among the shops and stalls, loud bangs and hoots of owls rising over the impossible cloud of noise that rages up from the crowd which seems to stretch forever into the distance. "Changing times indeed."
-
"Her name is Matilde Ravenclaw…"
"What's wrong with her?"
"Wrong? Nothing's wrong, per sae. Just suffering from a bit of depression, melancholy like. Excess of black bile the doctor was saying but her mother tells us it'll pass in time 'n it was grief that caused it."
A mumbled question, asked around a mouthful of food.
"Well, you see, recently she lost her cousin. Close as sisters the two of them were. Family are trying to pass it off as a nasty accident, but there was a note and in the kitchens people are pretty certain it was a suicide."
"Suicide?" Soup spraying he lowers his head in apology as the plump woman facing him shakes her head disapprovingly.
"I know," she continues, "No wonder the Master's trying to keep it all under wraps. He's not directly related to the girl, but all the same…"
"Not directly related?" He swallows first this time and is given an indulgent smile for the effort.
"There's hope for you yet, young man, and o' course not! He's Miss Matilde's father's brother and Miss Isabelle (royalty, dontcha know) is her mother's sister's daughter. See."
"Yeah, I see."
"Well, yes. A mighty kafuffle if ever I saw one and poor Miss Matilde's stuck in the middle of it. Poor girl spends every waking minute working in the library (she likes her books she does) looking up new spells and potions. I don't reckon she thinks any of it will help, but she tries all the same, take her mind off of it all I 'spose. Always did love to learn, unlike that cousin of hers."
"Her cousin didn't like books?"
"Not at all, doubt she would even learn to read were it not for her father's insistence. He was a muggle, you see. Cousin of the King. Fell for the Mistress's sister and they got married… he was never allowed to know she was a witch though."
"That's terribly unorthodox…"
"I know. She very nearly wasn't allowed to marry him, but she said she was in love. Thing is, Isabelle, their daughter, she never knew she had magic. Coven or not, you know how it is these days, the whole family would have been burned, so it was never spoken of in their house. And that little girl grew up untrained… They say her mother wasn't awful bright. Mistress tried to warn her of the dangers, but she's adamant like. Wouldn't budge, and look where it got them."
"She killed herself 'cause she didn't know she had magic?"
"No. No, no. She died because of what her magic was doing without her control. Thought she was cursed (in the full muggle sense of the word). Her parents were trying to get her to marry 'n she didn't want to, and one day she got angry and a candelabra fell on the man in question. Impaled as he sat. They said it could have happened to anyone, the rope being frayed 'n all, but she knew better. Knew it was her that was doing it. Took two more deaths like that 'til she took matters into her own hands, or should I say the Snake's." A sharp chuckle.
Eyes wide and utterly distracted from his broth the man muttered, "That's terrible."
"Is, isn't it. Shows you what happens when parents don't educate their children, see? There are probably a lotta children like her, injuring stuff all over the place 'cause their parents don't teach them right."
"Well, my Mary and me, we teach our children just the way we should. Just like any responsible parent would."
"Well, that's all well and good, you both being magical, but what happens when people start marrying off with muggles, eh? Then where will we be. Can't tell them 'bout the magic. Can't teach the children and in the end people are dying 'cause it's not working out quite the way they'd hoped. Something'll have to be done, mark my words."
"Yeah? And who's gonna do it? Can't tell the King nothing, and who else'll get stuff done, with the Coven gone?"
"You can't go a-talking about the Coven, Fredrick. You know that. Upsets the Mistress, like. You know what happened to her parents down in London."
"Yeah, I'm sorry, wasn't thinking."
"Too right you weren't, now off with you, boy. An' next time you come I'll remember you like more of those mushrooms in your soup."
"Thank you, ma'am."
The visitor bows and the cook slaps him round the head with a dishtowel. "Off with you, lad. And say hello to your wife and little Eleanor."
"Will do, ma'am."
Fredrick sends the cook one last grin before heading out the door into the rest of the house, heading towards the front door of the castle (the mote meant the only 'back door' was underground and remarkably damp). A dark haired girl passes him en route and he tips his hat to her.
"Mistress Matilde."
She nods politely back, her maidservant sending him a shy smile.
As he waits for a servant to unlock the main gate for him he mounts his horse, it's been a strange day, he thinks. As a descendent of the village's most prominent magical family he has been a friend of the proprietors of this house since he came of age. Him and his wife were often allowed up to the castle to share more rare potions ingredients, but when Miss Isabelle moved in with her muggle father from the south, magic was kept far quieter in the building and now he only came up when there were muggle messages intended for the Ravenclaw family.
Today had been one of those occasions. A herald of the King had bought a letter intended for the Master of the house. It was military and Fredrick could only imagine it had something to do with his brother, the Mistress's husband, Godfrey, who'd gone to war for the King almost a full year ago. Hope he's alright, he thinks briefly as the gates swing back, baring the rode back down to the village, Godfrey had always been a good man, Fredrick's father in particular respected him a great deal.
Kicking his horse into action he set off down the hill, following the familiar path as the sun set behind him.
-
AN: Set roughly in late 900's AD, but don't hold me to that as I know very little about the time and cannot be arsed to research much. Hope you're slightly clearer on what happened in the first chapter now… Possibly. Or maybe I've just bored you all to death :P Oh well.
If you've read it, please review it.