Tutoring. Godric hated the word, the concept that called forth too many miserable hours in the company of his father's kin with their subtle remarks and commands of endless wisdom. He could hardly care–they were poisoned by the loss of their precious land and titles, things he had never asked for. And so, after several years, he had learned to ignore most of their comments, filing them off into the thoughts of the young muggle lord he wasn't and gradually the tutoring sessions ended. His mother, of course, had something to do with that, in the way she so tactfully and bitingly flaunted her witchcraft under their noses. They had spent such times laughing over that, during the other lessons with her. The good lessons. Godric had little against his kin, and even liked some of them. But they weren't magic folk, and he knew better than to speak of such around them. And all in all, their training in the ways of their family was the true, painful tutoring.

So why was it again brought?

His mother had announced it, only hours after he and Marigold had returned from the phoenix ruins. His uncle Jonas had immediately sided with her with so much enthusiasm that Godric wondered who had truly had the idea.

He stared hard at the stone walls, thick and cold, wondering what sort of person would live in such a place? Terminus Clearwater. . . that was nothing but a name to him, though he was more than certain he had met the man sometime in his life. But Godric couldn't place him, reducing Lord Clearwater to a simple passing thought of one of his uncle's crazy friends. One would have to be mad to live in such a dank castle. . . Not that Godric hated it; his very bones were twitching for a chance to explore.

A house-elf appeared suddenly in the corridor before him, and Godric jerked to a stop. The creature stared up at him with pale, round eyes.

"Another one?" A male, quizzical in speech. He shook his head. "That master of mine. . . Shaysem can never understand Lord Clearwater."

"Yes, another one, Shaysem," Jonas called from behind. "Though I'm curious to how many students Terminus plans on gathering."

"Students?" Godric echoed in sudden panic. Marigold wouldn't be making a surprise appearance, would she? Though it would serve her right for mocking the announcement.

"Students," Jonas replied brightly, catching up with and passing Godric. "You'd hardly expect yourself to be the only one?"

He hadn't even considered it—the announcement had only come two days before and by all accounts he should have been back in the moorlands instead of wasting himself to another random visit to a place he didn't know. He fell into pace behind Jonas, sidestepping the still-muttering house-elf. He almost feared losing himself in the darkness. "I didn't ask for this, Uncle."

"Of course you didn't. Few people ask for anything that life throws upon them. But in all honesty it's time you have another teacher besides your mother, bless her heart."

"Mother's a fine teacher."

"A fine teacher. . ." A laugh welled up, something that demanded itself not to be heard despite reality. "She is. But do you want to sentence yourself to a life under her? You're the Lord of Gryffindor."

Gryffindor again. How silly names had to matter.

"Believe me, Ricky, you'll need all the training you can get. You're not only a Gryffindor, you're an Evans, and that gives you such opportunity for great things in magic."

And now his mother's family was a name. He swallowed back the smile at his lips, which only edged the irony. "But you're an Evans, and you're a Squib."

Jonas stopped before a door and carefully twisted his gnarled hands around the knob. His laugh was deeper this time, more real. "Ricky, you hardly wish to be like me."

Godric wouldn't mind that.

Jonas pushed opened the door, and light spilled forward into the corridor. "Terminus, my old friend!"

"Aya!" came a shriek that was quickly followed by a yelp of pain.

Godric stared past his uncle into a tiny room ringed with shelves of books and scrolls. An elderly man with a smile like fire was crossing the room, arms outstretched in greeting. Though clearly Godric was not the object of attention. Near the room's back a dark-haired boy lay in a haphazard circle of parchment, vainly trying to push away a small girl. No doubt the source of the chaos. Another girl, older than the other, stood at a safe distance from that, laughing.

The man he took to be Terminus Clearwater immediately set into a discussion with Jonas. Something about. .. Godric didn't bother to listen. He had carefully learned to ignore elders—if it concerned him, he'd know soon enough. He fully entered the room, feeling suddenly quite small. The room, as it was, hid more than he had first realized in a mad semblance to his uncle's chambers. The mess of the girl and boy had made was but a delicate fringe on the room's own bedlam. All sorts of chests and carvings lined the wall, and he thought he could detect a section of tapestry behind a crowded shelf.

"You must be Lord Gryffindor."

He started. It was the older girl, the one not attacking the boy. She stood just before him, barely rising from a curtsey. "Excuse me?"

"Lord Gryffindor," she repeated. "Lord Clearwater mentioned you would be joining us. Since I hardly expect the man you came here with to be a student, it must be you."

He blinked. "Yes. . . I'm Godric Gryffindor." Tutoring. All the mannerisms the other Gryffindor family insisted so much on—he felt them coming, breaking from his mouth like recitations from a popinjay. "I'm pleased to make the acquaintance of a lady like yourself."

She laughed again, a graceful sound far too bright for the chamber, and for a moment he was reminded of some awful flirtation Marigold might pull. But there was something else in her laugh; he couldn't be sure that she wasn't laughing at him. "You've hardly met me, Godric. My name is Helga."

"And. . . your surname?"

"Hufflepuff."

"Helga Hufflepuff." He tried to bite back a laugh, but failed.

Helga wasn't at all perturbed. "My father. . . he lives to the north. I can make that excuse for my name."

His grandmother would have been striking him for sure. "I meant no offense."

"You're an excellent liar." She was rather pretty, he quickly decided in almost a private apology for his rudeness. Not that he dared say now. Long, blonde hair left alone but for a tiny single braid framed a pale face. Her eyes were blue. He wasn't sure why that struck him so rapidly. She wasn't as old as Marigold, he decided, perhaps a year younger than himself.

"You're from the north?" he asked, feeling stupid. "So why are you here?"

She shrugged. "Ask my father."

Behind her, the dark-haired boy had finally managed to push the little girl away. She tried distractedly to regain his attention, but soon gave her own to a bit of parchment. She was a child, Godric thought. She wasn't one of the "other students", was she? There was no time to wonder—the boy was fast approaching him, face alive in amazement.

Helga blushed deeply and stepped aside for the boy. "This is Salazar Slytherin," she explained.

"The other student," Salazar said wonderingly. "I didn't know. . ." He ran a hand through his black hair, shaking his head.

"Salazar," Helga began.

Salazar took a deep breath and grinned. That one smile seemed to take years from him. "I must have hit my head when Rowe jumped on me." He nodded back at the little girl. "The pest. You'll get used to her."

"I think she's sweet!"

"She's done nothing to you. . . ." He met Godric's eyes. "I just thought I had seen you somewhere before. Where are you from?"

"The moorlands," Godric said, though he could hardly see why it mattered. "I'm Godric Gryffindor."

"Gryffindor. . ." Salazar repeated the name to himself, once again his face clouding. "I've heard that name somewhere. Are you a lord?"

"A Muggle lord. Whatever that's worth?"

"Muggle?" The grin returned. "You're a Muggle?"

Another laugh from Helga.

"I'm not a Muggle," Godric said, feeling himself smile. Muggle was somewhat of a joke between he and his mother. After all, he had inherited her magic despite whatever his father had been.

"My cousin's a Muggle." The little girl had left her parchment and now tried to worm her way into the conversation. "Heather's a Muggle, and she still thinks they're funny."

"Muggles aren't funny, Rowena," Helga said kindly.

"Yes, they are," Salazar and Godric said in unison.

That made Rowena laugh. "I like Heather. She says she has a wizard suitor. She likes wizards and witches best."

"What about you, Rowe?" Salazar asked, bending down until he was eye level with the little girl. "Do you like wizards?"

She made a face. "I like them all but you."

Salazar stuck his tongue out here, sending her into another round of giggles, then stood up. "I'm going to predict that she's smarter than you, Lord Gryffindor."

Godric stared again at the little girl, seeming but one of his little cousins with her dark curls and sweet face. "So she is a student?"

"The four of us," Helga said with a sigh and a nod at Salazar.

He had come late, Godric realized. He had missed something.

The drone of noise in the background came to a hault; Jonas and Terminus had stopped talking and were watching the little group with rather snake-like interest. This was it.

"I see you've met our final student," Terminus said. "Godric, good to see you again. You have grown well."

"Though I suppose you'd prefer to see him as something more than the Lord of Gryffindor," Jonas said with a smirk.

Terminus responded with a shrug, scarcely throwing attention to Jonas. He stared down at Godric, the fire moving to his eyes. "All I expect is a proper student. I'm prepared to teach you what I know. Speak with the others—they'll tell you what I expect."

Godric's tore his gaze from Terminus and met Salazar's eyes. He did so instinctively; despite Helga and Rowena it seemed only natural that Salazar be there when he was, for whatever unexplained reason. Salazar was already watching, waiting, though all he gave was a shake of his head.

Useful, he decided.

"Will this be it, my lord?" Helga asked.

Terminus paused. "Probably," he said after a thoughtful moment. "I no of no one else in need of a teacher. Now, Rowena, please pick up that disaster."

Rowena slid a wand—a slender bit of wood still seeming far too large for her—and waved it at the spilt parchment and books. "Accio!" The mess leaped into her hands. Then, docile, she crossed the room and set them carefully on the shelf.

A simple spell. But performed by so young a child?

"I told you to watch for her," Salazar whispered. "Your lordship can't be beaten by a small girl." Utter jest, no offense meant.

"And now we'll return to the lesson," Terminus said, sitting down in a chair near the hearth. "Godric, I expect you to keep up, for I have no idea what your mother has already taught you."

It turned out to be a review of alchemy. One of his mother's favorite topics. Even Salazar seemed bored, and soon, just beneath Terminus' eye, swung a roll of parchment in impression of a sword. Godric followed suite. Terminus seemed to care more for keeping Rowena's attention that worrying about the others, and soon a mock battle had begun, parchment barely scraping the stone floor where they sat. Helga watched, smiling with hindered amusement. Godric was just about to dare a jaunting attack at Salazar's arm when the door burst open. His own paper sword fell, and an elusive attack on Salazar's part won.

"Heather!" Rowena screeched.

"Rowe's Muggle cousin," Salazar said.

She was beautiful, Godric realized. The same eyes and dark hair as Rowena's—would Rowena turn out her twin? She nearly ran into Jonas, who stood just next to the door.

"Jonas!" Her voice was a shout purposely hushed, and she nodded at the staring room, cheeks flushing prettily before turning back. "I thought you left already. . . " Her words dropped into the inaudible. Yet she didn't speak long, and soon had taken another chair across the room.

"Lover's notes," Helga whispered.

"To my uncle!"

Salazar doubled over.

She choked back a laugh, blushing under Terminus' stare. "He's the messenger. Rowena mentioned a wizard lover. Unless it is him."

Godric could only shake his head.

"It probably has something to do with us," Salazar said, gasping from laughter. "The four of us."

"What do you mean?"

"I believe I'm trying to teach," Terminus said.

Salazar nodded gravely. "I'll explain later," he muttered to Godric.

And the alchemy resumed.

Finally, Salazar dared speak while Terminus answered one of Rowena's many questions. "He's not just teaching us."

Helga shook her head. "They're both up to something. Lord Clearwater and your uncle."

"And what would that be?"

Neither had an answer.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It couldn't be. Rose flung herself into her pillow in some sick attempt to have the cloth stop her tears. For all these years, it had been but her secret. Of all the fates to bring this about. . . her feelings mixed and tore at each other. What was wrong, what was right? Was she supposed to be happy about this? With a deep breath she released herself, sucking in what air she could through her tears. Ricky's account had to be correct. Salazar. . .her Salazar was now more than her dream. What had ended so long ago was back.

She hadn't given him up. By the divine right of the mother she couldn't give him up. Siyth had tried to hide him, set up his own web of magic. She couldn't take him back, no. But she had seem him, had watched him grow. And even then she had doubted how real it all was. But now he had been thrown into whatever her uncle was plotting. Along with Godric.

Jonas didn't know, did he? She often wondered how much the dottering old man truly watched.

Siyth. . . It wasn't him, was it?

How she missed Siyth. How she missed Gavin. Both had left, and she had survived. Survived until this very moment.

And so her sons had met. Why now?

Didn't Jonas understand? What was he doing?