Godric hated feeling this way. Hate was not a true feeling, could never be. Hate was wild and a phantasm. Disapproval was real. Even extreme dislike was real. But not hate. Hated clouded.

Even his father's kin knew this. As much as they frowned at his mother, as terrible and obnoxious as they were, they did not hate her. They could never. Instead they spoke often of what true nobility was, the infinititly spectacular mount of pride, dignity, and love that rose above everything. The only power by which to lead. That which kept the oaks in line.

Godric swore and punched the wall of his chambers. It did nothing to the stone, only left a reddening bruise like dying rose petals on his knuckles. What good was nobility in the wide world beyond the bare and safe walls of a protected manor when people cared for other things beyond duty?

Nobility had not saved his father. Not from that... he slapped healing balm onto his knuckles and sighed, breathing in the herbal vapors. He had barely known... Salazar's father. Before Salazar had become his brother, before everything, Siyth had been a complete mystery. The strange man of the swamp and wonderland where Salazar had grown up. Godric had never known the man, so what deity had given him right to judgement?

But who in cold blood murdered a grieving man?

Survival. Why was that so necessary? If his father had been more bent on surival than noble revenge, perhaps the past would have been different. Survival was all that mattered.

He could already feel the wound cleansing, covering up. Survival. He thought of survival for such a mere scratch. Who was he to consider survival? Nobility was all he knew.

At least he didn't hate Salazar. That hurt more than anything. The closest person there was in the vicinity to hate.

Or Tanith. Tanith had known, whomever she was. How the hell had she known?

A knock thundered the locked door, shaking Godric from his thoughts. "Godric?"

Godric swore again. Couldn't he be allowed to mope in any semblance of peace? "Uncle Jonas?"

There was a pause, heavy with silence, before the door creaked open and Jonas' face appeared. Smiling, of all things.

Godric felt his face wanting to mirror it. Jonas had that effect on people.

Jonas slid into the room, more cheerful ghost than human. "Do you fear the starting of a school to such an extent?"

School? The word echoed over the room, senseless to Godric's mind before he finally remember. The idea he had been trying to spread at the party. "I support such an idea very much."

Jonas nodded, smile not wavering. And to think innocent Muggle peasants would consider him some omnicient mage of the wizarding woods. The naive fools. "I thought as much. And yet you are in locked away in your room throwing the tantrum equal to Marigold's youngest. I thought you were to be the honorable cousin."

This time the smile broke its way through, and inwardly Godric cursed himself. That Jonas. "How dare you ruin such a perfectly horrible moment."

"It is my bane," Jonas said with a laugh. He all but floated his way to Godric's bed, where he proceeded to sit as if he owned the place. As if Godric would dare argue with him. "You know, our seers see good things for this school."

"Besides the dark power that will arise from it?"

And finally the deep smile faded into the wrinkled face. "Some say that is a revenge. It is necessary, this school to be created. Whatever else you are feeling right now, it will not stand in the importance of this school. In fact, I insist we look for a location for it tomorrow; I'm sure your fellow students will agree to that. If I can get Helga away from her father... Oh, I will simply leave that task up to you, Ricky."

Godric's heart pounded in a fresh leap of excitement. And to think he had almost forgot. Latiya and Albeser and all the other little pests of his family. Finally, something for them to do. "I... I agree to that, Uncle."

"Good." Jonas stood up from the bed and returned to the door.

Godric no longer felt like moping. Perhaps what his mother said was just a dream.

"Oh, and one more thing, Ricky." Jonas held the door open, allowing another person to enter. "Your aunt has a message for you."

Marigold slid into the room, smiling broadly and not without a little embarrassment. "It was Uncle Jonas' command..."

"Of course it wasn't," Jonas finished, disappearing into the corridor.

Marigold watched him go for a moment, then slammed the door. "That silly old fool," she murmured lovingly. "Ricky, I promise this was not my idea."

Godric stared at her, trying to take in her excitement. What surprise party was there? Terminus' party had been the prior day... and to think of what that had brought with it was too much.

She didn't continue yet, but pranced up to him and kissed him gently on the cheek. "Ricky, I am so sorry we haven't spent much time together in the past few years. But after my marriage and the children... it's so diffucult. You are of marrying age, so I hope you'll understand. If you ever plan on asking Helga's father for her hand..."

He felt his own face grow hot. "I don't..."

"You don't anything." She flicked a strand of red hair from her shoulder and opened her hand, revealing a small roll of parchment. "I shouldn't have brought it up, for it is none of my business. But my business is my children and I do know what you and Jonas and all are planning." She gazed up at him, lips pursed like a frozen river. "You do plan on Latiya contributing to your little endeavor, don't you?"

Latiya had been one of the first young witches to come to mind. "Of course... Marigold, is this what you've come about?" The parchment in her hand was already hovering toward him.

"I had to make it interesting," she said. "That's what I'm here about. Jonas forced me to give it to you." She gave a final curtsey, half-mocking a true one. "Now I really must be going. I was pulled from a conversation with Rose." She left.

He held the parchment in his hand, fingering the rough texture. Rose. His mother. She just had to bring that up.

Marigold didn't know, did she?

Did the parchment pertain to it? Carefully he rolled it open.

A map of the Gryffindor land. A small red circle decorated one patch of trees.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

She really needed to be smacked, Helga thought as she crept through the grass. She should return to her human form and smack herself good across the face, in memory of her dear father, and just run back to his house. Naira would be worried sick. Helga hated to worry her; she was an awfully good woman.

But sometimes...

She had barely seen Godric yesterday at the party. She had been upstairs, telling herself among all the other women's demands that she really ought to go down to the dancing, at least make the polite gesture of an appearance. At least she might have tended the children. Apparently the party had been made more interesting by Latiya Weasley and Carnation Evans "accidently" managing to turn Latiya's baby sister a vivid shade of purple. Helga laughed at the memory; Marigold had been wonderful at feigning anger.

Speaking of the devil... Latiya ran past, red braids flailing out behind her and tears running like a melting glacier down her cheeks.

Helga gave the finest badger blink she could give. What was Latiya doing at the Gryffindor place? She wasn't allowed to be sneaking around like... Helga. But Latiya seemed upset. No, didn't seem. The girl clearly was. What had happened?

In an instant Helga left her badger form behind and chased after Latiya. The child could run fast. Emotions could do that to people. It wasn't until a patch of woods that Helga was able to catch her. And that was because Latiya had heard her tramping behind in the trees. Perhaps Helga should have remained a badger.

"H-Helga?" Latiya gasped between tears. "What are you doing here?"

Helga laughed and reached to hug the child. "I should be asking you that question."

Latiya sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve in the most childish fashion imaginable. If only it didn't do so much to melt Helga's heart. "I'm hiding from Marglan."

"Marglan?"

Latiya shrugged. "Marglan Gryffindor. He's... he's one of Aunt Rose's lord's family. They're at the manor, too. I hate Muggles."

Oh, dear. The classic struggle of wizard against Muggle. "You shouldn't hate, Latiya. It's not nice."

"Neither is he."

Helga sighed. How could his properly be explained? "Well... he's just a silly Muggle."

That, at least, stole a smile out of the girl. "You're funny."

"Thank-you. So are you."

Latiya gave another sniff and snuggled against Helga. "I like you. Will you protect me from Marglan if he comes back?"

Helga looked down at the little girl, smiling up at her with tears still in her eyes. What a promise to make against some obnoxious little boy that was simply going on whatever his parents told him? But how could she refuse. "Yes, Latiya. I'll protect you from anything and everything."

"You had better. Or I'll tell my mama."

She doubted Marigold would care for so much. "Now, should we go back to the castle?" Rescuing a child. What a perfect excuse to talk to Godric.

"Yay!" Latiya skipped to the edge of the wood, then stopped and gasped. "It's Ricky!" She darted back to Helga's side.

"Ricky's coming?" And she was covered in grass and who knew what else. "Latiya, would you like to play hide-and-seek?"

Latiya gave an enthusiastic nod and dove into the bushes. Helga was right behind her. She felt well-hidden, still able to see Godric as he crept through the trees.

He was alone. Alone and planning on keeping it that way, as he looked back and forth checking for spies or whatever else he feared to be coming. Parchment was clutched, wrinkling, in one hand, and a metal spade in the other.

"Is he going on a treasure hunt?" Latiya whispered.

Helga shushed her.

Godric was now staring at a tree, with such concentration that a fire might soon burst forth to consume it. Then, like kneeling in prayer, he got to the ground and jammed the spade into the earth near the roots. The task was quick, dirt flying into the air. Then he stopped, again staring. He reached into the fresh hole and pulled out a sword. Helga could see the rubies gleaming in the helm.

"That sword," a voice whispered from behind Helga.

She spun around, seeing no one.

But the voice continued. "That is it. The sword the Fighters do not know of. The end to all the trouble. It will be used, in lifetimes to come, to defeat the mistake that he has done."

Still, no one appeared.