Author's Note: Written for semi-finals — QLFC 6 — Allow me to introduce...
Team: Pride of Portree
Position: Chaser 1
Prompt: Salem: Cupid Carries a Gun — Marilyn Manson
Add'l Prompts Used:
6 (character) Rowena Ravenclaw
10 (quote) 'Maybe that's part of the nightmare, having just enough freedom thrown at you to tempt you, knowing it's an illusion.' — Grace & Fury, Tracy Banghart
11 (word) civilisation
Word Count (excluding Author's Note): 2711
A/N: AU
Marilyn Manson's Cupid was developed in concert with the show it ultimately became mostly closely associated with: Salem. As such, it's elements are meant to recall feelings of the dark unknown, the misunderstood and feared, and mostly, the hopelessness of resistance. "Better pray for hell, not hallelujah," the singer intones, and one can not help but to envision the writhing bodies of Puritan girls shaking and swearing on the floor as they call out the names of the demons that possess them — and the witches among them who called them forth.
It is this ambiance, and it's complete antithesis to the world of magic that Rowling creates, that got me thinking about magic in JKR's universe — and if the magic that she details for us was the only magic there available...or if there had, at one point been other magics; darker, wilder magics. Magics that were considered less savory, or somehow less acceptable: Blood magic, magic based in sacrifice and ancestor worship, or the phases of the moon. The sort of magics that Rowling doesn't even address, despite the rich tradition of witchcraft and mysticism in the British Isles.
The inclusion of Rowena Ravenclaw on the optional prompt list immediately got me thinking about the formation of Hogwarts and why, after generations of families controlling the instruction of their children in the home it would be desirable, or even necessary, to start a formalized school for the instruction of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And my mind could only come up with one answer: culture. That it was suddenly important that magic be 1) Codified into a cohesive curriculum of "acceptable" magic, and 2) That it be taught universally so that all other magics would eventually be snuffed out by lack of practice — much like how languages die out. As a historian, it is not unfamiliar to me that "culture" is sometimes an outgrowth of a community; but sometimes it is dictated "from above". The standardization of the French language under Louis XIV or the simplification of Russian by the Soviets are both examples of this sort of cultural homogenization that was implemented by the governing few upon the many. These concepts of culture inform my interpretation of civilization as presented here.
I am suggesting here that the four Founders of Hogwarts may have done the same for magic, for reasons we may never know or understand. Obviously, there is little in the canon to support my theory — beyond basic observation and a bit of applied logic — so, let it be stated clearly that this is not in keeping with Rowling's universe and, as such, should be read as AU.
I would also be remiss if I did not give credit for inspiration to Sir Thomas Malory's Morte d'Arthur and Rospo Pallenburg's adaptation for the screen (Excalibur). It's is an extensive exploration of the wild magics and pagan ceremonies of the British Isles; I am humbly in debt to these works. I also need to give credit where it is due to Lev Grossman and his The Magicians series for the idea of the fight between formal and informal magics.
It was also brought to my attention that the understanding of who directly descended from Salazar Slytherin with the addition of the Fantastic Beasts, Cursed Child, and the Pottermore universe, may not be what it was once was. Since I have made brief allusions to his direct line, I am again including a note to be clear that this must be considered AU.
Posca is a water and vinegar mixture most commonly referenced from ancient Roman texts that might best describe the substance used to purify otherwise questionable water so it could be consumed without causing illness. It is my morning beverage of choice since, in a historically accurate world, neither tea nor lemons would be available in Britain, and wine was likely scarce, although wine left over from the Empire - turned to vinegar - could still be consumed as a means of purifying questionable water.
Also, I've taken some spelling liberties in order to create more of a "medieval" feeling, mostly involving "i" replaced with "y", additional "e"s and the continued use of a "k" in places where a hard "c" sound would be adopted in future.
Finally, I toyed with concepts of freedom and choice as an overall homage to the Grace & Fury quote cited. I hope I have done it justice.
Will o'the Wisp
The snow was feather-light on her face, caught up in her eyelashes as she peered from behind the tree out into the night fires. Helena's grandmother had always been partial to their time together over the winter holidays but was particularly thrilled this year. It was special, or so she said.
"And you on the cusp of womanhood," Malory Ravenclaw had intoned as she grasped Helena's shoulders, stepping back slightly so as to take her all in. The older woman's clear, blue eyes had absorbed every detail; it was disconcerting. Yet, it was all Helena had known of her grandmother, and she knew her unblinking scrutiny as love. "Winter Solstice and a full moon," the old woman went on. "Auspicious isn't the word! Come. There is much to do."
Now, as she stood just outside the circle of elder witches, their voices roaring as loudly as the flames they encircled, she, too, turned her face up to the sky to bask in the radiance of the moon. Her body swayed and shifted with the song of earth and sky and gods unnamed and uncounted; and something else gripped her in that moment, as well. Something she had not known before.
Power. Joy. Part of a greater whole.
She found her eyes drawn to the fire as it danced and leapt as if it were human. It drew her, and as it did, she closed in on the figures surrounding it, weaving herself into their midst — and into their magic.
As the night waned, Helena found herself alone, staring into the dwindling flames. Malory approached, her form shrunken and hunched; the power that coursed through her gone, leaving her earthly form to show its true age. "Come, child," she said, reaching out a hand. "The Green Man has smiled on us again, and we must tend to the cycle of life that is all around us." Helena rose, silently, as if in a dream. A sudden gust of cold air caught her, and she shivered. Malory wrapped a cloak about her to hide the stain of blood that had collected on Helena's skirts. "Your flower blooms, and soon it will be time for you to play your part in the great becoming."
They made their way back to the safety and warmth of the indoors, the wolf moon bright at their backs.
"She is filling your head with nonsense, Helena. And I can no longer abide by you coming back here with all of these fanciful dreams stuffed between your ears as if your education had been pushed out in the course of a fortnight." Rowena Ravenclaw had long been exasperated with her mother, but now, as Helena was reaching her age of defiance, her mother's meddling was an even more bitter pill to swallow. They hardly spoke to one another, and they did not visit at all anymore. In truth, Helena was all that they shared, and it seemed that even that bond was about to be broken. "You arrive back home more and more intransigent, and with naught for me but challenges. I'm sorry, Helena, but your extended visits with your grandmother will have to cease, for she is the only common denominator I can find in our escalating confrontations."
It wasn't the first time they had argued about the topic; but this was different.
"I just want to understand, mother," Helena whined, her voice softer if still a bit shrill. "I've never felt like that here. I don't feel anything here."
"Magic isn't about feelings, Helena!" Rowena snapped. "Magic needs to be disassociated from feelings in order to be used properly." She regretted her anger instantly, but only because it was the antithesis to everything she had ever valued; intellect, logic, reason. Passion had no place in Rowena Ravenclaw's life.
"That isn't true. Not even for you!" Helena shouted in frustration. She reached for the carved rosewood box on her mother's desk, snatching it back just out of Rowena's grasp. "This," she said, defiant. "Why do you use this then, if magic isn't about what you feel?" Helena's grasp on the diadem was tight to the point where her skin was white where it came into contact with the silver.
"That is different," Rowena said, calmly. She had never seen a rage like this take Helena before, and she worried for her daughter—worried that her character might not be one of logic and learning. We sort them too early, perhaps.
Rowena's thoughts turned to her mother and bristled. Malory's penchant for manipulation was well-known to her daughter, if not yet to her granddaughter. Who would know that better than I? "There is family heritage there," she continued. "The diadem is as much heirloom as it is magical object. I choose to wear it as a display, honoring our deeply rooted family tradition." Rowena saw the determination in her daughter's face falter ever so slightly. She took her opportunity. "Much like your grandmother does in her celebrations at the Solstice, this magic is old and has been in our family for many generations."
Helena's face brightened with triumph. "Yes," she said, almost like she was chanting a sacred hymn. "Yes! We do, mother." Her eyes brightened, but Rowena noticed that her grip had also relaxed on the diadem. "We have a tradition of magic that we should also share here. At Hogwarts."
Rowena was startled by the level of zeal, fervor even, that her daughter displayed. Her time sitting about the hearth listening to Malory tell stories of fae courts and dancing about toadstool rings has gone on too long. "That is not possible, Helena," was her terse reply. Rowena had never been one to soften a blow.
"But why?"
In that moment, Rowena found herself remembering Helena's early toddling years with a surprising fondness compared the current state of things. They only ever seemed to have two modes of communication of late: constant questioning that devolved into arguments, or sullen, aggrieved silence. From the piercing tone her daughter's voice was taking on, Rowena was certain this conversation would be no different.
"Helena, we have discussed this," she answered, turning her back on the girl and the diadem. Rowena could only hope that her feigned coolness would thwart the fight her adolescent offspring was looking for. "There is a method to the magic we have decided to teach here at Hogwarts. It is predictable and logical; not subject to seasons or clear skies or the gathering of a coven." She sat down behind her large mahogany desk and folded her hands. "And for the last time, it is not up for debate."
Helena looked at her mother and composed her face. Cooly, she placed the diadem back on the desk. "Logic isn't everything, Mother," she said, and she left the room in a dramatic swirl of robes and teenage angst. Rowena could only shake her head and wonder how in the world it had come to this.
"Her defiance bears all the hallmarks of her coming womanhood," Salazar replied, sipping gingerly at the heavy mead she had served. "Everyone knows that two bitches cannot exist in the same pack."
Rowena could only wince with distaste at his metaphor; it was closer to truth than she liked and she knew better than to let him know he was getting under her skin.
"Truly, it has come about so suddenly with her," was all she said in return.
"There is a reason that girls are often married off young."
Try as she might, Rowena knew she was not successfully hiding her agreement behind her own goblet. "There is something to be said for it," she murmured.
"How did you manage to outwit it?" Salazar asked, his eyes bright with mischief, or so it seemed to Rowena.
She pursed her lips in distaste at the memories that his simple question invoked. "We had — other traditions in the Highlands."
"So the rumours are true?" he smirked. "I should keep that in mind with Lughnasadh approaching…"
"Salazar, you know full well my stance on wylde magiks. I have many reasons behind my drive to 'civilise' magic; some of them personal." She scrutinized her companion; everything from his expression to how he held his seat. Slytherin gave nothing away by chance. "It is how we came to agree so well on the formation of this school, and its educational priority for future generations."
Rowena had never wanted for Helena to know what she knew about how the young were used in the service of the pagan rites and the thirsty spirits of the dark forest. She should never know how she came to be in the world. I can protect her from that, at least.
"We do, that" Salazar agreed, interrupting her thoughts. Rowena was grateful. "It is in the mood of accord that I have had a thought; one hope you will consider earnestly as it may solve your problem as well as—" He had the grace to hesitate, she noticed only later, when she had replayed the conversation in her mind. "formalize our allied front," he finished, a close-lipped smile on his face. It had been his greatest wish to force Rowena into declaring herself 'anti-Muggle', as he was. Using her daughter to do it was only the latest in a string of attempts.
Rowena bit back the impulse to cringe. There was no doubt that she and Salazar agreed on many aspects of magic and how the people who wielded it were at least in some ways superior in relation to mundane humanity. However, Rowena was also thankful for her friendship with Helga, and for her friend's deep empathy for all humanity. Helga's perspective, and the lively debate it inspired was part of the delicate balance at Hogwarts. It forced them all to continually challenge their own concepts and understandings of education, and how it would shape the peaceful civilisation they were trying to create.
The dialogue is meant to be endless; like the education itself, if we are doing it right. I have no intention of "taking a side" — other than my own.
Rowena leaned back into her seat and poured herself another goblet full. "Go on."
"Helena is a willful daughter who needs to be reigned in. I have a nephew who will be my heir since I have no children of my own yet— "
"She's only just thirteen!" Rowena sat upright, her eyes ablaze with indignation. "That would be considered young even by pagan standards."
"Engagements can last for quite a while, Rowena," Salazar purred, his fingers curled together in his lap slowly as a smile broadened across his face. Rowena silently cursed herself for letting her emotions get the better of her; it was never in one's best interest to show weakness to Salazar Slytherin. "Besides," he continued, "I am adept at mathematics, Rowena. I know how young you were when you had her…"
Rowena could feel the blood rush to her cheeks, but she had spent too much time cultivating her facade of logical detachment to allow the mask to slip any more. "It isn't much of a secret, Salazar," she replied, rising as she did so. She took a deep breath and placed her goblet down. "However, isn't that the very thing we are attempting to stamp out here? At Hogwarts?" She looked down at him, meeting his gaze with firm conviction. She knew it was the reason why she had gotten involved in this enterprise. Still, Salazar's true reasons alluded her.
"An alliance of long-standing magical families is not a drunken midsummer orgy, Rowena," he said, his smile widening despite her exertion of rock-steady control over her face. "It would be beneficial for Helena as well as for the greater good of our respective families over the long term."
She had a deep desire to smack him; a repugnant feeling she stuffed down with difficulty. Instead, she buried her hands in her robes, gathering them up with what was left of her dignity. "I will mull it over, Salazar," she managed through clenched teeth as she made her way to the exit.
"Please do," he called after her. "It's time your daughter understood her place."
Wasn't that what my mother did to me all those years ago? She shuddered at the memory — and perhaps the cold? — and wrapped her cloak more tightly about herself.
"Married?" Helena was already in tears over her summer holidays in the Highlands being unceremoniously cancelled without so much as a chat over breakfast. But this? This is just too much to take. Mother has finally lost her mind! "I won't," she insisted, stomping her foot for good measure. "It's just not right, mother! I'm only just finishing my third year!"
"It wouldn't happen immediately," Rowena replied, sipping at her morning posca while she continued to read the parchment in front of her. "Engagements can last for years"
"Then why make them at all?!" Helena snapped. She resisted the urge to up-end her mother's goblet, but she was also tired of looking at the top of her head while they were discussing her future. A future I didn't pick for myself!
Helena watched as her mother pulled the parchment back with a cool expression."It is a promise; a contract between families," her mother asserted with her eyes as much as her tone of voice. "And it is done, already."
"But what if I don't want to marry?" Helena asked softly. It was the first time in weeks that Rowena had heard a bit of the child left in her daughter; frightened and petulant.
"Unfortunate as it may be, your wants have little to do with it, Helena." Rowena tried, desperately to convey with her eyes all that she wished to avoid saying. "It didn't for me, either," she added, so quietly as to be barely audible, before picking back up her parchment to resume her reading.
"I don't believe you," Helena replied, her voice quiet, but resolute.
"Believe me, or not. Perhaps you should ask your grandmother." Rowena lifted her eyes again to look directly at her little girl. "Go on," she insisted. "Ask her. Ask her if I had anything to say about my 'union'?"
A terrible look overtook Rowena's face; as if she were fighting with herself. "I thought I had freedom, too," she ground out, finally, her body taut and strained. "It was an illusion. It was only ever a pretence, until now." Helena watched as her mother pressed her lips together into a grim, solid line of defence — against what? She knew that she would never know; her mother was a tomb.
Fresh tears spilled from her eyes as she dashed from the rooms they shared. A brief sob was heard in the empty corridors before all returned to quiet, but there would be no more serenity today in Ravenclaw Tower. Only emptiness, and the hollow void of what had gone unsaid.
Helena stood beneath the canopy of the forest that had only barely been beaten back enough to create space to build the castle that shared its grounds. Already, it was being called the "Forbidden Forest" because one young man was assumed lost after he had entered and never returned. Helena knew better. She knew that the forest provided food, shelter, and a place to hide. It was a refuge; and a foil. Maybe he just ran away.
A full Flower Moon stood bright in the sky, casting shadows down from the tree branches just beginning to form their leaves. Its light glinted off the diadem in her hand, and she stopped. It seemed to be humming within her grasp, and Helena opened her palm to allow the moonlight to shine down onto it. Behind closed eyes she could feel the power that radiated from it; the push and pull of the tides, the last sighing breath of the earth giving over to a frozen cold embrace of winter, the pulsing of her blood and the whip of wind in her hair. All was one out here; Helena could not know it and turn away.
Freedom may be an illusion, but it is mine own. She turned her back on the castle's proffered warmth, heading deeper into the dark unknown.