"...Let not thy Muggle-kin see thine magick for they shall... they shall..."
Sal faltered and glared at the words on the parchment.
"Covet," Helga prompted helpfully. He frowned and pushed the book across the table.
"You need to practice reading more often," she said.
"Why? Neither of my parents could read and they managed perfectly fine," he said. Now it was her turn to frown and she pulled the book towards her.
It had been six years since her father had found the boy lying injured and in that time he had become one of the family. Helga was an only child and, although her father loved her dearly, Sir Randolph was thrilled to have a boy he could raise almost as a son. His daughter was firmly involved in the running of his household. She oversaw the kitchens and the team of house-elves who cleaned and tidied their home and cheerily showed no interest in the arts of war. He longed to teach her how to fight but she refused to learn beyond a few basic spells.
Sal gave him the opportunity to train a warrior as fine as himself. Helga had been in charge of the boy's education thus far, something he cared for very little.
And now he pushed back his stool from the table, stood with a huff and retrieved his father's sword from its place by the door. Leaving a protesting Helga with her books, he walked through the corridors of Hufflepuff Manor until he reached the main hall. He unsheathed the sword and walked to the centre of the room, swinging the blade wildly.
There was a creak to his left. He whirled, his blade came up and it met Sir Randolph's with a clang.
"Dammit, Sal, m'boy, you are getting too good," the old knight noted.
"No, sir, you are just getting too old," he said cheekily. One of Sir Randolph's incredible eyebrows rose towards the ceiling and he moved. Sal was pushed back as he advanced mercilessly, his sword a blur of steel.
"Now, m'boy, what was that?" he asked when he had the young man pinned against a table. "This old man is getting a little hard of hearing."
They danced back and forth across the room in a whirl of clothes and blades. Sal had kept his father's last wish; under the tutelage of Sir Randolph he was now an expert swordsman. The knight had also taught him how to properly ride and other arts of war. He was a formidable warrior - but he still couldn't beat his teacher.
Sir Randolph spun, throwing all his weight into the blow. There was no way Sal could have stopped it with his own blade. It was headed straight for his swordarm. Without thinking, he threw his other hand forward and yelled "Protego!"
His shield sprang up and Sir Randolph's sword collided with it in a shower of sparks. The impact was enough to knock the older man off his feet and send him sprawling on his back with a cry of "Bloody hell!"
A round of applause broke out from the doorway.
"Splendid, quite splendid!" an unfamiliar voice said. They turned to see a confused Helga next to a tiny woman. She was the one clapping, an almost childlike expression of delight on her face.
"I'm sorry, Father, she just barged in here with her retainers," Helga explained. Sir Randolph focused on the woman and then made a strangled noise.
"Your Highness," he gasped and threw himself on one knee.
The mysterious lady laughed airily and walked forward. She was barely taller than Sir Randolph's kneeling form and dressed rather exquisitely. A bejewelled hand was thrust into Sir Randolph's face and he kissed one of the rings respectfully.
"It has been a while, Randolph," she said. "I trust you are still loyal to my father and not the wretch that stole my throne?"
"Of course, your Highness," he said, staring deep into her eyes.
Sal cleared his throat and Helga glared at him. She made a small motion, stop it!
"Salazar, my darling Helga, I have the incredible honour to introduce her Imperial Majesty, the Empress Matilda, the true Queen of England and Normandy," Sir Randolph said.
Helga and Sal exchanged a look at that. Matilda was the daughter and only living child of the last king, Henry, but her cousin Stephen had claimed the throne on Henry's death. Sir Randolph, having been one of Henry's most loyal supporters, had not publicly declared allegiance to Stephen and had always mentioned that he thought Matilda to be the true monarch.
"I trust you have raised your children to believe in my right and not in my cousin," she said sharply.
"Of course, although, Salazar is regretfully not my blood. He is an orphan I took in some years past," he explained. "Both he and my daughter have just celebrated their fifteenth year."
She turned to him in a rustle of skirts and rushed towards him. He bowed politely and kissed her offered hand.
"Extraordinary," she breathed, fluttering her eyelashes at him. Since she was almost old enough to be his mother, this, along with her refusal to let go of his hand, made him feel rather uncomfortable.
"You say he is of common blood?" she asked Sir Randolph. When he confirmed it, albeit reluctantly, her eyes widened. "Extraordinary," she repeated. "I have never heard of the Gift being amongst the common folk. And yours is so strong..."
Sal freed his fingers from her grasp.
"There are many of us, your Highness," he said. "We are wide-spread, healers mostly, but we are there."
She turned to the small group of retainers crowded in the door behind Helga. "I want you to go out into the country! Seek out my people in the villages and taverns! Let them know that their true Queen supports them and knows the powers they bear!"
Matilda continued in this fashion for the duration of her stay. Sal tried to ignore her but she was always there; hovering in the doorway as he sparred with Sir Randolph or sitting quietly in the corner while he read with Helga. And always, she pressed him for details of the magical folk hidden amongst the Muggles. He could never tell her anything because he simply did not know. He told her what he knew about the magical community in London but that was all.
He wasn't her only target; poor Helga also received a barrage of questions. She took Matilda to the kitchens and demonstrated some of the cookery and household spells she had invented. Matilda gasped and praised and promised Helga a place in her household when she took her throne. Helga nodded politely and rolled her eyes when the older woman turned away.
Safely behind the closed doors of Helga's rooms, she and Sal ranted to each other about this silly, demanding woman who clung to them so. They knew they could not say a word to Sir Randolph. He was far too much of a supporter of her.
One day, Matilda bid the two of them take a walk with her in the kitchen garden. They walked on either side of her and exchanged glances over her head as she whittled on about this and that.
"I want to thank both of you for making me so welcome," Matilda trilled as she examined one of the vegetable patches. "And I am happy to find such a powerful witch and wizard in the household of one of my loyal supporters. I would have you become even more powerful, if you are willing."
"More powerful? How?" Sal asked.
Matilda turned and smiled at them widely. From her sleeve, she drew a piece of wood.
"With one of these. A wand!" she said. "This is mine. My father commissioned it for me when I came of age. I want you to find one. I shall need all the magical help I can find when I overthrow my cousin."
She turned away and waved her wand. The roses on the wall trellis bloomed and Sal heard Helga give a small sigh of exasperation. It was winter; those roses were going to be dead by next week now.
"So, how do we procure wands?" Helga asked.
"There is a wandmaker in London... Ollivander's is the name I think..." Matilda said, tapping her wand against her cheek. "But I wouldn't know. It is something you must find out for yourselves."
"Find out for yourselves. Find out for yourselves!" Sal raged later that evening in the peace of Helga's room. "Of course, we'll just stroll into London and ask for the wandmakers. Easiest quest in the world!"
Helga watched him pace up and down her room and then sighed and returned to her book. "Well, before we even go to find the wandmaker, we need a magical core. According to this, we take the core to the wandmaker and they match us with a wood."
Sal sighed and took the chair opposite her. "A magical core?"
She nodded.
"Anything from a magical creature will do but this book theorises that the three most powerful cores are phoenix feathers, unicorn hairs and dragon heartstrings. If we are going to make wands, we should try to make them as powerful as possible."
Sal reached out and took the book from her. "What do you want as your core?" he asked.
"I was thinking a unicorn hair," she said. "Unicorns are such beautiful creatures - I'd be honoured to receive a wand with their hair."
She blushed as he grinned at her.
"Well, I want a dragon heartstring by that logic," he said. "Dragons are dangerous bastards; remember that Green that terrorised the local village last year?"
"Of course you are going to want to take down a dragon," Helga sighed.
"And not just any dragon!" he said brightly. "I want a Hebridean Black. They are more ferocious than Welsh Greens."
Helga sighed. "Do we really have to go to Scotland? These wands better be worth it."
AN- Apologies for my inconsistency in updating! Hope you enjoyed this chapter and please leave a review telling me what you think!
Matilda was a real person. For the purposes of my story, she is a witch and her cousin Stephen is a Muggle so we have magical folk against non-magical folk. Uh-oh!
Also, at the time of this story there were very few wands. To get a wand, you had to get your own core and take it to the wandmaker, as detailed above. My headcanon is that wandless magic used to be the norm and magic with wands was more powerful but as wands became more commonplace, this was subverted and wandless magic was perceived as being more difficult and more powerful. To bear a wand was a symbol of power, and Sal and Helga are only going to be fifteen when they get theirs. I thought this was appropriate for two of the Founders. ;)