Helena left her mother's quarters to join her fellow returning Ravenclaws in the Great Hall. Malorn Ravenheart, oldest of them, sat at the head of their table, surrounded mainly by his many siblings. Over at the table on the far right, Helena's best friend, Christiana Gryffindor, was sandwiched between her older brother and Quinn Goldfountain, head of their cohort. Golda Hufflepuff was sitting across from Christiana, having shocked everyone by being the only one of her mother's children to be taught by another founder. Over at the Hufflepuff table, Boris Unicorntail sat at the head.
Megan, Helena's final best friend, sat at her father's table, Slytherin, across from Paul Mistgrave, head of their table. Godric Gryffindor stood at the front of the Hall, awaiting the new arrivals. There were ten, this year, and it was his job to sort them amongst the four founders to be taught.
Other students – those not raised by one of the four brightest witches and wizards of the age – were in awe of him as he sorted them, perfectly, each time. Helena was not in awe: She knew precisely how he had accomplished it. Godric Gryffindor was exceptionally gifted at Legilimency. He sifted quickly through the memories available to him and sorted the students according to the criteria agreed upon by him and his colleagues.
Helena watched the now-traditional sorting with bitterness in her heart. Godric Gryffindor had barely touched her mind, only doing so for show. He had known Helena all her life, he had known how much her mother had wanted to teach her, and he placed her, therefore, without really checking if he had done so rightly. Golda, on the other hand, as one of five children of Helga Hufflepuff, had been carefully evaluated and was now sitting where Helena so desperately wanted to be: with Christiana and awaiting a year of being taught by Godric Gryffindor.
The other fourteen students sitting directly around Helena were absolutely thrilled to be taught by the great Rowena Ravenclaw, the brightest witch alive. Rowena Ravenclaw, with her fancy diadem and brilliant ideas, creating new spells and perfecting ancient ones. Rowena Ravenclaw, the most intelligent witch with no time for her own daughter. Christiana said she understood, but how could she? She had grown up with siblings and two loving parents. Helena had grown up alone, her father dead and her mother always working. Christiana couldn't possibly understand.
The four girls were something like sisters, being the only founders' children to truly grow up together, as Salazar Slytherin and Helena Ravenclaw had each only had one child. Christiana Gryffindor was the spitting image of her mother, Elayne Gryffindor née Black, with jewel-green eyes and long, straight black hair that always fell perfectly without having to be brushed. Golda Hufflepuff had hair the color of wheat, falling to her elbows in soft, gentle curls, cascading around her face to frame her honey-colored eyes. Helena Ravenclaw had light brown, waist-length hair, somewhere in a texture between Christiana's and Golda's, far from perfect between the way it would frizz when there was moisture in the air and how she could barely get a brush through it most mornings. Her eyes were gray, the color of ugly clouds before a storm. Megan Slytherin looked quite a bit like her father, black waves to the floor, her dark eyes glittering with all of her plots and ideas, her cunning rivaling that of her father.
Helena knew that expectations were high for the children of the founders, especially herself and Megan; Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor had sons to pin their hopes and dreams on.
She hung back after dinner to customarily bid her mother good night.
"Mother," she said softly, smiling sleepily, though she was wide awake. "The sorting went well."
"Yes, dear," her mother said serenely. "Some great young minds to educate."
"You look quite tired, Helena, my dear," said Godric Gryffindor in a knowing voice, an amused twinkle in his eyes. He knew, of course, that it was all an act and he indulged her in this. He knew how badly she had wanted to study with him, but refused to discuss it with her, likely afraid of her mother discovering what he had done.
"Yes," she lied, not meeting her mother's eyes. "It has been a long day."
"Off to bed, then," her mother said with an indulgent smile. "I will see you at breakfast."
Helena bid her mother good night and went along her way.
Salazar watched his only daughter attach herself to the form of Rowena Ravenclaw's only daughter. Helena was a very pretty girl, already minding her own interests at the young age of thirteen. He suspected she was lying to her mother: The way Godric had spoken to her was not the first arousal of suspicion that there was some little joke or secret between the two of them. It almost felt, he mused, as though Helena had something on Godric, something he didn't want her mother to find out.
What could it be?
He had often though that Helena was ill-suited to her mother's tutelage. She was intelligent, but she was not an intellectual. She certainly didn't enjoy her colleagues, preferring her friends who studied under Godric, and her close friendship with Salazar's own student, Nathan Wyrmthorn. She had a good eye for talent and collected friends who were likely to be successful. Her own talent of getting people on her side on any issue was incredibly clever… sly, even…
Now that he thought about it, she wasn't at all the type of student her mother professed to cherish… she was the type of student he himself held dear. Helena Ravenclaw would have been the jewel of his collection, only matched by his own daughter, if only for Megan's exceptionally strong will. Godric must have known this; he must have seen it when he looked into her mind… Why had he purposefully ignored this?
Perhaps he had done it out of respect for Rowena, knowing her deep desire to educate her daughter, which might be the sort of thing Godric would have done. Perhaps the knowledge of Helena's desire to be taught by Godric, and Godric's knowledge of her suitability for being taught by Salazar had something to with it. Perhaps Godric had decided that if he couldn't have her, it was safer, and certainly believable, to hand her over to her mother. This might appear, to the untrained eye, to be about Rowena, but Salazar knew better: This was yet another battle in that standing feud between Salazar and Godric that always seemed to be bubbling just below the surface.
Once the students had gone to bed, the founders exchanged pleasantries – the cacophony of empty words and meaningless sounds exchanged at every opening feast – and they went to their separate quarters. Salazar, however, simply beat Godric to his, waiting for him in a chair.
"Salazar," said Godric, his eyes narrowing. "What can I help you with?"
Salazar smirked. How to play his cards?
"I know what you did," he said softly, "and I know why. You were worried, weren't you? You knew how promising Helena was and once you realized you couldn't have her you decided it would be better to put her with her mother than were she actually belonged: with me."
Godric frowned, but he didn't deny the claims. That was all the confession Salazar needed: A man obsessed with honor as Godric was would never allow such things to be said about him if they weren't true.
"You're not going to tell Rowena."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact.
"No, it's not my style," Salazar admitted. "But your decision won't change anything, Godric. That girl is itching to throw off the bonds of her mother's academic attention, and she will be my student, whether officially or no."
The two men didn't break eye contact as Salazar backed out of the room until the door closed between them. Not a word about the situation would be mentioned by either of them for the next four years.
