Old Mythologies

Chapter Three: Alder and Ashwinder

Helga's pendant was a great boon to me. With it, I could understand everyone around me. Of course, it wouldn't translate my words into English, but it was better than wandering around as if I was an idiot. It enabled me to learn at an accelerated pace, something I'm fairly certain was my mother's idea. She couldn't stand the idea that any child of hers couldn't understand her properly.

"You're young enough that you should adapt quickly," my mother said one morning, about a week after I had arrived. I had spent the time exploring the castle, expanding my mental map of the building and its inhabitants. She looked down at me, evaluating.

I paused in trying to copy out letters. I had a wax tablet that could easily be returned to its original form, and a whittled stick to use as a stylo. It looked like a poor imitation of the wand she always had tucked in the sash around her waist, ready to be used.

I didn't know what I was copying, really. Helga's pendant didn't expand to the written word. It was something I had decided to learn on my own.

My mother eyed the stick with which I made my crude attempts at writing Anglo-Saxon script. It was all circles to me.

"You will need a wand, of course," she said, returning to her own work. She had a cauldron set up over the fire today, an array of clear bottles filled with all sorts of interesting things hovering near her.

"I already know magic, though," I said.

"That's not proper magic," she said, plucking a bottle of eyes out of the air. She took the top off, scooped out two with her fingers and let them fall into her cauldron. I made a face that she didn't catch. "You can't control it."

"Papa could," I said.

She froze. My mother replaced the lid on the jar of eyes and set it down on the table, taking in a deep breath. I watched her back warily. Her shoulders were up, tight and uncomfortable.

"We do things differently here at Hogwarts," she said. "I'll take you to get a wand sometime soon. Until then, please be careful Helena. I know you can do some household charms, but I would appreciate it if you would limit those to this room."

"Why?" That was one English word that I had already put to memory.

"Untrained magic isn't good. It's unpredictable at best, and fatal at the worst."

"I've never hurt anyone," I said. "Mam and Dad - " she looked over at me and for a moment, I saw hurt flash across her face. I amended my words. "My foster parents didn't have wands. They never hurt anyone and could control it just fine."

"It's the way of progress, Helena." She pointed her wand at the cauldron and twirled the end. In response, the liquid within began to stir itself. "Why use magic in a way where you cannot always guarantee the results when you can channel it through a wand with greater control and ease?"

Though it was a question, it was meant to be the final word.

I used my stylo to carve the word wand in Cyrillic letters on the wax tablet.

The very next day she took me down to the village to get my very own wand.

I had my boots back, which I was very grateful for. The journey down to the village, short though it was, still was a bit treacherous. If I had been forced to wear the pointed shoes, I probably would have slipped numerous times.

The village itself was based along one road. Wooden buildings stood on either side of it, most of them looking like houses. The largest one was closest to the school and looked like it could hold a fair amount of people. It was probably a tavern of some sort.

My mother stopped in front of a building about halfway down the street and pulled the door open. She stepped in, and I followed into a front room that had a large table and several sets of shelves as the only furniture. The door closed behind us with the sound of a bell.

I looked at the shelves. They seemed to be full of rolls of linen. They weren't smooth, but had ridges, like there was something inside. The table held about a half dozen of them, some rolled up tightly and others simply folded over haphazardly.

"Ah, Magistra Ravenclaw!" A man emerged from the back of the store, as pale as the piles of linen rolls. He held his arms out to my mother and they embraced. "You're not having any trouble, I presume?"

"Of course not, Octavius," she said, smiling. She drew back. "And you're barely a student. I taught you for a year. You don't need to keep calling me magistra. How is your father?"

"Off gathering wood," Octavius said. He leaned back against the nearest table, folding his arms. "He said he was going to Glastonbury to gather some thorn wood."

"Do you think they'll actually let him?" My mother looked very interested. "I was under the impression that the wizards of the monastery guarded that tree as fiercely as the monks."

"Glastonbury?" I asked. Octavius turned his attention to me now. His eyes were wide and round, like he had a constant look of surprise about him.

"There's a very ancient tree there," my mother said. "It would make very powerful wands." She placed a hand on my shoulder, propelling me forward. "This is my daughter, Helena."

"She looks a bit young to be starting school," Octavius said. "And this late in the year? Or this early."

"She is nIne and needs a wand," my mother said. Her tone brooked no argument. "She can already do some charms on her own. Simple ones. But I would rather that she use a wand rather than rely on instinct. She is only a child, after all."

Octavius looked at me very closely. He crouched down to eye level. "Your first wand, then, Helena."

He turned back to the table and unfurled the nearest roll of linen. It had several pockets sewn into it, each one containing a wand. He spread it out like a tablecloth and eyed the dozen pieces of wood lying there. He mumbled to himself under his breath, taking out one wand and examining it, then replacing it. He did this twice more until he pulled one out and laid it aside. It took him a few minutes, and the unrolling of every batch of linen-wrapped wands on the table, to lay aside a small group of wands. They ranged in length and colour.

He handed me wands one right after the other, waiting for me to get a good wave in between. Some of them did nothing, others set off sparks. One sent a stream of water toward the shelves without provocation, and another lit a small fire.

"I don't think the rowan wood ones like me," I told my mother. Octavius raised an eyebrow, and she translated for me.

"Clearly not," he said. Of the dozen or so wands I had already tried, the four rowan ones had done nothing at all in my hand. "Here," he stuffed another into my hand.

I gave it a flick. It made the tips of my fingers tingle for a moment. Octavius watched the wand closely.

"Almost," he said, "but not quite." He plucked it from my hand and held the wand up. He examined it for a moment and then put it down on the table with the other rejected wands. He reached up and took down a roll from one of the higher shelves and spread it out on the table. "Try this one."

I waved this one, and the tingling feeling in my fingers grew. It was like pins and needles. I shook my hand, and the wand, and the end lit up.

"Excellent," Octavius said, beaming widely. "Alder wood, good for strong and protective magic. A good wood to aid divinatory charms. The core is powdered ashwinder egg. I believe it was Magister Gryffindor who brought me those a couple of years ago, was it not? It would make a find wand for a duelist if she was a son."

"What?" I asked.

"Hush, Helena," my mother said in Bulgarian. I looked at her, and then back at Octavius Ollivander, my eyes narrowing. At nine years old, several things seemed colossally unfair, and I had just added another thing to that list.

"Now, payment."

"Right here," my mother said, and reached into her robes. She pulled out a small package and set it on the table before undoing the leather strap that held it closed. I stepped closer and saw a small, braided loop of silvery hairs. "I found them in the forest one day, soon after Godric had introduced them to his third-years."

"Ah," Octavius said. He didn't touch the hairs, but snapped his fingers. A pair of gloves appeared and he slid them on. He carefully picked up the small braid.

"I take it that will be enough."

"More than enough, Magistra Ravenclaw," Octavius said, but his interest was already gone from us. He was focused on the braid.

"Say thank you, Helena."

"Thank you," I repeated, in English. I carried my wand in my hand out of the shop. It now had tiny puffs of silvery clouds coming out of the end. I barely waited until the door closed before turning to my mother. "What did he mean 'if I was a son'?"

My mother sighed. She did that a lot, I was finding. Especially when she didn't want to answer me straight away.

"Mother?" I pressed.

"Women don't duel, Helena," she said.

"I thought it was taught here, though," I said. I was certain that I had seen older students practicing hexes and spells, throwing them at each other in the courtyard.

"Here, perhaps, but not outside." We reached the edge of town and headed on the road back up to the school.

"Why not?"

"Because there's no need to," my mother said. Her words carried back to me on the wind as I scrambled to keep up. I took extra care with my steps this time. I didn't want to fall and break my wand.

"But how should a witch protect herself?"

"Her husband would protect her."

I frowned. This didn't seem right. It certainly wasn't reconcilable with what I knew. Yes, my foster-parents were married, and yes, Dad looked after Mam, but there wasn't any duelling involved. And Mam was just as handy with magic as he was.

"What if she doesn't have a husband?"

"All witches have husbands," my mother said.

"You don't."

Silence fell between us as we reached the front gate. My mother turned and crouched down to my eye level. "Your father and I." She paused, and sighed again. I waited. "We were a special case."

"You can duel, can't you?"

"Yes," my mother said. A shadow passed over her eyes and she frowned. "I don't like to, though. It's horrible."

"But you know how."

"Yes, I know how, Helena."

"I want to learn how," I said. I didn't just want to, I needed to learn how. I needed to learn how to protect myself from fire, from smoke, from invading armies, from the world.

She must have seen something of that feeling in my face, because my mother swept me into a hug. It didn't last very long, but it was still a hug. She spoke into my hair. "Helena, you won't need to protect yourself as long as you're here. The castle can, and it will. And I can, and I will, all right?"

I nodded, feeling let down. For a moment I thought she had understood what I had meant, that there was no way that I was going to stop. I was going to learn how to duel, how to protect myself. I never wanted to feel the terror and weakness in the fire and the smoke again. I opened my mouth to try and put this feeling into words.

I was cut off by a very loud sound, and then the noise of someone shouting. My mother and I turned as one to look at the school. If we could hear them from down by the gate, then they were shouting very loud.

"Come on, Helena," my mother said. She hurried into the grounds and I followed, practically running to catch up.

We found the disturbance easily. I could identify the two men standing in front of the castle by sight now. The thicker, older one with the reddish gold hair was Godric Gryffindor. He was in an argument with Salazar Slytherin, the man who I had accidentally wandered into during my first exploration of the castle. The initial noise my mother and I had heard must have been the front doors of the castle slamming open.

Helga's pendant continued to translate for me as my mother and I stood. A small group of students was gathering, some from further out in the grounds, and a few that had followed from inside the castle.

Slytherin was the one yelling now: "It's not about their ability, it's about their willingness to learn! You can't take a child and throw it into a world that it's been told is evil all its life and expect it to go on like nothing's happened."

"That's why we're here, Salazar. We help them cope with this." Though neither of them had their wands drawn, there was still a dangerous tension in the air, like they might erupt into a duel at any moment. I clutched my wand tighter, keeping it by my side.

"By the time they're eleven it's too late. They're indoctrinated with Muggle thinking and no amount of time spent with us is going to undo that. We don't even know what they're going to do when they leave here. There's no place for them to go."

"So what do you suggest, stealing them from their cradles like gypsies? Kidnapping them?"

"What I'm saying is that we need to be more selective in our students. It's hard enough to teach young witches and wizards as it is without adding Muggles into the mix."

"You don't even teach the young ones. You stay with your precious chosen few, locked up for hours, away from everyone else."

"That is exactly my point! With our kind, there's already an element of training. We educate our children and they know how to control themselves. When they grow up with Muggles, they just inspire terror. What do you think would happen if a seven-year-old suddenly lit something on fire without it actually burning? Panic, Godric. They panic. Their family panics and when all's said and done, someone ends up dead. There's too much damage done already by the time they come here."

"We are not going to stop admitting students from Muggle families just because it offends your sensibilities, Salazar."

"Offends my sensibilities?" Slytherin's voice dropped low, dangerous. "It's not my sensibilities I'm worried about, it's the safety of this entire school. What happens when some idiot lets it slip to the wrong person? What happens if a king finds out and sends his armies here? What happens if the church gets involved? You know what happened the last time, with Patrick and the Druids!"

Gryffindor sounded tired when he spoke again. "History needn't repeat itself here. We've moved on from that, we've learned."

"Have we really." Slytherin's voice was cold. The way he looked at Gryffindor made me think that he was about to set him on fire or strike him down with just his gaze. "Muggles don't change as quickly as you think, Godric." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked off. The students on the steps parted in his wake and Helga came running out of the castle, moving in the opposite direction. She gave him a quizzical look, but he just shook his head and continued on. She reached mother and I.

"What was it this time?" she asked, sounding a bit out of breath.

Gryffindor rubbed his hand over his face and leaned back against the outside wall of the castle.

"The usual," my mother replied, tight-lipped. She raised her voice. "Don't you all have work you should be doing?"

The students began to disperse. I watched Gryffindor walk past us, heading toward the village, muttering something under his breath. My mother took a step toward him, but he just shook his head. She fell back to stay with Helga and I. She didn't talk very much for the rest of the evening.