Terrowin sat in his worn old armchair beside a roaring fire, which was altogether unnecessary in an unseasonably warm September, drifting in and out of a light slumber. It hadn't been an overly taxing day, but Terrowin was a creature of habit, and for 56 years he had taken an afternoon nap beside a pleasant fire; the mere passing of time would not break his habits.
The fire crackled suddenly, and his eyes snapped open to see the flickering orange flames turn bright green, then take on the hazy shape of a face.
Terrowin immediately recognized the face, and smiled warmly, if somewhat sleepily. "Clayton! To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked amiably, scooting closer to the fire.
Clayton smiled grimly, obviously not reciprocating Terrowin's feelings.
"The Council requests your presence," Clayton said tersely.
"Something else for me to prophesy?" Terrowin enquired with a touch of sarcasm, arching a bushy grey eyebrow. All trace of weariness in his face was now gone, replaced with a wry smile and curious eyes.
"Something you've already prophesied, actually."
"Word of the Founders prophesy has spread quickly, then?"
Clayton nodded wordlessly.
"Anything else? I should be getting back to my nap."
"No, that was all."
"Thank goodness," Terrowin mumbled under his breath.
"What? I didn't quite catch that."
"Oh, nothing. Just a slight cough. So when does the Council request my scintillating presence?"
"You are to be at the Gryffindor manor in precisely one hour. Good day." Clayton nodded once, and then the flames died down and returned to their former orange.
Terrowin leaned back into his chair, feeling strangely apprehensive about the impending Council meeting. Most of the meetings were lengthy affairs, fraught with boring political debates and several refreshment breaks, during which most wizards took the liberty to get drunk. He supposed it would ease the passing of the dull meetings, but Terrowin himself was not partial to drinking himself into a stupor that would have him wetting his pants every other minute.
Much to his surprise, the hour seemed to fly by, and too soon he took his leave of the cozy sitting room and Apparated to the Gryffindor manor with a pop.
Terrowin appeared outside the sprawling castle, feeling more than a bit depressed and resigned to a boring afternoon of having his brain picked apart for the benefit of others. All around him, other wizards were popping into existence, shouting greetings and exchanging pleasantries as they started towards the large double doors of Gryffindor Manor.
Terrowin joined the crowds, and within minutes of entering the castle, he was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people in attendance. It was as if they had transported the crowds of the Quidditch World Cup into the Gryffindor manor and thrown in the entire wizard population of the continental Europe for good measure.
The Council meetings weren't usually this large. Perhaps something mildly important would happen, instead of the usual boring Council business and intermittent drunkenness. Or perhaps a drunken brawl. The prospect mildly cheered Terrowin.
Jostled between wizards flourishing expensive robes, servants floating precariously laden trays above their heads, and darting children, Terrowin finally made it to the large round room where the Council always held their meetings.
The room was constantly shifting and adding seats to the circular amphitheatre-like stands as more and more people entered. On the opposite side of the common seats was the Council platform; it was a raised platform with a long table that curved in a semi-circle, and eight high-backed chairs where the four Leaders of Council and their heirs sat.
The Leaders of Council were traditionally the four most powerful wizarding families. Currently, the seats were held by the Malfoy, Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw families and their eldest child.
Just as Terrowin settled into his chair, the four Leaders of Council and their heirs entered, and though tradition dictated that he stand up in respect, Terrowin seriously considered staying seated. However, he rose to his feet in a half-hearted attempt as the Leaders passed.
The lords of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw sat down in the two centre seats, flanked by Slytherin on the left and Malfoy on the right. As soon as they were settled in their high-backed chairs, the rest of those present were seated with a quiet rustling, and thus the Council meeting began.
To pass the time, Terrowin decided to scrutinize the heirs, who sat beside their fathers on somewhat smaller chairs, looking about as bored as he felt.
The heir of the Malfoy line on the far right was asleep already, the familiar shock of white-blond hair obscuring what was sure to be a delicate, elfin face. All Malfoys had the same pointed chin, delicate features and dark blue eyes.
However, the youngest Malfoy was the exception to the rule. Mathew had shocking blue-grey eyes and platinum hair where the rest of his family had ocean blue eyes and darker, dirty-blonde hair. He still laid claim to the defining elfish features, but instead of a smile, his expression was usually a haughty scowl.
The rest of the heirs were so similar to their fathers that they could have passed as siblings were it not for their obvious age differences, and in one case, gender divide.
Godric, the heir of Gryffindor, had the same deep brown eyes and dark brown hair as his father, except where his father's fell in neat ringlets almost past his shoulders, Godric wore his in a much shorter cut in an attempt to tame the unruly curls.
Currently, though, his hair was sticking up all over the place, in sharp contrast to his father's shiny, neatly groomed curls. He looked on the verge of sleep, but as Terrowin watched, Lord Gryffindor discreetly elbowed his son in the side as he stood up to address the Council. Godric sat up abruptly, wide awake and nursing a bruised rib from his father's elbow. The other heirs snickered, but turned their attention back to the meeting when Lord Ravenclaw glared at them from the corners of his eyes.
"Terrowin Trelawney, the Council calls upon you." It was Lord Gryffindor speaking in his familiar commanding tone. Terrowin sat up with a start, tearing his gaze away from Godric's amusing facial expressions.
He had not expected to be called upon so early; perhaps his business wasn't nearly as important as he'd first thought it to be, since the most important announcements were usually saved for last.
Lord Gryffindor gave Terrowin a disapproving glance, then picked up a sheaf of parchment and began scanning it thoughtfully. Locating the information he sought, he cleared his throat and began to address the room.
"Before us stands Terrowin Trelawney, Seer of the hallowed Trelawney line. He, as the Council understands, has prophesied a monumental change in the near wizarding future. He has been summoned to this meeting to divulge this prophesy, and to advise us on a course of action, should this prophesy indeed prove viable. Stand, Seer, and tell us of your prophesy," he demanded, his voice echoing through the room impressively. As the last of the echoes died away, Lord Gryffindor took his seat and arched an eyebrow expectantly at the slightly stunned Terrowin.
Terrowin nodded, and attempted to remain composed, an effort that proved futile.
"Erm, very well, then," he began nervously, "The prophesy. Right. I saw fire, people fleeing, bolts of magic flying, and a castle, wreathed in flames, yet untouched. If we do not heed this prophesy, I fear it will mean the end of the wizarding race as we know it," he finished, somewhat awkwardly, as the room erupted into a jarring cacophony of questions and insistent shouts of "Silence!" from the guards.
"Silence!" Lord Gryffindor pounded on the table. Immediately, the room fell silent. "Now, Terrowin, if you would oblige, please, do tell us what this prophesy is. Preferably without the dramatic narrations and doomsday predictions, thank you," he snapped irritably, shooting a withering glance at Terrowin.
"Word for word?" Terrowin stalled.
"Word. For. Word."
"Very well, my Lord," Terrowin said shakily. He nervously twisted his hands together, trying to recall the exact words; his memory was not what it once was. His eyes took on a glazed, faraway look as he began to recite the words:
"Earth, Air, Fire and Water,
4 Founders to save the wizard race;
3 of same, one of none, all united in cause.
But 4 less one, they shall fail to the ruin of all."
The room was unusually silent for a few minutes after that, as the Leaders rocked back in their chairs and contemplated the prophesy presented. Terrowin took that as his cue to step down, and the scraping of his chair as he sat down was the only sound in the deathly still room.
After a few more minutes of prolonged, awkward silence, Lord Gryffindor and the rest of the Leaders stood up.
"This meeting goes to break now. We reconvene in precisely half an hour. Food and drinks are outside. Anyone not present in the room by the time the meeting is restarted shall be fed to the dragons," Lord Gryffindor stated brusquely, dismissing the councillors and exiting through the double door with a dramatic flourish of his robes.
The rest of the Leaders followed Lord Gryffindor's lead, and then the councillors, until the only people left in the room were the 4 heirs, Terrowin, and a few councillors who had evidently decided against participating in the drunken games of Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Hippogriff which were often initiated on meeting breaks.
The heirs chatted amongst themselves, the ruckus of the prophesy reading having woken Matthew Malfoy from his ill-timed slumber.
Terrowin took the time to resume his survey of the heirs, who carried the future of the wizarding world on their young shoulders. Rowena looked much like her father, with curly black hair and dark blue eyes, but there was a soft wisdom to her features where her father's held cruel and hawk-like angles.
That only left the young Slytherin heir, Salazar. Like Rowena, he had black hair, but his was only slightly wavy, and he slicked his back into a ponytail most of the time. He had dark green eyes, sharp, angular features, and a calculating gleam in his eyes.
At the moment, Matthew and Salazar were engaged in a heated debate which Terrowin could not decipher. Godric was leaning back in his chair, eyes Rowena speculatively, and Rowena, who had somehow produced a book from the folds of her robes, was steadfastly ignoring him, choosing to read instead.
Having been woken from his usual nap by Clayton's summons, Terrowin was feeling a bit sleepy. He stifled a yawn, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes, determined to make up for lost sleep.
Rowena was quite aware of Godric's eyes trained on her, but she kept on reading, hoping he would give up and talk to Slytherin instead.
After enduring 10 minutes of his staring, she set her book down and turned to face him.
"Do you mind? I'm trying to read," she said breezily, fixing him with an icy stare before returning to her book. He merely grinned, taking her words as a challenge, and continued to stare at her, occasionally making faces and wiggling his eyebrows.
"You, sir, are a pain in the arse," she said, without even glancing up from the pages spread before her.
"Oo, she swears, too. So unladylike," Godric teased, leaning back further in his chair to observe Rowena's amusing expressions. He knew just how to irritate Rowena; in fact, Godric took pride in his uncannily efficient powers of irritation.
Just then, the double doors were flung wide open, and the Leaders entered, filing on to the platform and taking their seats.
Rowena sat up straighter, sparing a disparaging glance at Godric beside her, and tried to listen attentively. She dared a glance at her father beside her, and to her surprise, he was smiling his secret smile. But underneath the mystery was the unmistakeable gleam of triumph.
As she watched, he winked at her, then turned back to face the crowd.
Lord Gryffindor was speaking. Wondering if her father had lost his mind (or perhaps he was three sheets to the wind, she could never tell), she tried to focus on Lord Gryffindor's booming voice.
"... The Leaders have decided to obey the Founders prophecy. We have already decided on the named four. The Founders, as of this Council meeting, shall be... Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Matthew Malfoy, and Rowena Ravenclaw."
There was an uneasy murmur amongst the councillors below, but Lord Gryffindor continued, his eyes shining.
"And they shall have the full support of every councillor and wizarding family," he added, sensing the uneasy air about the room. "They are the future of our race." He sat back down, and while the councillors below resorted to hasty whispers, the Leaders clapped each other on the back and talked excitedly amongst themselves.
The meeting continued in much the same fashion for almost an hour and a half. As hard as she tried, Rowena could not get herself to concentrate on the meeting for more than a few minutes. Her mind kept running back to the Founders prophecy.
As a Founder, what, exactly, was she supposed to found? The answer jumped to her mind almost as soon as she thought the question.
A school. She had always wanted to found a school, to further the education of wizard children. Even among the heirs, the spells and theory they learned as children had been vastly different.
Godric was an expert dueller, but lacked skill in the area of Potions and healing. Matthew was incredible with Arithmancy calculations and Runes, but was useless in most practical areas, such as Transfiguration and Charms. Salazar was, conversely, quite adept at practical applications of magic.
It was exactly this kind of wild disparity between wizards that vexed Rowena. With a school, however, she could produce independent, well-rounded and knowledgeable witches and wizards. She could sharpen the skills and hone the minds of these children, transforming them from unmotivated and apathetic teens into thinking, functioning members of society.
A school could save the wizarding race from a future of bumbling dunderheads who couldn't tell one end of their wand from the other.
Her mind, adrift with the wild possibilities, only registered snippets of the conversation being held at the moment.
"...muggles, stealing our magic...destroying what we have worked so hard for...the first muggle-born magic user, and all those after her...shall be killed by any means possible.. oh, yes, that is a grand idea, Makin...yes...those who have been chosen, please meet with the Leaders later to discuss the plans..." And finally, the words she had been waiting to hear since this meeting began nearly 2 hours ago: "This Council meeting is now adjourned."