Yes, yes, I realize this is a tad off from my usual update days on Sunday, but the site login was down that day, and I figured my loyal readers (whom I'd like to thank, by the way, for giving me the motivation when I lacked it) deserved a chapter in the middle of the week to make up for my lack of discernible scheduling and intrinsic motivational skills. :) Anyways, enjoy!
All that was left of her parents she held in her hands. The small golden goblet was all that remained of her parents' wedding china. It had been a beautiful set, handmade by her uncle and treasured by her parents.
And now, all that was left of its former splendour was one small goblet. Everything else, their clothes, possessions, even their house, had gone up in flames after the mob had finished with her parents. She and her siblings had barely escaped with their lives; what little they managed to salvage from the house, they had tied up in burlap sacks and slung over the shoulders of their 2 remaining horses, which had thankfully not strayed far after the fire.
It had been the only bit of luck they'd had.
Helga sighed, tucked the goblet away in the folds of her thin jacket, and trudged on through the undergrowth.
"Are we there yet?" Carrie asked wearily from her perch atop the horse Helga was leading. Behind her, Joseph was almost asleep, yet Carrie resisted the drowsy swaying of the horse's gait and stayed stubbornly awake to plague Helga with relentless questions.
"No, Carrie. I don't even know where we're going yet," she admitted feebly.
The weary procession was completed by Richard, who led the second horse, a large draft loaded down with supplies and Faith's sleeping body.
"Where are we going?" Carrie persisted. Helga whacked aside a low-hanging branch, and they entered a small clearing.
"We'll camp here overnight, I guess," she said quietly, ignoring her youngest sister's question.
Carrie and the sleeping Joseph and Faith were pulled down off their mounts and quietly laid down on a blanket while Richard and Helga began to set up a makeshift tent.
"Are we sleeping on the ground? Helga, what happened to our beds? Why can't we go home? I want to go home, Helga." An endless barrage of questions, a mindless drone in the background while the two oldest Hufflepuffs tried to make the dark and dreary forest a temporary home.
Helga attempted to start a fire, but was unable to spark much of anything from the two stones she'd found on the ground.
"Helga, I'm cold," Carrie whimpered from inside the tent.
Helga sighed, and crawled inside. "I know," she said, pulling Carrie onto her lap. Despair flooded her like a bucket of ice water.
So much had gone wrong. How could they go on? She was just 16; she couldn't look after her 4 siblings like her mother had. She couldn't provide them with the life they deserved. They would be nomads for the rest of their lives, wandering from place to place, never fitting in, never lingering anywhere long enough build a new life.
They would hang on to the scraps of their old life, never truly letting go of their loving parents and moving on. No, she decided, the best they could do was endure. Not survive, not live, just endure.
"Helga," Carrie's small voice bought her back to a painful reality. "What happened to mom and dad?"
"Well… Some people came, and they didn't like mom and dad, so they… they killed them."
"Why didn't they like mom and dad? They were so nice."
"Because they thought mom and dad were witches."
"What's wrong with being a witch, Helga?"
"I don't know, Carrie. Go to sleep."
Just when Helga thought Carrie had fallen asleep, the little voice piped up again, this time much quieter and drowsy. "Helga, is this what Albert felt like?"
Albert? Slowly it dawned on Helga who Albert was; it seemed like a forever ago when she and Carrie had sat in the forest and admired that fuzzy yellow caterpillar.
"Yes… Yes, I suppose so."
- - - - -
The next day brought a dark and sunless dawn to the forest clearing, and the procession set out again, wandering aimlessly amongst the forest trails.
"Richard, you climb up with Faith. I can take the horse for you," Helga offered, even though each step she took was a monumental effort. Richard silently handed her the lead and climbed up behind Faith, his brown eyes, so like their father's, solemn and weary.
The lead weight of depression pressed down on Helga's chest, making each breath a straining effort, but she stumbled on. Thankfully, the trail was wide and flat, unlike the twisted, root-strewn paths of before.
They must be getting close to something; she wasn't sure whether to be excited or cautious of what might lie ahead. Perhaps it was a farm, but so far into the wilderness it was unlikely to find any sign of civilization, no matter how small.
The trip was taking its toll on the children; even Carrie, who usually had so much energy, was silent for once. Faith was her usual quiet self, and Joseph was also strangely reserved. Richard wasn't normally inclined to talk, so his silence was not unusual, and Helga found herself revelling in the silence, despite its mournful tone.
She had shed her tears late at night, when everyone else was asleep. It felt better that way. The rest of her family was shaken, but not as much as Helga; they hadn't seen and heard their parents' dying moments, writhing in a pillar of cruel flame and the shouts of perversely happy townsfolk. Helga had felt their pain, too, in an odd way. Their pain fed her own; now she carried the burden of 4 other endless wells of sadness in addition to her own.
But perhaps she was just imagining things, being melodramatic. Everyone felt this way after a traumatic experience, didn't they?
- - - - -
For the next few weeks, they travelled through the woods on those wide, flat paths, hoping they were nearing a shred of civilization, but at every bend in the path seeing only an endless winding ribbon of dirt tracks twisting deeper into the shadowy forest.
There was barely enough food for the five of them, and Helga, having never learned any form of hunting, could only gather a meagre supply of plants and nuts. They were all weakening rapidly, and soon, they would perish.
However, the horses, used to hard work, stayed in top shape. In fact, they seemed to be enjoying the outing, as if it were a reward for all their years of backbreaking labour.
The trees thinned out suddenly, and Helga urged the horses faster, hoping against everything in her heart that there was a house up ahead. But it was only a large field, and at its furthest flung edges, the forest began again.
Helga, all hope thoroughly crushed, looked up at the sky for an explanation, but something caught her eye. Above the tree line, a steady column of smoke rose, staining the sky. There was no mistaking the smoke from a chimney, swirled up among the white clouds.
Although it was the most concrete evidence of human life they had seen so far, Helga was reluctant to feel hopeful again. She merely tugged on the lead ropes, rousing Richard from his nap. He looked at the sky, and nodded. Like Helga, he quelled the hope rising in his chest; it was merely another disappointment waiting to spring, like so many they'd endured in the past weeks.
The sky darkened before they could reach the source of the smoke, so Helga decided to set up camp in a small thicket, well concealed from view of the path.
The night passed easily enough; nothing was amiss as Helga came back from a quick perimeter check and laid down in the tent to catch elusive sleep, and fell quickly into peaceful darkness.
She woke up to bright lights and screaming. Helga attempted to scramble to her feet, still fully clothed, but something sharp jabbed into her throat, and she gasped, falling back onto her makeshift bed. She heard the insistent wailing of Carrie and the rest of her siblings outside, alarmed and frantic.
A tall, black-haired man loomed over her, a sturdy sword pointed straight at her chest.
Carrie's screaming reached a new pitch outside, and with a jolt Helga realized that she had screams like that before.
It was the scream of her parents burning at the stake.
- - - - -
"This is perfect," Rowena declared.
"I can't believe you want to found a school. How on earth will we save the wizarding world with a school?" Godric asked with a touch of derision. No, not really derision, she decided. Godric was much too polite and formal and of the opinion that women were fragile creatures not deserving of the harsh realities of life to really express his feelings in such a way. Perhaps that was just his surprise.
Either way, Rowena ignored him. She didn't really know why she was so drawn to founding a school, but it just seemed right. Perhaps she was heading in the wrong direction. A pang of insecurity warned her that she could be dooming the rest of the wizarding race, but what else was she supposed to do?
The prophecy hadn't spoken of how they would save wizards, but just that they had to; and so far, she was the only one who had any semblance of a good idea.
"You know, Godric is right," Mathew began in a tone Rowena immediately disliked.
"Well, I don't see you coming up with any better ideas, Malfoy," she spat, jabbing her want threateningly at him.
He merely sneered. "I could have sworn that Godric over here was the leader of this whole expedition. In fact, Lord Gryffindor made that quite clear."
Her face flamed, but Rowena conceded, mustering as much pride as she could as she reined her horse back, letting Godric take her place at the front of the party.
She stewed in her silence for the rest of the ride, while the men laughed and joked just ahead. When they had passed the imposing castle gates and reached a shimmering black lake, they all dismounted and tied their horses to the trees at the edge of an endless forest.
The 4 heirs walked in silence to the castle. Nothing more was said about Godric leading; he had taken command of the expedition. His air of authority, like his father's, was irrefutable.
They entered the castle via large double doors. Almost immediately, Rowena knew it was right. It would make a perfect school; the school of her dreams. Her school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Already, she was running through a list of names in her mind, barely listening to Godric conversing with Mathew and Salazar. She didn't care about what they were saying; all she cared about was her school.
No longer theirs, but hers. It didn't matter that the prophecy said 4 Founders. This school, this idea, and everything that came of it, was hers. The others didn't have the vision she had.
This school would succeed, and it would succeed because of her. Perhaps when she was dead and gone, the history books would immortalize her as the brightest, most successful witch ever. She liked the idea of being such a powerful figure, of having a big brass plaque under a beautiful portrait that read, Rowena Ravenclaw, the brightest witch in history.
"Rowena. Rowena." Salazar prodded her shoulder uncertainly. Rowena, her reverie disturbed yet again, turned to face him, scowling.
"We're going on a tour of the castle," he informed her. The frown melted off her face, replaced with new wonder and joy, her blue eyes lighting up beautifully.
Salazar could see something just behind that happiness, but he couldn't quite place it. All he knew was that it made him slightly uneasy, as if Rowena were hiding something important, and that she was quite beautiful. He hadn't noticed that before, he mused idly to himself.
Disregarding his unease and Rowena's sudden attractiveness, he offered his arm to her, and gestured in the direction Godric and Mathew were heading. Rowena slipped her arm through his, and they started after the other founders, the coil of unease still in Salazar's stomach despite his attempts at squelching it.
"Why did you think of a school?" Salazar asked suddenly. He didn't look at her as he asked, just stared straight ahead, as if ignoring her. Only the slight inclination of his head told Rowena he was waiting for her response. "Of all things, a school to save the wizarding race?" His tone lacked the insulting surprise of Godric's.
"I don't know," she said simply, shrugging. She couldn't explain to him her feeling that this school was simply right. She knew he wouldn't understand, so she left her remark to hang in the silence between them.
Salazar cast a sideways glance at her, but said nothing, only nodding as he returned his impersonal gaze towards the looming double doors ahead, where Godric and Mathew were already waiting.
Everything about the castle was grand, Rowena thought as they entered the room beyond the doors, including this room.
Vaulted cathedral ceilings, huge stained glass windows, everything implied the rich opulence and splendour of a man with too much time and money, and a big dream. A dream Rowena now shared. Whoever had built this castle, whatever stories lay hidden in its winding corridors, Rowena felt a connection.
She knew, concretely now, that this castle was perfect.
But she couldn't shake her conviction that something else was off, something infuriatingly simple but just beyond her reach.
- - - - -
The room itself was bare, and in this state was its elegance and sheer size shown off best. Their voices echoed throughout the massive room.
"Well," Mathew said, impressed. Yes, it was a beautiful piece of architecture. It would make a lovely manor, he thought to himself as he admired the arched windows and vaulted ceiling. Yes, it would certainly make a statement among guests. He nodded in approval.
If only stupid Rowena hadn't insisted on making it into a school, he would have bought it himself. For when he was the richest, most influential man in the wizarding world. He cast a sly glance at Godric, who was busy running his hands over the stone walls and mumbling something to himself.
The Gryffindors wouldn't be the most powerful for much longer, if Mathew would have anything to say about it. And he certainly would.
When he was powerful, he wouldn't have to sit around that stupid Leaders table, listening to the rest of the heirs simpering about themselves and their boring lives and pretending to care.
No, soon he would be in Godric's place, and that would all change. No longer would the Malfoy house be known as the house of the heart, and those who had shunned him for so long would pay for their ignorance.
And his family, his trusting, naive, stupid family would never see it coming.
- - - - - -
Godric rejoined the group, and suggested lightly that they should tour the rest of the castle. He wasn't particularly looking forward to walking through every corridor of the massive place, but then, he was just here to humour Rowena.
That was the only reason any of them had come here, save Rowena, who seemed genuinely excited about the whole thing.
He kept on smiling, enjoying the company of his friends, but secretly wishing for the tour to end. It was stupid to think that a school of all things would save the wizarding race, assuming of course that the wizarding race needed saving at all.
Once the tour was finished, and Rowena was gushing to Salazar about her plans and her thoughts, Godric slipped outside and went to sit down by the lake where the horses were tied.
He needed time away from all the plans for the school and Rowena's painful enthusiasm to just think. Be alone for a while. He rested under the shade of the tree, and willed himself to relax.
So much was resting on his shoulders, from leading the witch-hunts to dealing with founding the school, Godric had been swamped. His father was pushing him ruthlessly in a direction he didn't want to go, but Godric felt compelled to obey.
After all, Lord Gryffindor was his father, and Godric wanted nothing more than to please him. That was the most important thing to Godric; if he failed at that, how would he ever face his family again?
His father would be proud of his only son.
Godric would make sure of it.