The blade moved effortlessly beneath the fur, the cuts precise and practiced. Rowena removed its innards and skinned the rabbit in no time at all. A spell probably could have done it for her, but she clearly didn't need it. That didn't stop her from waving her wand to drain the blood. Once she was done, she tossed it into the pot boiling away over the fire, bones and all. But none of it would go to waste, as she set the pelt and offal aside.
The stew wafted in the room, scented with rosemary and thyme, and it made his stomach growl. Rowena glanced down at the noise, "Hungry?" She turned back to the table and started dicing mushrooms. All the while, her eagle sat on a perch watching him intently. She might have invited me into her house, but that doesn't mean she trusts me.
Sitting forward in a chair she'd offered him, Harry nodded, blushing slightly, "It smells delicious." He hadn't had a fresh made meal in… ages. It wasn't exactly a priority given everything else that happened. He just made do with what he could come by easily.
"This is for tonight so, it'll still be a good while yet before it's ready. It'll be worth the wait." She reached across the table to a basket and pulled out a loaf of bread. She tore a piece of it off and handed it to him, "This should hold you over until then.
"Thank you." He told taking a bite, "If it's half as good as it smells… should be fantastic."
"Where are you from?" She asked him suddenly, before he even finished his last response, "I wouldn't guess you're from any of the southern kingdoms, you don't have the look. But unless the Danes and Norse have changed their garments a great deal since the last time I saw one, you're not one of them either. One of the Norse-Gaels maybe? Or from Alba? Welsh? Or are you just a clever ploy by Causantin, and Cellach and their priests, but…" Harry was impressed that she managed to keep going without a single breath.
He couldn't help but chuckle watching her go on, she stopped and looked at him a little embarrassed. Rowena was revered as one of the greatest witches of her age, both brilliant and skilled. He wouldn't have expected her to be quite so talkative though. Stories don't always capture the soul of a person I suppose.
As she looked at him with a quirked eyebrow, he answered the first question, "I'm from Surrey, in England. And I'm not a spy of this… Causantin's… I promise."
"If you were, you certainly wouldn't tell me now would you? So, which of the kingdoms is that in then?" She tapped the knife against the wood, "Wessex I think or is it Mercia. Though does it really matter? Aethelflaed is Lady of Mercia so it may as well be Wessex at this point. It would be outright, I think, if her brother had anything to say about it."
The names were familiar, he'd heard them in primary school more than a decade before, but other than that they didn't mean much to him, "I couldn't say, I haven't been there in years."
"A wandering wizard, then?" That piqued her interest, "Where have you been?"
"From north to south of this island, and a bit of Ireland. Nothing too interesting I'm afraid."
"More than I can say for myself," the knife started cutting all on its own as she turned to look at him, "Never been away from this little corner of the world. Father wouldn't allow it, too worried about sea raiders and his rivals and the church… the church most of all. If he hadn't depleted his wealth to pay them off, they would have tried to take me as a child." The last she said with a scowl, venom on her tongue.
"Not fond of them, I take it?" Well, in that they were kindred spirits.
"I'm pagan and a witch too. They have no love for me, and I certainly don't have any for them. They say people like you and me are of their devil, I say they're fools." Finished with the mushrooms, she threw them into the pot and stirred everything together. With a wave of her wand the fire receded slightly and the pot simmered away slowly.
She sat down on a stool across from him, a scowl on her lips, "Everywhere they go, they wheedle their way into the minds and hearts of kings and simple folk alike. They bring their god from Rome to turn people away from the gods of their forefathers. It's been going on for hundreds of years and now even the Norse and Danes have started to fall victim to their honeyed words and their miracles and their revelations."
"Do the Norse not bring their gods as well?" He wasn't one to defend the church, but he was curious to hear her perspective.
"Their gods aren't so different from mine. They have their own stories and domains, but they are the gods all the same." There was a small fond smile on her face as she thought on something, "My mother… she was of them and she was just as happy to tell me of Lugh and the Dagda as she was to tell me of Odin and Freyja. The Christians say they are demons meant to turn us away from their one true God, I call them liars. When I speak their names, I know that they can hear me."
"You wouldn't be wrong… about their lies, I mean." Harry clarified, though he agreed with her about the gods as well. He spoke to the pagan gods too, and believed they heard him, "They perform no miracles… well at least not the sort they claim. It's just magic used to fool people into believing in their god. Just like their revelations and prophecies." The sad thing is she's right, slowly but surely the church will cover every bit of Europe and it won't stop there.
"What?" Her eyes were big and so very inquisitive.
"The priests, the ones that can do miracles and see visions and the like… they're nothing more than magicals, like you or me, taken by the church and taught to use their gifts to suit their purposes." He leaned back, "I'd guess it's why they wanted you as a child. They pay the poorer family's for their children when they show signs of magic and take them away to a convent for… education. Since your father had land and some wealth, they took everything they could from him since they couldn't have you."
"That's horrible," She sounded genuinely appalled to hear it, "I've never seen one of their miracles for myself… I always suspected they were nothing more than rumors. Just the bleating of priests and nuns to stir the emotions of the average man and woman. To know that they're using us to convert the masses… it's infuriating."
"It is," He agreed.
"Something must be done…" he mind was racing with the possibilities, "There must be some way to find them before the church, but then they need somewhere safe where they can learn and study and become strong enough to defend themselves from those who wish to use them." She was muttering to herself after that, "But then there's the issue of the families. How would we convince them to give up their children, especially considering just how many are Christian. It would be a nightmare. Silver goes a long way to convincing people though, but… Oh, damn, I'll just have to give it some thought."
For years, Harry wondered just how the Founders had navigated that particular problem. In the religious fervency that existed not only in their time, but in the centuries that followed, how did they convince parents to give up their children when, according to the church, they were of the devil. And how many of them were in danger going back to their homes and villages. Surely, they must have stayed at the castle permanently once they started.
Right in that moment, he saw the beginning of the idea that would form into Hogwarts. It was a sad thing to know such well-meaning beginnings would fail so miserably in the end. Hiding away and hoping that it's enough to protect them won't be enough… much as you might want it to be. He'd seen firsthand what hiding and hoping led to when they knew far more than you thought.
Birds chirped outside her home as they sat in a comfortable silence. He could only watch as her mind worked furiously. Her lips moved slightly and she would occasionally shake her head at something. Harry tried to hide his amusement, but knew he wasn't succeeding entirely. Wanting to break her from her thoughts, he asked, "So, who is Causantin? And what does he want with you?" Her eyes snapped to him and she blushed as she realized just how distracted she'd gotten.
"You sure you haven't been wandering elsewhere, Harry? You don't seem to know much about this island you've been traveling." Rowena gave him a little smirk, "He's the King of Alba, from north of the Firth of Forth to the south of the Moray Firth. Son of Aed, grandson of Cinaed, who were King of the Picts." She frowned as she continued, "And what he wants is my land… for some gods forsaken reason. But that is the way with kings isn't it, to expand beyond what they already have, so they might be remembered for years to come."
"You were worried I might be a clever ploy from him and his priests?"
Rowena nodded, "Oh, yes. They whisper in his ear about my lack of piety. About my flouting of the church. While he was never a convert, my father gave up more silver than was right to be left well enough alone. He was afraid for me, and I loved him for it. Maybe it makes me a fool but I'm not afraid for myself. And I refuse to give one more piece of silver to people that hate me."
"They're good at that, playing on peoples' fears. They use it to great effect." And will only continue to in the centuries to come. The witch trials and the Inquisition come to mind first and foremost. "So, have I convinced you that I'm not? One of theirs, I mean?"
"No," she shook her head, chestnut hair bobbing along, "but… you haven't convinced me that you are either. And something is telling me to trust you… for now at least. And… well… like I said, I don't mind the company." The eagle squawked irritably, "I always have you, Aerna. Don't worry." Rowena looked lovingly over at the bird and then back to him with a smirk, "She'll peck out your eyes in a second if you prove false… just so you know" The way the bird leaned forward on its perch and snapped its beak only confirmed she was telling the truth.
Harry coughed, "I'll keep that in mind."
"Oh, don't worry." Rowena snickered at his discomfort, "She's very friendly… until she isn't."
"Well, I'll be sure not to give her any reason to dislike me." Harry did his best to ignore the avian that was doing its best to intimidate him, "So, you don't know why he wants your land?"
She shook her head, "No. I can guess, but he doesn't need any other reason than that he wants it. He may just want all of Scotland, but it shouldn't be worth his trouble. It isn't a place of power or wealth. Its greatest significance is in the magic that resides here. There are unicorns in the forest, and many trees suitable for wand-making. There are grindylows in the lake and this hall is built in a place strong in magic. I'm sure you can feel it?" He just nodded at the question, and she continued, "There are other places just as defensible and more accessible that have already been fortified. He may want the trees for timber, but they would be difficult to transport even if you felled them."
"How long has he been bothering you?" It was the magic that probably interested them most. The priests were no doubt aware of it and would happily make use of it if they could. How much of the Founders lives was lost to history, I wonder? We only ever learned of their great achievement, not of the lives they lived before that. How many people were aware that Rowena Ravenclaw not only owned the land where it was built but defended it from the church.
"A year now, on and off, since my father died." She played with the fabric of her dress, seemingly embarrassed, "I… might not have helped myself when I sent some little monk running back to his bishop at St. Andrews with a literal tail between his legs."
Harry barked a sudden laugh, "You didn't?" It was kinder than anything he'd ever done to a monk, but far more amusing to think about.
Rowena nodded with a giggle of her own, "I did. So, when he doesn't have sea raiders to worry about or some troubles in Northumbria or Strathclyde. They send another contingent of men, just to remind me that they know I'm here. And they want what I have."
"You think they'd have more important things to worry about." Harry remarked snidely. He didn't have the concerns of a king, but he imagined they ought to be greater than one woman in the Scottish Highlands. "So every time, you just send them back where they came?" She'd made a portkey for each of the soldiers that came to try and take her that took them to the banks of the Moray Firth, far away.
"I do my best to leave them no worse for their journey. I doubt they'd be so kind if they managed to take me. But if I do anything worse to them, I know they will only send many, many more." Rowena shrugged her shoulders, "It's all I can think to do. I don't know how long it will last. If what you said is true, then I'm sure they'll send one of our own eventually and then I doubt I'll have much choice to defend myself… more violently. I'm only one woman, so perhaps I'll fail eventually, but I'd rather die here where my forebears laid their heads than give it up to them."
"I doubt you'll have any trouble if they do send another magical. You seem more than capable." While it was Gryffindor that had been recognized as the best duelist of his time, Rowena wasn't a slouch from what he'd seen at the edge of the forest.
"I'm good, very good in fact." Rowena said confidently, "And I would put myself up against most in a fair fight. I don't think they'd have any intention of fighting fair though."
"No, you're right about that." Harry knew they wouldn't given an opportunity, "Not that I can blame them. If you want to win, why play fair?"
"True. But not something that'll go in my favor."
"Is there no one you could call for help?"
"There are men who were loyal to my father. Pagans like me who live in these high hills who might answer if I called. If I went to the Norse-Gaels… maybe they would help me too." Rowena thought about it for a moment before continuing, "But, I wouldn't put them at risk for my sake. And even if I thought to, I never know when Causantin is sending his men."
"So, you'll fight them alone until you can't any longer?"
She gave him a wan smile, "Until I'm dead. If the gods are good and do not take me before my time, I'll outlive them by a century or more. So perhaps they'll forget about me with time."
They never really forget about us. They might ignore us for a time, but they know we're here all the same. Harry ran a hand through his hair, looking the lovely young founder in the eye, "I'd help you… if you'd let me. If you'd want me too." It was an inherent part of his nature, even after the years fighting the Inquisition, to help people.
Rowena gave him a teasing smile then, "Well, once I know that I can really trust you, I might just take you up on that offer."
He shook his head, and rolled his eyes, "I'm sure that won't take long. I don't serve anybody but myself." At least not intentionally. "Do you know when they'll come back?"
"It could be in a week or a month. Or longer." She shrugged her shoulders, unconcerned, "It hasn't been consistent. They come when it pleases them."
They fell into a comfortable silence, though he could tell from the way her lips moved that her mind was far from silent. His own mind was a whirl of thoughts. A thousand years or more in the past. During the Viking Age. Definitely not what I was expecting when I walked through the Veil. And from what Death said, somebody or something wanted me here, but why? I would think it is something to do with the voice. So not only do they want me in this time but they want me here, specifically.
Harry couldn't help but look at her more closely as they sat there. Why Rowena in particular. What has Fate seen or decided for me. She had sharp cheekbones, a small nose, and a full, pouty lower lip. Her eyes were unlike any he'd seen before. Fleur's had been a captivating blue, unnaturally bright thanks to her nature, but Rowena's were no less incredible. Even though she was wearing a conservative dress, he could still see that she had lovely curves. The swell of her breasts was still obvious and the curve of her hips couldn't be hidden even by thick wool. Comely, I think would be the right word for her. Or just a timeless beauty.
"You don't actually speak Gaelic, do you?" She asked him, she asked him suddenly. He was noticing she had a tendency for it, "Certain words… I hear it when you speak but it doesn't fully follow with what your mouth is doing when I really pay attention. And I can feel the niggling of… well your magic, I think." Th question broke him out of his musing. Her eyebrow was quirked in curiosity, and she was leaning forward on her stool.
"I don't, no." He admitted, "But magic is an amazing thing. And well, not everyone speaks English, so it makes things far easier." And no one will speak my form of English, even in its earliest forms, for centuries. So it's absolutely fucking necessary.
"Could you teach me?" She asked him eagerly. Her reputation as a lover of knowledge shining through, "I speak a bit of Norse… from my mother… but, not enough to have a proper conversation. Could come in useful."
I think she might trust me more than she's letting on. He gave her a smile, "Sure… but there's no spell for it. It's just an extension of my will and my magic together. It's hard to tell you how it even works."
"That's fine. Perfect in fact. Magic comes from within. Will is what really matters. Spells just make that will easier to focus." Rowena looked pleased, as she captured him with appraising eyes, "You're quite curious, Harry. I like curious things. Something tells me you have quite the story, don't you?"
He gave her a roguish little smirk, "A few, yes. And maybe once you trust me… I'll tell you some of it." Rowena shook her head, the corner of her mouth ticking up in amusement. Though, even if I told her. I don't know if she'd believe it.
Sitting in a that hall on the hill where Hogwarts would one day stand high and imposing against the sky, Harry felt more at peace than he had since the end of his sixth year. It was so normal, just sitting there across from a young woman talking about anything and everything.
Despite that peace, in the back of his mind, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Fortunately, it didn't come that day. That night they ate that stew, and it was delicious as it had smelled.
As he laid alone beneath furs, warm and comfortable, he was thankful that whatever had brought him to that time, had at least given him a moments reprieve from strife. Even if it doesn't last.
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