Legacy
His knuckles had turned white with how tightly he was clinging to the rope, and with the prospect of a battle at sea running through his mind, it was easy to ignore the sickness that had plagued him these past days.
At first, Lancelot had thought that Cnut had perhaps been jesting when he'd made his intentions known, but as they continued to gain on the fleet of Irish ships that drew nearer, there was no doubt in his mind that the Dane was serious.
"THE GODS FAVOUR US!" Cnut roared, grinning maniacally as his thatch od red hair blew about his face. "NJORD SENDS US TO THEM!"
If Lancelot believed in such gods, he too would be cheering at the declaration.
It certainly seemed as though they were being guided towards the Irish.
The wind was in their favour, and the other ships seemed to be barely moving.
"You smell that?" Cnut questioned, sniffing the air deeply. "That is the smell of fear and riches. You'll see how us Danes fight now, Sir Lancelot."
"Yes, and I have to be a part of it!"
Cnut nodded, another grin tugging at his lips.
"You'll be fine, boy," he assured him, clapping Lancelot on the shoulder, almost knocking him to the ground. "Now, brace yourself."
"Brace myself?"
Cnut said nothing as he fixed his gaze on the ship in the centre of the group ahead of them, his eyes gleaming excitedly.
Lancelot knew what was coming next, and though he somehow tightened his grip in anticipation, it wasn't enough to prevent him crashing to the deck as the two vessels came together.
"Get up, boy!" Cnut barked, all but dragging Lancelot to the side of the ship.
The enormous redhead onto the deck of the other, releasing a guttural roar as he began engaging the Irishmen on board.
Shaking his head, Lancelot followed suit, and quickly found himself crossing blades with a wiry man, who carried a small axe in one hand, and a sword in the other.
It proved to be quite the adjustment to fight on a rocking ship, but there was no motivation to improve quickly quite like a furious Irishman swinging a sword wildly towards his head.
Still, it was not easy to breach the defences of the man, but eventually, Lancelot's greater skill prevailed, and the familiar feeling of his sword cutting deeply into a man's flesh gave him a sense of normalcy after spending days cowering on the deck, doing all he could to not throw up.
Not that he was given a reprieve to enjoy it.
Before the Irishman had thudded to the floor, Lancelot found himself engaged by another, and then another after he'd dispatched the second.
There seemed to be Irish wherever he looked, and yet, it was indeed the Danes and those of Arthur men that had joined them that were triumphing.
Even so, the smell of blood, piss and shit was no more pleasant in the face of victory, and Lancelot felt his already troubled stomach churn once more through the sound of clashing steel and the screams of dying men.
Nonetheless, what had started needed to be finished, and he continued fighting on, cutting down those that engaged him until he found himself nearing the bloodied Cnut.
His usually coppery red hair was stained much darker, though it did not seem to be his own blood he wore.
No, with each powerful swing of his axe, it spurted from those foolish enough to engage him.
The Dane was in his element here and seemed to be enjoying himself, so much so that he failed to notice one of the Irishman charging towards him from the rear.
Without delay, Lancelot ran as best he could to intercept the man and used the copious amounts of blood beneath his feet to slide across the deck.
As the Irishman raised his sword to strike a blow on Cnut, Lancelot brought his own to bear, jamming the blade into the attacker's groin.
The scream that escaped him was a sound he'd never forget, though his agony was short-lived.
Having realised what had been about to happen, Cnut silenced the man by burying his axe into his chest before pulling Lancelot to his feet and offering him an appreciative nod.
It was but a brief gesture, but one that let Lancelot know that he'd gained the man's respect in a way that could only be achieved during battle.
Even so, the fighting wasn't over yet, and as another foe stepped into replace the others that had already fallen, Lancelot braced himself to fight once more, until every last Irishman on board no longer could.
(Break)
It was as though a dark cloud had settled over his shoulders.
Ever since he'd shared the candid conversation with Rowena, everything seemed just so bleak, as though a part of his own dream would perish along with her.
Hogwarts would not be the same without her brilliance, and Salazar knew he would never meet another like her.
It was a daunting prospect to consider his life without Rowena in it.
Of course, her work would live on in the very halls she'd helped build, but Salazar had never considered that she might be the first of them to go. If anything, he would've bet his gold on Godric being killed doing something foolish, and Rowena outliving both him and Helga.
Still, life had a way of surprising him, and often not in the best of ways.
Without considering what he was doing, Salazar found himself outside of Godric's rooms.
Perhaps his body had sought out the solace his mind needed.
Godric might be brash and often uncouth, but Salazar could not ask for a better friend, and he needed that just now.
With a knock, he cleared his throat and fought the urge to smirk at the sight of the large redhead wearing a long nightgown and hat with matching stars and moons embroidered on the garments.
"It's late, Salazar," Godric grumbled. "What is it?"
Salazar didn't know what to say, instead, he stepped by Godric and took a seat by the man's fire, eliciting a frown from his friend.
Without pressing him, Godric poured them both a drink and handed one to Salazar.
He took a sip and stared into the flames for a moment.
"She's dying," he murmured, the words falling from his lips proving difficult even for him to believe.
"Who?"
"Rowena. She says she will not see another summer."
Silence fell between them for some time before Godric unleashed an almost animalistic cry and threw the chair he'd been sitting on across the room.
Salazar expected such a response, and he listened to the man's laboured breathing as he did his utmost to digest what he'd learned.
"No, she can't be," he murmured as he began pacing back and forth in front of the fire. "Why would she say that?"
"Because it is true," Salazar said sadly as he stood. "She is no fool, Godric. She knows her mind and her body, and the latter is failing her."
"Is there no cure?"
Salazar shook his head.
"If there was, she would know it. She is the brightest of us and has already come to terms with what is to happen."
"You believe her?"
"I do. I did not wish to, but when I look at her, Godric, I see only death on the horizon. Her mind is as sharp as ever, but her body deteriorates."
Godric could only nod in response.
"I never thought…"
"Neither did I," Salazar said comfortingly.
Godric swallowed deeply and swiped at his eyes as the tears began to fall. Salazar simply pulled the man into a tight embrace.
"Hell, you're going to start me bawling again," he huffed.
They said nothing else whilst the comforted one another in their moment of grief until Godric pulled away and took a generous swallow of his drink.
"What do we do?" he asked helplessly.
"Exactly what Rowena would want," Salazar answered. "We keep Hogwarts going."
"And when we are all gone?"
"We ensure we have someone we can trust to continue our legacy."
Godric nodded his understanding.
"We should tell him," he sighed. "He will never forgive us if we don't."
"We will both do so," Salazar replied. "Tomorrow, but not until Helga knows. She will not take it well."
"I do not think anyone will take it well, but I expect Rowena will not want to anyone else knowing until…well, you know," Godric finished, waving his hand dismissively.
"She will not," Salazar agreed, draining his own cup and refilling it.
He felt no better for sharing his burden and knew he never would.
The four of them had come here with but a dream and were as close as any siblings to have ever been.
Of course, they did not always agree on everything, but they never allowed that to change just how much they had come to care for one another over the many years they'd been together.
Each of them had changed because of the others.
Godric was no longer so brash, Helga had grown in confidence, Rowena had learned to have fun, and Salazar believed he had changed more than all of them.
He'd learned tolerance, patience, and humility along the way, some of which he could only attribute to his friends, but some of that had come from the very young man he expected to continue their work when the last of them were gone.
Learning of what had become of his line and the pain it had caused over the centuries to come, Salazar had indeed become much more tolerant and even nurturing because of Harry Potter.
His heart would be broken too when he learned the news.
Rowena and Helga had both mothered the boy in their own way, and having already lost one when he was just a boy, this would be just another blow to endure on the long road ahead of him.
(Break)
"You'll want to wash," Cnut called. "The salt is not so god for your hair, but it's the best we have."
Lancelot nodded and jumped into the sea, gasping as he broke the surface.
"It's freezing," he complained, much to the amusement of Cnut.
The Dane laughed heartily.
"It helps to move around, lad," he replied, continuing to wash the blood and other filth from his beard, using a comb he kept in his pocket. "You fight well, better than most I've met."
Lancelot nodded and fought to stop his teeth from chattering.
"I've always been good with a sword," he said with a shrug. "When my father realised how talented I was, he made me train from morning until night."
"Then he wished to see you live," Cnut commented. "Even on a ship, you did well. Are you Arthur's best?"
Lancelot frowned at the question.
There was not a man in Camelot who could beat him in the training yard. He often held his own against two or three men at once.
"The rest would say so," he replied thoughtfully. "Perhaps I am, but being good with a sword will only get so far in battle. It only takes a single blow from behind to kill you."
"Something I almost learned today," Cnut sighed. "Were it not for you…"
"We fight for the same cause," Lancelot broke in. "It is our responsibility to save our allies when their back is turned."
Cnut nodded.
"Then I should do the same for you if the opportunity presents itself."
"I hope to never be in such a position," Lancelot chuckled.
Cnut clapped him smartly on the shoulder before continuing with his grooming, and Lancelot did much the same.
The blood would not come so easily from his clothes, but the sea was particularly good at cleansing the skin.
(Break)
"He is moving towards East Anglia, my king," the scout reported. "He has not deviated from his path, even when the witches try to influence him."
Arthur nodded appreciatively.
It appeared that Harry's plan was indeed working, even if it would only prove to be a temporary solution. Still, it was better than the alternative, and should fortune favour him, Lancelot would soon return with the fleet to blockade the Seagate, ensuring Eadwulf would be unable to feed his troops.
How long he could hold out without supplies, Arthur didn't know, but it would still be a race against time before Guthrum would return.
"We could always keep the boy," Myrddin suggested. "He is clearly fond of him."
"And break my word?" Arthur asked. "I will not do that not even to an enemy. If it is God's will that I rule over all of Britain, he will guide me on a righteous path."
Myrddin merely inclined his head, and Arthur rubbed his eyes tiredly.
He'd gotten little sleep since departing Camelot.
It seemed that he was to be plagued with problem upon problem that would keep him from his bed, and even his wife since she'd joined them.
Guinevere had been rather subdued since her own ordeal, and try as he might, Arthur had been unable to offer the woman any comfort. She was traumatised, quiet for the most part, and did not sleep any more peacefully than him.
Nonetheless, he was glad to have her by his side, and hoped beyond hope that her condition would improve, given time.
"I think I will check on Guthrum for myself," Myrddin declared. "It's not that I do not trust the scouts, Arthur. I simply do not trust him."
Arthur nodded approvingly.
"Nor do I," he said with a frown. "I do not expect deception, but it is best to be certain."
Myrddin offered him a nod before heading towards the treeline in the distance, and Arthur warmed his hand on the fire, his gaze drifting towards the keep in the distance.
He'd not expected his campaign to be easy, but already, he'd endured hardship upon hardship along the way, and he'd yet to truly claim any more land for himself.
Soon.
Soon enough, he would claim the northwest before heading east into Daneland for Cnut to formally surrender his crown. From there, perhaps he would take East Anglia before circling back into Wessex and West Wales.
That was the path Arthur intended to take, but he would only do so if God willed it.
Inevitably, there would be other obstacles thrown into his path, but Arthur would be ready for them.
With each passing day and new problem that arose, he was learning.
That was all he could do; learn and learn some more.
(Break)
He eyed the shivering man who had managed to prostrate himself before the Dark Lord. Augustus truly had suffered in Azkaban. His skin was pale, and his eyes haunted.
Yet, there was still that spark of brilliance within them.
Other than himself, and begrudgingly Dumbledore, the man was perhaps the most talented wizard the Lord Voldemort had met.
He was not as good as Antonin or Bellatrix in a duel, but his mind was as keen as any, and his ability in practical magic was unparalleled.
It was Rookwood's mind, however, the Dark Lord needed.
"You will be well again, Augustus. Severus is already brewing all you will need."
Rookwood nodded, though his teeth continued to chatter.
"Before that, I am in need of your assistance."
"Of c-course, m-my lord."
Voldemort nodded appreciatively.
"I must have the prophecy in my possession, Augustus. I must know what it says."
Augustus frowned.
"P-Potter is d-dead, m-my lord. Lucius s-says he v-vanished in the l-lake. Even D-Dumbledore has been unable t-to find him."
The Dark Lord frowned and shook his head.
"No, Potter is not dead," he murmured. "Severus has said the same and insists there has been no sign of the boy, but he is alive, Augustus. I can feel it."
Augustus frowned before nodding.
"I b-believe you, my lord, but if you want the prophecy, it will either have to be you, Potter, or Dumbledore who collects it."
The Dark Lord's nostrils flared.
"Is there no other way?" he asked irritably. "I am reluctant to reveal myself until necessary. My presence will inevitably be noticed within the department, and with Fudge hounding Dumbledore over the missing Diggory boy, it is to our advantage that the world continues to vilify him."
"It is the only way, my lord," Rookwood assured him.
The Dark Lord released a deep sigh.
With Potter somewhere in the wind, and Dumbledore unlikely to retrieve, then it seemed the Dark lord would have to, but when?
His forces were not strong enough to succeed against the Ministry, and wouldn't be for some time yet, so he was reluctant to reveal himself too soon.
Perhaps for now it would simply be best to have the department watched to ensure no other did claim it in the interim, until he was ready to do so himself.
It was not a plan he was pleased with, but if Augustus was indeed speaking the truth, it as the best he had.
"Thank you, Rookwood," he said gratefully. "Rest, my friend, there will be much for you to do soon enough."
Rookwood nodded and took his leave of the room as the Dark lord turned towards the fire in the hearth.
The world still believed Potter to be dead, and Lord Voldemort would believe it too if there wasn't that niggling feeling in the back of his mind that the boy was alive and well.
But where?
Despite his best efforts, there had been no sign of him.
Severus had searched the lake himself at the Dark Lord's behest, and Potter had not been seen near his muggle relative's home, nor had he been to Gringotts for more than a year.
He had simply vanished during the second task of the tournament, and the mystery of such remained unsolved.
Still, he was alive.
The Dark Lord could feel it with every fibre of his being that Harry Potter was not as dead as the world believed him to be.
No, he was out there somewhere, and the two of them would inevitably meet when Fate decreed it to be.
Harry woke with a gasp, and took a moment to steady his breathing.
"Another dream?" Morgana asked in the dim light of their cabin.
Harry nodded and took a sip of water, frowning as he pondered what he'd seen.
Not only were the visions becoming clearer now, but they were also lasting longer, and yet, Voldemort still could not sense his presence.
That wasn't strictly true.
He knew that Harry was alive and would not be convinced otherwise despite everything pointing to his death.
"It will be soon," he murmured. "It feels as though I am getting closer to him."
"And we will be ready for that," Morgana assured him, squeezing his hand comfortingly.
Harry nodded.
"What if…?"
He broke off and swallowed deeply.
"What if, what?"
"What if we are stuck there?"
"You do not wish to be? It's your home, Harry."
Harry shook his head.
"No," he denied. "This is my home. This is where I belong."
"Then we will come back."
"How can you be so certain?"
"Because I believe that the stars will align to give you what you deserve. If this is where you wish to be, they will make it so."
Harry smiled despite his doubts.
"Besides, so long as we are together, does it truly matter?"
Harry released a deep breath.
"No, but where I come from is different. It's a more complex world, and much less pleasant to live in. I feel it. I feel that I belong here, even if I know I will miss some of my friends from there."
Morgana placed a kiss on his cheek.
"What will be will be, Harry. We will be fine, no matter what."
Harry nodded and allowed himself to simply enjoy holding his wife in his arms, doing his utmost not to ponder what was to come too deeply.
Evidently, they drifted off to sleep and were woken by a knocking at the door.
"I'll get it," Harry groaned, kissing Morgana on the cheek before dressing himself with a wave of his wand.
Opening the door, he was greeted by the sight of a sombre Godric and Salazar.
"What's happened?" Harry asked immediately.
Godric shook his head and gestured for him to take a seat.
Harry did so and called for Morgana to join them.
She entered the room only a moment later and offered the two men a look of curiosity.
Godric released a deep sigh and shook his head once more.
"There's no easy way to say this, Harry, but Rowena…"
He choked on his words, and Harry feared the worst.
"She's dying, Harry," Salazar murmured.
Harry immediately felt a lump fill his throat, and try as he might, he could not swallow it down.
"Dying?" he croaked. "How?"
"She's sick, Harry," Salazar said gently. "Her body is failing her rapidly. She will not live past the spring."
He wanted one of them to tell him that this was just a twisted joke, but Harry knew such an admission wouldn't come, and as the tears began to prickle his eyes, he could only shake his head.
"No," he whispered, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. "She can't be."
It was Salazar who leaned over to take him by the hand.
"It is the truth, Harry," he said sadly. "We do not want to believe it either, but I have seen it, and you will too. You should go to her. She wishes to see you, even if she will not send for you herself."
Harry nodded as he stood, doing his utmost to stop his legs from shaking.
It was as though his entire world had been plunged into a terrifying darkness in a matter of moments, and he didn't know what to do.
"What…?"
"We just leave, Harry," Morgana urged, taking him by the hand. "Nothing else matters."
Harry didn't know what to say.
He felt numb but devastated at the same time.
Nonetheless, he knew where he needed to be, and he said nothing else before apparating away to be at Rowena's side, not knowing what he would find when he arrived.
(Break)
"If you want him dead, you need only say the word and I'll do it."
"Is he of use to you?"
"Until Guthrum is gone, yes."
"Then let him live, Harry," Owain urged. "He may have tried to kill me, but neither of us can say we wouldn't have done the same in is position. I don't want to grow to be a bitter old man because of grudge I could not let go of."
"Do you mean just for now or…?"
Owain shook his head.
"Unless he gives you a reason to, leave him be. You said yourself that his people love and respect him. Killing Cnut will not change what he did to me, but it could lead to much worse being done to others when those wanting to take his place become violent. I have my health, for what it is, and a wife and a son I will grow old with. All is fair in love and war."
Owain swung his axe, splitting the log cleanly in two before grabbing another.
Harry had not been pleased by his instruction, but he would respect the decision Owain had made.
He'd meant it.
Owain did not wish to cling on to the unpleasantness of what had happened to him.
For the most part, he had recovered now and was grateful that he was able to raise his son, farm his land, and continue loving his wife. Those were the things that truly mattered to him, not vengeance or dwelling on what could not be changed.
"You look strong, son."
Owain nodded a she split another log.
"Stronger than I thought I would ever be again."
"That is because you wished to be," Ignotus replied. "You refused to allow your injury to hold you down. It takes a man of strong character and will to come back from that."
"Or someone who would be too ashamed to accept what happened as Fate."
Ignotus chuckled.
"Perhaps," he mused aloud, "but I prefer my explanation. You're dwelling on the conversation you had with Harry."
"I am," Owain admitted. "What happened is done as far as I am concerned. If anything, it has proven to be something of a blessing. I realised my priorities because of it. I'm still angry, but not to the point of needing vengeance, and it is not Harry's responsibility to seek it on my behalf. He has more than enough to handle."
"He does," Ignotus sighed, "but, he shoulders it well. If there is any man strong enough to carry such burdens, it is Harry."
Owain released a deep breath.
"Aye, I just wish I could be more help to him."
"To what end? Harry's destiny is his own, and I have no doubt it will prove to be as great as his lasting legacy. You have your own to weave, Owain, and Harry has his. Do not wish the burdens of others to be your own when you are not equipped to handle them. Already, Harry has been tested like no other, and those tests will only become greater. I have no doubt of that."
"So, I just sit back and watch him do it all?"
Ignotus shook his head.
"No. You will be there when he needs you to be. Fate will see to that."
"You believe in Fate?"
"Fate and Death go hand in hand, my son," Ignotus said darkly. "Where one treads, the other will undoubtedly be in the shadows."
His words were ominous, but Owain had never met a wiser man than his father.
Still, he could not find the words to speak on what he had said, so he nodded his understanding.
He would be there if and when Harry needed him, which meant that, inevitably, despite their best efforts to avoid it, war would come to these lands once more.
Owain didn't know how or when, but he could almost smell the blood in the air already.
(Break)
It was odd to put her thoughts to pen in such a way.
Much of what she'd written was rather intimate to herself, and things she never thought she would share with any other.
Magic was indeed an incredible thing, and the journey each person took was different, and often personal.
Rowena's own had been fraught with trial and tribulation, of exceptional successes, and equal failures.
To share it in such detail made her feel exposed, and yet, to share it with Harry and those that knew her well did not make her feel weak or even embarrassed but empowered in a way she'd not expected.
It was a knock at the door to her rooms that pulled her from her musings, and she finished scratching away at the letter she was writing before placing it within the book and casting a few charms on it, ensuring it would not be found until she was no longer here.
"Come in," she called, her voice already growing weaker than she was used to.
For a witch, she was not so old that she'd begun considering her mortality, but it seemed the stars had other ideas on the longevity to her life than her own.
With each passing day, the called to her, and Rowena knew that soon enough, her every essence would be amongst them.
"I should've known they would not be able to refrain from telling you," she sighed, offering the young man who entered a gentle smile.
Harry said nothing as he simply stared at her, and Rowena patted the chair next to her own.
Still, Harry did not speak, but he sat, his gaze never drifting from where it was fixed on her face.
It was love she saw in his eyes.
Not the kind of love he had only for his wife, but no less strong.
"Why do you cry, Harry?" she asked as tears began rolling silently down his cheeks.
He swallowed deeply and shook his head.
"Shouldn't I be?" he whispered.
Rowena offered him a smile.
"Too many think of death as such a terrible thing," she sighed. "I will not be here as you know it soon enough, but I will not be as absent as you might think. I will live on in the memories of those that knew me."
"It's not the same, is it?"
It hurt Rowena to see him so upset.
She hadn't forgotten that Harry had already lost his own mother and father, and to him, perhaps this felt similar.
"It's not," she agreed, "but what will be will be, and there's nothing we can do to prevent it. Do I wish I could stay longer? Yes, I do, but I have few regrets in my life, Harry. I was married to a man I came to despise, my daughter was lost to me long ago, but I prefer to think of the better things. I helped build a school that will survive the ages, and I even managed to reconcile with Helena. I will pass on earlier than intended, but I hope having achieved much."
"You will be remembered," Harry whispered sadly. "Even a thousand years from now, people will speak your name, but they will not know you as I do. Where I came from, you, and the others, were hailed as these great mystical beings that changed the world around them."
Rowena chuckled at the description.
"What do you think, Harry?" she asked curiously.
"I think they were right," he answered. "You are still these mystical beings but I will not spend my life in wonder of what made you all so incredible. I have lived to see it, and even experience it with you all."
Rowena nodded.
"And become a part of it," she pointed out. "I expect they will tell tales of you and your exploits too, much like they will with us. Perhaps it will be the four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Harry Potter, the dragonslayer, and whatever other monikers you adopt along the way."
Harry shook his head.
"I don't care for fame nor titles."
"I know," Rowena assured him, "but they will speak of it all, nonetheless. Your legacy is tied to the castle, Harry, and before I am to pass on, there are things I would show you, things others do not know of. If you would help me, I would quite like to take a walk."
Harry nodded and helped her to her feet.
Rowena did her utmost to hide her discomfort, but she could not hide the difficulty she had with walking.
Her health was indeed deteriorating rapidly, but there was nothing that would stop her fulfilling her final duties to the school, to her friends, and to the boy that so carefully guided her into the corridors of the castle that had become her home.
Fortunately, they needed only to ascend two flights of stairs to reach where she wished to take him, and as they arrived at the corridor on the seventh floor, Harry looked around confusedly.
"There's nothing here," he pointed out.
Rowena smiled, pleased that she had been able to hide her sanctuary well enough that even her very best could not sense it nearby.
"Isn't there?" she asked with a grin.
(Break)
He sipped his cup of ale and frowned as those who'd been here regaled him with what had happened.
"He'll find you, Carlton. He made it clear that you'd regret it if you made him look for you anymore."
"What could he possibly want with me?" Carlton murmured thoughtfully, his frown deepening. "Wait, could it be…?"
He'd been rather drunk the night he'd met with the man in Hogsmeade, but he remembered someone asking him about Harry Potter, amongst other things.
"Gamp," he whispered in realisation.
"Gamp?"
Carlton nodded.
"Shortly before he died, someone asked me about him, and about Potter."
"And you think this person had something to do with Gamp's death?"
"He must've," Carlton whispered, "unless he thinks I had something to do with it."
"No, but he probably knows you know something. If he thought it was you, he wouldn't be declaring his wish to speak with you publicly, would he? No, he'd just want you dead."
Carlton swallowed deeply as he tried his utmost to remember the night in Hogsmeade, but the memories of it were so vague.
He couldn't even remember what the man had looked like.
"White," he whispered. "The man said his name was Mr White."
"What man?"
Calton released a deep breath.
"No, he wouldn't of killed Gamp, would he?"
"Who?"
Carlton shook his head as he stood.
"I don't know, but if Potter is looking for me, it's safer if I find him first. I think I'll send him a letter and choose a place to meet."
(Break)
"This place…" Harry whispered. "It can become anything you want it to?"
"It can," Rowena said proudly. "It cannot provide you with riches and nourishment, but just about anything else you could wish for."
Harry could only shake his head at the woodland landscape the woman had created with nary a thought.
He'd doubted her, and foolishly so.
He could not simply fathom the possibility that such a room within the castle could exist, and yet, he was bearing witness to it himself.
"It is my greatest achievement," Rowena continued. "I thought that perhaps my diadem would be, and that I would never finish my work here, but there is nothing else magically possible that can be done with it."
"Your diadem?"
"A rather clever tiara I enchanted some years ago now. It is the very reason Helena and I did not speak for so long. She stole it from me but has vowed to see it return. I expect she will ask you to retrieve it when I am gone."
Harry suddenly felt his heart sink once more.
"Do not be sad for me, Harry," Rowena urged. "I would sooner see you celebrate my life than mourn my death. That is why I brought you here. None of the others know of it, but now, you do. It is my legacy, and I am giving it to you, along with something else I have prepared. Come, you will have many years ahead of you to explore the room. You may even find some surprises within along the way, and if you don't perhaps another will."
Once more, Harry took the woman carefully by the arm and led her back towards her rooms two floors below.
Depositing her in her seat, he could see how tired Rowena was from the efforts.
"The book," she said breathlessly. "I thought it might be of use to you."
Harry frowned as he picked up the large tome.
Opening it, he saw that most of the contents had been written in her own hand.
"More of my work in magic," Rowena explained. "Successes and failures. I thought perhaps you might quite appreciate it."
Harry could only shake his head as he thumbed through the pages.
"I'd sooner have you here."
His response elicited a teary smile from the woman.
"I know, but it's like I said, I will be, just not as I am now. It may be selfish of me to ask, but I would see my legacy continue, Harry. There is much I never managed to achieve that I so very wished to. You hold much of it in your hands, and I would not see my years here wasted. Use it, build on it, and I can die in peace knowing that all I have done is being cherished."
Harry nodded.
"I will cherish it with my life."
Rowena smiled once more and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
"I know you will, but for now, I fear I must rest. Do not fret, I'm not dying just now, but one day soon, I expect I will turn in for the night and not see the morning. That is just a part of life, Harry, and often, it coming to an end peacefully is the very best we can hope for. You'll understand that when you have lived as many years as me, though I hope you will see many more."
She spoke so candidly, and Harry could not find any words to offer in response.
Instead, he helped her into the bed by the window and placed a kiss on her cheek.
"Rest well," he whispered. "I'll be here every day."
Rowena rolled her eyes at him, but smiled, nonetheless, and as Harry took his leave of the room, he wiped the tears from his eyes once more, as numb and as devastated as he'd been when he arrived, unable to find the peace the woman wished for him.