Shades of Grey

Chapter Two: Smoke

By Gemini



Shut out from him the bitter word
And serpent hiss of scorning;
Nor let the storms of yesterday
Disturb his quiet morning.
Breathe over him forgetfulness
Of all save deeds of kindness,
And, save to smiles of grateful eyes
Press down his lids in blindness.

- John Greenleaf Whittier

~ * ~

Spring, 954 A.D.

The morning sun glowed brilliantly on the forested fen. Its yellow rays streaked through the treetops, lighting the traveling company below. The second Founder was born two years after the first. This time, the birth was successful, the mother lived, and the father stayed.

The baby was strange. It lay still and silent, but was alive and breathing. Worried faces peered down from overhead, but they were ignored. The baby slept soundly.

The mother was troubled, and the father anxious. They remembered the legend: those born during a journey are destined to travel forever, from one place to the next, never belonging in one true home. They are fated to roam lands and towns, never ending.

The company was returning home from a trip to the north. They had spent much of the winter in a drafty castle that belonged to their kin, and it was time to return to their own home. The mother had gone into labour a long distance away from Nædrehus, the massive stronghold where the company was returning to. It was away on the horizon, sitting high on the hills. Only magical beings could see it from a long ways away; it was enchanted to appear like an unfriendly bog to non-magicals. She kept her eye on it as she went through the pain.

The father was proud. This was his wife's first child. Pure. Untainted. Ready to take on the family line. Ready to continue the family's work.

“Are you ready?” asked Olivier. The wind ruffled his light hair and beard which he tried to smooth down quickly. He gazed down with indifferent blue eyes to his wife. She was sweaty and her pale faced from the long labour, and Olivier was ready to go home.

Myriam looked down at her new child cradled in her arms. “Yes. I will be fine.” She began to sing softly.

The carts and wagons began to move again, carrying the baby and the parents home.

963 A.D. (Nine Years Later...)

“Come with me,” said Olivier. His dark cloak swished as he strode down the stone corridor. Salazar followed dejectedly. He knew where he was going. And he hated it.

Olivier walked through the corridors with long confident strides, while Salazar had to jog behind his father to keep pace.

They went through corridor after corridor. The tall ceilings greatly contrasted with regular non-magical castles, as did the archways and warm air. Magic was a very handy skill to have.

Finally, they stopped at the end of a long hall. A large green tapestry covered the end wall. Green and silver threads wove together to form a pattern of flowers and trees.

Oliver turned to Salazar, who was breathing heavily, and asked, “Do you remember the way to enter?”

Salazar nodded. He walked up to the tapestry as Olivier stepped to the side, surveying his son critically. He liked to make sure that Salazar knew the different ways in and out of the castle, and the magic needed to do so.

Stepping up to the tapestry, Salazar touched the threads. They shimmered into emerald light under his touch, and danced onto his fingertips as if to size him up. They retreated back into the tapestry, which gently rolled up of its own accord. A dark round hole stood in the wall.

Salazar looked at his father expectantly, but Olivier stared back empty of emotion. “Go on.”

Salazar stepped in hesitantly. He had only been down this corridor twice ever before, and he didn't like what had waited at the end of the tunnel.

A burning torch hung from the wall by the entrance, and Olivier grabbed it as he stepped in behind Salazar. As he took the torch off its holder, the tapestry rolled back down, letting little light inside.

Olivier stood waiting silently behind Salazar.

Salazar took a reluctant step forward, then began to slowly walk down the dark tunnel. His father followed wordlessly behind him.

The tunnel was long and seemingly endless, just like all the other corridors in their home. The problem with building a home from magic was that there were no limits on how far or sharp corridors could bend. Wizards could be a bit... eccentric. The rooms could be anywhere, and the doorways could lead from one floor to the next. It was a bit confusing for Salazar at times, but he loved to explore the secret passageways. They made him feel safe.

But this one did not. He knew where this tunnel would lead him. He had been to the end and back.

“Quickly Salazar, your mother is already down there waiting!” Olivier's voice was that of a teacher, not a father.

“Sorry, Father,” mumbled Salazar incoherently. He walked faster, with Olivier trailing on his heels.

As they approached the end of the tunnel, Salazar shivered involuntarily. Olivier didn't notice, as he was too distracted, and it was dark, even with the flickering torch. Their shadows glided along the walls seamlessly, and their footsteps echoed loudly on the hard floor.

The corridor came to an end, and Olivier placed the torch into the waiting bracket on the wall. A stone panel moved aside, big enough for even a large grown man to enter. Salazar could see the dungeons now. Together, they stepped out of the lightless tunnel and into a large dank cavern. Salazar couldn't even see the high ceiling. It stretched up like a sky does in a vast valley -- far away and limitless.

Myriam, who had been waiting in the dungeons, caught sight of her husband and son.

She rose from where she had been sitting - close to a little girl of six or seven years. She had been playing with the girl's light blonde hair and was singing a soft song. Motherly intentions, definitely, but the girl seem as if she was not taking them as such. The girl looked as if she would break into tears at any moment. She was non-magical of course, and Salazar knew what Myriam and Olivier would do to her. He always felt a slight discomfort watching them, but did so anyway. It was normal to do those sorts of things, wasn't it? Other wizards did it too. Maybe not the village wizards, but the big wealthy ones.

“You have arrived,” Myriam said. “Finally.” Olivier walked forward and placed his hand in her outstretched palm. They turned away from Salazar and walked toward the ten or so non-magicals chained to the dungeon walls. Their stance was commanding, and their aura, powerful. They reigned supreme in Nædrehus, and they knew it. They were like Adonis and his Aphrodite. Olivier lifted his arm slightly behind him and signaled for Salazar to follow.

He did so, slowly.

“Salazar.” Myriam's voice was lilting, playful. “Look what we have here for you.” The girl shrunk away as Myriam's hand reached toward her. “She is just a few years younger than you,” purred Myriam. “Come.”

Though he didn't want to, Salazar obeyed his mother's command. The girl was crying silently, wet tears streaking down her face.

“Watch.” His mother pulled out a long slender wand from the hidden pockets of her robes. Knowing what was coming next, Salazar stumbled backwards into his father's large frame. Olivier's hands clamped down on Salazar's shoulders as Myriam gravely declared, “Crucia!”

The little girl's shrieks echoed throughout the chambers.

967 A.D. (Four Years Later...)

“Let go!” Salazar struggled against his father's strong arms. “Let me go!”

Olivier roughly shoved Salazar away. His eyes glinted dangerously. “Why won't you do it?” His voice was angry, loud.

“I don't want to.” Their arguments always ended up like this. A never-ending battle between the two sides.

Olivier simply could not understand why Salazar refused to practice the Dark Arts. Time and time again had the boy defied his mother and father. Myriam had gone into hysterics after the third time Salazar resisted.

Salazar had a perfectly good reason why he didn't dabble in the Dark Arts: He didn't like it. He didn't want to work to become a Master of some Dark activity that he didn't have a care for. Salazar was like that, not caring about a lot of things. Why bother with the Dark if it couldn't help him be good?

A lot of powerful wizards enjoyed making the lives of non-magicals miserable, though not all did. It was mostly the high class, using non-magicals as servants. In this time of persecution, all wizards were on the same side. There was no Dark versus Light; it wasn't important. Only wizards versus non-magical. And even then, there were still certain groups on either side who were neutral, hoping that wizards and non-magicals could live together in harmony.

The majority of the population, both populations, disagreed. They claimed that non-magicals and wizards were as different as night and day. They could never live together in peace.

Wizards who chose to pursue the Dark Arts were almost like they were in a separate class. They believed in wizards winning over, dominating non-magicals.

“You can't force me to do it,” Salazar hissed angrily. “It isn't as if you could put a spell on me and force me to do something.”

“There should be,” spat Olivier. He drew himself up to his full height and looked down at Salazar. “I may not be able to force you, but I can punish you. Maybe then you will see what you're missing.” Before Salazar could react, Olivier had grabbed him and pinned his arms behind his back.

“What are you doing?” yelled Salazar.

“Silencia,” cried Olivier, using one arm to point a wand at Salazar.

His voice died out in the quiet air, broken by only the sounds of the struggle. Shuffling toward the end of the hall, Olivier deftly reached into Salazar's robes to take his wand away.

He dragged Salazar to the end of the corridor. Struggling to keep his son in his grip, he reached out an arm to open a small wooden hatch in the ground. Beneath the hatch was a small dark space, big enough to hold two people if they were crammed together. There were a few of these distributed throughout the castle especially for raiding purposes, in case non-magicals ever got in. No one would think of looking in the ground for victims.

Olivier pushed Salazar into the dark hole. Salazar's mouth opened wide in a silent scream as the hatch shut down on him, enclosing him in darkness.

“Obfirmus,” commanded Olivier. The hatch snapped firmly into place. He pocketed Salazar's wand and stood over the hatch, watching it vibrate as Salazar struggled to break free.

Inside the small space Salazar struggled desperately to break the hatch. He could see thin streaks of light shining through the small cracks in the wood, and a dark shape standing overhead.

His body grew hot and shaky as he beat rhythmically at the hatch, throat burning as he shouted himself hoarse. The only sound that came out was silence. The small space engulfed him in a wave of nausea, and he curled into an upright fetal position.

Olivier looked at the hatch for another moment, with an air of refined dignity. His robes were mildly wrinkled and his light hair was slightly tousled. He turned and walked back down the corridor. The banging grew softer as he walked further away, and disappeared as he turned from the long corridor to a shorter one. He stopped, breathing heavily. He heard footsteps approach and felt a gentle hand on his arm a moment later. He turned and saw Myriam looking up at him concernedly.

“Is he still being troublesome?” Myriam laid her cheek onto her husband's shoulder.

Olivier nodded. “We cannot force him. A wizard who becomes Dark under force always ends up destroying himself.”

“I know.”

“Where is he?”

“I put him into the hiding cell,” answered Olivier. Myriam nodded, accepting this as a perfectly natural action. “If we cannot force him, maybe we can persuade him.”

“I am sure he will be persuaded. One day.”

976 A.D. (Nine Years Later...)

“Salazar! Take the message, will you?” Olivier asked. A large tawny owl had just swept in through one of the windows and landed on the table. It fluttered about impatiently, and its feathers were soaked.

The rain poured down in torrents that day, and the owl looked as though it had flown a long way. Salazar plopped himself down in a chair by the table and held out some bread which the owl nipped at gratefully. Salazar untied the string that held the sealed parchment to its leg and pulled it away as the owl munched on its snack.

“It's the Hufflepuff seal, Father,” said Salazar.

“The Hufflepuffs?” Olivier furrowed his brow, then broke into a wide grin. “The Hufflepuffs! We have not heard from them for quite some time now. Let me see the letter.” He abandoned his conversation with David and walked over to where Salazar was sitting.

David was one of Salazar's various cousins. A good number of them were always at the castle at one time or another, along with aunts and uncles. Salazar mainly conversed with those his age though, like David, or Aline.

Taking the letter from Salazar's outstretched hand, Olivier broke the seal and began to skim the letter quickly. As he read further and further, his grin grew wider.

“They will be coming to visit,” informed Olivier after he finished reading.

David stood and came to where both Olivier and Salazar were, to peer at the letter from over Olivier's shoulder. He pushed his curly brown hair away from his eyes as he quickly read the letter. “Who are the Hufflepuffs?” He asked quizzically.

“Family friends,” Salazar said. He held out his hand to the owl.

“They are more than just family friends,” corrected Olivier. “They are also the most prominent Dark wizarding family ever.”

“The name sounds familiar. Where are they from?” asked David.

“They are a Viking clan,” replied Salazar. He turned to his father. “Why are they coming for a visit?”

Olivier looked at his son with a raised eyebrow. “Why do you think?”

Salazar remembered the last time the Olaf and his wife came to the castle. He had been seventeen and the two Vikings had left their daughter in Scandinavia to come for a traditional raid. They had invaded non-magical homes and taken a few non-magicals to have some fun with.

Salazar took a guess. “Are they coming for another raid?”

“Correct,” said Olivier happily. “In a fortnight, and they are bringing their daughter this time. She is your age, you know.” Salazar nodded. “They have probably already set sail by now. Olaf says to expect them soon, and he has left a few instructions.”

“What sort of instructions?” Asked David.

Olivier smiled. “They want to make this the biggest raid anyone has ever seen. It's their daughter's first time participating, and they want to let her see the height of wizarding power. Olaf said that she has been on one before, but that was a long time ago when you were both wee ones. But moving on, we are to recruit as many wizards as possible.” He looked at his son. “Salazar, why don't you take on this task? Take a few others to help.”

Salazar shrugged. “Alright. David, do you want to help me?”

David nodded. “Might as well. What else do the Hufflepuffs want us to do?”

“Prepare for the after-raid feast. It's tradition. I will ask Myriam to do that.”

“And what will you do?” Asked Salazar.

Olivier grinned. “I will send messages to the other families. This will be a great gathering of wizards.”

* * *

“Come this way,” cried Salazar. “There is a village just over these hills. Mostly non-magicals but there are still a good number of wizards.”

David and Leor, yet another cousin, flew to where Salazar was hovering, looking down on a village. One could look at them and mistake them for brothers: David, with his curly brown hair, looked like the calmer of the two, while Leor and his longer hair gave off the impression of a little brother who always got into trouble.

“Wizards living in a non-magical village?” Leor wrinkled his nose in disgust, making his normally sarcastic face look even more sour. “Why?”

David laughed and clapped Leor on the back. “It's not too bad,” he replied. “It isn't as if they are intermarrying.”

“Alright, listen now. I'll take that section of the village over there,” said Salazar, pointing to the back of the village. “David, you take those houses on the left. Leor, you go towards the right. Do you have the lists?”

They nodded. They were each carrying a piece of parchment paper -- lists of the known wizards and witches in the vicinity and their homes. Olivier had tried to form a council a few years ago, and called on all wizards and witches to reveal their homes in the time of non-magical persecutions. It was for safety reasons, Olivier had said.

They began to dismount their broomsticks with discomfort. Flying broomsticks had been in use for about twenty years or so, but comfort still had not improved. The three wizards grimaced as they dismounted, and threw the broomsticks to the ground disgustedly.

“I wish they'd come up with a way to make these more comfortable,” grumbled Leor. His blonde hair was windblown and he tried frantically to straighten it.

“They are uncomfortable, but nothing we can't handle. At least we can travel quicker,” said David. The two cousins liked to bicker amiably about almost everything.

“They don't even fly straight! You have to steer as hard as you can to the left in order to make a decent turn.”

“Well, that's true, but...” David was at a loss for another point to defend his beloved broomsticks.

Salazar grinned at his cousins. “Let's go.”

The three of them abandoned their broomsticks and made their way down the hills toward the sleepy village. The rain had let up for a bit, but the ground was still wet and muddy.

It was a modest-sized village. Not a big town or city, but it was big enough. There were non-magicals walking around the village, carrying goods or on their way to the farmlands. It was a typical village that one heard about in children's stories -- those sleepy little ones with birds chirping in the background, pretty little children playing in the square, and perfectly thatched roofs. But under the façade of a seemingly normal village, there was that hint of magic, the magic that kept the village so beautiful. The villagers never knew what it was that made them such a countryside haven, but they didn't question a good thing.

The three young men parted ways, and Salazar headed toward the back of the village. A few non-magicals gave him strange looks, not recognizing this newcomer, but Salazar recognized a few wizards and tipped his hat to them. Not a wizard's hat, of course, otherwise he'd be captured and killed in seconds.

He looked at the first name on his list. William. Frowning, he tried to see if he could recall a wizard named William and failed. He probably just hadn't participated in the last raid.

He stepped up to a small home and knocked gently on the door. There was silence within, then footsteps growing louder as someone approached the door.

The door creaked open and a man with dark hair and hazel eyes peered out. “Are you William?” Asked Salazar. He nodded, and looked suspiciously at the man who stood on his doorstep. After a moment, his eyes widened with recognition.

“You're of the Slytherin, aren't you?” Asked William. Salazar merely nodded.

William held the door open wider so Salazar could step in. The home was modest, with a small bed of straw and a few pieces of cloth here and there. Even William's clothing was nothing fancy -- just dark trousers and a black tunic.

“My wife and son are out at the moment, but they will be home soon so you must hurry.”

“Why must I hurry?” Asked Salazar, frowning.

William sighed. “They are non-magicals. Well, my wife is. I'm sure Thomas must have a bit of magical blood in him though.”

Salazar smiled inwardly, thinking about Leor's comment on intermarrying.

“Well, you may not want to join in then,” said Salazar, shrugging. “A Viking clan will be coming for a raid and they want as many wizards as possible to join them. A feast will be held afterward at Nædrehus.”

“A raid?”

“A raid on non-magicals. This village.” Salazar kept his face blank. It was a bit hard to try and tell a man that his village was about to be burned down in a week's time.

“This village? You are going to raid this village? There are wizards here!” William grew more furious by the minute.

“And that is why we are recruiting them for the raid. And we won't burn it down completely,” said Salazar offhandedly. “Just a few fires here and there.”

“What about my wife?” Asked William. He glared at Salazar. “And my son?”

Salazar sighed. “Look, if you want them to be safe, just make sure they are out of the village when it happens.”

“When?”

“In seven days, during the afternoon.”

William's face was hard to read. “Fine. I will keep them away from the village. But I will not join you.”

Salazar raised an eyebrow. “You will not join us?”

“No.”

“Have it your way then. But make sure to stay away during the raid. You don't want two Dark families to get their hands on you. They are a bit cold towards wizards who do not hate non-magicals.”

“What about all the wizards in this town? How do they feel about them?”

“The wizards in this town need someplace to live. Do you think they live here just because it's a non-magical community?” Salazar asked. “The wizards here need their food and skills. We do as well, but we've managed to bring the non-magicals into our own home. They work for us.”

William was silent. Obviously, he knew that when Salazar said 'work,' he meant 'were captured and have no choice but to serve.'

“Just make sure you aren't here when it happens,” said Salazar. He turned and walked out of the small home.

Breathing in the cold air, he exhaled a puff of steam and walked to the next home.

* * *

One Week Later...

Salazar was in the sitting room with his mother and cousins as they waited for the Hufflepuff clan to arrive. An owl had arrived earlier to deliver a short message: “We are here and docking now. Wait for us to come soon.” Despite the emptiness of the message, the workers of the Slytherin castle were in a frenzy state of cleaning, arranging and beautifying the décor. The non-magical servants were being put to the test.

The statues and tapestries depicting magical beasts were moved out. Olivier had been particularly proud of the Welsh Green dragon-hide that was spread out across the room's floor. The Slytherin family also prided themselves on tapestries. They were everywhere, covering the boring stone walls. Green, silver, black and gold -- they gave off a very cultured feeling. Quite fitting for Nædrehus' inhabitants.

“I can see them on the hills!” cried Myriam. She left her sitting place at the window and hurried out of the room to inform Olivier.

Salazar walked to the window to peer out at the grassy valley. He could see a large group of wizards hiking slowly toward the castle. There was a mass of light hair, but a few dark-haired wizards as well. There were a few wizards on horses -- the head of the clan, Olaf, and his immediate family, Salazar assumed. The servants walked, as did many of the other family members. He could spot bundles and baskets being carried, and a few carts being wheeled slowly up toward the castle. Away by the ocean, their massive ship was docked at harbour.

“Let me see,” said Leor eagerly. He and David both were not at the last raid, and had not yet met the Hufflepuffs.

“That big one at the front there is Olaf,” said Salazar, pointing to a head that rose above the rest. “He's the leader.” David joined them at the window. “And that must be his wife and daughter with him.” They squinted, but could not make out the appearance of the daughter.

“My mother and father keep on telling me that she's my age,” said Salazar. “I think they're trying to hint at something.”

“If she is your age, that means she is our age too,” said David, grinning. Salazar and Leor looked at him and began to laugh.

The three cousins laughed and punched each other good-naturedly.

“What's so funny?” A tall witch with straight brown hair entered the room. Her white robes were pristine and seemed a bit out of place among the three joking boys.

“Aline!” Leor strode over and led her to the window. “Look, they are almost here.”

Aline looked out the window toward the traveling party, which was now entering the castle. She grinned. “Tonight will be a good night.”

“Salazar!” His uncle, Gideon, entered the room. “They have arrived. Come say hello.” He vanished as quickly as he came.

Salazar looked at his three cousins, his friends. “Let's go.” They raced out of the room together.

“This way,” said Aline, heading toward a corridor by a window.

“No, this way will be faster,” said Salazar. “That corridor winds too much, this one will lead us straight there.” He led them through an enchanted corridor that was almost empty of any embellishment. Olivier and Myriam preferred not to bother putting their woven tapestries or magical statues in the lesser known corridors, especially if the only person who used them was Salazar. They preferred to travel through the main corridors themselves.

This one was like any other traveling corridor -- dark and absent for the light of magical candles that never burned themselves out. It was tedious seeing them day after day with nothing to look at along the way, but Salazar was used to it.

“Salazar, your castle is too confusing,” complained David. Salazar glanced back and saw both David and Leor pull out their wizard hats from inside their robes -- probably to impress Olaf's daughter.

“Relax, David,” said Aline. “Once you get used to it, it isn't so bad.” Aline had spent many summers at the castle, and knew her way around almost as well as Salazar did. Almost.

When they reached the bottom, there were a large number of wizards milling around in the front hall. Olaf's big frame stood out among the crowd, but his wife and daughter were nowhere to be seen.

“Ah, here he is!” Olivier, who had been chatting with Olaf, turned and spotted the group of four. He beckoned Salazar and his cousins over.

“Olaf, you remember Salazar, don't you?”

“But of course,” said Olaf. His voice was low and gruff. He reminded Salazar of a giant bear, especially with his light shaggy hair and furry pelts. His face was weatherworn and he had a short beard that was carefully groomed. “He was just becoming a man last time I saw him. What happened?” He and Olivier burst into loud laughter, joined by David, Leor and Aline. Salazar laughed weakly along.

“No worries, Salazar!” Olaf clapped a giant hand on Salazar's back, almost knocking him over. “Are you ready for tonight?”

Salazar nodded. “We have recruited the wizards as you requested.”

“Good. Now, who is this pretty, young lady might I ask?” Aline blushed.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Olivier. “This is Aline, David, and that is Leor. They are my niece and nephews.”

Olaf nodded at them. “I would like to introduce my wife and daughter to you, but the weather has been harsh on my daughter. She is not feeling too well and requested a rest as soon as we arrived.” Leor and David looked disappointed.

“I hope she will be well by tonight,” remarked David. “It would be terrible for her to miss the raid that she traveled so far for.”

“I am sure she will be,” said Olaf. He turned to Olivier. “I would like to go over our plans for tonight. Can you fill me in after I tend to my family? And perhaps Salazar would like to help as well?” He did not mention David or Leor.

“Salazar and I, and a few of my comrades, will go over tonight's plans with you when you are not busy,” said Olivier. “Now, I will show you to your bedchambers.” He led Olaf away without another word, but turned around right before disappearing into the crowd. “Salazar!”

Salazar sighed. “I must go,” he said to David, Leor and Aline. “Father beckons.”

“Maybe you will be able to catch a glimpse of Olaf's fair daughter now,” said Leor mischievously. Salazar grinned back as he headed toward the staircase.

There were a lot of people gathered in the hall, but spotting Olaf was easy. Salazar politely pushed his way through the crowd and hurried toward the men's retreating forms.

The hall was a bit quieter as they walked away from the crowds and to the other end of the castle. The long corridor went through the center of the castle so there was little sunlight that shone in. Enchanted candles flickered from their sconces on the walls, and the few paintings that hung from their hooks seemed dark and gloomy. If Salazar hadn't known any better, he'd have thought they were walking underground because of the lack of light.

To a non-magical, the castle would have been terrifying, but wizards were used to the sunless corridors and rooms. Besides, they had magic to make up for it.

They came to the end of the passageway and a large hall appeared. Green tapestries adorned the walls like jewels.

“Your daughter is in here,” said Olivier, gesturing to a closed door. “Myriam and Thora are inside with her.”

Olaf nodded. “I will be just a moment then.” He knocked on the door and entered. Salazar could see glimpse of a figure on the bed, but the door closed behind Olaf before he could make out who it was.

Olivier and Salazar waited silently in the hall until the door reopened.

“She is resting well,” informed Olaf. “Thora and the servants are tending to her.”

“Good,” said Olivier. “Now, I will show you to your bedchambers.” He led them into a doorway nearby.

The room was big enough to rival Salazar's own bedchambers. It was homey, though not lived-in like Salazar's. This room was reserved for the guests, especially the important ones. It loomed like a fortress tower -- very forbidding and intimidating.

It was a bit heavy on the Dark décor, Salazar noted. A small statue of a Doxy faerie stood on the table by the bed, and if he stared hard enough, the little eyes moved back and forth.

The handles of the wardrobe were shaped like Kneazles, and around the enchanted candles dance tiny pixies. The room seemed to scream out wealth. Olaf nodded approvingly. “It isn't home, but it will do I guess.”

Olivier smiled, almost coldly. Their home was among the best in the land, and he prided himself on it.

Olaf walked closer to the wardrobe to inspect its handles. “Kneazles! I have heard that you were responsible for breeding them. That is a remarkable feat. Is it true?”

Nodding, Olivier replied, “It took years of work, but I've found a species that I am satisfied with. We should show you our breeding stables when the raid is over. It has changed much since you last came. Perhaps your daughter would be interested? I am sure Salazar wouldn't mind taking her for a private tour around our home.”

Salazar rolled his eyes when the two men weren't looking. “Of course I wouldn't mind,” he said.

“That would be very generous of you,” said Olaf. “Now, I am quite finished looking at my bedchambers. Show me your plans for tonight.”

* * *

“Are we all present?” Olivier's firm voice rang out across the room.

Salazar sat near the head of table by Olivier, and Olaf was down at the other end. David and Leor were able to join after all, along with various men from Olaf's tribe and Olivier's company. Also included were wizards from all over the lands. Hugh, an extremely well-known wizard in England, sat by Olivier and Thorvald, Olaf's close friend, sat at the other end of the long table. They were all staying in Nædrehus for the time being.

“We're all here, let's bring out the plans,” said Hugh. He was a small wizard, with light yellow, almost white, hair. His blue eyes looked troubled as Salazar took out the hastily scribbled map from the pile of paper and spread it out in the middle of the long table. Salazar dismissed the look as nervousness.

He pulled out his wand and jabbed it on the map.

“This is the castle, right here. The village is over the hills in this direction.” Salazar's wand traced a lazy path toward the village. “It won't take long to make the journey, but we'll have to do it quietly.”

“Non-magicals aren't as stupid as some wizards think,” Olaf interjected. There was a moment of silence, then the entire company burst into laughter.

“Now, there's just a matter of carrying equipment, establishing meeting points and distributing tasks,” continued Salazar.

Once again, Olaf intervened. “You are making this too complicated, Salazar. It is a raid. We attack, plunder, and escape.”

His brothers and comrades loudly expressed their agreement.

“As you wish,” said Salazar, shrugging. He rolled up the parchment and tucked it safely into his green cloak. He didn't particularly care whether they ran in unplanned or mapped out their entire course. He just wanted to get it done, and quickly. The faster it was over, the better. But he assumed not everyone present would agree with him.

“Maybe we should use broomsticks,” commented David. “It'll help us get there faster.”

The others sitting at the table winced. Thorvald shook his head.

“Don't you think broomsticks are a bit uncomfortable?” Asked Hugh. “They help with speed, but we're not looking for speed tonight.”

“Alright, fine,” said David. “But one day, broomsticks will be popular; you'll see.” Leor just laughed at him.

“Now, on to the actual raid,” said Olaf. “We agreed on fire, correct?”

“Yes,” answered Olivier. “Burn the village.”

“Completely?”

“Well... Why not?”

Olaf narrowed his eyes in concentration. “It would be fun, but perhaps those muggins would be more upset if they had to rebuild their village instead of just abandoning it.”

“Muggins?”

“Fools,” explained Olaf. “But on to more pressing matters: How many wizards are going to help? All, I hope?” His steely gaze was threatening.

Salazar looked to David and Leor. “Yes, all of them will help.” He thought about that man he had met, William, but decided against mentioning him.

“Most of them will help,” corrected Leor. “Some of the townswizards were unwilling. A lot of them, actually.”

“Unwilling?” Olaf became angry. “Unwilling?”

“Well, to be fair, Olaf, it is their village as well,” said Hugh. He winced as Olaf banged his fist on the table.

“They are wizards! Our kind! And they refuse to help us?”

“They did not refuse,” pleaded Leor. “They just did not agree to help.”

Olaf shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “That is their choice then. We cannot help it if we destroy their homes as well.”

Olivier frowned. “Any wizard who does not join us is not necessarily against us.” Though he liked to look down upon non-magicals as much as he could, Olivier did not think any less of wizards who did not. It was a hard time, after all. The magical beings had to band together instead of causing strife from within.

“They will learn.” Olaf's voice was cold. “And if their decision is to side with non-magicals...” He trailed off.

“Don't dwell on it,” advised Thorvald. “For now, we must concentrate on the raid.”

“Raid!” The company yelled and whooped together as they rose from the table.

* * *

A cold breeze nipped at the faces of the men and women standing together in the field. The clouds had been heavy earlier that morning but by now had parted away and moved further and further beyond the horizon. Salazar watched the crowd from high above in a tower window.

Olaf stood on the platform of a small wagon, and his already large frame loomed even higher, like a god on a pedestal. “Does everyone have their wands?” His booming voice traveled over the heads of the hyped up raiders -- Norse and English. A deafening roar sounded out as they raised their wands in unison. A few sparks shot out of some of the wands, obviously from a few overexcited wizards. Salazar could see his cousins in the front of the crowd, right by Olaf. A few carts and horses stood at the back of the crowd -- the horses on which rode Olivier, Myriam and Hugh.

“Are you ready to attack?” The roar grew louder, more urgent. It resembled a rumble of thunder, but Salazar supposed that was what they were -- thunder, ready to attack by way of lightning. Olivier waited until the roar reached its crescendo and died down, like stormy ocean waves breaching each other, too fast to control. He was playing this moment to its finest.

Olaf raised his wand and let off sparks and embers. “For magicals everywhere!” The surge of men and women pressed forward as one as their cry grew louder again. This raid was for the wizards and witches who had died at the hands of the non-magicals. This raid was for the right of the living magical to be free. This was for purity.

Salazar had decided to stay behind for a bit until the raiding part was over and only the burning and capturing would be left. Aline had stayed behind too, but only because she was too afraid to get dirty. A few witches participated, but most chose to stay in the dungeons to receive prisoners instead.

He waited until the crowd crossed the hills, and then set out himself. That would give them some time to do the attack first.

It wasn't that Salazar was against attacking non-magicals. It was just that he didn't feel a particular need to.

Throughout his entire life, he had not sought out non-magicals to torment. That was what Olivier and Myriam did. As a child he was brought down to the dungeons to have him become used to the screams, but instead of encouraging him they just pushed him away. Olivier would lock Salazar in a hiding chamber for hours, sometimes even lasting up to a day. All this had accomplished was Salazar's decreasing love for his father.

Olivier and Myriam had stopped trying to push Salazar when he was seventeen, on the first raid. Salazar had accompanied them, but didn't make any move to be aggressive toward the non-magical village. They decided to just let him be, though it was clear that they were disappointed. From then on, they liked to pretend that Salazar was just as Dark as they were, but they knew it not to be true.

Salazar, being the way he was, did not care whether he was Dark or not. Sure, it had its advantages, like being powerful, but he couldn't be bothered to actually seek out a Dark status. It didn't matter where he was or what he was, as long as he had a bit of fun doing it.

“Salazar, shouldn't you be going with them?” Aline's voice shook him out of his thoughts. He turned to see her standing in the doorframe, looking suspicious.

“I'm going right now,” he replied. “Excuse me.” He walked past her but pushed his shoulder into hers, causing her to stumble back slightly.

“They'll find out, you know,” she called after him.

He ignored her. Aline had always known about his neutral decision, and enjoyed teasing him about it. It wasn't a sin to not hate non-magicals, just a bit strange. Especially if you came from a family like the Slytherin.

Continuing down a magical corridor, he left the castle with his wand ready.

Already there was smoke wafting from the village. He couldn't see the village over the hills, but the smoke was apparent. It was drifting endlessly and disappeared into the sky, wisps of grey wandering over the land.

He walked tirelessly until he came to the entrance to the village. It was not as he remembered. The sleepy village was no longer from a fairy tale. It was on fire, burning with flames that wouldn't stop. They were high now, shooting into the sky. A little boy was standing near the entrance. Probably a non-magical, judging by his clothing. He wore a brown tunic, a brown shirt and a brown belt. He even had light brown hair that was plastered to his face. No wonder wizards liked to dress in bright colours, this boy looked downright boring. But he was staring into the village desperately, as if searching for something, or someone.

The boy caught sight of Salazar and backed away slowly.

Salazar tucked his wand away and held up his empty hands. “I won't hurt you, it's alright.” The little boy ignored him and ran in the opposite direction, disappearing from sight. Rather than pursuing him, Salazar walked over to where the boy had been standing. A basket lay fallen, cloth spilling out.

He was about to turn away, but something caught his eye. A black wizard's hat had fallen out. He stooped down to pick it up.

It was of good quality, but he failed to think of a reason why a non-magical boy would have it.

Shrugging, he tucked it into his cloak. Might as well put the hat to good use.

The heat of the fires was becoming too intense. Salazar pulled out the map that Olaf had refused, and squinted at the tiny writing. A wizard's market was just about a mile away, and the map left instructions on how to enter it. He put the map away again and headed for the market, leaving the flames behind.

There was a regular market as well, with a few non-magicals. The map had said that there was always an empty stall, and magical beings could enter it and the wizarding market would appear behind the non-magical one. Naturally, it was charmed to repel anyone non-magical.

Salazar ignored the other market patrons and stepped into the empty booth.

A non-magical vendor quickly hurried over, exclaiming, “Wait, you can't go in there!” But his eyes glazed over as he approached. Quickly hurrying off, he called back to Salazar, “Can't talk, I have pressing matters to attend to!”

Salazar shook his head and stepped away from the booth and into the now-visible wizard's market. It was crammed full of wizards from the raid.

A stall nearby was selling clothing, of all things. Of course, wizards who were not peasants didn't make clothes themselves, so trading for specially made hats and robes was normal. Also, they were too impatient for their non-magical servants to make them the way they wanted it. Salazar walked over to the vendor and held out the hat he had found.

“Care to trade?”

The vendor looked at the hat, unimpressed. He was wearing a fancy yellow hat and yellow and black robes himself, giving the impression of a very energetic bumblebee.

“There's nothing special about that hat,” he said to Salazar. “The only thing you'd be able to trade for that is another hat just like it.”

“Actually,” began Salazar, inspiration hitting, “it's a very magical hat. Brings good luck to the wearer.”

The vendor looked at him suspiciously. “How would you know?”

“A servant made it for me and I charmed it, but I already had a good hat, so here I am about to trade it for one of your fine cloaks.”

The vendor grinned. “Brings good luck, eh? Alright then, take your pick of cloaks. But not those.” He pointed to some that were obviously very expensive. They were also fairly bright in colour. They were the sort of things flashy old ladies wore.

Salazar sighed, handing over the hat. “I'll take that one.” He pointed to a green cloak, similar to the one he wore already, but more formal.

“Deal,” said the vendor. He took the robe from the stall and handed it to Salazar.

Salazar left the stall carrying his new cloak, and could hear the wizard saying to himself, “Good luck hats. What will they think of next?”

“Aha, there he is! Salazar!” Salazar turned around to see David and Leor waving him over.

“Where have you been?” Asked Leor.

“Just having a bit of fun in the village,” he lied. “What's happening now?”

“Olaf is still here somewhere with his daughter, but we can't find them. Your father already left for the castle,” explained David. He was sporting a new hat, obviously from the vendor Salazar had just traded with.

“Is the raid over, then?” Asked Salazar. “That was quick.”

“Well, there are a few raiders still in the village, taking any last non-magicals. And some have headed out to other villages by now, just for a bit of fun. But otherwise, a lot of them are carrying the captured non-magicals back to the dungeons.”

Salazar nodded. “Alright then, let's head back as well. We'll see Olaf and his daughter tonight at the feast.”

Together, the three of them made their way back to the castle.

* * *

“Salazar, is that a new cloak?” Myriam had poked her head into the doorframe of Salazar's bedchambers and spotted her son trying to choose a cloak to wear.

“Yes, I traded it at the market,” he said lazily. “Do you think this hat will match?”

Myriam nodded. “You will probably just take it off mid-feast anyway,” she said. “It always gets warm in the feast hall. Too many candles and people, and your father still insists on charming the room to make it even warmer.”

“Is there anything you wanted, Mother?” asked Salazar.

“Just wanted to make sure you will be looking your best tonight. Olaf and Thora's daughter will be present, and you know how useful it would be if our families merged. Be prompt.” She winked at her son and then left the room.

Salazar sighed. He finished fastening his cloak at the neck, and ran his fingers through his light hair. Sure, he had had a few girls over time, but wizarding tradition called for marriage in the mid-twenties or so. Being only twenty-two years of age, he was getting closer to having to find a suitable wife. Perhaps he wouldn't marry anyone; perhaps he'd just roam the lands, have some fun here and there. But Olivier and Myriam would be so angry they'd hunt him down and force him to produce an heir for the family.

Women generally married a bit younger, but Salazar had a feeling that Olaf and Thora were letting their daughter wait for him. Their family friendship traced a long way back.

He put his hands into the small handbasin on the table and splashed his face with warm water. He stared at his reflection, watching it move back and forth as the water collided on the sides of the container. He didn't look too bad, he figured. Grey eyes, freckles... he wished he could do something about his facial structure though. He looked impish, like he was always up to something mischievous.

There was another knock at the door. It was David, and he didn't look happy.

“Salazar, we have a slight problem,” he said hesitantly.

“What is it?”

“There is a non-magical woman we captured, and she's claiming she's a witch.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“She had a letter with her.” David entered the bedchambers and held out a crumpled parchment letter to Salazar.

He inspected the broken seal closely. It seemed familiar. Skimming it over quickly, he looked up in disbelief. “The daughter of Hugh of the Ravenclaw? But Hugh said she was dead.”

David shrugged. “What shall I do with her?”

Thinking quickly, Salazar ran the different options through his mind. The daughter of Hugh was here, in his home. She had been missing for so long, and now she was here? What would Hugh say?

“Have Aline go with you,” said Salazar. “She can take Rowena to her bedchambers and prepare her for the party. Hugh will be... surprised, to say the least.”

David nodded. “Right away.” He vanished again.

Salazar sat down heavily on his bed. 'Surprised' was the wrong word. Shocked, definitely. No. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. This might not be her. It might just be a non-magical who somehow had gotten her hands on the letter.

It didn't matter. What mattered was that a woman was here who claimed to be Hugh's daughter. What also mattered was that Hugh was here as well.

Sighing, he rose from the bed and made his way down to the feast hall. Perhaps it will solve itself out.

There were already a lot of guests as he pushed the door open. There was Hugh as well, chatting with some of Salazar's kin. Aline was nowhere to be seen, probably still tending to the woman.

The room was filled with dancing witches and feasting wizards. He could hear music floating in the background, probably coming from someone's wand. It was unusually warm, but that was because of the sheer number of people in the room, and the hot food that let off steam in the air. It was a bit stuffy, and the air smelled very much of cooked chicken and fresh baked bread.

Salazar surveyed the room and did not notice Olivier marching up to him. Olivier's formal robes were green and silver, and Salazar noted with disgust that he looked very much like a snake. Salazar hated snakes. They were long and looked slimy. And those tongues, flickering in and out rapidly... He shuddered involuntarily, but Olivier didn't notice.

“Where have you been?” He hissed. “They are waiting for you.”

“Who?” Salazar asked, confused.

“Olaf's family,” Olivier answered. He sighed impatiently. “Come with me.”

Grabbing his arm, Olivier led him toward Olaf's towering form. Myriam was there, as was Thora, Olaf's wife. Standing with them was a young woman - Olaf's daughter. She was beautiful; there was no doubt about that. Her face was sharp, and her cheekbones were high upon her face. Her eyes looked like the dark jewels that adorned her neckline and wrists. The light yellow and white robes she wore were so clean and refined that Salazar knew that they must have been prepared by servants. She seemed exotic, not quite like a Norsewoman. Instead of the usual light hair, hers, like her family's, was dark, long and shone like silk. She wore it in tight plaits that shimmered slightly. Salazar figured she used a few charms to beautify herself; he had never seen a woman naturally look like she did.

She did not seem very happy. Her dark eyes were downcast, and Salazar frowned at the bruise that marred her cheek.

“He is here at last,” cried Olivier jovially. The waiting company looked to see Olivier approach with Salazar in tow.

“Wonderful,” Olaf boomed. He and Thora looked at each other proudly. “Salazar, we would like you meet our daughter, Helga.”

Helga raised her head and looked at him, emotionless. She nodded acknowledgement, but did not say a word.

Salazar raised an eyebrow. Well, if this is the way she wants it...

“Enchanted to finally meet your acquaintance,” he said, bowing low. He took Helga's hand and kissed it lightly.

She couldn't help but offer a slight smile, though it did not meet her eyes.

Salazar saw Thora silently admonish her daughter with her eyes. Thora gave an almost bear-like impression herself, just like her husband, only slightly smaller and not as aggressive. Again with the light hair, Salazar noted.

“It is... enchanting to meet you as well,” Helga finally said, slightly curtseying. Her yellowish robes folded on the floor as she dropped down low.

“Let us leave the young ones to themselves, eh?” Asked Olaf, winking at Salazar. “I am sure they will not be interested in our political talk.”

Salazar was left with a feeling of dread as they walked away, leaving him to stay with the sullen woman.

“Well,” he began. He tried to think of something to say. “Would you like to dance?”