Smuts

Smuts

Chapter One

~August 990~

Chill night air hit me like a wall as I stumbled through the tavern door. I'd forgotten to bring a cloak but told myself it was refreshing after the oppressive, sweaty heat of the overcrowded bar. Needing a cloak to walk a few hundred yards in summer would be weak, wouldn't it? Not pausing I began my drunken meandering path home through the sleeping streets of York.

Our house... I mean my house, it was only me then... was on Cold Blow Lane (I know, unfortunate), a distressingly narrow street lined with mismatched dwellings in various states of repair, or shall we say disrepair, my house being a particularly fine example of the latter.

Hitching my skirts to, unsuccessfully, hop over a suspect puddle I rounded the corner and saw that a golden light was coming from my little window. Firelight. An only partly alcohol induced feeling of panic rose in my stomach and I began desperately rubbing the smuts from my face. Someone was in there. I couldn't have left the fire burning.

Taking shallow breaths and hearing my heart beating so hard I was sure it would wake my neighbours I almost turned on my heel but my damned Gryffindor pride, or maybe the delicious cider, made me think the better of it. I marched fearlessly- even if not steadily- to the door, kicked it open- it wasn't that difficult, I told you my house was slightly dilapidated- drew my wand and scowled determinedly at the intruder who had dared to warm themselves at my grate.

There he was, my Godric, my adored Godric, my half brother who I hadn't seen in nine long years, reclining on a delightfully rickety, wooden chair by the fire. Scowl transfiguring instantly into a wide smile I hurried and knelt humbly in front of the chair just as I used to when I was a tiny child, the tiny, illegitimate child of his father, the great Edric Gryffindor, and a muggle maid. The Gryffindor's were famous in Yorkshire because, bravely, they were open about their magic. It didn't really matter; the muggles were too scared to move against them, preferring to prey on poor, old women. Cruelly, in my opinion, Mrs Gryffindor kicked my mother and I out when I began to show signs of magic and it was obvious who my real father was.

"Avelina! Thank Merlin I've found you," Godric exclaimed with his familiar ardour. "I thought that maybe you didn't live here anymore. There hasn't been a fire in that grate for months, if not more, and I didn't expect a young lady to be out alone so late." His eyes narrowed, "What have you been doing out alone so late?"

I looked away shiftily, knowing he wouldn't approve of the tavern, and especially not the cider, and definitely not the men I enjoyed it with. In turning my gaze slightly I caught a glimpse of the fire and so edged away even more shiftily. He leant towards me and I felt a warm, strong hand lifting my chin so he could look into my eyes. "I smell drink." I was right- he definitely didn't approve, judging by the look of pure contempt he gave me, but the gaze from his wonderful, grey eyes (the same as mine but more vivid, more full of expression) soon melted. "I was told about your mother. I'm sorry. I suppose it's understandable for you to seek some company." I looked away again.

Changing the subject, he said cheerfully, "Stand up straight and let me take a proper look at you." I did so. His eyes scanned my whole body and I felt suddenly naked in my thin gown which had an almost indecently low cut neckline. "You have grown Insect. Although I don't believe that name is appropriate anymore." The colour rose to my usually pale cheeks. As a youngster I was so little and skinny I earned that nickname but, he was right, I could definitely not be called that now. As one of my neighbours so eloquently put it, I had 'the body of a beautiful whore.'

"You haven't changed a bit, Godric." It was the truth. At twenty-six, seven years older than I, he still had his boyish good looks, the same roguish smile and curly chestnut hair as his father, which my mother had fallen for all those years ago.

Still smiling, seemingly captivated, he stood up and took a strand of my long, white blonde hair in his hand and began stroking my long, white neck with it. "Indeed, you have grown into quite the beauty."

I took the straying hand in mine and asked him, "What are you doing here?"

That snapped him out of his reverie and he sat back down, the chair groaning happily. I plonked myself- very elegantly I would say- onto a bench opposite, further from the harsh flames. "Well," he said, smiling, almost suggestively (but that was most likely me seeing through cider eyes), "I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?"

"You remember old Sal, don't you?" I nodded. Of course I remembered Salazar Slytherin, my brothers quieter but no less well-bred companion. I also remembered that the dignified young man hated to be called 'Sal.' "Well, we'd always thought that the education of our kind has been far too lackadaisical, especially since we live in such troubled times and children constantly have to hide their newfound skills. We thought it was a marvellous idea to create a place where their unique talents could be nurtured in relative peace. Roman wizards," He was always obsessed with the damned Romans, "had schools where their children could learn things like charms, potions, arithmancy and all the other wonderful secrets of wizarding kind. We thought we could copy." His eyes were sparkling with passion.

"It all sounds very nice Godric, but it does seem a little... far fetched." I was as entranced as he was by the idea but slightly sobered by the mystery of what this had to do with me, and I never had is vision.

"Farfetched," he laughed. "It's already a reality. We found a place in Scotland, far away from prying eyes. We have only a handful of students but we're doing well; it's been going for three years. Talk of our world. Not that you'll know living your obscure muggle life." He gazed around the shabby, little room pityingly. I bristled slightly then realised his reaction was understandable. The scruffy rushes on the floor, shutters hanging off their hinges and chamber pot didn't compare all too well to the beautiful mansion he'd grown up in. "The children are home for the summer right now."

Disbelievingly, I stared at him, wide eyed. "You and Salazar set up a school." It sounded absurd. "How on earth did you manage that?" They were brilliantly clever, both of them, but ... come on.

He shifted uncomfortably and a few parts of the chair moved with him. "A few people helped us."

"Who?"

"Rowena Ravenclaw."

I wrinkled my nose. Lady Ravenclaw was a notoriously sharp witted and just as sharp tongued woman from a fabulously wealthy Scottish wizarding family.

"I know," he said, "but she put masses of gold into the project and the land we used belonged to her family."

"Who else?"

This time he beamed proudly, "Helga Hufflepuff."

"Helga Hufflepuff," I mused. She was the most famous witch in Britain, if not the world. A great seer.

"Yes, Salazar wasn't sure about that, he's a little uppity about new money, but I soon persuaded him. Her name has been a great help in getting us pupils."

"I'm impressed, Godric. But what has this got to do with me?"

"Yes, yes, I was getting to that. Last year I hired your old friend Bertran Dee to teach potions."

"Professor Dee! How is he?" The venerable Bertran Dee had been hired by my father to teach me witchcraft when I left his house. I loved my lessons and drank up every shred of information he could possibly give me, my only contact with the wizarding world, except defensive magic, of course, my mother didn't approve of girls fighting.

"The old rascal is fine. We've been looking for someone to teach that new art of transfiguration and to my surprise, I didn't even know you had continued your studies, never mind excelled, he recommended you, my dear. The old fool came out with some fancy about you being able to turn yourself into a swan or something. What did he call it? Ani... Ani... oh!" He looked down and was obviously fairly shocked to be looking at a swan and not his sister- his sudden jolt finally did the chair in. From his pile of sticks on the floor he cried, "Well you could have warned me!"

Giggling as best I could with a beak, I concentrated and felt the familiar tickling sensation as my feathers retreated and slight pain as my bones expanded. "About the chair or the transformation?"

"Both!" he cried, scowl transforming with mirth. "What do you say? Please come and teach."

"Oh, of course, Godric." I had absolutely no experience of teaching or honest work, for that matter, but I would have agreed to clean the privies at that place for him.

"It's settled then. Now, any chance of a meal? I'm ravenous."

~