Live When There Is Time

Thump. Bump. Thud. Bang.

Maia was exhausted to the point of delirium. They had left at dawn and had now been travelling for hours and hours; it was dark again. The carriage she was sitting in was probably luxurious and magnificent from contemporary point of view; to her it was merely a rectangular wooden box on wheels. It bounced, jolted, banged and shook its way forward on the deeply rutted frozen road.

Despite the abundant cushions and covers in which she was buried she was bruised all over, had a headache and one of her legs was lost to the world. Not to mention the stabbing bursts of pain in the healed bones of her legs and hands; cold always made them ache.

The door on her right side was merely covered with a thick curtain. It was bitterly cold inside and she could only imagine the discomfort of their escorts, who rode on archaic brooms around the coach; seventh-year students by the look of them. If she peeked out, she could see nothing; only hear cloaks whipping in the wind.

Adding to her misery was the wizard across her. Slytherin was bundled up similarly to her, half-vertical, having put his feet on Maia's seat next to her, and apparently sleeping. He looked for all the world like he was dozing on a downy mattress in a warm bed back at Hogwarts, not in a padded furiously shaking ice-box on wheels.

Maia sighed dejectedly and tried to concentrate on her book, The Satyricon; she had got as far as the Banquet of Trimalchio. It was Slytherin's answer to her shy plea for something to read during the journey. The uninterrupted lines of Latin danced in her eyes like a bundle of worms in the dim light of her wand, but it was a novel. She was not yet fluent enough to understand half of it, but it was better than nothing.

Thump. Bump. Thud. Bang.

It rankled her a bit that Slytherin would utilise even leisure reading to make her improve her Latin skills. Though, in a show of unexpected consideration, he had also given her The Dyskolos by Menander. Sadly, it was short in the way of plays and she had finished it long ago.

A week had passed in a flurry of activity after she had become Slytherin's betrothed. He wanted them to be wed in the House of Slytherin in a place he called Venta Icenorum. Like every self-respecting Slytherin, Maia knew that, when they still existed, the Slytherin family had had an ancestral manor in a small town by the modern name of Caistor St Edmund in Norfolk. Venta Icenorum had to be the Roman name for it.

She also knew that it was a long way from Hogwarts to Norfolk, and tried to accept the fact that she would be sitting in the carriage longer than she dared think. Giving a loathing glance to both Slytherin and The Banquet of Trimalchio, she cast the tiresome book aside and decided to reread Dyskolos.

Thump. Bump. Thud. Bang.

"In a fortnight you will be leaving for the south, too, won't you, Lord Gryffindor?"

Godric Gryffindor, who had been sitting by the fire, was woken from idle ruminations by the soft voice of Mistress Helga from the other side of the room. "Yes. You know him as well as I do. Not one to neglect traditions, and he'll need the male witnesses. He invited me very cordially to attend."

Hufflepuff shifted the position of her wand above her embroidery a bit, and the dancing needles changed their courses slightly; an intricate pattern of scales began to form in the picture of a Caledonian Quadricapital. "To be frank, I must admit I pity the Lady Maia a bit. I fear Lord Slytherin won't be kind to her." In the firelight her pale eyes glinted, revealing nothing.

Gryffindor shifted in his chair. "I don't know what to think. I now feel a bit embarrassed, you know. I asked her hand for Aethelred. I apologise for asking your assistance on the matter. I'm now beginning to think she was sent from Constantinople to marry our companion. Sometimes it feels that the Slytherin kin plans everything ahead for centuries." He stared at the fire. "They have never truly grown roots in this land, either."

"You don't need to apologise; I supported the idea of my own free will. It would have bound Lord Slytherin more firmly to this school."

Both sat in companionable silence for a while. Often the founders, save Slytherin, conversed here on random subjects they found interesting but not controversial; there was an underlying, ever-present tension in their relations.

Hufflepuff was still thinking of Lady Maia, who in her opinion had been a queer mixture of timidity and sporadic, frosty self-importance. "I only spoke with her a few times, mainly during meals when Lord Slytherin brought her down to eat," she said musingly. "What do you think she did all those long days, with only herself for company? She did lose all her familiar maid-servants in that shipwreck."

Gryffindor had not given thought to what a lonely foreign woman - or any woman, at that - might do with her time. In his mind, there was the women's world and the men's world and, ideally, the two should not be mixed. Mistress Helga and Lady Rowena were exceptions to the rule, the former being a widow, the latter not of the marrying kind; they were iron-willed women, practically male, and lived accordingly. And good work they did, too, training those girls.

"I gather that Slytherin had her studying Latin; she'll need that if she's to run a house effectively. She sat next to me during meals, and showed fast progress, I must say. Although, demure she was, not much of a conversationalist." Gryffindor seemed to be puzzled about something, and abruptly spoke as if absent-mindedly continuing a thought, merely aloud. "...I don't think he wanted us to know about the settlement before inspecting her first. He is so particular about honour. Odd business it is, in any case."

After that they fell silent on the subject, neither bothering to voice the fact that Slytherin always was the odd one out; the rest of them were more or less realising a life-long vision of a kind in the founding the school: Lady Rowena sought wisdom, on her own part; Lord Gryffindor wished to unite young wizards, especially now that Muggles were growing more and more hostile; Mistress Helga... No one knew exactly what she was after. It lay somewhere beneath her impeccable behaviour and pale, unreadable eyes. To Slytherin, however, the school seemed to be but a fragment of his life. He moved in different circles, travelled greatly, and never spoke of his business. He was an impenetrable riddle.

Thump. Bump. Thud. Bang.

How could the man sleep so soundly? Maia would have liked to stretch, but that would have entailed letting cold air under the covers. It took enough manoeuvring when she had to use the bucket under the seat: shift with the covers onto the floor, slide the pail under dress, crouch, pray that Slytherin continued to sleep, dream of toilet paper, hand the container to one of the escorts through the door avoiding eye contact, don't scratch the rash on thighs.

She had lived in the past for several months now, often crying herself to sleep over the life she had lost. She had not died, no, but her life before the accident was now irretrievable. Despite a firm decision to be worthy of her family by soldiering on, she found the change difficult to accept. She could not shake the feeling that she had been robbed of the future that should have happened.

And, aside from the great big terrifying facts like being completely on someone else's mercy or losing one's civil rights, she detested the filthiness of the era.

Maia did not doubt that wizards were tenfold cleaner people than the Muggles of this age, but that still meant a vast difference from her own age; everyone had greasy hair, foul breath and probably washed about once in two weeks. She had utilised her status as a spoiled Constantinopolitan and demanded a bath once a week. (She had aimed for every other night, but Slytherin had interfered saying that servants had better things to do in Hogwarts.) Now her face and back were full of spots, she had dandruff and to her horror had had lice twice; luckily there was a potion for them although they always returned. Wimples were proving to be extremely useful.

The day was dawning again. Outside desolate moors and low hills bathed in crisp winter light. Only the occasional bridge over a brook or river reminded her of the existence of human life. Maia had never seen anything so wild and, lacking anything better to do, peered out as often she could in the cold; the air inside was stuffy and the light dim, and she was not in the mood to read. She had managed to half-doze off a couple of times, but felt weary and dizzy. And hungry.

Slytherin stirred, and Maia quickly let the curtain fall to place and took up the book. Suddenly the text became positively fascinating when, despite the cold, Slytherin stretched, emerged from under the wraps, and drew out the bucket.

A chilling gust of wind on her face an eternity later indicated that the deed was done and it was safe to open her eyes. Slytherin's head remained outside; he was talking with one of the broom-riders.

Then they sat in silence. Maia felt immensely awkward. She had never before been alone in Slytherin's company for so long a time, at least while conscious. Her stomach was also growling loudly; it was tremendously mortifying.

The situation had been similar the day before. Slytherin did not acknowledge her presence in the carriage in any way, except when the horses had their unavoidable rest. Then he had climbed out; she could hear orders, the making of a fire and other noises. Then one of the escorts had reverently bought her the white meat of some unidentified roasted bird in a bowl and bread. An hour later they had set off again. Maia could not have imagined it possible to be so bored.

Thump. Bump. Thud. Bang.

"Can't believe the pasty-faced, spoiled bitch is finally gone!" Godith the maid who had attended on Maia during her stay, was with her friend and fellow worker cleaning Maia's former chambers.

The other, Hild, ignored her, and continued scrubbing the table in the sitting-room. "What in the name of Merlin can she have done here? The table and floor here are coated with something sticky. Could be spilled mead, but smells wrong," she mused, slightly intrigued.

Godith was not as good-natured as her friend. "D'you know she shouted at me at the same gibberish that overbearing dark man uses? And nothing the cook made was good enough for her; she always magicked it to something else. With such a fancy wand, had a special handle in it."

Hild was taking down the canopy of the bed for airing. "I'm sure Lady Rowena'll give back your wand in time. It was a bit nasty what you did to that--"

"He deserved it!"

Hild only smiled dreamily. "It can't be easy for the poor lass, y'know, all alone in a strange country. They say she comes from the east, beyond the sea... some enormous city." She grew more enthusiastic. "Can you imagine what it must be like? So many people, so much to see, so many buildings. And all the roads're paved! She must find this all so dreary."

Godith merely sniffed. "How can you be like that? She behaved like we didn't exist, and you make excuses for her. And would you look at this? This chest's half-full of parchments; some odd language she's used, and drawings!" She crunched up as many as possible viciously in her hands and took them to the coal-pan.

Suddenly she burst into laughter. "Oh, my! The great lady's human after all. I have seen the man only occasionally and never up close but those nostrils're huge--"

Hild was intrigued despite herself and came to see. "That one of Lady Rowena is just cruel. I'm sad to say this, but she does have a bit of a squint."

Godith was leafing through the parchments, thrilled. "I can even forgive her that very unflattering one about me. This makes it all worthwhile. I've never seen drawings like this; they aren't that good, but the technique's unique. As a token of my gratitude I'll do the honourable thing and burn them all, though it'd be so much fun to put these into proper use." As if fearing she would change her mind she hurriedly threw them all on the coals. "They'll burn soon enough. Let me help you with those curtains."

"Behind that tough exterior you have a good heart, Godith. You'll make a good witch yet."

"A great witch. And so will you. Then I'll forget what it was like to live in a shack. We'll go and see all the big cities."

"Hmm... Sure we will. Just as you say."

Thump. Bump. Thud. Bang.

Maia's cloak had once again shifted down between her back and the back of the carriage; it pressed into her neck, half strangling her. She squirmed and tried to adjust it to stay permanently up. She could not fathom how the clothing had appealed to her in the beginning. It looked pretty enough but was horrendously difficult to wear daily: the different layers of attire twisted and turned out of place, cloak collars suffocated, skirts limited walking and sitting, bodices were chafing and tight, wimples loosened when she turned her head and then fell in her eyes. Every day she needed help in dressing, as the task done alone took over an hour.

Having adjusted her clothing to the best of her ability in the circumstances, Maia caught a glimpse of her ring, and studied it carefully, not for the first time. The way it could not be taken off made her anxious; it seemed to sum up her helplessness. If it had been anyone else but Salazar Slytherin who had given it to her, she would have howled with laughter. A Slytherin's ring is a snake which has green eyes: a silver snake. Get it? Get it?

There were so many things she had grown up thinking obvious or clichéd that were new and natural here. Like the ring.

She gave a small yelp when there was a hiss and it reared its head, stuck out a flickering tongue and gave a small lick to her hand; then it resumed its former position.

She looked up at Slytherin, who was observing her for perhaps the first time during the journey. He smiled dryly. "It is an old ring," he said as though that were apersonal accomplishment. "The enchantments on it are powerful. It can be spelled by a blood-relative, but only a Parselmouth can command it by speaking."

Maia merely nodded and avoided eye-contact. She had grown into the habit. Looking people in the eye made them too real. "I would like to have some breakfast if it is possible, my lord."

Slytherin lifted the curtain and looked out. "We will arrive at Veluniate well before noon. There you will have a chance to wash lightly and eat. I advise you relish this. After Veluniate, we will set out to Saxon areas, and it is restless there. The Muggles there are more hostile than these Northern folk. I will procure supplies for the rest of the journey. We might stop for a while in Eboracum, depending on the circumstances."

Maia still said nothing. Slytherin was being positively confidential. Silence always was the best policy. Never tickle a sleeping dragon - the only teaching of Hogwarts that was of some use here.

Maia staggered out of the carriage in Veluniate; she felt like kissing the muddy road, even though one of her feet broke the thin ice of a puddle and the dainty leather shoe was soaked through instantly. It splashed nastily as she was led towards a dingy looking hut by the group of escorting students.

Maia had never been to a Scottish town aside from Hogsmeade, so she did not know what to expect to not have been built there yet. She regretted that now slightly; things could only improve from this.

Even at brief glance the place was disgusting and she hurried inside the inn, one look around containing more than enough information of the place. In a small but heavenly warm room she was able wash her hands and face. Then she sat down and resolutely filled herself with the icky sausages and the overly salty fish and the sweet-clumpy-something porridge and the stinking, thick mead brought in by the Master of the Inn himself. The man smiled widely at her appetite, revealing teeth the colour of the inside of a teapot. The more she managed to consume, Maia reasoned queasily, swallowing a particularly gristly bit hastily, the more would be left after she vomited half of it in the carriage - if she would last even that long.

Two of the young men were standing by the door, two by the window. Ignoring them completely Maia stood there for a moment and then went philosophically on the long bench by the wall, lay down on the flea-ridden cushions, and promptly fell asleep.

Thump. Bump. Thud. Bang.

Finally they drove through a gate, the only opening in forbidding wooden walls, into the Slytherin house.

The eighth day of the journey was growing late, and though she had learnt to sleep in spurts in the carriage, the relief she felt at seeing the end was overwhelming. She smiled widely to the world at large, including Slytherin, who actually appeared to be absent-mindedly amused by it.

It felt odd. How long had it been since she had last smiled or laughed? She had the kind of toothy smile which made one think of horses, and a gasping laugh to go with it. Decima always said it was rather sweet, but then she was a charitable soul. One Gryffindor Mudblood had not been so kind; she kept calling Maia 'Eeyore' at every opportunity, whatever that was.

Now it was Slytherin, for appearance's sake, who helped her out of the carriage. The house and yard were incredibly well kept; it was disconcerting to see in its prime something which to her existed only in pictures of ruins. The one-floored buildings, the vast main house and many others, were surrounded by a high wall and shadowed by a single tower. Human servants, or slaves more likely, were scurrying around; there was no sign of house-elves.

She did not get too good a look around before Slytherin beckoned to two women who had been standing close, and distractedly told them to take her in. He himself set off to a different direction with another man and some of the escorts.

To Maia's relief, the women spoke Latin. They welcomed her with embarrassing reverence, taking her through the house to a room where a bath was waiting. Maia could not tell whether it was a deliberate swipe at her compulsive fixation on cleanliness, or customary. In any case, she let them relieve her of her clothing and wash her, as odd as it was to let strange women touch her so personally. Then her feathery brown hair was pulled into a plait and she was put to bed.

Despite the late hour Maia did not fall asleep immediately. Now in her exhaustion everything seemed darker and she admitted to herself she seriously doubted she could cope. It had been easier to be more optimistic and good-humoured until now. The trip from Hogwarts had been an interlude; the life there had been schooling, familiarising herself with the ways of this world. This unknown, frightening, foreign place which was to be her new home made her despair.

Later she found she had no choice but to blow her nose to the bed-curtains, in a spot it would not be noticed immediately. After also wiping her eyes, Maia felt marginally better and finally fell asleep.