Greatest of the Hogwarts Four

Chapter 1: Ravenclaw, The Seer

***

"You can't expect the common folk to stand for this sort of thing! There are reports- I can't even begin to elaborate on the horrible tortures that have been inflicted on defenseless children of our blood."

"No, Salazar. Not our blood. Common blood. Even you must admit, there is a defining line between noble blood and peasant blood. Magic bestows no titles, nor does it grant foolish street rats immunity from the consequences of flinging sparks about whenever they have the notion to do so. And I have no intention to risk war with Muggle kings to save a few mud-spattered commoners." The greased, pointed mustache of Elsworth Laveda seemed to tremble in assention with his words. A few rumbles of low voices indicated that there were a considerable portion of the Council in agreement with Laveda's words. Elsworth's mustache quivered in appreciation as he sat down, silver-hemmed robes gently rustling.

Salazar Slytherin remained standing. Unlike the other men sitting around the long oaken table, he was dressed in unembellished garments. He wore all black, except for the long sleeves of his shirt that crept out of his vest and stood out like sugar. Slytherin always gestured grandly with his arms, knowing that the pale pallor of his undershirt next to the darkness of his blouse made them stand out against the rest of him. The other wizards' eyes were equally drawn to him for his contrast to their own heavily embroidered and frilled robes. He would have been taken to task for dressing like a peasant, had he not made a small concession to vanity and worn a bolt of shimmering black silk, hemmed with silver, wound around his waist. Still, he dressed much too simply for the oldest wizards, who murmured derisively under their breaths about new fangled fashions.

He was glowering now, and the Council braced itself for another torrent of idealist pontification. Many well-respected wizards had questioned the tactics of the Council's Patriarch in admitting a young rogue like Slytherin to the High Table. For three years now, all his motions had represented a new wave of politics that unsettled the old wizards. Which, at the Council, was the makeup of the members. Aside from Slytherin, none of the other wizards sitting at the table were under fifty years old.

"Yet you have to appreciate the sentiments of the people living in our province! If you would just go out into the villages, there are meetings- people are talking about organizing!"

A sudden roar met Salazar's words, and he instantly regretted them as the Council began angrily talking amongst themselves.

"Revolution? They wouldn't dare!"

"Ingrates! What have they to fear? We protect them from the Muggles!"

"Listen to me! Listen to me!" Salazar cried, but his words were lost in the swell of angry chatter of old men. He pounded on the table with his fist, but it could not be heard.

A sudden hush swept the Table as Almanzoor Moselle rose imperiously. The Patriarch of the Council, he only spoke when the matter was of grave importance. For such an old man, he was still grandly tall and did not hunch over. Many agreed with the old story that he had been a renowned dragonslayer under an assumed name, and in addition, had posed as a knight in Muggle tournaments for sport. When he was about to speak, Moselle's eyes glinted as they might have when he had faced a Hungarian Horntail. His voice was rich and ponderous, and echoed in the absolute silence that greeted his rising.

"Do not be so quick to anger, my friends. Young Slytherin has a point. Our people are swayed by this stories of children being burned alive and drowned. They are sentimental folk, and value their young above all other things. I doubt they would turn their anger towards us. Perhaps we should give some thought to hearing their proposal. And you, young Slytherin," he swung his gaze heavily to rest on Salazar, "need to develop some restrainment. There is no need to hop around madly as if the castle was falling around our ears. Then again, we can't fault you too much. I remember what it was like at your age." Here he chuckled. The Council laughed in nervous relief along with the Patriarch. They, too, remembered briefly how it had felt before they had gotten old and tired. For a moment, they were allied with Slytherin in their hearts. In the next, they had grown weary again and felt a sting of resentment at him for his youth and vitality.

"I would request permission to speak," said a soft voice from below the dais of the table.

Seated on a large purple cushion was a woman gowned in a light blue dress that flowed off of her like water. Her hair and skin were pale, the former being so light blonde that it appeared white in the evening shadows of the high-ceilinged hall. She sat cross-legged, her dress spilling around her and her hair drawn up in some intricate knot. With two hands she toyed with a perfectly clear crystal ball, spinning it in the air so that the light streaming in through the windows sparkled through it. Unlike the wizards, she carried no wand.

"Whatever insight you have for us is always welcome, O Seer," Elsworth Laveda said gravely.

The Seer turned her pale cheek to the light and cocked her head to the side, like a bird, looking intently at the crystal ball with one eye. Then, in a quick, deft, movement, she threw the ball into the air and it crashed on the ground, splintering into a million tiny shards. A cloud of dark purple smoke boiled up and formed into the shape of a winged creature, which swooped above them all and landed on the table. It ruffled its cloudy feathers and regarded the Patriarch haughtily.

"Raven," the Seer said abruptly. "Harbinger of bad news. I will deliver a Prophecy to you soon."

***

It was a moonless night. There was no light to reflect off of the white gown of the woman who entered Salazar Slytherin's bedchamber, but he was already awake as she opened the door. After spending most of his life sleeping in a cramped cell, the steady creak of the heavy door echoing off the curved ceiling was enough to rouse him. He couldn't see out there, however. There were dark red curtains hanging around his bed; Salazar would have preferred green, but the maids always put up red ones. He fumbled under his pillow for his wand and held his breath.

He darted out a hand and ripped the curtains to one side, and thrust the wand point first out into the darkness. "Who's there?" he said, trying to sound imperious.

"Don't be so dramatic, Salazar," said a dry, low voice. "Do you always have to be so ostentatious?"

It was the woman who had sat on the cushion beneath the High Table. She regarded Slytherin with a haughty glance, and sat on the bed as if she owned it. Slytherin moved slightly over, not so much to make room for her, but so that she wouldn't sit on his lap. He wouldn't put such a thing beyond her.

"Rowena," he admonished, "you know this sort of thing is futile. When have I ever given you the slightest word of affection or desire? Have I given you any tokens? Do I speak you fair? Do I praise your looks? No, I do not! Now, go from my bed, and leave me in peace!" He said all of this with his back turned to her.

"I used to think you honestly believed that," Rowena said in amused tone. "But then I always caught you watching me when you sat at the Table, when you thought I wasn't looking. Tell me, Salazar, how is it that you harbor me no affection, when you are always stumbling into me by chance in the rose gardens of the cloisters? It's very handy, isn't it, to gain entrance to the women's quarters under the excuse of your...condition." She took one slim, pale finger and touched the tip of it to the ridge of his spine.

A small, rippling spasm wracked through Salazar's back. He wanted to hit her- hard. He wanted to hurt Rowena, do unspeakable things to her...he clamped down on those thoughts. None of that!

"What I can't understand, though, is why you still retain these...customs you learned in your schooling. Why didn't you repudiate it along with the rest of your primitive doctrine? It's about time. I can assure you, there is nothing like a first meal after a long fast." Rowena curved her mouth into a smile as he turned his face to her, furious.

"You would tempt me!" He hissed, shaking with fury. "You would have me turned into an animal! A slave of my own impulses!" Although it was incredibly dark, Rowena could see the blush rising to Salazar's dark cheeks, and couldn't help but feel her heart quicken its tempo.

"Oh, Salazar, that's what I love about you," she said with emotion, and smiled in the way that most girls reserve for a boy who dances favors on them. "You have so much passion, I can't help but admire that. I just wonder sometimes if it's misguided."

Salazar seemed to slump visibly. Rowena's voice was soothing, and the smell of her intoxicated him. He always tried to vehemently categorize her as a slut, a temptress in his mind. Yet, when he looked at her, Slytherin was reminded of the unicorns he had seen in the woods around the castle- fragile, pale, and the image of purity.

Slytherin laid back down in his bed. "It's futile," he said again, but not so much with anger, but anguish, in his voice.

***

Opening one eye, Rowena saw she had awoken first. She frowned. Again it had amounted to nothing. He always had to be so chivalrous. Many nights she had slipped in with him, argued with him. She had tried all manner of approaches to entice him. Every one of these nights she ended up sleeping next to him, and woke up sleeping next to him. And yet they never did anything. It was like sleeping next to one of her brothers, and the entire situation frustrated Rowena to no end.

Her cold silver eyes softened around the edges as she contemplated Salazar's face as he slept, turned to face her. He had a bit of a roundish face, and a tanned complexion, and curly black hair that defied any effort to make it lie flat. It was an exotic face, and Rowena had initially been attracted to this, his unique ethnic features. They contrasted sharply with the fair haired, slim nosed, pale boys she was so used to. Yet there was something else, too.

Almost shyly Rowena reached out with one small hand and stroked his cheek. He smelled like...oh, like some kind of spice that she had never tasted. It was like the smell of some foreign marketplace filled with silk and incense and jewels. This was inherent to Salazar, and never left him.

Sighing, Rowena decided that she had had enough. She did not make it a routine of coming to a man's bedchambers, and certainly didn't want to for one who didn't want anything from her. Her sudden passion for him was such a new feeling that without immediate gratification she became more and more frustrated. She would no longer try and catch his eye. Let him keep up his pretense of chastity and purity, since it obviously meant so much more to him than she did. And yet...

She took her hand away from his cheek, and remembered the dazed expression on a young boy, not so long ago, fumbling with a rosary and screaming that it couldn't be true, it couldn't be true, he simply couldn't be a sorcerer.

***

"Heresy! Let the spawn be cast into the lake of fire! Let him sink down to the depths that all sinners go to, where there is naught but the echo of a million tortured screams!" The parson paused for breath, and the crowd roared to fill the silence. "Where is this demon child, this misbegotten seed of evil?"

A very young boy was produced, with large, frightened eyes and extremely filthy blonde hair. He looked no older than eight years old. The crowd's roar dimmed a bit, then fell, then stopped completely. For a few moments the only sound was the snapping of fire on torches as the peasants shuffled their feet awkwardly in the dust, the darkness of the night masking their shame. The parson turned on his congregation in a furious, indignant rage.

"Do not be fooled by the innocent mask! Remember, the devil is the father of all lies! Behind this child's face is a serpent's brain! Would you have him creep out every night and murder your own children? No! This is what the Devil would have us do, to show mercy on his lamb-skinned dragonlet! He knows of your great mercy, my brothers and sisters, and seeks the bewitch you with this abomination! But heed the word of God, and your own precious babes' souls will be safe from the fiery pit!" Lather was forming at the corner of the preacher's mouth as he worked himself into a rage.

Gibbering and screaming, one of the burly men seized a blunt club from his neighbor and brought it down on the boy's back. The boy screamed in pain, and the man brought his arm up for another blow.

It did not reach him. At that precise moment, the club the man was holding stuck to his hand. He shook his arm wildly, trying to dislodge it, but the wood stuck. In fact, it grew. It spread across his arm, splinters reaching out like fingers, then large knots and slithering branches wrapping them around the man's body and roots extending into the ground.

It took less than thirty seconds for the burly man to be completely entombed in a large pine tree that grew out of nowhere. The crowd dispersed, screaming in terror, the parson along with them as he cursed them all for their cowardice, but at the same time thinking to himself as he ran that discretion indeed was the better part of valour.

A few weeks later, when the parson had recovered his wits, he became a reformed character and no longer attempted to burn witch-children, saving his energies for calling for the execution of whores and drunkards. As for the little boy, he had dazedly began walking down the road towards the east that night at fast as he could carry himself away from the Muggle village.

***

Prophecies were odd things. Only the most powerful of Seers, like Rowena, could even hope to see one. Most Seers and Diviners were usually female, and the most powerful ones always were. Their powers manifested themselves very early on, much earlier than that of normal wizarding children's.

For Rowena, it was painfully obvious that she was gifted with the Sight at the age of five. Around that age, she had predicted the death of her oldest brother in a very strange hunting accident. Her family was a very old wizarding one, that resided in a tastefully large castle on the Scottish coast. They sent Rowena to England mostly for training, but also to be rid of an ominous presence. As she grew older, Rowena had been deemed by her parents and the other courtiers to be developing into an unusually morose girl. Often she would stare at the cat or the castle servants, and tell them manner-of-factly when they were going to die. She had been unsettling to the entire household, and was not surprised after she was sent off with a lukewarm farewell; such ostracisization was common among Seers.

Rowena pressed a finger to her temple and felt the gentle thrumming of her pulse. Now she could control it. Suppression had been the first thing she had learned under the instruction of Almanzoor Moselle himself. When she had first felt the whispering premonitions in her mind, a few months ago, she had tried to suppress them, but they had abated, only growing stronger. It was when Rowena first began to hear a garbled voice in her head that she knew a Prophecy was upon her mind.

Normal visions and premonitions came to her in the form of dreams, or images and words that flashed through her mind on occasion. Sometimes her inner Eye would speak to her, but it was always in her own voice, albeit a dry, more sarcastically toned version. No; these tremors had been echoing in her thoughts in a very old and sonorous voice. It was dignified, with the rich timbre of certainty and eons of history.

".....war......."

Crying out softly, Rowena pressed a damp rag to her head. The voice had been growing stronger and stronger, and grew louder and clearer each time she heard it last. It had been a week since she had stopped coming to Slytherin's bedchamber, and she had had little else on her mind but her Divinations. Now the voice of the Prophecy was pounding on her mind with such intensity that she was having splitting headaches and chest pains. In such cases of foresight, the Seer was only a medium through which an older and more powerful presence could speak.

"........this can not stand..."

Rowena gritted her teeth and braced herself against the lancing pains beginning to collect at the tips of her fingers and toes. Her body was gradually stiffening itself, going into a temporary stasis to channel all of her power and ability to her mind and mouth, from which she would speak the words. Soon she would not be able to move any of her limbs.

A few hours later, Rowena jerked on the silver-colored rope that hung from the ceiling beside her bed. Far above her, in the matron's office, she heard the sound of a distant bell ringing. A few minutes later, the matron, a heavy-set sort of woman with strong arms, was puffing at her door with the ceremonial gown that had been picked out for the occasion. Frowning, Rowena waved it away and stood up awkwardly, but no less regal and imperious than she had been before. She had consented to having the ridiculous ceremony being performed, but she was not going to put on that itchy, heavy monstrosity in addition to it. While she was in complete hibernation and being controlled by an ageless voice from the beyond, the last thing Rowena desired was to be wearing an suffocating corset while doing it.

Her feet clunked like anvils as she made her way upstairs and out of the women's quarters. It was an old, time-honored custom for a Seer to be taken away from the common sight for her Prophecy, and for the centuries since the Council was formed, the Seers had been brought to the Broken Tablet in order to facilitate a more clairvoyant atmosphere. Rowena highly doubted this was necessary, but as she was doubly cursed with being young as well as female, she had no say in these matters.

She did, however, choose her escort, with no small amount of pleasure. Salazar's duties were minimal at best, but it was an excuse to unsettle him, and she never let anything like that slip by unexploited. As she stumbled along the grounds, Rowena undid the many plaits of her blonde hair, which was now kinked and wavy from being confined into tight braids. She was having a sudden feeling of irritation, as all her clothing and hair ornaments seemed to be weighing down on her.

Unfortunately, she was only halfway across the grounds that separated the women's separate wing from the rest of the castle when her legs seized up with a sudden stiffness that made her stumble. Cursing softly, she tottered on her leaden limbs and fell to the ground. Rolling over on her back, Rowena exhaled a small sigh of annoyance. If the Prophecy came right now, it was of no consequence; she was sure she'd be able to remember it. It just seemed so...undignified to deliver it while stretched out on her back on the wet morning grass.

Morning? She had been sure it was still night. But the sun was rising, and she could see the pale yellow light creeping along the edge of the coast. If she pricked her ears just right, Rowena could hear the tide breaking on the rocks. She yawned, and then frowned as she realized she couldn't move her torso anymore. After much puffing and exertion, she managed to haul her prone body up into a sitting position using her arms. Soon she'd be frozen like this. 'How mystical,' she thought sourly. 'If only I hadn't sent the matron away, I could be savoring this in the appropriate pomp and splendor this sort of thing merits.'

"Rowena!"

'Oh,' she thought, with a mix of sourness and relief. 'It's him.'

Salazar was looking a bit confused as he saw her sitting on the grass. "The matron sent one of the chambermaids up screaming that you were having visions of the apocalypse or something. But you don't seem to be in any sort of a trance..."

"Not quite."

"Then perhaps you'd like to get up so we can go to the Broken Tablet."

Rowena was quiet for a moment. She was mustering up all of the sweetness and sugar she could inject into her voice before she replied. "Yes, Salazar, dear, but you see, I can't walk and now I don't think I can use my arms." Usually she didn't take this kind of condescending tone towards him, but right now she was feeling irritated and foolish, and he seemed to be in some kind of stupor.

"Oh." Without another comment, Salazar picked Rowena up as effortlessly as if she had been a small child and cradled her in his arms. "I'll have to carry you then," he said thoughtfully, after the fact.

Ordinarily, Rowena thought with some dismay, he would be blushing down his collar. He seemed distracted, concentrating on something else. Her own affairs were secondary to him, she realized with a sudden pang of jealousy. This angered her a bit; Rowena had resolved to squash her feelings for Salazar, but she hadn't expected him to reciprocate. She had entertained herself with visions of Slytherin clawing at her door in the night, screaming declarations of love, apologizing for what a fool he had been to not realize his true feelings until she had left him. He simply couldn't live without her, couldn't he? Well, it seemed so.

Rowena gently probed his thoughts as much as she was able to. Salazar shook his head as a horse does to rid itself of flies. "None of that," he said sharply.

She sulked a little, but was secretly relieved. He wasn't thinking of a woman; she knew that much. All he was thinking about was a large black cloth coming from across the sea. Rowena frowned, unable to interpret the fleeting image she had gleaned from his mind. "I'm sorry," she said, trying to sound piteous. "I can't help it. It must be a complication of the... you know."

He smiled at her comfortingly, as if she were a little sister. "Of course. You can't help it. Just rest until I get you to the beach."

Salazar, for his part, carried Rowena the entire three-quarters of a mile down to the rocky coast. They would have apparated, but it was tradition that no one could use magic around a Seer who was receiving strong visions. Which was another annoyingly primitive superstition, Rowena thought. The strong scent of the sea invaded her nostrils, and for a few moments Rowena was dizzy with its intensity.

'Of course,' she thought, still a bit dazed. 'All other sensations from the rest of my body are being cut off, so all my senses are being heightened.'

Then she quite suddenly went blind.

"Slytherin! I can't see!" she said suddenly. She instinctively moved her arms to try and grab at him, but they seemed far away and remote, and she couldn't move them.

His voice came to her, a bit faded and muffled. "You're eyes have gone all white. I'm sure it's just part of the...you know." He cleared his throat. "Anyways, we're at the Broken Tablet. I brought a few blankets earlier, so you won't catch cold."

Rowena murmured her thanks, but was distracted by an odd rushing sound in her ears. It sounded similar to the sea, but there was some quality of it that was different. Almost automatically, she began to concentrate with her Inner Eye, trying to untangle the different thoughts and sounds from one another. She heard snatches and pieces of visions, from far away. It sounded like a confused babble of voices, all speaking in different tongues.

Then, quite suddenly, everything was silent, even the waves breaking on the shore. A peaceful calm instilled itself in Rowena's brain. A gentle, fatherly voice spoke in her mind. It was vast and wide, and no longer tortured her mind. She had opened up and was capable of hearing it without pain.

"At last."

***

Salazar fidgeted. Half an hour she had been in that trance. He had arranged her carefully, in a sitting position, her back resting on the smooth surface of the Broken Tablet. The Patriarch had indicated in the strongest terms possible the importance of not touching her or even approaching her once she began to speak. He had also been asked a few grave and incredibly embarrassing questions.

"She is still a virgin, isn't she?" Moselle had asked, looking at Salazar severely.

"I'm not sure I'm privy to that sort of information about Lady Ravenclaw," Salazar had answered a bit primly. "That's more of her own affair."

"But you haven't bedded her, young man, is that correct?"

His face had flushed right to the tips of his ears. "You know how I feel about that sort of thing, Patriarch!"

"Yes, I'm aware. And for the life of me, I still can't quite figure it out. You must have tremendous willpower to remain celibate at your age, young Slytherin. I must confess, though, that perhaps it is this....ah, frustration, that contributes to your generally excited personality. That, at least, is my theory." Almanzoor maintained a straight face, giving Slytherin a serious, concerned, and fatherly look.

"Did you ever get 'the talk' at the monastery, young Slytherin? I can't quite imagine it being a topic of discussion that the priest would concern himself with..."

Trying to dispel the memory of being educated on sex by a seventy-five year old wizard, Slytherin automatically sought out Rowena with his gaze. Her hair was undone and flying everywhere in wisps, fluttering in the sea breeze. The silver-gray color of her eyes had all leaked out until both were completely white. Of their own accord, his eyes slipped down to her chest, where the blanket lay open in disarray. Her thin nightgown was slipping down over her slim chest, and Salazar could see the faint outlines of-

He crushed that thought into the ground, and swiftly swung his eyes away, toward the ocean. Slytherin saw the brief stem of the mast of a ship on the horizon. He almost gave a whoop of joy, but suppressed it to save the decorum of the moment. Grinning broadly in relief, he waved to the ship with his jacket, but it was more a release of energy than anything else. Even if Thror was on deck, there was no way he could see him.

But they were alive! All four pennants were there, snapping on the mast, and the sails remained as white as when they had left. Salazar had been dreading the possibility that when he saw the Basilisk's sails as she set into port, they would be in mourning black. And if Thror and his brothers were still alive, they had defeated the wizards of the Gauls.

Behind him, Rowena's neck jerked, and her head swung backward, cracking against the Tablet. Salazar spun on his heel and was at her side in a moment, but she seemed not to notice the blow. Her mouth moved wordlessly, and behind her, the stone began to unlace itself into words marked an inch deep. When the words ended on the stone, the surface cracked off and the entire piece of rock covered with words slid off like a slate. Hastily, Salazar wrapped it up in a long bolt of white cloth, trying not to look at it. Strictly speaking, no one except the Seer and the Patriarch was ever allowed to know what was specifically contained in a Prophecy.

Yet, the corner of the cloth slipped off for a split second, and Salazar had time to glance at one phrase:

"....will be the greatest of the four."

For a reason unknown to his consciousness, Salazar shivered.

***

Only the Council had known that the Prophecy was delivered, but the castle and province were in celebration in any case, due to a happy coincidence. Thror and his three brothers had returned, with the little army almost entirely intact, full of tales about the short, bloody defeat of the Gauls.

Everyone was banqueting in the great Hall of the Castle, where the Council themselves convened in state. Those splendid aristocrats were sitting at their great table, and the rest of the common folk were eating their fill and exclaiming over presents and trophies family members had brought home from the land across the sea.

Salazar had declined to sit next to his fellow council members, choosing instead to sit next to the four honored brothers. They were all tall and muscular, with wild hair and piercing amber eyes. Gabriel, the second youngest, was closest to Salazar's age and his most trusted friend.

Gabriel was distinct from his brothers by his startling white hair, which contrasted with the other three's red curls. He was talking animatedly, recalling one of the fiercer battles with a skilled foreign mage.

"And so, cousin, there I was- surrounded by about fifty Muggles, all armed with spears and sabres. I wasn't worried, though- they hadn't any archers, and archers are a bit harder to deal with. All I had to do was cast 'Expelliarmus' or 'Stupefy', and I could lay out ten of them with one spell. But, just before they charged me, this fellow in a big blue cloak yelled at them in another language, the one they speak over there. I couldn't understand one bit of it, but the Muggles backed off and the foreign fellow starting chanting something awful-sounding."

Everyone at the table was absolutely enthralled by the story, and Gabriel preened noticeably as he continued. "Well, he was drawing this funny-looking picture in the dust with the tip of a big wooden staff he was carrying. It looked like a squashed circle, sort of, with rings inside it. As he was chanting, these funny-looking letters lit up in fire all around the edge of the circles- foul-looking words, I can tell you." Gabriel paused again, and their eyes begged him to continue.

"In any case, he was a conjurer of the Dark variety. A big fanged demon came out of the diagram, two-headed and six-eyed, body like a lion. He feinted and rushed at me, but I hit him with Impedimentia and he fell. Meanwhile, the fellow in the blue cloak, unsporting bastard- excuse me ladies- that he was, kept chanting odd stuff and sending all this green smoke at me. It didn't really hurt me; he must have done something wrong. In any case, he got really mad and shouted at the demon while it was grappling with me. It reared up its head to strike, but all of a sudden it stopped. It looked mighty confused, and while it was considering, Thror here came up behind the foreign fellow and lopped off his head with an axe."

Thror, the oldest brother, grunted in dismissal of the exclamations that followed this announcement. "If the young fool wasn't my little brother, I'd've left him to the Hellbeast. Teach him to take on a Dark wizard unprepared. But the old methods are often the most effective." He grinned fiercely and made a chopping motion with his hand.

Gabriel made a rude comment, and the two immediately got up and began wrestling like little boys.

"How now, brother?" Thror roared as he locked one thick arm around Gabriel's neck. "Spare me your foolish tongue! Now, sit and eat like a good boy!" Curling the other arm around his younger brother's waist, Thror carried Gabriel easily to the table and sat him down hard on the bench.

"Owch, owch, owch! Saved from demons only to be set upon by my own kin!" Gabriel cried dramatically. He eyed the pretty young witch beside him. "But perhaps I can find comfort in a sympathetic bosom..."

"You'll do well to keep out of any bosoms while you're in this castle," Salazar said dryly. "These are an old-fashioned people, who take anything beyond a brotherly embrace as a marriage proposal. I don't think your procreative behavior would receive much of a welcome here. Your exploits as a soldier are only outmatched by the tales of your...ah, scattering of seed."

"I reap a bountiful harvest!" Gabriel roared in imitation of Thror's bellow, and threw an arm around the girl next to him. "Perhaps that is why I enjoy your company so much, priest! Less the competition, all the more for me!" He nuzzled the girl's neck and she squealed, pushing him away and feigning protest.

A touch on Salazar's shoulder made him turn, his face still merry from laughing. His expression froze as he realized that the Seer, the same Seer who, by strict taboo and custom, never descended from her place at the High Table during social gatherings, was standing behind him, harshly contrasting with the rest of the crowd in her heavily ornamented and ceremonial gown. It wasn't traditionally allowed for her to speak with anyone except the cloistered maidens-in-waiting or the Council members. Rowena was to be above the common pleasures; it was assumed that frivolousness and merrymaking would diminish her clairvoyency.

He wasn't really happy to see her- but it was like a small sap to his ego. After she had stopped pursuing him this last week, Slytherin had begun to feel a sudden, ominous emotion that perhaps he had made a grave error in pushing Rowena's affections away. But this was not the time nor the place he would have chosen for their meeting.

"What are you doing?" he whispered furiously. "If anyone saw you- If anyone saw us-"

"-they would have nothing to interest them, as you have made so abundantly clear exactly in what regard you hold me." Her voice had a cold, slicing tone that cut through Slytherin's ears and nearly made him wince.

Rowena turned his head to the side and brought her lips close to his ear. It was the closest her face had ever been to his, but Slytherin could sense none of the warmth or desire that she had previously held for him. It was as if a candle had been extinguished. Somewhere, the bottom of his stomach sunk a little. She paid his discomfort no mind, but whispered in his ear.

"I didn't give the Patriarch the entire Prophecy."

Salazar was stunned. As far as he had been taught, Seers were mere mediums that could not control the flow of the message. Apparently, he had been mislead.

"Why not?" he said in a low voice. He tried to keep his voice from shaking. Withhold a Prophecy! From the Patriarch! Almanzoor Moselle! The greatest and wisest wizard of the age! He simply couldn't believe it.

"He's the only one who can interpret the Prophecy most competently."

Slytherin knew he had struck a nerve with Rowena when she said in a more sharpened voice, "Just trust me. This was not meant for the Patriarch's ears. I need you to help me with this, Salazar."

She never addressed him by his name. Usually, she just walked up and started talking to him, or, if she had to address him in public, called him 'Councilman Slytherin'. Now, after three months of trying to coerce him, then suddenly, after becoming completely frigid, it was 'Salazar'. He had half a mind to tell her to get her Scottish ass back to where she belonged.

But he didn't, because he knew the depth of her powers and realized that it would have to be something monumental to withhold from the Patriarch. Perhaps one of the Council members was untrustworthy. A brief, wicked thought crossed his mind that it might be Elsworth Laveda. The fat idiot was quaffing beer and roaring with laughter up at the high table, his mustache full of bits of meat and potatoes.

Salazar looked up into Rowena's cold unicorn-blood eyes and nodded his assention. He would be her accomplice in this, against some of his better instincts. She smiled, and it was an expression of minor relief- as if she had known he would cave in to her. Which, he thought with a sudden rush of irritation, she probably had known. It was always dicey dealing with Seers. You never knew how much they had seen ahead.

"Good, then...take your lascivious friend there, and make a pretense of telling everyone that he has had far too much to drink and needs to rest. Then, take two broomsticks and fly southwest for half an hour. You will find a boy lying in the dust on the side of the road. Bring him back, put him in my bedroom, and let no one know you've been gone."

"Why does Gabriel need to be involved in this?" Salazar asked pointedly. "If the Patriarch himself can't know of this..."

Rowena regarded him condescendingly. "Because, my dear fool Slytherin, Gabriel is half-demon. That is why the Hellbeast the Gaulish wizard summoned did not attack him. It sensed a presence in him, and faltered because it was confused as to why it should attack one of its own kind. I am taking no chances with that boy; it is possible that someone else may know where he is and be sending his own couriers to pick him up. I'm only thinking of the boy's safety: that is most vital."

Slytherin was irritated again. "How did you know Gabriel was a werewolf?"

Rowena tapped her temple with one finger and smiled with an expression of utmost superiority.

****

A low whistle slid from between Gabriel's two front teeth, mingling with the whistling of the wind through the straws of his broomstick.

"Merlin, Salazar, why didn't you tell me she was the Seer? Then I wouldn't have....well...." he winced at his presumption. To compare the buttocks of the Seer to two lusciously ripe peaches was, the young wizard was certain, a large breach of courtesy.

"She laughed," came Slytherin's rather sulky voice from a few yards above him. "No one's ever compared a part of her body to fruit before."

"At least she had the good graces not to have me executed, but to assign me to a clandestine quest instead," Gabriel said lightly, doing a few rolls on his broomstick. "And fairly easy, too! Retrieving children...this wouldn't happen to be your illegitimate son with her, would it?"

Slytherin's voice was a few octaves higher as he indignantly replied. "The fact...that you would even suggest...such an idea...."

"Don't play holier-than-thou with me, Salazar. You stared at her like a dog in heat as she was leaving. Can't say I blame you. Cooped up in that big....dark....lonely castle. Too bad you're too lily-livered to go after her. I may have to myself, if only to spur you into action."

Gabriel had to arrest his forward motion as the dark shape of a broomstick swooped down on him. On it, Slytherin glowered at his friend like an ill-tempered owl which has just gotten into a fight with a cat. In otherwords, highly pissed off.

"Don't you dare, Gabriel. She's far too pure for that. She's too important. I wouldn't let you seduce her and break her heart. I usually don't judge your adultery, but here I make an exception. Stay away from Ravenclaw, or werewolf or no werewolf, I'll make you sorry."

Had he not known Slytherin as well as he did, Gabriel might have gotten angry and started a brawl. But, knowing his friend as one who had fits of zealousness and overdramatic tendencies, the white-haired wizard let the threats slide off his back.

"I get the picture, Salazar. No touchy. Got it."

Squinting slightly, Gabriel could make out a lone figure shambling along the highway. "Say....that wouldn't happen to be our boy, would it?"

"Lumos," muttered Salazar, and at the tip of his wand, a bright ball of light collected itself. "I'd say so....how'd you see anything in this blasted dark? The clouds are full in thick."

"My nature," Gabiel said lightly, "and the fact that it's a three-quarter moon tonight. Say...looks like he's started running. And awfully fast too. I wonder..."

Suddenly, Gabriel went rigid. "Get him. Get him now."

Salazar obeyed unquestioningly. He had learned very quickly to trust Gabriel's senses. Urging the point of his broomstick downwards, he sailed into a steep dive. Although he usually hated flying, and quailed whenever he had to perform anything fast or dangerous, he had a certain knack for being able to do something if he was too scared of something else to focus on a petty thing such as broomstick control. The wind was now a ravenous thing, and Salazar's robes snapped at each other with whipcracks.

Meanwhile, Gabriel began muttering under his breath. "I need a miracle, Rubicant...damnit, listen to me!"

Slytherin was one hundred yards away. He saw the running figure stumble and fall, and curl up with its knees tucked into its chest. Then, over the hill, he saw the others coming.

The moon had just come out from under the clouds, and now he could see the light glinting off of their limbs. They were a bright white, the crisp clean color of something Salazar couldn't quite remember. Then, as he saw them approaching, he realized what they were.

Skeletons. They were enormous skeletal quadripeds that were feline in appearance, like the long-dead remains of some pack of huge lions. There were six of them, and they bore down on the inert child at a terrifying speed.

Salazar was twenty yards away. He could see the bundles of silver tendons that held their bones together. One of the foul creatures opened its gaping jawbone and somehow, without possession of vocal cords, emitted a high screech. In each empty eyesocket, a small green flame was burning.

He was five yards away. The foremost beast was leaping now, silver claws extended out like scythes. Salazar held his breath and ducked his head. His broomstick screeched from strain.

He managed to grasp the child by the back of his robes and haul him onto the broomstick in less than a second. The skeletal creature, finding its claws slashing nothing but dust, screamed again, but in rage. Salazar tried to angle his broom upwards, but he suddenly felt a large jerking feeling on his back, and he and the child were flying backwards. One of the creatures had managed to snare the end of Slytherin's robes with a bony claw. The broomstick rocketed up...up...up....

The bony lion creatures began pacing slowly towards Slytherin and the boy he was holding, who had fainted. "Back!" Slytherin said sharply, with more conviction than he actually felt. He couldn't find his wand in his pocket. It must have fallen out when he fell off the broom.

One of the lions padded toward them, its bony feet scratching against the ground. It opened the empty jaw and growled softly, then raised one heavy paw for a killing blow.

Then, quite surprisingly, another large monster dropped on it from ten yards above it. The skeleton crumpled with a tinny screech. The dark monster turned at set on one of the others with a guttural roar. It was a horrible, bristly sort of creature, with a long snout and heavy gorilla arms. There were large snapping sounds heard like that of breaking tree limbs.

Gabriel howled an unearthly scream, and the rest of the monsters fled with the clacking of bones. Panting heavily, the wolfish creature turned its flaming red eyes on the two humans.

"Gabriel....it's me....Salazar." He spoke very slowly, enunciating so that his words could sink in.

A small light of recognition passed over his face, and Gabriel suddenly became a man again. It was as if the monster simply dropped away from his frame; the transformation was quick and ugly as the two body typed roiled like the surface of boiling water. Shivering and naked, Gabriel chattered through his teeth and said:

"Sorry. Rubicant cut me a quick deal, but you know his type; he always tries to go back on his word. He'd've killed you all if I hadn't've been careful." Rubicant was the name of the wolf-demon that inhabited Gabriel's body. If ever Gabriel needed to assume the monstrous shape in times of peril, it was Rubicant's final decision.

"What were those things?" Salazar said, throwing his tattered cloak around Gabriel's quaking body.

"Leonids. Big, mean, lion zombies, basically. High-level demons. Rubicant was intrigued by them, so he decided it was better that we should live to find out who's summoning such reckless monsters. Very difficult to control, Leonids. If someone took the trouble to raise them, then this kid is a lot more important than I assumed."

Slytherin looked down at the thin, wasted body in his arms. "Let's just hope he isn't dead," he said grimly. The child couldn't have weighed more than forty pounds, and he looked to be eight or nine years old. One limp wrist lay exposed from a dirty sleeve, and the bones were thrown in sharp relief, as if they were about to burst out of his skin.

Somehow Gabriel had not lost his broomstick after jumping off of it. Both men bundled themselves onto it, and put the unconscious child between them. The broomstick was slow because of the weight, but Gabriel did not try to push it more than it could handle. It would do no good to ruin the broomstick and have to walk back to the castle with demons roaming the countryside.

****

Rowena sat on the sedan in the empty hall, her eyes closed in concentration. She curved her lips into a smile of relief. Settling back on the cushions, she opened her eyes slightly and saw the slitted moonlight streaming in from between the clouds.

An eerie feeling prickled the base of her spine; Rowena was quite certain that somewhere, undetectable from her Sight, was a Seer much like herself who was operating to accomplish a similar goal of their own. She had succeeded in her first goal, and the Other had failed. Yet she could sense the sort of mind that the Other Seer possessed. It was a calm, cunning mind. It had failed, but it was not discouraged. The Seer had retreated back, ready to examine its mistakes and contemplate a new angle of attack.

Rowena set her chin defiantly, and curled up on the veranda. She was stubborn and cunning too. She knew the course. She had the Prophecy, and could interpret it. She wasn't about to let old fools like the Patriarch complicate things.

As she drifted off to sleep, Rowena had a fleeting remembrance of the last few lines of Prophecy:

"Three will be brought, and one comes of their own accord.

Three will conceive to build, but one will conceive to destroy.

Three will yield to love, but one will damn himself to hate.

Three will flee from darkness, but one will stand and die.

Three will be set free, but one will be imprisoned forever.

Three will be great, but one will be the greatest of the four."