CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

Chapter 8

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever; One foot on sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never. Therefore sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny; Converting all you sounds of woe, Into Hey nonny nonny! - From 'Much Ado About Nothing' by William Shakespeare

The Book

Monday February 13th 2023 (or the worst day of my life), 11:24:54, Gryffindor Girls' Dormitory, Hogwarts (continued)

As soon as he released my hand I knew I had made a big mistake. I had been senseless. I had decided to exchange this dangerous magical artefact for a broomstick! Was I a completely moraless fool? Still, it takes things like contractual magic to make you realise how stupidly you've been behaving.

"Can't I go back on my word?" I asked hopefully.

He grinned, "No chance! It's too dangerous."

"I thought you said contractual magic was only dangerous if you break your promise? Going back on your word is quite different!"

He leaned close to me and whispered, "A particularly unintelligent friend of my father's once did that and he disappeared from under our very noses with a puff of smoke. We've never seen him again, but we've heard rumours of him running riot in New Zealand, with complete amnesia. I wouldn't try it, if I were you."

"Oh come on! There must be a counter spell."

"You being a coward, Potter?" he sneered.

"No, of course not!" I replied, aggrieved. "Let's play."

I ran towards the quidditch pitch. I then summoned my broomstick from the dormitory. Nero held the snitch as we floated up into the air. The evening was cold and twenty feet above the ground there was a stiff wind blowing. My teeth began chattering uncontrollably. I clenched my gloved hands to the broomstick and tried to stop my body from tensely shaking.

"Hey, Potter!" cried Malfoy, as a blurry streak flashed past me and came to a smooth halt a couple of feet away from me. "You've gone rather blue," he said, waving the hand holding the snitch, in a mock salute. "Or perhaps that's just your normal complexion." He smirked.

"A couple of years of ago," I shouted back, "that would have really offended me! Now, thankfully, I've realised just how pathetic it is."

"No you haven't. You just don't have anything clever to say in return so you pretend I don't either."

"Oh for goodness sake do stop it! Curfew starts soon and I have need of an early night. It's Valentine's Day tomorrow."

"I know," he replied gloomily.

"Do you expect to receive many cards?"

"Thousands," spoken in the same tone.

"Will you send any?"

"Potter, I have a girlfriend!"

"Well, don't sound too happy about it!" I was amused. Surely he should be pleased about it. "If you don't like her, why don't you break up with her?"

He looked at me pityingly, "Potter, I really don't need relationship advice from you."

I was tiring of the conversation. "Come on then, let the snitch go. I gave my word and I shan't go back on it. I have great misgivings, Malfoy, but I'm also a good quidditch player."

"Sure you are, but this is one good broom here! I doubt you'll beat the speed of the Alpha 300. All right then. Here goes." He opened his hand and the snitch took off, glimmering golden in the dusk. It soared round Malfoy's head and then round mine before fluttering off into the dark.

Malfoy bent over his broom and gave me a grin. There was a blur and a sound of wind, and he seemed to disappear. I turned quickly round and at the opposite end of the pitch there he was, sitting astride the Alpha 300, as if he had always been there.

My heart sank right down into my patent leather shoes. Nero had not exaggerated the power and speed of his broomstick. How would I ever keep up?

I flew off to join him. The wind was chilly, but the exhilaration of flying was clearing my head slightly. I felt more concentrated, relaxed and above all, cold.

"It's a good broom, isn't it?" he said superciliously as I joined him.

"Yes," I admitted. "It is."

We stared at each other for a bit, then I had an idea. If I always followed Nero around then I would never keep up with him, but if he had to chase after me then that gave me the power.

Faking a look of surprise, I suddenly made a dive towards the ground. It was the first time I had tried a Wronski Feint, but I was convinced it would work. The ground rushed towards me, faster than I had expected.

At the last minute I pulled the broom up and sped away in the opposite direction. Nero cried out to me as he came up towards me. "Hey, Potter! Was that the first Wronski Feint you've done? I suppose you would know it since you must suck up to your quidditch player father."

"Two things, Malfoy. Firstly, my father is not a quidditch player. He makes broomsticks. Secondly- I most certainly don't suck up to him. Only you would come up with something so horrible, I suppose. Then again, I daresay you suck up to you father loads. I've seen the amount of fudge you get through the post."

"Well, the Malfoy Manor dairies are rather good, now you mention it. Still, I most certainly don't suck up to my father. In fact he sucks up to me."

I was too interested by this to remember that I was speaking to Nero Malfoy. "He sucks up to you?"

"Sure. He wants to make sure that I became the personification of the Malfoy ideal. My father only likes me because I'm a male Malfoy. Because I have blond hair and icy grey eyes. Because I'm sarcastic and evil. Because I will inherit Malfoy Manor one day and breed a load of silver haired Malfoy brats with a suitable Slytherin wife, like Joan Witherspoon or Lucy Crabbe. Because his father did it to him before. Because if he doesn't then I might start thinking that his ideals and theories are all a load of dragon dung." He stared blankly at me then said excitedly, "Isn't that the snitch?"

I whirled round; there was nothing there. "No," I said pointedly, "it isn't."

We faced each other. At last I said, "And... and do you think they are a load of dragon dung?"

The shutter came down over his face. "Like I'd tell you if I did! Now stop trying to reform me- I don't like it. I think Gryffindors are the dullest people on earth, so being reformed would not be much fun."

"Am I dull?"

"You, my dear Queen of Gryffindor, are the dullest, most immature of them all!"

I shrugged. "Well, it was worth asking."

He surveyed me with one eyebrow raised. "D'you wish I found you interesting?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then why did you ask?"

"There's no harm in asking, is there?"

"A question without motive, is a question wasted."

"Will you go to hell, Nero Malfoy, or shall I send you there? After all, you're so nearly there you'd only need a small push."

He laughed; a genuine laugh. "I would prefer Australia."

I saw what he was doing. "What? Isn't this world good enough for you?"

"No, not if you're in it."

"It's getting dark."

"I'd call that changing the subject, Potter. Have you seen the Snitch yet, because I'm bored."

"If you're bored, then why don't we go inside? I'm c-c-cold!"

"Don't worry, I'm not that bored."

We sat staring around the pitch for a few more minutes, then the snitch really did appear. I saw it first and shot after it. After chasing it for a few minutes it disappeared. I was slightly out of breath.

Nero balanced himself more securely on his broomstick, pushed his hair out of his face and said, "The next time, one of us will catch it."

"How do you know?"

"Because it's the truth," he replied.

"Yes, I know." As I stared into the dusk, it seemed to be saying something to me. There was a message in the sky. I turned my attention to Nero and watched as he shifted his grip on his broom handle. His hands were sweaty and slipped. He shone into clear relief and I read indecision in his face. Meaning was shining out at me from every part of nature, both human and natural.

I shivered. "Something life changing will happen tonight."

"Yes, I know," he echoed. His voice was resigned, without a hint of sarcasm. However, there seemed to be a wide awake pent up type of energy in it that I could not quite understand. He looked like a rubber band stretched to its furthest point and about to break.

The snitch appeared between us. We stared at it for a second before each diving at it. I couldn't quite tell what was going on for a bit; my glasses had steamed up. In the end I found myself holding Malfoy's green and silver scarf (what was I doing removing that?!) and he was holding the snitch.

Oddly enough, he did not look remotely triumphant. He raised one eyebrow then floated down to the ground without saying a word. I followed quietly.

Once we were on the ground the silence continued. Malfoy put the snitch away in the quidditch box and retrieved his scarf from my hand. He wrapped it round his neck and leaned against the nearest stand, arms folded. He waited for me to say something.

I looked everywhere but at him. I watched the silhouettes of the trees in the Forbidden Forest wave in the breeze. I stared at the warm, golden windows of light at Hogwarts until I saw bright spots before my eyes.

Finally Nero remarked, "I'm surprised you haven't made stormy remarks on the lines of 'It's not fair!' yet."

I snapped back to the scene in front of me and replied, "But it was fair. You won and I lost. Now I must give you the stone."

"Yes, you must."

I became angry. "Well, I should have thought you'd be more happy about it! Don't just stand there!"

"I am too relieved to speak much, Cassandra. You have saved my life."

"Rot!" I felt myself blush. "I did nothing of the sort. You forced me to. What I mean is..." My tongue seemed to have lost the power of clear articulation.

He placed his hands on his hips and stared off into the gloom, a frown on his face.

"What is it?" I inquired.

"Nothing," he mused, "never mind. What are you waiting for? Where is my stone?"

I slowly pulled my wand from out of my pocket and pointed it at the school. I glanced at Malfoy for confirmation. He nodded briefly. I said, and my voice trembled a little, "Accio stone!"

There was a pause and we both waited. Eventually there was a silver glow in the air and soon the stone was in my hand. I wrapped my fingers possessively round it.

Nero moved a few steps closer. His breath was visible in the night sky. It was now completely dark. A few stars were visible between the clouds. The breeze ruffled his hair slightly. He came closer still and said so quietly that I could hardly hear him, "Show me, Cassandra."

I glanced up at him, "Must I?"

"Yes."

Slowly I uncurled my fist and held the stone in the middle of my palm. I had never seen it before in the dark. The green tints in it were more obvious than ever; it seemed to glow an eerie emerald green.

Nero's breathing got thicker and he said hoarsely, "Give it to me."

The green of the stone, the green of my eyes, the green of his quidditch robes; the silver of his hair, the silver of the snake on his crest. It was all the same. Everything mirrored Slytherin's stone. The stone that would bring Lord Voldemort back to power. My hand involuntarily closed round it. "No, it is mine. You shall not have it. You can't have it!" I leapt back in panic.

Nero's eyes lifted from my hand and met mine. "Give it to me!"

"No!" I cried, stumbling away. I could not give it to him. I ran a few paces, before he grabbed my arm and forced me to stop. "No!" -almost painfully- "I can't give it up!"

"Give it to me." His voice seemed deeper and I trembled as I looked up into his hypnotic, grey eyes.

Slowly I unwrapped my fingers from round it and quietly uttered, "There. Take it." It was probably the most serious thing I had ever said.

He reached out his right hand and I took the opportunity to notice how very well kept and clean his short nails were. His middle finger touched the stone first, then he picked it up.

We stepped away from each other, and he held the stone up in the air to observe it better. It illuminated his face in its ethereal emerald green glow. He looked at it with a mixture of awe and relief. "Wow..." he muttered then a look of slight fear appeared on his face, "Wha-?"

He seemed to be unable to lower his arm and his gaze seemed fixed on a point a few feet behind the stone. His lips parted, but no sound came out. The look of slight fear was replaced by one of absolute terror.

"What on earth? Nero- are you-" I darted out towards him and stopped a few paces away, unsure what to do.

He started to lean back, as if trying to get as far away from the stone as possible. He stumbled, yet still continued to lean backwards. The illumination from the stone was so strong that he seemed to be glowing himself. I wondered why the students still out did not notice us. After all, we were now on the outside of the quidditch pitch. Ten minutes to go until curfew.

At last he fell over backwards, he had been leaning so far. He lay still on the ground and the stone had tumbled onto the grass. It had stopped glowing. I dashed to his side and reached out to pick up the stone. Quick as a sly cat he rolled over and had it in his hand. "Oh, no you don't! It's Mine from now on! Mine, do you here?" There was a feverish light in his eyes that I had never seen before.

I withdrew my hand. "Are you alright? You looked so frightened. What happened? Tell me!"

He caught my hand and gripped it so tightly I thought he'd break a bone. He was shaking. "Cassandra, help me...I don't think..." he began.

"You must tell me," I whispered urgently. "It must have been something really terrible. I have to know. We should do something about it- tell Professor McGonagall-"

He sat up so suddenly that I was thrown onto the grass next to him. "No! Never!" He stood up abruptly and I ungracefully clambered up opposite him.

"I must, Nero. I must go to her. Don't you see? Can't you see what's happened? This is all beyond our control. It has gone far enough. I cannot bear this alone. You have been manipulating me since the beginning of term-"

"I would do anything to get what I wanted. You should have seen that-"

"It must be illegal to do things like that!"

"I didn't-"

My hands balled into fists. "Liar!" I cried. "You manipulated me! You did! You did!"

He made me drop my arms which had been raised in my excitement. Softly he said, "You must have been a simpleton, Potter."

"Huh?" I said, mystified at this change of subject.

"It's my turn now. Don't you see? Can't you see what a mess you've got yourself into? Or perhaps I should say- can't you hear?"

I could hear voices. Female voices. I turned round and saw two shadows advancing this way. A giggle. A laugh.

I turned frantically back to him. "I can't be seen here talking to you! What can I do? Have they seen us?"

"Undoubtedly," he replied calmly. "They're coming to see what all the shouting was about. You can't run away now."

I wrung my hands in despair. I was near tears. "But you're a Slytherin and I'm a Gryffindor! It would be ruin- sure ruin! How could I be seen talking to you and live to tell the tale?"

His mouth turned up at the corners in the most sinister smile I have ever seen. "True, it is forbidden to be seen talking to a Slytherin. I pity you, Cassandra. I really do, for what I am about to do."

"What are you-" I replied, feeling small and helpless.

He took hold of each of my arms, "I must ask you not to move, complain, turn around or anything like that. I know what I'm doing." I stepped back, he stepped forwards. The pressure on my arms grew more intense. I turned round and saw that the two girls were also close enough to see us properly, dark though it was. "Don't do that, Cassandra!" breathed Nero angrily into my ear.

"What-" I cried, looking up at him. I tried to back away, but he wouldn't let me. I was feeling really scared now. I realised what he was about to do a split second before he did it. Before he kissed me.

His arms closed round me like steel clamps and I had not the strength to resist and move from his embrace. I tried to pull away, but whichever way I jerked my head, his followed me. He broke his kiss long enough to whisper fiercely, "Keep still, you idiot! They've seen us- it's all right."

"All right! You think it's all right? I'm not-" He kissed me again to make me shut up.

The girls were in earshot. One was saying, "-late to be out on a night like this. It's nearly eight o'clock. Let's see who they are. Come one. Oh look! He's a Slytherin!"

"And she's a Gryffindor- look at her scarf, Angela! Ooo!" said the second female.

Nero's arms abruptly stiffened round me as he heard the second girl speak. I wriggled. He broke the kiss (which I feel I ought to mention was entirely on his side- I just stood there.) He forced my head to rest on his chest, facing away from the two girls. He whispered in my ear, "Do nothing. Leave it to me." He did not give me any choice.

"I say," exclaimed Angela, "he looks awfully like-"

"Nero!" came a high pitched scream from the other. "Nero Malfoy! What a cheating, lying-"

"Hello, Joan," said Nero calmly. I could feel his heartbeat had speeded up a few notches. A vague suspicion entered my head. Could Joan be... his girlfriend?

My suspicions seemed to be confirmed when I heard her cry out in that dreadful screech, "How dare you carry on like this behind my back? I loved you and I thought you did too. You liar!"

"I always lie," he replied ruthlessly. "What makes you so different?"

"I'm your girlfriend!"

"I think we need a change of tense there, don't you? How about 'was'?"

There was a sound of violent sobbing. "Why did you do it? Oh, you have made me so miserable! Here, I shall return to you your- well, you never gave me anything so I can't return it but if you had then I would throw it in your face!"

"Good, I wish you'd been able to. I was planning to break up with you tomorrow morning, but I knew you would never be able to let go without proof. Thank-you for making my job much easier."

"You mean you planned me to see this?"

"Yes," he replied. He started running his fingers through my hair.

"I don't understand what you can get from her," insisted Joan, "that you can't from me?"

"There are other things you can get for kissing Gryffindors than just fulfilment," Nero replied cruelly. A single tear dropped from my nose and I licked it away. I wanted to go home.

"Oh, I see. You're using her and will get a tidy sum for it. I thought there was more to you than just a mercenary. But now I know better!"

"But who is she?" inquired Angela curiously.

"Shut up- don't interfere in my business! Who is she, Nero?"

"A Gryffindor from another year. Does it matter? She's a Gryffindor and I'll be well paid."

"You're nothing but common prostitutes, both of you! Someone needs to teach you manners and soon, before it's too late! Come on, Angela, let's go." And still sobbing, she and her friend ran off towards the school.

As soon as they were far away, Nero released me. I jumped as far back as possible and wiped my hand across my mouth. I was shaking, trembling and felt hot and cold in succession. Tears fell more rapidly now.

"Thank-you! Thank-you for ruining my life!" I cried and sniffed loudly. "I hope you realise what you've done- I hope you realise how much of my life you have stolen from me!" I paused to hiccup and wipe my nose.

"Have I nothing better to do with myself than listen to hysterical girls?" he asked nobody in particular, coolly.

"They wouldn't be hysterical in the first place if it wasn't for you!" I replied shrilly. "I regret everything, everything! And... and if I could relive tonight, I'd do it all differently. I didn't know you before, but I do now! And I now know just what a- a horrible beast you are!" I drew a shuddering breath and continued, "I don't know what you hoped to get out of it. All I do know is that, tonight, you have shown no respect whatsoever for human feelings and you have ignored the strictest rules of common decency. Do you think I ought to be obliged to you? Well, I'm not grateful at all and don't think I ever will be! You could not have behaved in a worse way towards me. Did you do it because you hate me?

"Well? Did you?" I insisted, since he made no sign of replying. "Don't be such a coward and speak up! Not that anything you say could ever make me believe you now! I never ever sought you, or wanted you in anyway. And, the funny thing is, I still don't! So, now what do you have to say?"

He turned towards me and remarked coldly, "Nothing. You have said all that is possible to say." He picked up his broom and started walking towards the castle. Still walking he called into the freezing air, "And thank you for your hatred. And my life." He stopped and looked back at me. "An odd combination, aren't they?" He strode on.

The dark enclosed itself round me. An owl screeched in the forest. Letting out a loud howl, I fled past Nero and towards the castle and my bed.

Cassandra E. Potter

~~*~~

Dea Prejudice was leaning out of a window at the central Headquarters of the Department of Mysteries, smoking a cigarette. The corridor was stuffy and she had opened a window to get a little fresh air. She gazed down into the courtyard and thanked her stars that the Department of Mysteries was seasonless. It was always a pleasant English summer; warm and sunny with a gentle breeze.

In fact, the Dep (as it was called) was quite the reverse to what the Headquarters of the Wizarding MI6 might be naturally be expected to be like. It was all contained in a large, rambling house of about five stories high. Orange paint peeled on the outside and white paint on the inside. It was built round a square courtyard which contained a miniature garden of Eden. Beautiful shrubs and flowers and trees grew there all year round. In the centre was a bench for DOM members to rest themselves occasionally. Many windows surrounded by flapping green shutters overlooked this courtyard. Every sound was magnified in it so if someone dropped a pebble from a window on the fifth floor into the pond below, everybody would hear it.

Dea Prejudice surveyed the familiar scene in front of her. For a completely magical creation, the Dep was pretty good, she reflected. The Boss was definitely a powerful witch.

Footsteps sounded on the marble corridor and, quick as a flash, Prejudice stubbed out her cigarette and threw the stub out of the window. There were strict no smoking rules. To explain why she had been leaning out of the window she reached out and plucked a shiny, red apple off an apple tree. She pulled her hood over her head and turned round to greet the newcomer.

She relaxed a little when she realised that she was a Domina. A Domina would not dare to report someone of her high standing for breaking a silly, little rule. The woman stopped and greeted Dea Prejudice. "Hello! Nice day, isn't it?"

"Isn't it always, here?" she replied.

The lowly Domina laughed. "True. But it's bleak in England at the moment. February always was a particularly depressing month, don't you agree? But it is nice here."

Automatically the Dea glanced down the crest which rested on the left pocket of every DOM member's robes. The crest showed special information relating that person's code name. This Domina's crest showed what looked like a black bat with a sword rammed in it. Dea Prejudice's heart almost stopped beating for a second. Quite by chance, she was discussing the weather with the enigmatic, the elusive, the shadowy Domina Eowyn!

"Who," she inquired hastily, "was Eowyn?"

The Domina laughed under her hood. "Soused at last! Well, I didn't think it would be long."

"Recognition comes with life," replied Prejudice solemnly.

"Yes, but some sorts of recognition are more unwelcome than others," replied Eowyn with a little sigh. Prejudice did not, then, understand exactly what she meant.

"Eowyn," continued her namesake, "was a character from Tolkien's masterpiece, The Lord of the Rings- but haven't you read it?" Her voice expressed wonderment. "I thought everyone had read Lord of the Rings, or at least seen the films? No? How extraordinary!"

Dea Prejudice almost crushed the apple in her annoyance. Were the Boss and Domina Eowyn one and the same person? She seriously considered that suggestion before noticing how Eowyn was about a head taller than the Boss. But no wonder that the Boss favoured this particular Domina!

Before she could ask more on the subject of Eowyn, the Domina had loosened the collar of her navy blue robes to reveal her neck. She flapped her robes around a little to circulate the air. "But it is warm today. Very nice to have met you, Dea. Good morning." She walked off, leaving Prejudice standing stock-still staring at the spot she had recently occupied. She looked as if she had seen a ghost.

Actually, she had seen the necklace Domina Eowyn was wearing. Dea Prejudice had very good eyesight and a very good memory. It was this that had helped her to advance so far up into DOM. So it was not surprising she remembered where she had last seen such an unusual pendant.

A woman, standing up in the middle of a crowded hall, all eyes upon her. A pendant, winking in the spotlights for all to see, unafraid of recognition. At last, Dea Prejudice knew who Domina Eowyn was. She was Lady Potter.

The necklace presented even more complications now than when she had originally seen it. After all, what was a woman like Lady Potter doing wearing a necklace like that?

Prejudice leaned back out of the window, heaved a sigh and took a large bite out of the shiny, red apple. The imprint of her teeth was left in the flesh afterwards and she stared at it as she thought.

She could remember the necklace perfectly. It was a simple gold chain with a pendant dangling from it. This consisted of a gold sword with one small, red, ruby at its hilt. Wound round the sword was a silver serpent with one green eye.

To someone as well educated as Dea Prejudice was, the symbolism was obvious. Gryffindor's sword was being embraced by Slytherin's snake. But what was such a blatantly obvious Gryffindor doing wearing a necklace with a Slytherin symbol on it?

~~*~~

It was a beautiful day and Godric Gryffindor was whistling. He was whistling for two reasons. Firstly, because it was the most beautiful day of summer and secondly because he was happy, healthy and nineteen years old.

Indeed, it was truly a ravishing day. It was the sort of day on which even crusty, old Dominic, the overseer of Godric's Hollow would stare up at the sky, remove the stalk of grass from between his lips, push his straw hat back on his head and say that it was 'pleasant enough'.

It was the sort of day on which if Godric saw him, he would even hail his cousin Salazar Slytherin as 'a jolly fine chap' and slap him on the back.

If Godric tilted his head back as far as it would go, he was able to see a sky that was as blue as the wild cornflowers that grew in abundance along the track up to the Hollow, as clear as the water in the brook that cascaded over mossy stones down the bank at the back of the villa and as free from clouds as Godric's mind was free from complications.

It was a warm day, without being too hot; in short, just perfect. The bright sun tickled his face and the back of his neck, and tanned his feet between the straps of his leather sandals. The air was not completely free from wind, however; a light breeze rustled the leaves every now and then or tousled Godric's black hair a little.

The air was clear as a reflection. In fact, in that part of the world, everything seemed to be a reflection of the nearby sea. The water strengthened colour, heightened lines and enhanced beauty.

Godric was walking up a steep path through the copse at the back of Godric's Hollow, out of the valley. The path was stony, leafy and surrounded by trees and flowers. Godric lifted an arm to a young oak by the pathway and cut off a small, thin branch, just under eleven inches long.

As he walked, he began to whittle away at it. He was going to make himself a flute. As he walked and whistled and whittled, he thought about Julia whom he had left in Milan. She had given him a good time on his return journey to Britain.

Godric had gone abroad at the age of eleven to gain an education in philosophy in Athens. A year later, he had been sent back by his tutors as a hopeless case. He was then sent to a school in Rome where he had spent seven interesting years learning the skill of oratory. He had proved a good pupil; the idea of being able to communicate his every wish effectively appealed to him a great deal.

He was smallish man, with sharp, birdlike features. His eyes were dark brown that had an ironic, self-important quality. His face was quite swarthy and tough. If he was not quite handsome, he was very near it.

Godric had few beliefs. He knew that life was short and therefore it was a good idea to get as much of it while one could as possible. He liked women, travel and mathematics.

He was no philosopher.

He was a light-hearted man, in matters of little importance. He could make a jest at every occasion (and not always in the best of taste). However, he had been well brought up and understood the ethics of the society he lived in (even if he did not follow them himself).

He was not a hero either.

Brushing back a curtain of foliage, he entered his very own secret hideaway, from when he was a child. It was a little stone clearing, up a few steps from the path and surrounded by greenery. There was a stone seat opposite the entrance which was now covered in moss, for no-one had sat on it for many years. If Godric peered round the back of the ancient seat, he commanded a tolerable outlook of the fields on the other side of the ridge, falling away towards the sparkling sea.

Godric took a deep breath of tangy air and muttered, "Welcome back home, Godric!"

He sat down on the seat, wincing a little as he felt the cold stone, and continued to calmly whittle the stick to try and make it as smooth as possible. He started whistling a new tune he had heard someone sing on the boat crossing the channel. But this brought back unpleasant memories of seasickness and rats, so he changed tune.

Nothing could dampen his mood. His parents had been delighted to see how well he had turned out and had given a feast and invited Squire Ravenclaw from a neighbouring farm to join them. Godric was fond of the bluff farmer. He remembered that he had played with Ravenclaw's daughter when they had both been little. She was four or five years younger than him and had always shown an unhealthy interest in intelligent pursuits.

Suddenly the green curtain parted and a woman stood there. Godric stopped whistling and lowered the stick abruptly. He stared at her very rudely.

She was petite and a little plump round the middle. Her face was round and had a scattering of light brown freckles. Her hair was wispy and brown, and tied up on the top of her head. Her eyes were large and were of the clearest, most expressive blue. Her nose was short and turned up.

There was a long pause then she said with hesitation, "Godric?"

His gaze didn't leave her face. "Rowena?"

She began to smile, and as she did so, her face seemed to undergo a transformation. Her mouth broadened, so that the corners of her lips appeared to reach her ears. Her eyes sparkled and danced with joy and her whole body seemed to gain energy and lightness. She would never be a handsome woman, but when she smiled with such warmth and pleasure, no-one would be able to think her plain.

She nodded eagerly twice. "You've changed so much!" she cried, moving forward a pace and abruptly stopping.

Godric leaned back a little, to survey her better and replied, luxuriating in the sound of his own voice, as he maintained eye contact, "So have you!"

"Of course I have! I'm fourteen now!"

Godric's eyes swept over her face, her bare neck and fingers and inquired casually, "Not married yet, I see?"

She blushed. "No."

There was a pause. Godric eventually said, "Do you still read in that ridiculously ravenous way? I remember you used to consume books like I devoured roast pork!"

"Oh, come on! Yes, I do read still." A touch of wistfulness crept into her voice. "I suppose you've read everything on your travels, Godric. I should like so much to go to Rome..."

Godric stood up, abruptly. "And so you shall, madam, so you shall! Walk with me, my young friend?" He offered her his arm.

She took it and they left the hideaway. Rowena sighed. "Tell me about Italy. Is it- is it as beautiful as it should be? I've read so much about it and it sounds like paradise."

"Don't you like Britain? I'm so glad to be back her that I can scarce imagine wanting to leave for a long time."

"I love Britain, but..." She flung her arms wide and twirled round on the path in front of him, her smile back. "I've never been anywhere else, you see. How much I should like to see the places of old- Carthage, Rome, Ithaca, the ruins of Troy..."

"Why don't you go?"

Her face fell dramatically. "I'm a girl, in case you didn't notice. It's not that easy."

He gave a slight grin. "I'll take you to all these places, if you want."

She shook her head gravely. "I know you don't mean it, Godric, so don't tempt me, if you please."

He shrugged. They trudged on, in silence. The path through the copse wound on uphill for a few more minutes, before emerging on the ridge. Bright sunlight dazzled them, and for a few moments they simply stared at the view.

A stone wall marked the boundary between the path and the fields. Luminous, green grass fell away from them towards the sea, visible as a vague, blue-green glimmer in the distance, just darker than the azure sky. Nestled among the rolling fields of grazing cows and sheep was a sparkle of white stone where smoke was rising in a straight column from a chimney. "My house," said Rowena proudly, pointing.

"You still manage the entire estate for your father, do you?" asked Godric, curiously.

"Mostly. Father simply doesn't have the head for business. But it has become a little harder now that Caecilia is married."

"What? But she's just a child!" exclaimed Godric.

Rowena's mouth turned up at the corners. "Thirteen years old. She's married to a red faced old magistrate about my father's age, and has to live in a nasty city!" She gave a slight skip. "I don't envy her lot at all!"

Godric smiled. "I dare say you've been employing yourself far better than by mere marriage!"

She laughed a little self-consciously. "Well, perhaps I have. Shall I tell you what I've been doing?" She looked at him, sideways.

"Go on."

She paused for effect. "I have been learning magic-"

"Mag-!"

"And Godric," she continued quickly, "I've had simply the most marvellous idea!"

"But Rowena, how could you learn magic? Women aren't supposed to."

"My father taught me a few spells to make my work on the farm easier. But never mind that! Don't you want to hear what I have to say?"

"It can't hurt if you tell me."

She licked her lips and thought a minute. Godric started absent mindedly to whittle away at his branch again as they walked. Eventually Rowena, having collected her thoughts, started thus.

"I have been aware, and I'm sure you have been as well, Godric, of the tension that exists between the Romans and Celts in this country. Especially, the great amount of rivalry between Roman wizards and Celtic magicians, called Druids." She glanced up at Godric for confirmation. He nodded.

"There is much prejudice in the country towards those who are not pure blood Roman wizards, such as yourself. Your mother may be a Slytherin, but your father is descended from a great line of British kings. In the eyes of some, this dilutes your magical potential, though it should not, since the Druid's magic is just as great, if not greater than that of the Romans."

"I know of whom you speak," replied Godric, darkly.

She glanced up at him. "Who?"

An olive complexioned, shrewd and calculating face flashed into Godric's mind. "My cousin, Salazar Slytherin. He has always believed that being the descendant of a Greek slave was something to celebrate, simply because there was not a trace of Druid in his blood."

"Some people are such fools!" cried Rowena bitterly. "You know, he is coming to have dinner with my father this evening."

"Whatever for?" asked Godric in surprise.

Rowena would not meet his eye. "They must have particular business to discuss. I-I have never met him. What is he like?"

Godric shook his head. "I have seen him but once since my return from Italy. He is just as prejudiced, arrogant, snobby and cunning. Do not be friendly to him if you can possibly avoid it."

She nodded. "I see." She frowned as she walked and appeared troubled by something. At last she smiled at him again and continued speaking.

"I don't know how much you know about the state of magic in Britain, having been absent for so many years."

"You might need to refresh my memory," agreed Godric.

"Well, I have been studying it as much as I can and this is what I have come up with. There are two distinct types of magic that are used in Britain at this time: the sorcery of the Druids, and the pure magic of the Romans, as they call it."

"Go on."

"The Druids believe that magic exists in every living thing, and that it is merely stronger in some than in others. They need no spells to make something happen. In fact, just like I turn my head, without consciously thinking about it, so do they do magic. The magic is in them and they are the magic.

"On the other hand, the Romans do not think that. Our magic stems from our belief in the gods. Magic is simply the atheist's explanation for religion. We can implore the gods to make something happen, and in the same way we can say the right words and it will occur. That is why it is called 'pure magic'; it has been refined so much that it is no longer natural."

"That's a little harsh on your own people, Rowena!"

"I speak as I find. The way we do magic is also different. Druids believe that magic flows round our body with our blood and that it can be released effectively in contact with some natural substance, a tree or something. The Romans simply use inanimate words that they have cleverly thought up. They have to consciously point at what they want to conjure with and say the appropriate words."

"I don't have to," said Godric smugly.

"Don't have to what?"

"Point. I just say the words and it happens. Very useful. I find magic a lot easier than most, possibly because of this."

"Ah," cried Rowena, eyes gleaming. "You know why this is? Because you're descended from Druids as well as Romans. You're magic is freer than most people's. That is, most people brought up with the Roman system. Godric, will you stop fiddling with that stick! I'm sorry to bring it up, but it's very distracting. Give me the twig."

Godric handed it over with a wry smile. "Here you go. I remember you always hated my doing anything as I walked. Can I have it back afterwards, though? Please?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course! Anyway, as I was saying, Romans find it harder to do magic than Druids because of their lack of agreement with nature. So, here is my idea. We make an entirely new kind of magic!"

"What do you mean?"

"This! The Druids think that the Romans are too stylised; the Romans believe that the Druid's magic is sloppy! Let's combine the best things of both systems."

"How?" asked Godric, who was unwillingly becoming interested.

"Well," explained Rowena, gesticulating madly in her excitement, "what I thought was this. Perhaps the reason it is so difficult for the Romans to do magic effectively is because they aren't sufficiently in tune with nature, so we should make them channel their spells through something relatively natural. Something like... like... this!" She held up the oak stick in triumph.

"That's my flute you're waving around, you know."

"Not anymore it isn't!" She grinned and danced around the path in front of him. "You see, the Romans can't complain that it's not structured and the Druids will having nothing to object to about the nature problem. It's perfect!"

Godric shook his head. "I'm sorry that I can't join in the festivities just now. Have you really thought this through practically? I mean, you can't just expect the whole civilised world to suddenly start doing their spells with pieces of wood in their hands because some woman in England thinks it might make it easier."

"I know that, Godric!" she cried in exasperation. "Don't forget I've had seven years to think this through. We'll start a school to teach every single magical child the principles of the scheme."

"Did I hear you say 'we'?"

"Of course. You surely don't think I can do this on my own?" They stopped. Rowena looked up at him. Her blue eyes were wide and pleading.

"But Rowena," stammered Godric, "I've just got home!"

"Godric, I've been waiting for you. I know that you'll help me. You always helped me when I was a child. Do you remember the compost game?"

"Uh- no!" Godric seemed to have wiped this event from his memory.

"I was going to commit suicide by throwing myself from the wall onto the compost heap, which you had set on fire. We did get into awful trouble for that one," she mused. "But Godric, you were always there for me. This is just the same again!"

Godric chuckled and shook his head. "I seriously hope that this adventure doesn't involve setting fire to anything, though."

"So you're in?" she gasped.

Suddenly Godric thought of something. "Rowena- what about when you marry?"

She sighed and scruffed her sandals into the ground. "I wondered when that subject would come up. I have, so far, managed to avoid it pretty well, though there were a couple of narrow shaves."

"What do you mean? How can you avoid marriage if your father wishes it?"

She laughed. "Well, let's see, after they've seen me, dowry or no dowry, they're generally a little put-off. I always look my worst when a suitor comes to visit; I always tell them about Euclidean mathematics whatever they seem interested in, and I give them the impression that I am some dreadful, vixinish shrew."

"Well, you are, aren't you?"

"Godric! Still, Father is growing angry. Caecilia's suitor originally came for me, but went away with my younger sister! He will marry me to the next person who comes along, I feel sure of it. He is terribly indulgent, but he is often teased for his inability to wed his daughter!" She paused, and when Godric did not say anything, continued sadly, "No sensible man is going to want a wife like me."

Godric stopped walking abruptly and turned to face her. "Marry me."

Rowena's lips parted slightly and her eyes grew wide. "Oh," she breathed. She blushed. "I suppose you thought I meant to hint. I certainly didn't mean it like that." She self consciously tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear.

"I mean it. I'm asking you a serious question. I'm not a sensible man, on the whole, and I happen to like vixinish shrews."

She stammered, "You're not supposed to do it like this! You have to ask Father first..."

"But I don't want to marry your father!" burst out Godric angrily. "I want to marry you!"

She raised her eyes to his face. "You want to marry me?" she said incredulously.

He shrugged. "I'll take you to Rome, to Carthage. I'll show you the ruins of Troy. And we'll found your school. If you want this, Rowena, you'll have to want me. Like all marriages, this would be a purely practical arrangement."

"But I-"

He caught hold of her hand. "I've seen a lot of the world, Rowena, and I have never seen anyone like you in all my travels. But I was waiting to meet a child. When I came back, I didn't realise that you would have grown up too. You're not as pretty as the Julias and Cornelias that I met in Italy, but at least I can talk to you! The man who passes over you would be a fool- you are perfectly unique. If you'll have me I'll think myself the luckiest man in all Europe."

She seemed incapable of replying. Eventually she replied in wonderment, "No-one's ever talked to me before like that."

"Of course they haven't! But Rowena, don't you think it would work? You see, I've thought about marriage a lot these last few years, and I've come to the conclusion that all it is is simple respect. If you don't respect your partner then whatever else you feel there's nothing going. I respect you more than anybody else I know, and you must respect me, or you wouldn't have asked me for help."

She seemed puzzled. "Yes, I do respect you, Godric. But I... I did think that there was something else to marriage. At least, there is in books. The woman always feels something great, like being touched by a Goddess. There's something wild about it all, which I don't feel."

"Do you love me, Rowena?"

She shook her head. "Well no, not really. I just felt like I was coming home when I saw you. You always were a rock for me to lean on, and you still are. I feel completely at ease with you for I trust you entirely. But I don't love you."

Godric gave a short bark of delighted laughter. "It's very clear you've been reading quite the wrong sort of romantic literature, my dear! Come, you say my bratty cousin dines with you tonight. Well, expect me tomorrow. And when you see me, don't hesitate to bring up geometry!"