Tale of a Time Long Gone

Chapter 2 - And So We Meet Again

"As much as we would have liked to, we cannot lie to ourselves concerning the illustrious Founders of Hogwarts.

"The common belief, inspired by the hundreds of years that have passed since they lived, is that their way to the founding of the school was free of obstacles and objections.

"This presumption, however, is far from correct.

"The reader would do well to remember that in those days, the power center of the Wizarding World was the Council of Warlocks - whatever the Council wished for was a rule in the community. None dared object for fear of death. The Council was ruthless, no doubt, even though we have no true records of the punishments given.

"In the Founders' time, the Chief Warlock of the Council was Lord Ambrosius, a man who fashioned himself the heir of the great Merlin himself. He was the strongest of the Council leaders in all its years of existence. He was also the last of the truly influential leaders.

"However, before we can even begin with Lord Ambrosius' opposition to the will of the Founders, as will be discussed in further chapters, we must first take into account the conflicts between the Founders themselves before their final decision to oppose the greatest force in the Wizarding World of those days..."

- Hogwarts, A History; Author unknown

Rowena and Helga were enjoying a ferocious game of Wizard's Chess. Rosalind, Rowena's mother, was mending one of her daughter's dresses. Rowena was quite hopeless with thread and needle. She once asked her mother what she found so enjoyable in mending things the Muggle way when she could just as easily mend them with a wave of her wand. Rosalind smiled and told her that in a few years she would understand.

It had been six years since that question. Rowena still did not understand.

Rosalind used to be a beautiful woman and was a very strong witch, but the years that had passed since the tragic death of her husband made her weary of life. Her once raven-black hair was streaked with grey. Her pale skin was wrinkled and her eyes constantly mournful. Rowena knew fully well that the only reason her mother was still alive was because she felt obliged to take care of both her daughter and Helga, her protégé.

The cheerful fire was quite a contrast to the horrid weather outside. The Glen was a natural funnel, making it impossible to be out of the house during the winter storms. Snow hit the small house with force. Rowena could hear the thumps of it on the tightly closed shutters.

Nothing prepared the three women enjoying their evening for the door bursting open and the two cloaked men tumbling inside.

Rosalind jumped out of her seat, dropped her sewing, drew her wand and stood poised for attack.

Helga jumped so high in her seat that the chessboard fell on the ground, the various little figures shrieking in indignation.

Rowena sat, frozen in her chair. Had her magic failed? Were the Muggles coming to finish what they had started two years before? Would she have to fight for her life that day?

"Ow! I think I broke something," one of them whined.

No. These were obviously not people preparing for the kill.

"Me, too," the other groaned.

Rowena suddenly found her voice; her anger at being so frightened covering her shock. "Who on earth are you?!" she demanded, surprising the men, Helga, Rosalind and herself.

The one who had spoken first raised his head from the floor. He was familiar, though she could not remember where she had seen him before. The long, untidy mane of black hair covered a fair portion of his face, but she managed to catch a glimpse of bright blue eyes. Where have I seen this man before? she tried to think.

The man gave her a funny look and asked, as though echoing her own thoughts, "Have I seen you before?" then he groaned and touched his head gingerly. "I think I'm developing a concussion."

"You can't develop a concussion, Godric," his companion chided him before groaning as well and getting up to his feet. He, too, seemed awfully familiar. "Mind showing us where we can stow our horses before we explain who we are and what we're doing here?"

Rosalind, still holding her wand in hand, led them outside.

"I know these people, Helga," Rowena said quietly. "I know I've seen them before."

"Could be village people," Helga suggested with a shrug.

"They were most certainly not village people. Give me a second - I know I remember them from somewhere."

A few minutes later, Rosalind and the men came back - her wand was still pointing at them. "Sit," she said roughly and then turned to mutter a locking charm on the front door.

The men obeyed her immediately and settled themselves near the fire.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well what?" the man called Godric muttered, rubbing his head.

"Well, who are you? You are obviously of the magic community - for you have managed to get to the house. Who are you and what are you doing here?" Rowena demanded hotly before her mother had the chance to answer.

Godric looked up at her from his seat, his eyes narrowed. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere. You're the girl who glared at me back in the inn all those years ago. I never forget a face. Especially not one that makes evil expressions at me."

Only then it struck Rowena. She suddenly realized where she had seen the two before. She glared at them. "You scared my friend."

Godric glared back at her. "You keep a grudge! It's been five years, and besides, we never meant to scare her. Was it our fault that her parents decided to get her married at thirteen? I don't think so!"

"You could have said no! You didn't have to listen to Helga cry every night for a week! You didn't have to convince her that you wouldn't come back to take her away! You didn't-"

"How could we have known that she was such a frightened little thing? We assumed the parents would realize we could not and would not take her for wife! You are just bringing up an old grudge and mulling it over again! You-"

"Godric!" the second man snapped at the same time Helga said "Rowena!"

The bickering two quieted down, still glaring at each other.

"Good," a quiet voice said from near the fire. Rosalind Ravenclaw took up her sewing again and went back to work while she watched the four young people. "It's about time you kept your mouths shut. Rowena, Helga, I want the two of you to go to your room and go to sleep. It is late."

"But Mother-" Rowena began.

"Now, Rowena," Rosalind said in the same quiet voice.

"Yes, Mother."

The two girls picked up their chessboard and pieces and went to the back of the house where they slept.

While Helga washed her face and hands in the small bowl on their nightstand, Rowena pushed a few more logs into the fireplace.

Why are they here? she could not help but wonder. They walked into our lives one evening, changed our lives and in the same night they left. We always thought they would never come back. Why are they here again? Why did they come here in the first place? Why-

"I never guessed they were our kind," Helga finally said, surprising Rowena out of her quiet reverie. The other girl finished washing herself and slipped into her nightdress. Now she sat on the edge of their bed, brushing her long golden locks.

"What?" she asked, startled.

"I said I never guessed they were our kind. You know, wizards? All these years I've been thinking of what would have happened had they accepted Mother and Father's suggestion. I sometimes just lay in bed and thought of what kind of future I would have if I was to marry such a person. I thought about it so many times that it became sort of my private fantasy. But never in all the variations of thought I had did I think they were wizards."

Rowena shrugged. "These days you can't possibly tell who is magic and who is not. You can't tell it to anyone in fear of being denounced and burned at the stake. They could have been Muggles for all we knew, or they could have been wizards." She was silent for a while before speaking again. "They must be very influential even in the Wizarding World - considering their attire and steeds and the way they carry themselves. What I am wondering is what business brings them here? What could possibly bring two such lords into this hole?"

Helga looked at her helplessly. "I don't know, Raven. I'm just as surprised as you are. The Glen leads to nowhere. If they were heading somewhere else they would have stayed in Caerwyn Valley. The only place the Glen leads to is here. Maybe they're here for your mother?'

"Possibly. But no one has tried to contact us for over ten years as far as I can remember. We never even got a letter of condolence when Father died," Rowena said with a sigh.

It was still hard for Rowena to think of it. Her father had always been a very central figure in her life and now that he was dead... Helga often cried after it happened, saying that it was all her fault, that if she had not been stupid enough to get caught, it would not have happened. Rowena, however, being the completely honest person that she was, admitted to herself and then told the tearful girl that had she had a second chance to do it, knowing the consequences, she would have done the same thing.

Dwelling on it will do me no good, she told herself and blinked away the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "No one has shown interest in Mother's research for years, as well," she continued. "But that's the only reason I can think of for someone to walk willingly into the Glen."

She would have continued discussing it with her friend, but the soft, even breathing coming from Helga's direction told her the girl already fell asleep. With a gentle smile on her face, she washed herself, slipped into her nightgown and slid between the sheets of their bed, falling asleep immediately.

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There are shouts all around her and it is immensely hot. She is holding her wand tightly in her clenched hand, tears falling on her cheeks. She is eighteen, but in comparison to other girls her age, she seems much older.

She knows for sure that if they fail, Helga - her only friend and constant companion for the past nine or so years - will die the next day. She cannot let that happen.

Fire. They surrounded the house containing Helga with fires. Was it not common knowledge that witches could not pass a ring of fire? If it were not for the situation they were in, she would laugh. Did they really believe that only witches die in fire?

She looks up to Father. He has that grim expression on his face again. The same expression he wears whenever she asks about her grandparents - the ones she never met.

Her eyes move to Mother. She also has a horrible expression on her face - as if she knows saving Helga will cost the small family a lot.

She has to be brave. If Mother and Father are going to face this, so is she. She will not let her friend perish in the flames.

Her insides burn with an internal fire - a fire that is ready to consume anyone who stands in its path. But she knows better than that. This fire has to be harnessed - to be used in the appropriate time for greatest effect.

"Get her out from the back!" Father shouts to her and to Mother. "I will distract them! We will meet back home! Get a move on, Rosalind! We have not got much time!"

And Mother complies, dragging her behind. They circle the house and reach the barred window of Helga's room.

Mother mutters a spell to put out a small portion of the circle of fire and they walk through. Mother then says something she cannot hear above the sudden sound of fighting on the other side of the house.

Father is there - fighting for them.

The bars on the window are gone.

"Come on, Helga!" she shouts and pulls her friend out.

They run through the village and into the Glen. Mother covers for them from behind. Rowena holds Helga's hand and pulls her onward. Mother keeps on hurrying them from behind.

They finally reach home and they wait. Father will be back in no time.

In the meanwhile Mother gives Helga something clean and warm to wear and she starts cooking dinner for the four of them.

They wait for Father. And wait. And wait.

Rowena feels like she cannot wait anymore. She takes hold of her wand and slips out of the house while Mother is cooking and Helga is sleeping in the chair next to the fireplace.

She runs back to the village. It is already dark, but she knows her way around - she grew up here.

She reaches the village and still no sign of Father.

Then she hears the screams of pain.

She sneaks through the deserted alleyways and from a street corner away from sight she has a good view of the village square.

There is Father.

And he burns.

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"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh! No! No! Don't! Please! Father! Father!!!"

"Raven! Raven! Calm down! Please!"

Rowena was sitting in bed, the image of her father on his death pyre still on her mind. She had not had that dream for over a year now.

Perhaps dream was not the right word for it. It was a nightmare, and she was reliving the events of the night they had saved Helga from the villagers yet again.

Next to her, Helga was also sitting in bed, her face pale in the light of her wand. "Rowena," she said softly. "What happened?"

Rowena sighed and put her face in her hands. "Nothing, Helga. Just the old nightmare again. I can't imagine what caused me to dream it again after so long. What time is it?"

"Something along the lines of two hours before dawn, maybe a bit less. Why?" she looked at her in concern.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep, Helga. Please don't mention this to Mother."

Helga nodded and went back to sleep. Rowena waited for well over half an hour before she was certain her friend was fast asleep again. She then got up, slid out of her nightgown, quickly buttoned up her dress, not bothering with all the skirts, pulled on her cloak and sneaked out of the room, careful not to make any sound.

The house was quiet. When she entered the main room, she saw the two shapes of the strangers lying on the floor, huddled inside their cloaks. She opened the front door with extra care and walked outside.

During the night, the storm had abated and now a thick coat of snow covered the ground, undisturbed. The sky was dark, but she could see a faint grey just where the top of the Glen's eastern wall touched the sky. It was going to be a very gloomy day, fitting her mood.

She was not an introverted, depressed person by nature. Sure, she was not Helga, who managed to find the ray of light in every situation, but she never found much need to dwell on unnecessary things and wasting time over sulking and mere trifles. No, Rowena Ravenclaw was a very practical young woman.

This time, however, there was no logical or practical answer to her inner turmoil. Why was it that on the day the two strangers from the past had arrived the old nightmare had come back? Was there something about them that had triggered her dreams?

It has something to do with that Godric fellow! she decided. I shouldn't have let him get to me! If I was not so upset with what he said I would not have been so vulnerable to the nightmare! But even saying this to herself sounded wrong.

She did not get along well with the Godric fellow, that much was true, but she had bickered with people before. The nightmare never happened after arguments with Helga or Mother.

Was it something to do with the two wizards' quest? Maybe they were thinking so badly about their mission that it somehow intruded her sleep?

She shook her head in disgust. It sounded so wooly!

A premonition, perhaps? was her next idea. But she had never believed in the Art of Divination, and premonitions also fell under that category. Besides, what kind of premonition is it, having to relive something dreadful from your own past?

Almost distractedly, she wandered into the small stable attached to the house, where Father's old horse used to live until the previous winter, when he had finally succumbed to death.

Oh, good old Roland, Rowena thought, a soft smile spreading on her face. She used to love that old creature. Father had often let her ride him when she was little. Naturally, he held Roland's bridle - but that had never mattered to her. He had lived much longer than the average horse. She supposed it had to do with a bit of mixed blood. It was not unheard-of for horses to mate with the magic races.

He was already an old horse in her first recollections of him. When Father was in the mood, he used to tell her stories of his past, when Roland was a warhorse, carrying him to battle for the Wizarding World, when he was a young wizard, before meeting Mother and settling down in the Glen to start a family.

Both her parents dreamed of a large family. They wanted two daughters and four sons but it all came tumbling down on them.

Rowena's birth was a hard one and Rosalind's body was badly damaged. She could not conceive again.

Being an only daughter never bothered Rowena. She was pampered to a fault, but still managed to grow out of being a spoiled brat. She supposed Helga had a lot to do with that.

Her parents had let her run wild and never bothered to reprimand her when she stayed awake till long after midnight, glued to a thick tome in wavering wand-light.

Then Helga came and turned her world upside down.

The cheery little girl made her see that there were things besides climbing trees and reading books. She taught her the games she played with her Muggle friends and introduced her to the word friendship.

Eleven years ago, she had not had any friends. When she wanted to talk to someone, her parents had to fill that role. When she wanted to play, she would climb trees and explore the valley. She was a very curious child and wanted to know as much as possible.

Upon the minute of her arrival, Helga had announced that she did not mind climbing trees, but if they were going to do so, Rowena would have to do as she said the next day.

That resulted in a day spent in playing tag and throwing a pig's bladder between them.

Rowena loved her friend dearly for giving her another view of life.

She still liked books, though.

Now she sat on last year's pile of hay - the bit Roland never got to use - and looked at the two noble horses standing there.

Was this how Roland had looked when he had been young? Proud and tall? So haughty, yet so beautiful?

And was Father like the two noblemen sleeping in her house? She tried to imagine that kind man wearing their clothes but failed miserably and ended up laughing like a madwoman, rolling in the hay.

A sudden noise coming from the entrance to the stable made her stop. She looked up and her own hazel eyes met Godric's blue ones.

He was wearing a simple brown tunic her father had owned. Mother probably lent it to him, seeing as their clothes had been soaking wet the previous night.

While her father looked like a simple peasant in that tunic, this man still looked regal and dominant.

A slow blush spread up her cheeks. It was so embarrassing being caught like that by a nobleman.

To her horror, a smile crept to his lips. His eyes twinkled merrily and then, without warning, he began laughing.