Hogwarts: A History

Disclaimer- I do not own the Harry Potter franchise or said factual ideas about the founders. What I do own are the characters and the original storyline I create. Anything else is owned under the copyrights of J. K. Rowling

That being said, enjoy!

Hogwarts: A History

Prologue

                One finds it hard to imagine such a beautiful day as the 30^th of March brought about in 865’s spring. Perched high above neighboring towns on a lush, green hill, Slytherin Manor resides unperturbed and sovereign in the faces of the townships nearby. A small castle, or perhaps a rather large estate, but that matters not. Nothing else seems to matter about the size of the Manor once you have fixed your eyes upon its breathtaking features. Six towers, each with a huge serpent sculpted to appear as though it wraps around them, the heads all pointing in separate directions: one gets the impression that these statuesque serpents are real if gazed upon long enough.

                The mere sight of the Slytherin family’s estate is enough to spark the greenest envy, but it is simply impossible to ignore the inner dwellings of the Manor, accessible through the twin doors the size of a medium-length drawbridge. Etched on each of these doors are snakes, one to a door, gloriously curling into magnificent illustrations of the letter “S” and shining brilliantly in a shade of emerald green. Once these doors open, one wanders into the courtyard, as well as a splendorous garden.  Roses, tulips, lilies, violets, and other common (as well as not-so-common) flowers blossom and bloom all around, shadowed by rich, apple orchards. This garden is remarkably beautiful, despite the recent end of a bitter winter, as if it were somehow preserved through the ages, a small patch of Eden.

                Passing through the center of the courtyard, where a fairly large pond holds enchanting koi from distant lands, one proceeds to the front door of the house itself at last. Entering the main hall, one walks across a room with tiles of jade and marble, and the choice of paths arises where one can either climb the twin staircases to the second floor with its emerald green carpets, or one can opt to go beneath and between the staircases to enter into the dining hall, where golden chandeliers hang above a seemingly never-ending table made of obsidian, where several precious vases decorate the corners of the vast room, and golden plates and crystal goblets rest delicately on shelves in a secluded portion of the hall.

                Beyond these rooms, on either the first or second floors, one will also come to discover the ballroom, stretching endlessly onward with a sense of vertigo, the walls decorated with tapestries of a noble green and silver. Below the grandeur of the estate, a wine cellar is situated, housing wines of every known (as well as unknown) quality and flavor imaginable. On the second floor, one can admire the voluminous library, with hundreds of thousands of books, with its monumental columns sculpted to look like snakes infinitely curling around pillars as thick as towering oaks. Then there are the bedrooms with their four-posters and silk sheets, the study, with its cozy settings and armchairs, the fireplace illuminating countless portraits (none in animation) of Slytherin ancestry and a mantelpiece emblem made out of pure gold showing off a two-headed python, and over thirty bathrooms, but once again, none of that holds any importance.

                What does matter is that the entire estate, to the average eye, seems far too unreal, too impossible, too… magical to exist, and yet it does. One even wonders how so much is capable of fitting on such a small hill when the entirety of Slytherin Manor doesn’t seem capable of holding even the ballroom or the library, and yet, it does. On this particular day, this house has cause and purpose to impress outsiders, for the Slytherin kinship is hosting the sixteenth birthday of their only son. A small get-together, but it is an ordeal nonetheless.

Lazaro Slytherin, head of his family, was known to be rather selective of the few guests who did manage to venture into the halls of his humble yet incredibly boastful abode. These few were not unlike himself, his kind. This select few didn’t stretch to knights or nobles, but rather to a group of people with special blood, families with magical lineage. However, the outside world, the “regular” world, does not venture into this household—though Lazaro would kindly welcome them if possible— because they do not and could never know, comprehend, or accept this secret life.

During this day and age, wizarding families were few and far apart, and even scarcer were magical brethren with solely magical blood running in their veins. There could exist, over hundreds of acres, only one or two families of which have majority in magical lineage, though many non-magical families were beginning to produce witches and wizards of their own. The problem, however, was that magic during these times was fiercely hated and deeply feared by those who could not conjure nor comprehend it. Persecution was far from uncommon, though the instances were minor, ending in simplistic things like town square floggings or holy “cleansings”—which aren’t possible since magic can’t really be erased— yet strong opposition against magic was quickly mounting.  Even so, the few magical families that did exist maintained their secrecy, scoffing at their would-be persecutors, deeming them too weak and inferior to ever pose a large threat to wizardkind.

Early that afternoon, Lazaro assembled his family by the twin doors that made up the front gate. They would all be waiting there to greet the guests whom they were expecting, who would all be arriving shortly. A woman with long auburn hair and hazel eyes stared off into the nearby town, beaming happily as she snuck a quick glance at her proud, anxious son. The boy could be no older than sixteen, tall and handsome with platinum-blonde hair, an exact replica of his still taller father, only more youthful in his features. Lazaro took a brief moment to address his son.

“Now, Salazar, remember what I told you. When the Gryffindors arrive, I expect you on your best behavior. This may be your day, but I expect nothing less of you than utmost courtesy in the presence of our guests. I would hate to see your day ruined by some minor mishap.” The boy simply looked at his father and gave an indignant smile.

“Father, why of all days would I even want to try to sabotage my own birthday? You know very well that I plan to enjoy this day,” Salazar said in a matter-of-fact tone, looking at his father with what he probably hoped was a winning expression. When he saw it wasn’t winning, he continued talking. “Oh, come off it, Father! There’s only one way this day will go bad, and that’s if their son ends up ruining it. What if we don’t get al—”

“You will,” Lazaro abruptly declared, cutting off his son’s nervous pleas with the air of a command more so than a hopeful expectation. Their wait wasn’t much longer as the first appearance of their guests came from the east. Walking close together, they were all dressed in red as the Slytherins were all dressed in their noble green.

Unlike the royal clothing of non-magical beings seen on the Gryffindors, the Slytherin family was dressed in robes, the mark of the wizarding community. Their special robes had the family symbol marked on their lapels; the snake shaped like an “S”. The Gryffindor man was one with graying hair and a goatee, wearing a red cape over a gray shirt and pants, held together by a black leather belt. Black shoes with buckle could be seen on his feet, and the emblem of a lion on his shirt. His wife was one with jet-black hair, sweeping down to her waist, and earrings made of small pearls. She wore a crimson dress, obviously made for formal occasions specifically. Trailing behind them was a little boy wearing a bright red cloak, his head covered beneath the hood. He was considerably shorter than his parents, whereas Salazar was taller than his mother and almost as tall as his father. Must be a little younger than me, Salazar thought as he watched them marching up merrily to the Manor, beaming—with the exception of the boy’s face; he couldn’t see it.

“LAZARO!” roared the Gryffindor father as he extended his hand proudly. The reserved, serious manner of Salazar’s father seemed to melt away as he prepared to respond, and the two were loud and full of a rowdiness the likes of which the young Slytherin had never seen. So this is how Father acts around his friends… interesting… Lazaro immediately extended his hand as well and Salazar watched as their grips tightened challengingly, then as the father Gryffindor slapped Lazaro playfully on the back.

“Ah, it is such a pleasure to see you this fine day, Geoffrey,” Lazaro said, an undeniable grin in his expression. Geoffrey Gryffindor turned to face Salazar, and his smile broadened as well.

“But the pleasure here doesn’t rest with you, dear friend,” Gryffindor replied with an attitude of great praise that made Salazar smile nervously, though he was somewhat flattered. “So you’re the young lad Lazaro tells me so much about, and almost a fully grown man yourself, I see! Tis a pleasure to meet you at last, young Salazar,” Gryffindor added, bowing in such a humorous way that the entire group laughed—except for one person. The boy in the hooded cloak hadn’t made a sound yet, something Salazar was reluctantly quick to notice. Now he was somewhat nervous, but it had nothing to do with flattery. He was beginning to doubt this day would go well at all, until—

“GODRIC!” Geoffrey Gryffindor boomed, causing Salazar to jump out of his worrisome state. The cloaked boy backed away somewhat. “Come, now! Don’t be shy! You’re anything but shy when we’re at home. Come greet the birthday boy!” he continued loudly, his laughs filling the air with such a merriness that Salazar began to gain some confidence and hope that today might be enjoyable after all. Godric began to approach the Slytherins slowly, a bit of tension and apprehension showing in his cloaked figure. As he neared Salazar, he began to speak. Salazar was right in assuming he was somewhat younger; he had a voice that seemed to be five years younger than the mature one that Salazar used.

                “P-p-pleased to meet you,” said Godric, holding out his hand as shakily as he spoke. Salazar returned the gesture, and the two anxiously shook hands, withdrew them, and then stood in a few seconds’ silence.

                “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, boy! Remove your hood and let them all have a gander at you!” Geoffrey ordered. The young Gryffindor carefully removed his hood, as his father continued expressing his sincerest apologies to his hosts. “Seriously, Lazaro, I don’t know why the boy’s acting so shy. He’s a regular comedian at home. I suppose meeting new people will do him some good, then, but those two will get along fine, I’m sure of it.” Once the hood was completely down, the face was that of a young boy who looked a couple years older than he actually was. Oddly enough, his hair was also jet-black, tied back in a short ponytail that reached his neck, and he had brilliant green eyes. He looked somewhat athletic, and Salazar could tell that he was probably rather clever. He could see why the boy was described as outspoken at home; he looked rather outgoing as well.

                “Ah, so you’ve finally come out of your shell, have you?” Geoffrey Gryffindor asked with a hearty guffaw. “Well, all the better for young Slytherin, here. I was beginning to worry that you two would never try to get to know one another.” Gryffindor looked at Lazaro in mock offense, letting out a fake gasp, which brought smirks to the faces of Salazar and Godric. “Lazaro! I’m shocked and chagrined. Have you no manners? I would think you of all people would remember to bring your guests inside? It’s not been an easy journey. The least you can do is allow us to rest our weary feet!”

                Lazaro, while thoroughly amused, gave a weak laugh. “So terribly sorry, my fellow gentleman. We will enter at once. Have I introduced you to my wife, Aurora?” Aurora Slytherin smiled quaintly as she did a sort of curtsy, and Gryffindor bowed to complement the gesture. He then motioned attention towards his own wife, grinning broadly. It was rather apparent that he treasured her greatly and was always proud to be the one to introduce her.

                “Ah, yes, such a charming one, you are, Lady Slytherin. However, you will find that my wife, Gloria, will give you quite a run for your money.” Gryffindor jokingly said, winking as Gloria Gryffindor curtsied as well, drawing a bow from Lazaro in complement. Formal greetings aside, the head of the Slytherin estate motioned for family and guest alike to follow him into the confines of his home beyond the two front doors, which came to a complete close as they finally passed through.

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                The day had wound down considerably, and the sun was beginning to glow a bright reddish-orange. After a quick tour—in comparison to the shortest time it would take—of the Slytherin household, the two noble families went out to the courtyard for tea and biscuits. Snapping his fingers twice, Lazaro caused three sets of beautifully crafted quartz tables, each table seating two at a time, to appear by the serene setting of the pond. At this, the women chose the one nearest a group of koi, which had surfaced for feeding, and Lazaro and Gryffindor decided to go and test each other’s mettle in a wizards’ duel spar. The two boys still seemed a little apprehensive toward each other.

                “Salazar, aren’t you and your friend going to watch us duel for a bit?” Lazaro asked invitingly.

                “No, Father, thanks.” Salazar seemed to be unable to think of anything to say or do, and then—“Father! Would it be okay if Godric came with me to look at my room?” Godric, who didn’t really look like he wanted to admire anyone’s room, jumped at the mention of his name.

                “As, you wish, son.”

At this, Salazar grabbed Godric sharply by the arm, which induced a startled yelp, and beckoned him towards the house doors once more.

“Come on. You won’t believe it. I’ve got loads to show you!”

“O-okay,” the young Gryffindor reluctantly answered as he was dragged away from the pond, the women situating themselves to be entertained as they waited for the duel to begin, their husbands’ wands held out like swords. Salazar had just closed the front door when he heard Godric’s father yell, “Mobilihydrus,” and blast a raging torrent of pond water at his own.

“Follow me, it’s up the stairs,” Salazar beckoned, an uncertain and helpless Godric bringing up the rear of the small caravan. Climbing the staircase was the easy part—even walking down the endlessly lengthy halls was easy—it was what came after that was the hard part. Finally finding the door he wanted to enter down the long hall, Salazar led a confused Godric (he had been expecting the bedroom to be through these doors) through a hidden passage behind a portrait, snaking and breaking into other passages that Godric didn’t even bother to try to remember.

“Almost there,” said Salazar, as they spent about ten minutes going through the tunnels—oddly enough made of marble—“I don’t even know why Father troubled himself with making my room so obscure.”

“Has he ever told you?” asked Godric, who was catching his breath as he hobbled along behind the swift pace of Salazar’s fast—and obviously highly practiced—walk.

“Yeah, sure, plenty of times. I still don’t get it. He seems thoroughly convinced that the Muggles will find out about us and wants to make sure I’m safe when the time comes. ‘You’ll be able to escape from your room,’” Salazar enthusiastically stated in a tone mockingly similar to that of his father’s. Godric was somewhat impressed at how well Salazar could do the impersonation and gave a sort of laugh, but Salazar had already continued onward. “Here we are—welcome to my room.”

If Godric thought any of the main bedrooms were a sight to behold, he was certainly breathless in the decorum of Salazar’s. It seemed like its very own chamber. A four-poster in the distance signified where Salazar slept, shrouded in silky green curtains and a jade green bedspread only visible because it was a darker shade of green. Above the bed, etched beautifully, were the Latin words, Draco Dormiens, and when Salazar noticed Godric gawking in awe at this, he grinned broadly and walked up behind his guest.

“Like it, do you? Yes, I do too. I begged my father to put that up. You know what it means, don’t you?”

“Sleeping dragon, right?” said Godric.

“Wow, I’m impressed! Then again, no I’m not. Us types have to learn Latin to get ahead. How else can we cast our spells?” Salazar continued. “Well, I didn’t bring you all the way here just to look at my bed! Come take a look around,” he warmly offered, showing Godric the other fine features of his room. Pillars all around, though nowhere as towering as those of the library, still had the wrapping snake effect, and the snakes were actually painted for a more realistic one still. Salazar showed Godric his collection of magical toys (“I always keep one of the original. Father thinks that’s wise too”), and his alchemy and potions set.

“Now, this,” said Salazar, pointing to the set, which consisted of countless potion ingredients and tools on a very broad table that spanned the length the bedroom wall, “is probably my greatest hobby. I’ve seriously been trying to find a way to get my pictures to move. It’s been a goal of mine ever since they made those new wizard chess sets that actually look like they’re in battle. Do you know about those?”

“N-no,” Godric said, somewhat preoccupied with all he took in, speechlessly fixed in amazement. At this, Salazar smiled.

“I suppose you wouldn’t. They’re brand-new, actually. Father was just barely able to secure a set. They’re selling incredibly fast, and are well worth it. Very entertaining, wizard chess is. Do you play chess at all?” asked Salazar. Godric nodded, then grinned fervently.

“I play all the time. Me and Dad always have a go at it, and I beat him every time,” he said, sticking out his chest in what was unmistakably a proud manner. Even Salazar had to grin at this.

“Is that so? Well, your father and I just happen to be two very different people. What say you to a nice couple rounds of chess, wizarding style?” Salazar challenged. Godric couldn’t say no. How could he say ‘no’, and furthermore, how could he turn down an opportunity to beat the pants off of someone who challenged him? The two eagerly gathered the materials for the chess set, and hastened themselves back out of the entrance to Salazar’s quarters.

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                Godric and Salazar enjoyed a few games of wizard’s chess—actually, it was Godric who had the most enjoyment as he beat Salazar every time, grinning broadly when Salazar muttered, “Show off” after the fourth game he lost—Geoffrey Gryffindor and Lazaro Slytherin were staying far, far away from their wives as was possible at the moment. During the duel, which had been equally played on both sides to a stalemate, the two had both cast Splitting Charms at the same time: if it weren’t for their wives’ laughter and commentary (“My, my, boys, rather impressive, rather impressive), they wouldn’t have minded the double-effect of shouting Diffindo, which ended up splitting both of their robes, revealing sights they would never let out of their bedrooms.

The robes were easily repaired by magic: the embarrassment, however, was far too much for them to bear. The women just remained at their table, sipping on tea and having light conversation, every now and then bringing up a comment that made their husbands’ ears go pink, and then giggling to themselves about how cute they were when angry. The boys took every opportunity to snicker at this.

                “You know I’m going to beat you again, don’t you?” said Godric, pleased that playing as white or black, he was always capable of winning, greater still because Salazar had earlier boasted the advantage that his pieces would be better suited to himself because he owned them and had broken in both sides.

                “Look at that! They’re going to go at it again!” yelled Salazar with such interest that Godric, whose back was to their fathers, turned to have a look see at what was about to unfold. Salazar immediately took this opportunity to knock some of Godric’s better pieces off the board, satisfied with himself and bearing a huge grin when Godric turned around. No way I can lose again now.

                “I didn’t see anything. What were they doing again?” Godric asked naively.

                “Er… nothing much. Just going pink in the ears again.”

                “Oh…” said Godric, a tad disappointed. Then as he was about to make a move with his bishop, of which he’d planned before the sudden interruption, he looked at the board again, and was baffled. What bishop? Not only was his last bishop gone but, so were both his knights and a pawn. He looked up at Salazar, who was trying his best to look extremely confused as though he didn’t notice anything occur. “Didn’t I have a bishop here?” Godric asked, scratching his head.

                “Er… not that I remember. Problem?” Salazar replied innocently.

                “No… guess not…” Godric answered gloomily. Salazar was just about to give himself a metaphorical pat on the back when underneath their table a voice caught his and Godric’s attention.

                “Cheater! That’s what you are, young man!” Salazar’s jaw dropped. Godric’s did the same, but at least he could still move; Salazar was still gawking at the bishop helping an unconscious knight back onto his horse and relocating the other knight’s arm, as well as bandaging the pawn’s head, while Godric stole quick, constant glances between the pieces and Salazar. The bishop looked up at them and said once more, “Cheater!” Salazar was looking rather betrayed.

                “Why you no good stool pigeon! You just ratted your owner out!” he spat indignantly. The bishop stretched his back until a small “crack!” was heard, and looked up at them again.

                “Tis my duty to uphold honor in war, sir. And you gave me cause to do so!”

                “Why didn’t you say anything before?” Salazar implored, looking exasperated at his run of bad luck.

                “Couldn’t say anything while I was trying to pull myself together literally, now could I?” the bishop retorted acidly. Salazar stuttered out what he was going to say in response, but stopped when he realized the words just wouldn’t come. “Carry on, men. Some help here, please?” Godric picked up the fallen pieces and placed them back where he was sure he’d remembered seeing them, then gave a look of pure shock at Salazar, who, at the moment, could only laugh nervously.

                “Heh, heh… just a game, right?” Salazar asked, otherwise speechless except for his nervous chuckles. Godric gawked at him a bit longer, then smiled.

                “You know cheaters never prosper, don’t you?” he said, sticking his tongue out at Salazar to let him know that there was nothing else felt but temporary astonishment. Salazar grinned.

                “Wanna bet? I saw you quickly pocket that pawn when I turned my head earlier,” snapped Salazar just as jovially, making Godric’s ears go pink. Then he thought about something he couldn’t understand and addressed it to Godric. “But how on earth did you keep it silent? How’d you keep its mouth shut?” Godric simply grinned, flattered at how impressed Salazar looked right then.

                “Simple. I’m just a better cheater,” he answered coolly, pulling out the pawn, which was trying to shout the same way the bishop had, only to make a muffled noise behind a tightly wrapped handkerchief. The two had a good laugh over that game.

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                Nighttime was soon approaching, and the families retreated to the study, where the boys set off Filibuster Fireworks on the rug near the fireplace and the adults discussed politics.

                “I swear those Muggles are getting more and more meddlesome by the day,” growled Lazaro as Aurora nodded solemnly. “It’s only a matter of time before we’re found out, and there aren’t enough of us in one area to fend them all off.”

                “Yes. This is true, but what do we do? Surely you don’t expect us to fight hatred with hatred, Lazaro?” Gryffindor pointed out. “We’d be no better than them if we just started killing them off.”

                Lazaro stood up and banged his fist on the arm of his chair, something so abrupt that it caused Salazar to set off a firework that ended up exploding in his own face. Godric laughed till Salazar pointed his wand at the younger boy’s face, making him grow a white beard.

“Act your age,” he replied sharply, wiping the ash from his own face, and the both of them continued laughing, once again oblivious to the adult conversation on the other side of the study.

Lazaro recollected himself and began to speak. “You know they’ll be after us soon. They’re suspecting my family. They don’t suspect yours just yet because you don’t often come into town and live farther off. That damned Phobus is really beginning to fry my nerves.” The others gave a groan, and Gryffindor sighed.

“What has he done this time?” Gryffindor asked. Apparently, this “Phobus” character wasn’t exactly popular among them.

“I was in town, shopping for fabric to make new robes, and it seems he caught yet another Muggle-born, Geoffrey,” said Lazaro through a sorrowful expression. “The poor girl. She was merely six.”

“What do you mean, was?” Geoffrey Gryffindor interjected. He didn’t like the sound of that; neither did anyone else. Even the boys stopped playing their trivial games to listen more attentively from the warmth of the fireplace, which didn’t really help at the moment; they were getting slight shivers up their spines that only a sense of foreboding could give, and nothing seemed to give off that sense stronger than the impending tragedy that was seeping through every word Lazaro painfully brought himself to say.

“This is too hard to say, Geoffrey, please don’t make me say it,” pleaded Lazaro, his hands clammy and eyes tearing up with a burning sensation. Gryffindor sat there silently, giving Lazaro some time to regain his composure, as he was sure Lazaro was trying to say “it” anyway, and Aurora got up and held her husband gently, trying her best to calm him down with her loving embrace. She could feel him trembling, but the shakes soon began to subside and he wiped his eyes. He looked up at her.

“Lend me your handkerchief, dear, thanks. I don’t know if I will be able to stop after I say it.” Aurora reached into her robes and pulled out her green handkerchief, letting him wipe his eyes on it gratefully. “He killed her, that’s what he did. Yes, my love, he killed her,” said Lazaro as he watched the expression of abject horror dawn on his wife’s face. Geoffrey Gryffindor, though his eyes usually held a kindness, was burning all over… his hands were shaking, he didn’t seem to be able to control his oncoming surge of emotion. The boys watched on, and Godric looked at Salazar warningly.

“I think it’s best we go now. I’ve seen my father get like this before. Let’s go outside.” The two boys left the adults in the room, their tensions building. Geoffrey started to grit his teeth, but no catastrophe had occurred just yet (though Gloria was watching him cautiously), so Lazaro was still explaining what happened.

“He dragged the poor girl out into the town square, and had her flogged several times, you know, ‘Set an example’. Even the poor girl’s parents couldn’t bear to watch. This was just wrong, and the worst part is most of the crowd was cheering. If you could have seen her frightened little face, Geoffrey…” Lazaro choked as he prepared to continue, and took about ten seconds before he was able to try again. “Then they dragged her by a horse, bruised and bloody, to the gallows, and—” this was too much. The women burst into tears and Lazaro turned away, sobbing heavily into his hands. Geoffrey, however, was handling this in a completely different manner.

“DAMN HIM!” he bellowed, bursting out of his chair with such force that it fell over in a heavy thud. Everyone stopped what they were doing as they watched in shock for a couple of seconds, seeing him shouting, cursing, thrashing about in a pained, hateful rage. He punched walls, he kicked, he spat; Aurora tried to get up to calm him, but Lazaro and Gloria both held out hands to signal for her to just let him burn himself out. Whether they could understand how he felt, or whether they were simply too afraid to approach him, can’t be said. However, he did do what they hoped; he calmed slightly, picked up whatever he had knocked down, and sat back into his repositioned chair.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and turned his face away from them in deep contemplation and anger, partially from embarrassment, and partially because he was so furious he didn’t know what to think, or what to do with himself for that matter. Lazaro blew his nose and wiped his eyes once more. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, perhaps a moment of commemoration for the poor victim of such a heinous crime, or maybe the silent scorn of the guilty party involved, but either way, it was eerily quiet in there for awhile, until Gloria finally spoke.

“Lazaro, what exactly happened that makes you think he suspects you?” she asked worriedly, still a little puffy around the eyes from her tears.

“Because,” Lazaro began, “he looked dead at me during his little speech. You know Phobus—always giving off some huge lecture as to this being part of God’s plan,”—he practically gagged on this word—“so when he finished, he summed it up saying, ‘and let this be a lesson to you all. We will rid the world of these freaks, these sinners, you can count on that,’ and he gave me a sharp, cold, piercing stare as they took the girl’s limp body from the noose. I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands then and there. He doesn’t deserve to be killed quickly by magic. I wanted him so suffer so…” he growled.

“How long have you suspected him?” Geoffrey finally brought himself to say.

“Suspected him of what?” Lazaro asked quizzically.

“Of suspecting you!” Geoffrey hissed. Lazaro started to speak, but Aurora took up the voice on this one.

“Oh, he’s suspected us for awhile. Sometimes I think he’s just jealous of rich families, so he wants to automatically accuse them of witchcraft and sorcery. I don’t doubt that he’s purposely made mistakes in his accusations before. I wouldn’t even be surprised if that little girl wasn’t a witch at all, just a poor pawn in a revenge plot he had against her family. He’s getting far too powerful, and today, the first person he’s ever killed was a little girl. How horrible of a man can he really be?”

“As horrible as the Spectre,” said Geoffrey, shivering.

“Aye,” Lazaro agreed, not daring to talk on the matter further. Just then, a whistling sound made its way closer from outside, and—

CRASH!

“What was that?” said Lazaro. The women screamed in mild surprise, and Geoffrey ran out the study and down the hall. When he returned, he looked rather grim.

“We’ve got company…”

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                “So what was that all about?” Salazar asked Godric in mild curiosity as they exited into the courtyard. Godric looked rather shady, approaching him cautiously and silently.

                “My father,” he began, “has a huge temper. Now don’t get me wrong. He’s never hit any of us or insulted us, but he gets so emotional very easily. It’s no threat to us; we can always magically repair what he breaks, but it just scares the hell out of me sometimes. He just isn’t the same person when he flips, like he’s been possessed or lost his marbles. I just don’t know him anymore when he gets like that, and you’ve seen him. Always kind and laughing; wouldn’t that scare you if your father just exploded with rage out of nowhere?”

                Salazar thought about it, and then gave a quick nod. He then thought of a good idea. “Wanna practice some dueling like our dads did earlier? It’ll take our minds off of this.” Godric grinned and nodded in agreement. The two held out their wands like swords, and Salazar gave fair warning. “I’ll hold back if you like. I know you’re a lot more inexperienced since you’re considerably younger than I am. How’s that sound?” Godric scoffed and rolled his eyes.

                “Sounds absolutely stupid, you prat! How else am I supposed to learn if you go easy on me? I’ll do my best to take whatever you throw. I do practice with my father, you know?”

                “My, spirited one, aren’t you?” mocked Salazar as he was steadily raising his wand and then—

                “STUPEFY!” The blast shot out of his wand in a jet of yellow, heading straight for Godric, who, to Salazar’s surprise, was readily prepared.

                “PEGASUS!” he yelled, pointing the wand at himself and then blazing past the jet of yellow to appear behind Salazar, who turned to face him in disbelief just as young Gryffindor’s wand was fully raised. “Tarantallegra!”

                Salazar saw a jet of black flare out of the wand tip and barely avoided the attack, Apparating off to the side. “Good one!” he shouted, trying to catch his breath after the lucky dodge.

                “Told you I’ve had practice!” said Godric, who was beaming, and, to his amusement, watching Salazar do some sort of one-legged bunny hop. Apparently, Salazar hadn’t been as quick as he’d hoped; the spell seemed to have managed to at least hit one of his legs. However, just as Salazar swept the spell away with a flick of his wand—

                CRASH!

                A huge, flaming arrow shot through the gate wall and smashed heavily into the fresh earth of the courtyard. The boys looked at each other.

                “This doesn’t look too good,” they both said at the same time. Through the wall stepped a mob of fifty men, all shouting and angry, all Muggles. The parents of the two boys Apparated into the courtyard, looking outraged and confused.

                “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” demanded Lazaro. He was clenching his free hand tightly into a fist and gripping firmly on his wand, his teeth gritting in utmost fury. Out of the mob stepped a rather tall, yet chubby man, whose neck was nonexistent. “Well, well, if it isn’t Sir Pompous Dursley,” sneered Lazaro.

                “That’s Phobus to you, Slytherin,” Dursley spat. “You’d do well to remember that. It will determine how quickly I’m willing to finish you and your”—at this, he looked at the Gryffindors—“friends off.” A twisted smile curled on his chapped lips, bearing filthy yellow teeth (some missing), and he began to approach them. The two families reached for their wands, and the mob drew numerous crossbows; six wands could do well against ten, maybe fifteen, but fifty was out of the question. They were clearly overpowered here. Dursley smiled even broader and more ugly than before.

                “You’d do well not to use your wands on me,” he said lazily, smiling and not taking his eyes off a single one of them at any time. “I’m sure you see your, er, predicament.” Lazaro didn’t quite find this situation enjoyable.

                “Eat slugs, Dursley,” he spat.

                “Go marry a horse,” Geoffrey equally retorted.

                “Go snog a horse!” Salazar added, bringing snickers from all the males in their small group. “I’m sure your children will look a little better than you at least. There’s no other way you’ll ever have any.” Just as Lazaro didn’t find their current situation enjoyable, Dursley didn’t find any of these remarks funny, and his face was becoming the purplish-red of a beet.

                “You must all be eager to die, right?” he sneered, his eyes becoming extremely narrow like very beady slits.

                “Well, if it’d keep us from having to look at you,” Geoffrey stated as if the answer were obvious, rhetorical. “I mean, then again, just looking at you, just the smell of you is deadly. No basilisk or Nundu could ever compete!” This was enough. Dursley signaled for his men to take aim, and Geoffrey, taking advantage of Dursley’s back being turned and his allies being so far back they couldn’t see what he was saying, mouthed to Lazaro, Get ready to make a Shield. Lazaro understood at once and clutched his wand even tighter, pulling it out slowly. Salazar and Godric did the same, and the wives followed suit. They each carefully hid their raised wands behind the backs of their necks.

                “Sorry to say, but your chances for mercy have just run out. When we’re through with you, you’ll wish it was just a clean arrow through the heart that killed you off, warlock.” Dursley ran off to join the crowd and picked up his own crossbow, and just as he gave the order to fire—

                “NOW!” screamed Geoffrey, and they cast their spells simultaneously.

                “MURUSIO CERVIUM!” Just as the crossbows released their deadly swarms of arrows, the two families created one extremely powerful Shield Charm, casting all their separate Shield Charms together and focusing them at a single point. The resulting effect was immense—arrows bounced all over, many reflecting and returning to their senders, the screams of agony sounding through the crowd. Dursley barely dodged one that whistled past his ear, and started screaming for them all to move in. The boys were wrong. There weren’t fifty. There were one hundred and fifty, all moving in through the small hole in the wall. They couldn’t break through the barrier themselves, not even with the giant ballista arrows, so Lazaro took this opportunity to give the frenzied families instructions.

                “Salazar, Godric! Go inside! I don’t want to hear your protests, boy, this is important! You will now see why I made your room the way I did. You are to head there and say the phrase, Draco Stimulare, is that understood?” Salazar nodded reluctantly. “Good. Could you go with them, Gloria? As soon as you’ve sealed the passageway by saying, Draco Dormiens, please go and signal the other wizarding families to come to our aid. Geoffrey, Aurora, and I will hold down the fort. Please hurry. Go now! Lead the way, Salazar.”

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                Salazar whistled through the empty house, practically jumping the staircase and whizzing down the hollow, narrow corridor. He scrambled for the correct door; in his panic, he couldn’t remember with one. It took him nearly five minutes to realize where the correct door was, and then he heard it—

                SLAM!

                “Hold your positions! We still have about ten minutes before that Shield breaks. We need to develop a means of escape.” This was Lazaro’s voice that echoed through the voluminous hallways. Apparently, they’d retreated inside. It was this sound that let Salazar know he was running out of time.

                “Can’t you just Apparate us to safety?” he asked Gloria. “I can’t Apparate far, but we can all get out safely.”

                “Absolutely not! You forget my son can’t Apparate, and you forget that only you and your family can Apparate in and out of these walls. We need to make it outside first,” said Gloria. “You’ll just have to keep looking.”

                “Fine, fine. Ah—here it is!” exclaimed Salazar as he opened the familiar door. Immediately, he set back to his hastened dash, Godric and Gloria trying to keep up. He swung the portrait open and ran through the snaking paths, left, right, left, up, up and a sharp left, right, down, two lefts, and straight ahead. He burst into his chamber, and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Draco Stimulare!”  Not knowing what to expect, he looked around anxiously, wondering what sudden change would occur, and then it happened—

                The four-poster, over which his acclaimed message was etched, began to shudder violently. The saying, Draco Dormiens, flashed brilliant green for one second, then one by one, each letter, starting from the “S” and ending with the first “D”, lit up in a bright, fiery red, the red of a dragon’s fire, then faded again. Afterwards, the bed slid to the left, revealing a cavernous tunnel that seemed to lead down to a new-looking dock, obviously preserved to stay fresh and new by magic. There was a rowboat, and Salazar knew what he must do.

                “Come, Godric,” he called, and beckoned Godric forth with a gesture of his hand. The two descended into the cave and as they were halfway down, both turned around to face Gloria, who, to their amazement, had a tear running down her cheek, a solitary tear that seemed to say, I may never see you again. Godric ran up to her again and hugged her deeply, and she burst into full sobs.

                “Come on, Mum. Don’t be like that. We’ll see each other again. You and the others will be fine.” It was this sight that made Salazar just as uneasy as he had just seen Lady Gryffindor, and he found himself wishing he’d remembered to give his parents a hug as well. What if we never see each other again? I’ll never forgive myself. His train of thought broke when he saw Godric running back down at full sprint, and he looked up at Gloria, who had a new sense of confidence, and stood looking calm and resolute.

                “Take care, Lady Gryffindor!” called Salazar as he released the rope, and the boat drifted off out of the cave. She nodded and smiled, and then he heard her say Draco Dormiens, and the wall closed as she walked away from them. They didn’t know where they were drifting, but they only hoped that wherever fate was sailing them, when they came to shore, all of their loved ones would be smiling upon them once more.