Hogwarts: A History

Hogwarts: A History

Chapter One

Resolutions

Rays of sunlight shone brightly off the cream walls within the castle, so that the halls seemed to radiate as if made of pure gold. This particularly late Sunday morning promoted a sense of pleasantry, the lull and relaxation of a lazy on-the-verge-of-summer day. Obscured from the rest of the world, behind acres and acres of wood, the castle thrives on the foundations of a former hollow, ancient in appearance yet displaying the beauty only created by all things classical.

The landscape around Gryffindor Castle is never without visitors from the nearby forest. Seen grazing on the green slopes that surround the castle are deer, wild horses, rabbits, and birds that swoop overhead, including—

Owls, one snowy, the other tawny, flew inside an open window in the castle, both each clutching something within its talons. The odd thing is that neither of them should have been seen in the area, let alone in the daytime. Settling gently on the windowsill, the tawny watched the snowy fly inside a four-poster with carmine curtains. A few seconds later, the sound of a startled voice echoed through the vast bedroom, and then a rather gruff, deep-throated laughter sounded as well.

“Anxious to get on with your delivery today, aren’t you?” said the man behind the curtains as he pushed them aside with one hand. Out came Godric Gryffindor, now well into his twenties, groggily wiping his eyes and smiling happily as the snowy, which was perched on his shoulder, nipped playfully and impatiently at his ear. “All right, all right!” he whined, laughing again, “hold on while I get the money.” He stroked the snow white of the snowy owl’s head gently, and it flew of to perch itself beside the tawny. Finally standing on his feet, he stretched with a rather long yawn, and scratched his back, clothed in crimson long johns. He staggered over to his dresser on the other side of the room, apparently trying to collect his senses, and removed his nightcap.

Looking into the mirror sleepily, Godric was revealed to have messy, long jet-black hair, frizzing up somewhat due to the fact he’d just woken up. His eyes, which still held some cold, were a dim green at the moment, which was destined to change once he felt a little more like his lively self. He, like his father, now possessed a goatee, ending in a fine point from his chin, except that his was still as black as his hair, and the tone of his muscular build could be seen through his long johns, showing him to have an extremely tall, powerful, medium-sized body.

Taking the time to at least brush and comb his hair so that it looked the least bit kempt, Godric now changed direction once more, heading for his wardrobe. Opening the large doors, he walked inside and felt around behind countless clothing and robes, finally finding what he was searching for and pulling out a large bag. From it, he withdrew three Knuts, and smiled as he turned to look at the snowy owl reassuringly. He had just noticed the large tawny, standing on top of a brown package it seemed to have carried along with it, and almost dropped all the money in both his hands.

“How fortunate! It’s finally come!” he exclaimed, beaming at the owls. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to pay you as well,” he concluded, reaching into the bag again for a Galleon and two Sickles. Putting the respective, due payment in small sacks tied around the owls’ legs, he snapped his fingers and out of nowhere appeared two plates of toast and a medium-sized bowl filled with pumpkin juice. “I couldn’t just let you leave without feeding you, could I? You’ve both had quite a journey getting here, I’m certain of it. Thank you,” he said in gratitude, and focused his attention upon the morning sky.

“Merlin’s beard!” he gasped. “Almost noon already? Well, a shower won’t do. We’re expecting guests at quarter to noon.” He returned to the dresser, and pulled his wand from atop it. He pointed it at himself, and muttered, “Limpius,” and as quickly as he said it, he was clean from head to toe. He quickly combed his hair down one last time, looking into the mirror once more with brilliant green eyes that almost outshone his pearly white teeth revealed in a grin. “Excellent,” he said, looking deviously cunning as he curled his goatee around his finger. “There’s not a single maiden witch who can resist the spell I cast.” He disappeared into the wardrobe, coming out a couple minutes later in crimson robes, thoroughly pleased with his appearance, fully convinced that he was ready to face the day awaiting him.

The owls finished their meal, and the dishes vanished as easily as they appeared. Godric walked over to pick up the package as he watched the owls take off into the clear blue sky, as well as returning to his bed to pull out the day’s Daily Prophet the snowy had left at the foot of his sheets. Tucking the package and the Prophet under his arm, he proceeded to exit his room, walking down the hall and descending the staircase as he hummed a cheery tune to himself.

Waiting for him at the large crystalline table were his father and mother. Geoffrey Gryffindor, whose hair was now completely gray, and whose beard was looking somewhat rugged across his face, looked up at Godric in a serious yet amused manner. “Would it be too much of a request that you be on time for a change? I’m certain you could be punctual if you actually tried to be.” Godric beamed at his father, and sat down casually to the left of his mother, whom he pecked on the cheek. He then looked over to his father, who was expecting (possibly a smart-aleck) response from his son.

“My dear good fellow,” Godric began coolly, “it doesn’t hurt to be fashionably late. Besides, one doesn’t get to be as handsome as I by waking up too early, now does he?” Geoffrey, who couldn’t help snickering at this, sighed and resigned to reading his own paper once more.

“Honestly, boy, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

“For one, you can stop calling me a boy, Father. It’s hardly fitting for a wizard of 29.” Geoffrey smiled broadly and looked up at his “boy”. Godric had taken the bait.

“I’ll stop calling you one when you stop acting like one,” he teased. Godric gasped with mock indignation, and clamped onto his mother, still looking quite youthful and still maintaining her jet-black hair. She tried hard to keep a straight face. Godric would simply carry on even further if she gave the slightest laugh.

“Mother! Can you believe this man? He has insulted my honor, and refuses to apologize. I have been scarred for life. Justice! I demand justice!” Godric dramatically demanded, and at this, Gloria Gryffindor could no longer maintain her composure, lest she lose her sanity, and she ended up breaking out into a fit of laughter. Godric took this as an invitation to continue his antics. “Kind sir, being as I most certainly do not wish to rough you up in the least, might I be asking too much if you’d apologize?” Geoffrey went along with his son’s games and stood up just as dramatically, pulling out a wand and a single, white glove. He walked over and swung the glove to slap each of Godric’s cheeks, first the right then the left.

“Very well. If it’s a duel you wish for…” he said coolly, fitting his glove back into his robe pockets.

“Well, I never—” he started, but what he never did, they never found out because at that moment, there was a knock at the door. “You’re lucky the guests are here,” Godric said, laughing so loudly and deeply it echoed through the entire castle. “If we’d have gone on, I can’t be held accountable for any, er, accidents that would have occurred.”

“Sure, sure, the accidents that happened to you,” Geoffrey said. “But enough talk. Would you be a gentlemen,”—he muttered “for once” under his breath—“and welcome our guests inside?” Godric took a slight bow, excusing himself from the room, and suddenly fell over on the floor, apparently on purpose as though he were a klutz of sorts. Geoffrey gave a weak laugh as Godric got up, winked at them, and walked out. “Now, I’m worried… he plays too much for his own good.”

“Relax, dear. You know he only acts silly around us,” Gloria said, sipping on her tea—Geoffrey gawked at her as though she were wearing nothing but a smile in a room full of other men. Gloria noted this and added, “Well, okay, he doesn’t act as silly around company. Better, dear?” From the hall, they could hear Godric’s voice and the door opening.

“Why, good morning to you, Mr., Mrs., McKinnon,” they overheard Godric saying politely. Mrs. McKinnon gave a high, pleasant laugh.

“Ah, Godric, you never lose that charm, do you?” Mrs. McKinnon said flatteringly.

“I should say the same for you!” he replied. “Mr. McKinnon! Haven’t seen you for a while either. How has work been overseas? I hear “The Search” is still under weigh?”

“Good to see you too, young lad. Yes, I’m sorry to say we’re still looking for him. No new leads, nothing,” they heard Mr. McKinnon answer gloomily.

“I’m sure something will come up—come in! Come in! My parents are awaiting you.” Seconds later, Godric returned to the breakfast table, the McKinnons trailing behind him, taking in the sights of the castle’s splendor and glamour. Once their eyes met, the elder Gryffindors and the McKinnons ran to greet each other.

“Charles! Good to see you, friend!” Geoffrey boomed as his hand came down hard on Charles McKinnon’s back. The women exchanged kisses on each other’s cheeks, and they all returned to the table. “Breakfast will be here shortly,” Geoffrey added, but to his surprise, Mr. McKinnon waved it off uninterestedly. “Something wrong, Charles?” he asked with great concern in his voice. Charles sat down solemnly, took a big sigh, and looked at his host.

“Forgive me, Geoffrey,” Charles said apologetically, “for my unmannerly decline, but I do not feel much up to eating at the moment, not with the most recent events.” Geoffrey snapped his fingers, and instantly, a crystal glass of water appeared.

“Calm yourself, Charles. This has nothing to do with The Spectre, does it?” Geoffrey asked, watching Charles try to sip from his glass composedly. The women looked up, paying close attention to what their husbands were discussing.

“Aye, my friend,” he said gravely. “Things cannot be any worse. The Spectre is growing stronger still. I fear that we will not be able to catch him at this rate. We still don’t even know how he looks, and another death has occurred,” Charles went on, having lost the little composure he had regained and ranting at the mouth as if he did not notice where he was, talking more so to himself than anyone. Godric continued reading his paper, and his eyes widened in horror as they fell upon something he was reading, his expression just as pale as that of Mr. McKinnon’s.

“Father! Look!”

Geoffrey approached Godric and looked over his shoulder to read what had caught his son’s attention, and he, too, blanched. “There’s no need to pressure Mr. McKinnon. The Prophet summed it up nicely!”

Spectre Spooks Wand Store

Leaves Wands Wrecked

Worse for Wizard Victim

Today, an unfortunate tragedy has occurred yet again. Timothy Ollivander, one of the many sons of the famous Ollivander clan, was found dead in the Ollivander’s Wand Shoppe. Equally shocking was the message left; the Spectre’s signature on the window:

No Wand Can Waiver My Power!!! You Have Been Warned

The grief-stricken Ollivanders, headed by Jeremy Ollivander, deeply regret their son’s tragic demise. “He was only there to clean and close up for the night,” he explained as a tear flowed painfully down his cheek. “If I’d have known this would happen—” and he was no longer available for comment at the moment, due to his condition. It appears the feared Spectre was trying to set an example, symbolically boasting his power by trashing the entirety of the shop. Luckily, the store itself holds a small portion of all the wands manufactured, so the business is still intact. “We will be donating money for funding of ‘The Search’ and for charity towards the victims of these crimes,” a stern-looking Mrs. Ollivander added when her husband burst into tears.

If you have any info or leads on the whereabouts or identity of the Spectre or any of his followers, please contact your loc- al authorities by owl as soon as possible. More info to come.

Godric folded up the paper and looked over to Mr. McKinnon, who, despite not having to have told the tale himself, was shaking violently just from hearing it. Aside from looking mannerly when the occasion called for such formalities, it seemed this problem was leaving him worn, weighing heavily on his mind, as though it were taking all of his efforts to force himself to remain calm. The Spectre had been rising in power since three years before Godric’s fateful meeting with the Slytherins some eighteen years earlier. The most alarming, most terrifying thought about him was that this one man had killed hundreds of people, Muggle and wizard alike, and still remained indescribable. No one who saw his face lived to tell about it, so, essentially, no one was available to identify him.

“The Ollivanders?” Gloria gasped, glancing over to Mrs. McKinnon, who wasn’t looking as stunned as the others because she had already heard this. Mrs. McKinnon nodded resolutely as she continued to massage her husband’s tense shoulders and neck. “That’s awful! They’re about the nicest wizarding family around, not to mention one of the most powerful and respected. How could this happen to them? Poor Mr. Ollivander must be a nervous wreck now.”

“It gets worse,” Mr. McKinnon added, looking up at the Gryffindors and now a little calmer than he was before, his cheeks regaining color. “Word has it that these deaths are being caused by a new sort of Curse,” he continued, “a Curse of instant death. Whoever is behind these murders is a genius, though in bad ways, but a genius nonetheless. Imagine how many people he could kill in a single sweep, and with a lazy flick of his wand, might I add?” Mr. McKinnon gently brushed away his wife’s hand, gesturing his gratitude, and standing up, approaching the Gryffindors while he became increasingly passionate over his explanation.

“I believe that there are no real symptoms in tracing what the actual Curse could be, and we also believe young Timothy was the first to be hit with it. I have a terrible feeling the death toll might more than double soon if enough of his followers learn it, whom, I might also add, have not been identified or caught yet either. It’s like we’re fighting an invisible army!” he said, pounding his left fist into his right palm. His expression had changed twice that day; first he had been polite and calm; second he became worried and pale; now, frustration and anger were taking over.

It can’t be this hard to catch someone, can it? Godric despairingly thought to himself. He had never really considered doing anything outside of taking over his family’s business, which consisted of selling and trading rare items and potion ingredients, but at this moment, he really couldn’t help getting angry over the entire Spectre phenomenon, which plagued his home and brought terror and pain to all those around him. He looked at Mr. McKinnon, and the look he gave him was one of so much sincerity and severity, that even Mr. McKinnon, still with that developing rage, stopped dead in his tracks.

“Damn him!” he shouted, surprised at how much he sounded like his father at the moment, and more so surprised at himself for being so serious. “Father,” he growled, shaking uncontrollably with this new surge of rage, “I can’t stand hearing about this much longer. I’m tired of hearing all these losses and no gains in the matter. Whatever we learn of is just more bad news for us! Mr. McKinnon, what does it take to become an Auror? I think you’ve found yourself a new one.”

At this, Godric became the center of attention amongst the elderly crowd, which was gawking at him with probably the same surprise he had earlier felt himself. Geoffrey was the first to speak. “Son, what exactly are you trying to say?”

“What I’m saying, Father,” responded Godric, considerably calmer than he had just shown, “is that I wish to help them capture this man. Surely we can end this if enough people are willing to support “The Search”. The Ollivanders have even started helping with funding and charity. We rely on too many people to do our work for us, and I shudder to think what would happen if either of you wound up dying because I did nothing to prevent this, and so, I must ask you to forgive me, Father, but I do not wish to maintain the family business when you are gone.”

Godric was expecting protest, but to his surprise, the tears that were coming out of his mother’s eyes were of joy as she clasped her hands together, and his father gave a wide, proud smile. “SO!” he boomed, “you’ve finally decided to do something more with your life! My boy, seeing you grow up has been wonderful, and I always knew you had potential, but I feared you would be lazy and just rely on carrying on our business. Your mother felt this way as well,” he said, beaming over to his wife, who had blown her nose rather loudly with her ruby red handkerchief. Godric was wide-mouthed and gaping.

“F-f-father? You were hoping I’d leave? You too Mother?” he said, incapable of believing the utter oppositeness of their reactions.

“Well, of course, dear boy,” Gloria responded. “Do you really think we want you around all day, lounging around wherever you wish? No, we were hoping you’d make excellent use of your skills in Transfiguration and spells. We always thought you’d make a good Auror, or someone who did some sort of active labor. Frankly dear, you just don’t seem cut out for business.”

“B-b-but who will carry on the family name?” Godric stuttered and sputtered indignantly.

“Oh, silly boy!” Gloria exclaimed, laughing heartily. “You forget that we’ve got plenty of time to produce a new heir to our business, and besides, that’s another good reason you are greatly wanted out of here,” she added, giving a roguish wink to Geoffrey, who, at the moment, went crimson in the face. Godric was probably just as embarrassed, but not in the same sense.

“Mother, could you kindly do me a favor?” he asked politely.

“Whatever do you want?” she replied.

“Never, ever, say anything like that ever again as long as I’m still living!” he shouted before giving a slight shudder and storming out the room, quite panicky and even more so disturbed. The McKinnons gave a slight, nervous laugh and the elder Gryffindors looked utterly baffled.

“I wonder what’s gotten into him?” Gloria asked. Geoffrey could only shrug.

* * * * *



* * * * *

Salazar walked into the Main Hall, keeping a steady pace, a tray of tea and cream in his hands. His expression was rather solemn and serious as if what he was doing were part of a routine that was practiced consistently, and it was. Such was the daily trip he took three times a day to his parents’ chambers. He climbed the staircase slowly, making sure not to so much as cause a teacup to shake in the slightest. From the looks of the Main Hall, nothing seemed to be any different about Slytherin Manor than before that fateful incident eighteen years prior, well, nothing inanimate.

Salazar had undergone several drastic changes, all for the better. Certainly looking older and more handsome than he already had been, he had also become much taller in height. The sleek hair he once had was now grown rather long and tied back in a ponytail that extended to his upper back. He did not seem to show any signs of the life for which he had been known, and his eyes were somewhat saddened and dull, like those of a man who had lost faith in something long ago. As he reached the top of the stairs, he looked off to the left, the corridor that led to the passage to his bedroom. Looking off to the right, he gave a slight nod and continued his routine journey in that direction, the path to his parents’ bedroom.

Even though the scenery remained unchanged, the Slytherin family wasn’t the only indicator that time had passed. The atmosphere of the spacious Manor itself was one of great depression. Everything seemed to feel so empty, so emotionless. Perhaps that’s why the Slytherins now only had visitors once every five years and perhaps that is why they severed ties with all relations outside the castle besides their distant bloodlines, but while it was the emptiness that could explain why this was what life had been like, the one important question that loomed in the air for many had yet to be answered: why had Slytherin Manor lost its spirit? Every house, every home, has a spirit, a fiery happiness that flows from its outer walls and greets passerby and guest alike, but Slytherin Manor didn’t, and only the few people who set foot within its vast halls knew why.

Salazar had a long walk ahead of him. Even though his parents’ bedroom was not accessed through one of a million identical doors or behind a sole portrait or even through snaking passages, the door was at the very end of the right corridor on the West Wing of the house, and it was a reasonable distance, more so because Salazar took his time reaching it. However, as he approached the doors, they swung open, beckoning him inside. A cold draft fell on him, and he gave a slight, silent shudder as he looked to the massive bed before him in the dark room.

“Salazar,” a weak voice called to him. “Salazar, is that you?”

“Yes, Father, it is I. I have brought your morning tea for you,” he answered obediently. A wheezing sound came from behind the bed curtains.

“Ah, thank you, son. I really do not understand why you put up with me this way,” Lazaro said sadly. Salazar stood silently, staring through the curtains. Nonetheless, his next words had a tone to them that seemed to express his objection to his father’s.

“Whatever do you mean, Father?”

“You know very well what I mean, boy,” Lazaro replied. “What man would wish to tend to an old, bitter fool such as myself? You have been miserable this past score, because I have made you so with my own misery. Why did you not send me off to my brother’s? I would have been well cared for, and you would not have to suffer along with me.”

“Father, the man who does such a deed is one who loves his parents deeply, one who understands them and does not shirk his responsibilities for his own selfish desires. I am in your debt, and I love you and Mother far too much to ignore that,”—at this, he trembled slightly—“you didn’t bring your brother into this world. You brought me. You gave me life. It would be wrong of me not to look after yours.”

Salazar approached the curtains, hearing a wheezing sound that indicated his father could actually be smiling. Opening them, it revealed a feeble man, practically hidden beneath sheets of emerald, his skin and hands pale and wrinkled as if they hadn’t met the sun’s rays for far too long. His father wasn’t a living corpse. His body held on too stubbornly to life, as if he wanted nothing more than to remain bitter forever, eternally lost in a world of mental anguish and regret. It was like he was the living dead, only he was not repulsive in the grotesque sense, like a zombie, but more so eerie yet chillingly alluring, like a vampire. He sure seemed like one. His skin was so pale it was as if there was no blood in him whatsoever.

Salazar placed the tray on Lazaro’s lap as his father sat up, smiling vaguely. “Thank you, son,” he said, his voice somewhat weak and raspy, “but I’ve thought for awhile that I have been far too much of a burden for you to take on. These past eighteen years have shackled you down in the darkness with me for so long, I fear that neither of us will ever see the light again. I do appreciate how loyal you’ve been to me, but the truth remains that I can’t just lay here forever, sulking.”

“Fath—”

“Now you listen here. This is no way for me to honor Aurora’s life, by ceasing to live myself. Son, I plan to regain my strength and venture into the world once more, and then, I shall truly honor my wife’s name,” Lazaro said, his voice rising, “by killing those responsible for her death!”

“Father, please do not speak of Muggles that way. Not all of them are evil like Phobus is. For you to condemn them—”

“Is for me to have done the right thing!” Lazaro shouted furiously, his dark expression bringing silence to Salazar. “I have spent all these years running the same course of events through my mind over and over and over…” he moaned despairingly, a small flicker of life reappearing in him, “and there’s no other way I can see it, son. The Muggles are filled with hatred and it’s all they’ll ever know!” Lazaro sighed at Salazar. “You will learn one day for yourself how bloodthirsty and unmerciful Muggles can be. You will learn that all your neighborly deeds and charity will only be rewarded with pain and death, fear, hopelessness, disgrace, disgust, and so many horrible feelings. I do hope that you prove me wrong son, but I just cannot see it any other way at this time. Phobus is not his own individual—”

“He, son,” Lazaro said, cutting his son off as Salazar opened his mouth in protest, “is the product of development, shaped by Muggles who taught him to hate. To loathe someone so strongly is a learned process, a result of actions and reactions over a course of many years, no, you can remove Phobus from the world, but there will be another one exactly like him on the way, I guarantee it.”

“Father, with an attitude like that, you would be as bad as Phobus,” Salazar said sternly, adding “and it is because we keep ourselves civil that we are far better than the Muggles.” Salazar and Lazaro looked at each other in silence for a moment, and finally, Lazaro lifted his head with dignity, as though he were about to make an announcement.

“Well, Salazar, I cannot promise you that my thoughts on the Muggles will ever change, and I know you can understand how I feel as they took what was most precious to me,” Lazaro said, watching his son nod comprehensively, “but I can promise you this. I am through sitting around here waiting for a love that may never return, and sitting here won’t bring her back, it won’t honor her, and I most certainly cannot do anything about her death from this bed. I am going to try, slowly but surely, to venture back into this world. I shall not burden you any longer.”

“Father, are you sure? I mean, you have not been well for so long, and it will be difficult to come back into the world.”

“Salazar, don’t worry! I am willing to take as long as I need, but you must learn to live yourself. You see, I chose this fate, to stop living, and I never gave you much choice in that for yourself, something I have spent the past decade regretting…” Salazar intently continued listening to his father talk. “You have always been so lively and carefree, and I am sure you long to return to the way you once were. I know it still sits there inside of you. I have ventured out of this bed before, you know. Yes, Salazar, I do have to go to the bathroom at times, you know,”—Salazar was gawking at his father, with an expression that said, So that’s why he never asked for the chamber pot!—“and I have looked outside, avoiding the bright sunlight I’ve evaded for so long, to see you playing with the wandering animals. I’ve noticed you even charmed a python, and yes, I saw you bring it in here as a pet. This entire ordeal has left you quite pained and lonely, has it not, and for that, my son, I am sorry.”

At this moment, the emotionless expression that Salazar had on his face, the very one he seemed to have trained himself to maintain, the very one he had used so that he might bear the task given him, was nonexistent, replaced by a look of relief and joy, that his father was back into the world, and that he could finally be free. Yes, it had been the animals from the neighboring landscapes that had kept him sane all these eighteen years, and he had been quite pleased to find the python, which he’d come to love most because he had grown up loving snakes, the very symbol of his family; he had even shocked himself beyond belief when he had succeeded in developing a means of communication between himself and Serthia, the name he had given to the python, who ended up telling him she was female.

He and his father looked at each other, smiles and tears on their faces, and then they burst out in a laughter that had escaped their vocals since the day that Aurora died. Salazar helped his father out of bed, and reflexively caught him as Lazaro staggered, almost losing total balance.

“Thought you said you’d been out of bed before,” Salazar teased, grinning broadly.

“Yeah, well, it’s been longer than I thought,” Lazaro replied, shrugging as his son supported him, the two of them walking downstairs to catch some fresh air and bask in the sun in the courtyard.

* * * * *



* * * * *

Godric stood on the verge of the forest entrance, staring thoughtfully within, as he saw animals scuttle around looking for food and shelter. He had really dropped a bomb on his family. Me, he thought miserably, an Auror! What was I thinking? He hadn’t really been there long when Mr. McKinnon appeared behind him.

“Thinking about what you said back there, are you?” he asked concernedly.

“Aye,” Godric muttered, not taking his eyes off a squirrel scurrying into its tree with a newfound nut. “How could I have possibly been so stupid? Me? An Auror? I’d much sooner marry the Spectre before I become an Auror.” Mr. McKinnon, though he was sure it wasn’t helping, let out a loud, boisterous laugh. Godric looked at him, astonished, embarrassed, somewhat furious, and immediately returned his gaze to the forest’s inner dwellings. Mr. McKinnon recollected himself, and put his hand on Godric’s shoulder, which Godric tried grumpily to shrug off, to no avail. He glared at Mr. McKinnon, who was still beaming.

“My dear young lad, do you not realize anything you’ve said?” he asked, the smile purely radiating from his expression. Godric gave an indignant grunt.

“Sure, I realize it all. I’ve just said a little boy’s dream of becoming an Auror and made an ass of myself in front of my parents and their guests. I know very well what I’ve said,” he sneered.

“Godric, your parents laughed at you wanting to do something with your life, not what you planned to do. They weren’t laughing because they thought you couldn’t be an Auror, they were instead laughing because they didn’t think you’d go through with it. If it hurt you that bad, go in and explain it to them! They weren’t making fun of you,” Mr. McKinnon said jovially as Godric gave another grunt. This only caused him to smile more. “You know,” he began delicately, “never would I have thought I’d see the day when Godric Gryffindor, of all people, could not take a joke.”

“Yeah, well there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?” Godric snapped.

“Oh, dear heavens, boy! Stop being such a baby! Go in there and talk to them already!” Mr. McKinnon said in his same happy tone, though there was a hint of impatience. Godric gave a defeated sigh and turned to face Mr. McKinnon.

“All right, all right,” he grumbled, sweeping back up to the castle. He found his parents and Mrs. McKinnon in the study. “Father? Mother? A word with you, please?” he requested. The two of them looked at each other, and they stood up, following him as he beckoned them away from the room. The three walked to a secluded part of the castle, where the sun’s rays were already turning shades of reddish-orange and pink and it was apparent by the rays and cooler air that the sun was setting. Godric looked off into the sunset, gave a sigh, and then turned his head to his parents.

“Mother, Father, there’s something I want to say to you…” Godric started. However, Geoffrey spoke up before he could continue.

“Look, son, if it’s about what we said earlier, we’re sorry if we offended you in any way,” he said, looking sincerely apologetic. Then, Gloria piped up.

“You’d been out there brooding for so long, it made us feel absolutely terrible,” she added. “We thought you would have just taken it as a joke, being as you have to admit that you’re rarely ever serious—” Geoffrey gave a snicker, and Godric smirked a bit—“and we did not realize how sincere you were. The thing we were trying to say to you was that it has been our dream to see you go out on your own into the world rather than to wait for fortune and security to fall into your lap, which, don’t get me wrong, we would not have minded giving to you. You are our son, Godric, and we love you dearly because of it, and it is because you are our child that we would have wished for the best for you, whatever you chose. We would give you the world if we could you know that. We may not have looked the part, but you made us so proud when you looked so stern and resolute today. I want you to know that if it is your wish to become an Auror, you have our support.” Gloria smiled joyously at her son, her eyes watering once more like they’d done earlier that day.

“Mother—” Godric started, but he was at a loss of words at the moment, and they certainly refused to come afterwards. In response to his shortly ended reply, Geoffrey simply walked over to him, and extended his hand. Godric did the same, and they shook, grinning the entire time.

“Well done, my boy,” Geoffrey said gruffly, clasping his free hand onto Godric’s back and pulling him into a fatherly hug. “You couldn’t have made us prouder, but do you want to know the interesting thing?”

“What’s that?” Godric said, struggling to keep his eyes clear as he looked over his father’s shoulder, still in the hug, at his mother who was wiping tears from her own.

“We never doubted you,” Geoffrey finished. They broke from their hug, and spent the next couple seconds looking at each other, smiling. “You might want to go and talk to Charles,” Geoffrey added. “He’s been wanting to talk to you about what needs to be done as an Auror.”

* * * * *



* * * * *

“So, finished talking to them yet?” Mr. McKinnon asked, his back turned to Godric whom he seemed to sense coming rather than see.

“How did you kno—” Godric said, being instantly cut off by Mr. McKinnon’s reply.

“We Aurors need to be at the top of our game,” he said, turning around and beaming at Godric. “You don’t stay alive too long if you can’t tell someone’s approaching you in this line of work.”

“I… suppose you’re right,” Godric said, smiling slightly. He had to admit that Mr. McKinnon had a very solid point.

“Oh, do you now?” Mr. McKinnon asked jokingly. “Well, I suppose that supposing is the best I could expect from the great Godric, now isn’t it?” Godric’s eyes were twinkling.

“‘The Great Godric’”, he said thoughtfully. “Has a nice ring to it, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, sure,” responded Mr. McKinnon, “if you want your title to use such a simple description. How about… ‘The Glorious Godric’?” The two immediately set off to making various names.

“—‘The Godly Godric!”

“—‘The Gracious Godric!”

“—‘Godric the Genius!”

“—‘Godric the Gassy!’” Mr. McKinnon shouted, laughing so loudly it rung in Godric’s ears. Godric was looking baffled.

“‘Godric the Gassy’? Whatever made you think of that one?” he said, scratching his head. Mr. McKinnon held up a finger to signal that he had yet to catch his breath, and he calmed down considerably, seconds later, his laugh reduced to a bright smile.

“My dear lad,” he started, “surely you must understand my reasoning?” He watched as Godric shook his head confusedly, and decided to continue, trying to keep himself from bursting out with laughter. “No one has more hot air than you, my boy. If you were going to be remembered for something, who, good or Dark, could forget your big mouth?” Godric gave a look of mock astonishment, and then the two laughed loudly before returning to the castle.

* * * * *



* * * * *

Godric lay awake in his chambers that night. The McKinnons had long since left, and his newfound desire was leaving him full of thought and full of an inescapable insomnia. He now had much with which to worry himself, though he wished that his worries had been as easily eliminated, as his decision was to make. He now had to concern himself with whether he would make an apt Auror, and he also had to worry himself with the idea of being away from his parents, who made it clearly that they deeply loved him. Worst of all, he wondered if he would ever even be acknowledged as an Auror.

Mr. McKinnon, already aware of Godric knowing what an Auror was, had explained to him once more that the job of one is to fight off Dark wizards that threaten the law and order established over such a long period of time. Godric turned over and groaned. How could he fend off Dark wizards when he wasn’t even able to fend off Muggles? He recalled clearly what happened those eighteen years earlier. How could he save wizardkind from magic-possessing villains when he was whisked away helplessly and swiftly to safety? He remembered all too well what happened when he and Salazar had arrived to the estate of Lazaro’s brother that night. They had both been so happy to be alive, and expected their parents to return safely to them, but it wasn’t meant to be for Salazar. Godric now rolled over on his back once more, eyes wide open.

Phobus Dursley had managed to claim Aurora Slytherin’s life before help finally came, and Salazar was left motherless while Gloria remained alive and well. Godric often blamed himself for Salazar’s loss. He blamed himself for being so weak. He felt guilty that his mother had lived on. He felt guilty about the sense of relief he’d felt that mournful day when their parents came over the neighboring hills, ignoring Salazar’s expression of pain and disbelief. He felt guilty that he could not relate when Lazaro shook his head sadly, expressing the news wordlessly to Salazar, whom Godric had never had the impression of to be one who cries. He felt guilty that he could not shed a single tear for his newly made friend because he felt so lucky and grateful to be able to know he still had his mother’s warm, loving embrace, and he felt guilty that he had not seen Salazar since the funeral a year after Aurora’s death.

He recalled vividly how silent they had both been, unable to look each other in the eye, and he hoped against hope that Salazar would feel the feelings he felt towards himself: anger, loathing, disappointment, worthlessness, anything that could diminish him, punish him in any way, for that was what he wanted. He wanted nothing more than to feel even half of what Salazar had been made to feel, the hurt, the sorrow, the grief.

Godric had spent eighteen years suppressing these feelings of guilt so that he might maintain sanity. He had done it so that he would not end up killing himself over it. But even so, he had made his decision; he would become an Auror. There was no choice now but to face his fears and guilt. The only way that I can ever hope for redemption is to succeed, he thought to himself. I will become an accomplished Auror! With his second resolution of the day, he found himself able to relax at last, and he slowly began to drift off to sleep.

Besides redemption, there was one thing more that he wanted: to see Salazar again. Whatever hell his old friend had gone through alone all these years, he wanted to help him regain some thread of happiness. Even more so, Salazar was the first friend Godric had ever made, and he was certainly the best friend Godric ever had. Godric spent the remainder of that night, soundly sleeping and willing to take on whatever obstacles life and fate would come to throw in his way.

The following morning, the sense of peace that had come to surround the walls of Gryffindor Castle returned once more, and the animals known for wandering around on its outskirts were present, grazing, oblivious to whatever might be going on beyond the forest’s seclusion. Once more, owls swooped overhead, but only one seemed to be destined for Godric’s window.

It was a small, brown owl, landing importantly before Godric as it entered inside his bed curtains. It gripped the covers tightly with its talons, and awakened Godric, who gave a slight yelp as the sharp talons slightly poked his skin. The owl did not seem to be demanding payment, but it was intent on making sure that Godric read what it had presented to him. An official-looking roll of parchment, tied to a string, which had probably hung from the owl’s mouth, and wrapped in an unfamiliar seal, lay at Godric’s feet. He picked it up and took off the seal, unrolling the parchment and he read carefully. His eyes widened, and he dropped it.

“Merlin’s beard!” he gasped, clutching his chest in amazement and excitement.