The Hogwarts Chronicles

The Hogwarts Chronicles

The two were a decidedly mis-matched pair as they loped down the hill to Ravenclaw Manor. He was tall and gangling; all arms and legs in the dawning of his adolescent years; fourteen. She, at seventeen, was more confident and curvy, and for all that she stood barely 4'7", commanded a powerful presence. Still, they had grown up together, and many in the village thought they would marry and die together as well. He took this seriously, and begged her, however halfheartedly, every moon for her hand. They could not, and she knew it. Their master, Ashley, Baron Ravenclaw, was head of the SWS, the Saxon Wizards Society, tolerated devotion among his servants to no one but he and one other; his daughter.

Rowena. How Helga hated that brat! Since Lady Afton Ravenclaw died in childbirth with Rowena's still-born brother, his Grace the Duke became obsessed with the girl-child. The spitting image of her late mother, Rowena had grown up spoiled. Doted on by her father, and thus his court, she grew up to believe that she was the center of the universe at Four Hills, the Ravenclaw family estate. At the age of fifteen, she was quickly becoming one of the most beautiful women in all of England, and she knew it. She was the favorite daughter; no girl was prized as highly as she. Her beauty captivated the mind of many in the village, no man, young or old, was truly safe from her charms.

And she had caught the eye of one of her fathers young servants, Godric. Helga would never forgive Rowena for that. Even now, as they ambled down the dusty dirt road, curving up and over the hills farther and farther from Hogsmeade, she could tell he was thinking of her. Even in the shadows of the looming trees, hundreds of years old, she could see it. But it was too late to ask him about it now, she saw. The light on his face as he thought about the beauty was almost blinding in the aura it shone with. Love, Helga decided, couldn't give off such strong flare. Would lovers not be blinded?

Or perhaps they were anyway, caught up in the circle, just the two beings, none above the other. Swinging in the eternal circle of life, in sync with time and eternity. But Godric wasn't in love, so his face should not flare so brilliantly. Then what was it?

"Be safe, Godric," she called to him when they reached the parting in the path. He turned to her voice and smiled gently, as if to rebuke the words of a small child, not quite understanding what was meant in 'only one more cookie'. He was grateful for her word of farewell, she knew. Even smitten with the young Lady Rowena, friendship would outlast it by far.

"Aye Helga, and many thanks to you. His Lordship has something new for me to be doing today, and God above only knows what that might entail. I'll meet you for midday then, over by the wishing tree?"

Helga knew the tree well. She had had climbing contests on it with Godric and the other village children back when they were young. Even the son of the old lord, Ralf, would climb. Social barriers didn't exist for children; they all played together, boys and girls, from the poorest villager to the Lords son, and that was the only time Helga could ever remember feeling as if those living on top of the hill ever cared for them. As the children grew older, the tree began to serve a new purpose. Young couples went there to share stolen kisses between the long hard hours they spent working for Lord Ravenclaw. They came out giggling, flushed and holding hands. For Godric and Helga, the tree was an ideal place to eat their meager lunch. The leafy willow branches provided shade and shelter, and a private place to have midday and escape the realties of the world.

Since the noble wizard King, Harold, had been defeated by the Norman Muggle William, Hogsmeade had become a different place. It was no longer happy and carefree, the center of magical power. The new King feared the magical arts, and condemned them, and anyone who used them.

Helga shivered. If her lord Ravenclaw knew that half of the villagers in Hogsmeade were not only magical, but also were practicing witches and wizards, they would all be burned, probably without fair trial. Not, Helga admitted to herself, that it would have mattered, under God's Will, they were witches and Wizards. They weren't evil though, did not worship any God but the one the Holy Bible said to be true. The villagers were simply blessed with something others didn't have. Would never have, or would never know they had.

The Ravenclaw's had it, Helga remembered suddenly. She had overheard her mother gossiping with Godric's aunt, saying, 'Mark my words, that'll be trouble some day, when old Ash finds out his wife had it, and his daughter does! The Ravenclaws were the oldest pureblood family around, until my Grandfathers time. They were the Kings and Queens of the educated magical community. Smart as scrolls, they were, and there were none nobler around!' Helga sighed again. Poor Lady Ravenclaw would never know she possessed magic enough to rival Merlin! Even if Helga disliked the brat, (and dislike, she admitted, was perhaps not as strong a word as she might use) to not be able to use the gift that God granted was unbearable in thought alone. Worse yet, to not know of it!

Godric coughed, and Helga was slammed abruptly from her thoughts. "Of course I'll meet you!" she exclaimed. "At midday, then?"

Godric blushed at his rudeness, secretly relieved that she had gotten that weird look off her face. It scared him; he didn't know what was behind that closed look Helga got. "Midday," he agreed, and walked, as he did every day, down the left fork, toward the main house.

Helga smiled as she watched him, then turned abruptly down her fork. She would tend to the sheep until the sun was just past its zenith. But that wouldn't be for a long time yet.

~*~

Rowena Afton Ravenclaw, Lady of the Ravenclaw Barony, and sole heiress to its substantial fortune, smiled. At 15, and even as a woman, she wielded more power then did many dukes. Her marriage to the Mage of Slythering Peaks had been in place since her birth, and although she had not met the Mage Samuel, she knew that within a moon, she would have him as wrapped around her finger as she did the rest of the village.

There were only two things in her life that were not perfect; one was the uncultured peasants she was forced to endure, the other was the feeling of frustration she often got. It came out of no-where, for no reason that she could find, and she knew, by some unseen force, that she could not tell anyone. The peasants would be forgotten when she moved to London in the coming year, and she had hoped that that would be the case with the feeling, but... it was getting stronger. And there was no one Rowena could count on for help.

~*~