The Founders Four

The Past Hurts

A chilling mist hung low over the moors of Scotland, making visibility very bad. Everything loomed forth like eerie shadows as Godric moved through this ghostly blanket. He urged the horse blindly onwards, somehow knowing he was going the right way. Helga lay propped up against his back, sleeping silently.

Then a ghostly form swam out of the whiteness around them. Gordic felt his whole body tingle excitedly as they climbed to the top of a grassy embankment, looking down upon the place he used to call home.

At this distance it looked deserted, as though no one had inhabited it in years. Had Lord Schreiver's great fortune finally run out?

"G...Godric...?" Helga mumbled, shifting her head and slowly coming round from her deep slumber.

"Are you okay?" He asked at once, having feared that she may suffer from the cold up here.

"Yes," she replied, looking around in puzzlement as her eyes cleared. "Are we...?" She asked in awe, spotting the towering castle.

"Here, yes," he replied, considering for the first time how strange it would be to return to this place.

"It looks - "

"Empty, I know." He stared, feeling the chill run through him. "Come on, we'll go around to the servants' quarters, it's easier to get in at that side of the castle."

Godric led the horse around the castle walls, remembering the path he'd taken so many times as though it was just yesterday. He glanced towards the stables, remembering it to be the place he and Rowena had first met. They soon reached a heavy wooden door at the side of the castle, which looked as though it was letting in a rather uncomfortable draught. After dismounting the horse and tethering it to a fence nearby, Godric proceeded uncertainly towards the door.

"Do you think anyone's in there?" Helga asked uncertainly.

"Bound to be."

He reached out for the latch that kept the door shut but Helga grabbed his arm.

"Godric, don't you think we should knock first?" She hissed.

"No," he shrugged, making to open the door.

As he unlatched it, though, it wouldn't budge. Godric pushed forcefully but it remained solidly still.

"It's probably locked."

"Yeah," Godric agreed, considering the matter.

Helga was about to point out a number of reasons why what Godric did next was wrong but it was too late; he'd already given the door a forceful kick, the wood creaking menacingly and giving in.

"Godric!" She hissed, reminding him of an angry goose.

"What?" He replied casually, pushing his way through the door, which looked as though it had parted company with one of its hinges.

"We're forcing entry into someone's property!" She said, trying to keep her voice as low as possible. "Why couldn't we have just knocked?"

"Ah, they'll be fine with it!" He said dismissively, entering the dark and musty kitchen, which smelt strongly of straw, mould and burnt paper. "Come on!" He urged, pulling Helga inside.

She looked around apprehensively, for the early morning rays that now penetrated the room were not enough to show what may have been lurking in the darkened corners.

"I really think that this is a bad idea!" She insisted.

"Well, would you rather stay out in the cold?"

"Of course not but - "

"Did you hear that?" He said suddenly.

He froze halfway across the room, having heard a strange scuffling sound quite nearby.

"Don't!" Helga pleaded, seeming jumpy.

"Shhh!" He hissed, hearing it again.

He listened intently but, when silence prevailed, he decided he must have been imagining things.

"Come on, we can get to the main part of the castle through here," he said, leading her across the room.

Helga suddenly screamed in terror but Godric didn't have time to turn around because, within the next second, he felt something very heavy make painful contact with his head. Stars popped before his eyes and, feeling dizzy and disorientated, he fell to the floor.

"Helga..." He managed to mumble.

"Godric, are you okay? Hey, what are you doing!"

He managed to roll over in time to see a small figure of a person standing over him, with a saucepan held high, as though ready to strike again.

"Godric?" The girl said, suddenly freezing.

"Yeah, that's me!" He said quickly. "I used to live here!"

"Godric!" She squealed, the saucepan dropping to the floor with a loud clang. "It's really you!"

"Wh - ?"

Before he could say anything else he was pulled into an uncomfortably tight hug. As the girl pulled away he found himself gazing into shining eyes that he recognised, even in the dim light.

"Polly?" He said uncertainly.

"You remember?"

"Of course I remember!" He beamed, hugging her back. "Oh," he said quickly, seeing Helga's puzzled expression. "Polly is a good friend. I used to work with her," he explained. "This is Helga Hufflepuff."

"Who you lived with?" She asked.

"That's right."

"Oh, it's lovely to meet you," she smiled.

"You too," Helga replied.

"Oh, sorry about..." Polly trailed off, pointing at Godric's head.

"It's alright," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "You've got a good swing, I'll give you that!"

Godric caught Helga's meaningful look and he cleared his throat, feeling he should waste no more time.

"Listen, we're here to see Lord Schreiver. It's important."

"Oh," she said, looking a little doubtful. "The thing is..."

"He's still alive, isn't he?" Godric demanded.

"Yes. Barely."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Tell you what," she smiled, after a long and awkward pause. "How about I make you some breakfast and tell you all about it? He won't be up at such an early hour anyway!"

*

"Lord Salazar," said the guard at the gates, bowing his head in greeting.

He inclined his a little but walked swiftly on as the drawbridge was lowered for him. He hastily crossed it, staring anxiously up at the formidable castle as he went. As soon as he was through the doors in the entrance hall he was greeted by another guard, who led him silently to the king's chamber.

"You may enter, Sir," he said curtly.

Salazar nodded and did so, the king looking shocked to see him.

"Salazar!" He cried, dropping a scroll he was reading. "What a surprise! What are you doing here?" He asked suspiciously, his wide eyes suddenly narrowing. "I thought you were on leave?"

"Oh, I am your highness. This is strictly a recreational visit."

"And what, may I ask, is the reason for this visit?"

He asked in tones of perfect friendliness but his eyes told a different story. Salazar supposed that you'd have to get used to this split persona as a king.

"It is actually princess Rowena I have come to see," he explained, hoping that his cloak properly concealed the heavily wrapped package he had underneath his right arm.

"Oh really?"

"Yes, Sir. With your permission I'd like to say goodbye to her before I leave."

The king considered him and Salazar just hoped his expression was blank.

"I feel that we have become good friends over the time I have known her."

"Of course," the king boomed, laughing heartily. He heaved himself out of his chair and beckoned Salazar to follow him. "As long as you're not thinking of stealing her affections away from prince Edmund!" He added, with a second hearty laugh.

"I wouldn't dream of it, milord!" Salazar said, smiling in amusement.

He followed the king upstairs and was led to a large tower room, where he knocked twice upon the heavy wooden door.

"Enter," came the gentle voice of Rowena.

"Ah, my dear," he beamed, striding into the room. "I have someone here to see you!"

"I do not wish to see anyone," she said simply, her voice monotonous.

"Come now, Rowena!" He insisted, his tone low and full of warning. "Salazar wishes to say goodbye before he leaves."

"Salazar?" She asked, her tone hopeful. "Yes, I'll see him."

"Good," he said, beckoning Salazar inside.

Once the king had left Rowena and Salazar could relax their uncomfortably stiff postures.

"It's wonderful to see you!" She smiled, her pale face glowing in the equally pale winter sunlight streaming in through her tower window.

"I brought you something," he said, feeling that he should cut to the chase, lest their conversation be cut short. "Here," he murmured, carefully taking the package from beneath his arm and handing it to her.

"A gift? What on earth for?"

"Just open it," he insisted.

After a quizzical look she did so. He watched her closely as she unwrapped it, noticing how much paler her gentle skin had become. The spark in her eyes seemed to have become less apparent and he hated to see such a thing.

"A book?" She muttered, staring at him in puzzlement.

"Open it," he said again.

She did so, turning to the first page. Her brow furrowed as she stared down at the blank pages, running her long fingers across them.

"There's nothing written inside," she said slowly. "Is this a trick?"

"In a manner of speaking," he smiled, leaning forwards. "Watch...Aparecium!"

She gasped as spidery words began to appear upon the pages.

"A spell?"

"Of course," he grinned. "The words are written in invisible ink, you just say the spell when you wish to read it."

She was staring intently at the words that were written upon the thick and rather worn pages.

"This is a spell book," she said finally.

"Yes," he nodded, staring meaningfully at her. "My uncle intends to teach you magic."

"How?" She asked at once.

"He will send you letters with instructions, in the same ink," he added. Rowena was staring at him longingly but still seemed overshadowed by doubt. "You must only ever attempt the spells he instructs you too, though."

"How will this work?"

"It will, trust me!" He assured her, his heart beating just as fast as hers, with pure anxiety. "You must only ever do this at night, when you're sure you'll be alone and somewhere secluded. No one can find out."

There was an awkward silence between them and Salazar was so sure she was going to refuse being a part of this plan.

"I can still learn magic?" She asked, her eyes shining brightly with happiness once again.

"Yes," he smiled.

"Oh Salazar...thank you!" She threw herself forwards and he was pulled into a tight hug before he could do anything to stop it.

"Well, I must go," he said, clearing his throat and causing her to let go. "Take care."

"When will I see you again?"

"I don't know."

She stared at him for a long while before he broke eye contact, deciding it was best to leave.

Once he'd gone Rowena stared down at the book he'd given her and her heart lifted, the pages like rays of hope to her in a future that was sure to be filled with darkness.

*

"This way," Polly murmured, leading Godric down the darkened corridors within the castle, whilst Helga awaited his return down in the kitchens. "He's had to be kept in his room over the past few months," she explained, referring to Lord Schreiver. "His health has been deteriorating for a long time."

They finally reached a heavy wooden door at the end of a dark hallway and she knocked three times.

"Enter," came a barely audible croak that Godric just about managed to recognise.

Polly led the way, pushing open the door and beckoning Godric inside after her. He followed, squinting through the dim quality of light to look for the man he could only picture in vague memories. He saw a grand bed with deep velvet hangings at one side of the room with covered windows either side of it, resulting in hardly any light being able to get into the room.

"What is it?" He growled.

As Godric approached he saw Lord Schreiver slumped upon a pile of pillows, his face sallow and more wrinkled than he remembered. His hair had thinned quite dramatically and was as white as snow. It made Godric's stomach flutter uncomfortably, knowing he was so close to someone that was so close to death.

"Godric, Sir," Polly said, raising her voice. "You'll have to speak a little louder for him," she added quietly. "His hearing isn't what it used to be."

"Godric, Godric Gryffindor?" He demanded in a low Scottish growl, perking up slightly.

"Yes, Sir. Shall I let some light in?"

"Please do, my dear girl," he replied. "Come closer, my boy. I cannot see as I could in my prime," he said, his glazed, greying eyes searching for him. "Ah, you've grown into a fine young lad!" He smiled, when he could see him properly.

"I'll leave you to speak alone," Polly piped up, indicating that Godric should sit in the high-backed chair at the side of the bed.

He did so and watched her go, closing the door behind her.

"I'm sorry to just turn up like this, Sir," Godric said. "But I didn't know where else to go."

"It's good to know that you feel you can turn to me in times of need," he croaked, a feeble smile playing around his mouth. "I heard what happened at Hufflepuff's castle. I'm so sorry, my boy!"

"So am I. I'm all Helga has now but I suppose it's better than no one at all."

"Of course it is! Do you intend upon staying here, Godric?"

"At the castle?" He asked quickly. He hadn't actually considered what he'd do next. "Well, I..."

"Believe me, you'll be safer if you do stay."

Godric considered this and decided he was most probably right.

"Thank you, Sir," he said, after an awkward pause.

He made to get up and leave but was prevented from doing so as Lord Schreiver's hand suddenly shot from under his blankets and grabbed onto his wrist with surprising force for such a frail old man.

"There's something I must tell you!" He breathed. "It is of the utmost importance!"

Wondering if it was just a side effect of his illness, Godric stayed where he was nevertheless, prepared to listen.

"Okay...what is it?" He asked apprehensively.

"It's about your..."

"My...?" He prompted.

"Your...Mother."

Godric stared in shock for a moment but somehow knew that what he had to say was definitely worth listening to. He sat back down and listening intently.

"Go on."

"I'm going to tell you what we found out about your real family after you were gone. The old chamber maid was right to assume she was a well off girl with the clothes she wore," he explained. "Particularly when it came to the jewel she wore around her neck." Godric's brow creased at this but he did not speak up. "It was engraved with an age-old crest, the crest of a family of royals."

Godric had to think over what he'd just heard once more. Schreiver must have got it wrong - he wasn't a royal!

"Your name said it all," he went on. "When we looked into it further we found out that the name Gryffindor had been one of high status for hundreds of years, not in this country, however."

"No, Sir," Godric muttered, shaking his head. "It can't be. If I was related to royalty I wouldn't have worked as a stable boy for almost all my life!"

He just didn't understand it. If he was of royal descent, some lost prince, perhaps, his family wouldn't have left him like this. They would have come for him years ago. He just didn't quite get why his mother had come to this castle in the dead of night and no one had ever come asking questions about the disappearance of a royal and her child.

"I know it's hard to accept, boy," he said, his brow furrowed in sympathy.

"You've got it wrong!" Godric raged, rising from his seat again. "They would have come for me! They wouldn't have left my mother to die without looking for her!" He roared, his throat and eyes stinging at these words.

"There is a reason they didn't look," he said. "Please, Godric, sit down."

He stared at the frail old man, who still maintained a tight grip upon his wrist. His chest was rising and falling as he decided whether or not he wanted to hear what he had to say. The intrigue becoming unbearable, he slumped back into the seat, staring intently at the floor.

"I'm listening," he grunted.

"The Gryffindors were a very wealthy family back before you were born, one of the richest. So many wanted to be a part of their circle so, naturally, arranged marriages were quite popular."

"Like Rowena," he breathed.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," Godric said quickly. "Go on."

"Well, your father was one of the Gryffindors, whose fate it was to marry this way. He was to marry the daughter of another royal."

"My Mother?"

"No, dear boy," he said sadly. "Your Mother did not come from good upbringing. I believe she was an orphan, living as a servant in the village just outside the castle walls. I don't quite know how they ended up meeting but they knew from the moment they did that they wanted to be together. Your father was too afraid to tell his parents about her, for fear of what they'd do. This was all before he was due to be married. Then, of course, when your father realised that Rona was carrying a child he knew something had to be done. He could have turned her away, knowing it would ruin his large inheritance, but he did not."

"Then what did he do?" Godric croaked, his throat seizing up.

"He owned up to his mistake, told his mother and father all about it."

"What did they do?" He demanded, his heart pumping.

"They ordered her to be killed," he said simply. Godric's stomach churned at this but he continued to listen. "The thing you must know is that your father was as Mortal as they come. You inherit the magic in your veins from your mother. Of course, the king and queen were not foolish enough to not notice something like that. They ordered her to be locked away in the dungeons until the next witch burning took place."

Godric felt sick. Hearing this story about his family, his past, was heartbreaking, knowing how much pain his mother and father must have gone through.

"So...what happened then?" He croaked, hardly able to utter the words.

"Your father helped her escape. He knew it was impossible for them to be together within his parents' lands so he told Rona to climb aboard a ship and travel across seas - she ended up here."

"But he should have gone with her!" Godric said, feeling angry.

"He planned to," he replied. "The following night he planned to take the same route as your mother but the king and queen kept him locked up inside the castle."

"So what happened then? Is my father still alive?" He asked hopefully.

"Oh, my dear boy," he murmured, his eyes shining. Godric already knew the answer to this question by the look on his face. "I'm so sorry."

"How did he die?" He murmured, not sure whether or not he wanted to know the answer.

"He...he...took his own life," he answered, his voice cracking with sadness. "If he couldn't be with Rona, he wouldn't be with anyone."

Godric felt a sudden burst of emotion he couldn't explain. He felt as though he'd lost both parents all over again. He felt that life was too unfair to live!

"And..." he said finally, trying his best to keep his voice steady. "How is it you came to find out all this information?"

"Your father's friend and advisor, Coen Barrett," he replied. "He wishes for you to go to him in your father's homeland."

"Why?"

"He is a wizard too. He wishes to train you."

Godric stared, still taking this in.

"But, what about Helga? I can't leave her behind."

"She will be safe here or in the village, I assure you."

Godric sat there for what felt like an age, thinking everything over.

"I think I'd like to go," he said finally, feeling as though someone else was using his mouth to speak. "But I'd just like to know one more thing. What was my father called?"

"Leonard. Leonard Gryffindor."