Founders of Hogwarts

“Isis!” Agatha cried in despair as she strode into the room. “You’re not up yet, let alone dressed!”

She threw open the drapes, and light spilled into the room. The boys groaned. Rowena and Helga soon followed Agatha into the kitchen.

Godric raised his hands to his eyes. “It’s not time yet, is it?”

“Up! Now!” she demanded. “You’re due at midday, and there is still much to do.”

The girls busied themselves at the table and stove. The boys hadn’t moved.

“Now,” she said.

With a flick of her hand, the blankets flew off the boys, who groaned even louder.

“How do you know Caractacus, Agatha?” Helga asked mischievously.

“Never you mind, Helga Hufflepuff,” Agatha replied, pointing a finger at her. “And fill those canteens with water.”

Caractacus was the man with whom the boys would be staying in Greece.

The boys, accepting defeat, left the women to their work and went to bathe. The sun had fully risen, and it proved to be a fine day. The hut was in a picturesque glen, and they walked over grass and heather to a nearby river, listening to the birds all the while. A stag had beaten them to the water but soon trotted up the bank, away from the water, when it saw them coming, realizing its peace had been disturbed. The boys undressed and waded cautiously into the water.

“It’s freezing,” Salazar gasped as his hairs prickled.

“Doesn’t seem to have made a difference to you,” Godric smirked, without a hint of jealousy.

Salazar splashed him, then jostled him under the water. That was, after all, all Godric wanted—attention. It’s all he’d ever wanted since he was a boy. Godric ducked his dark red hair under the water, then flung it back as he emerged and gulped the air. When they couldn’t stand it any longer, they lay on their backs on the bank, looking up at the sky and trying to let the sun warm them.

“We should probably head back,” Godric sighed.

“Give it a minute. You know what they’re like. They’ll probably be driving each other crazy.”

“Fair enough,” he acquiesced.

“Besides, they’ll have to get used to us not being around for a while.”

They watched the birds patter around the trees and listened to the river as it splashed and trickled along its way.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Godric asked.

He seemed to be in a particularly reminiscent mood.

“Course I do,” Salazar replied. “How could I forget a guy who’s invited to dinner and then stays till he’s twenty?”

“Do you still see me as that, as a sort of street urchin juggler?”

“What’s gotten into you?” Salazar asked, and laughed, “As I recall, you were a particularly good street urchin juggler.”

“Be serious.” Godric implored. 

“Of course not. I see you as a brother. Closer than a brother. Aren’t we?”

That seemed to satisfy him. They made their way back slowly. The house was in an uproar. Helga and Agatha were wrestling over breakfast. Rowena flitted between helping them, her own projects, and amassing the boys' travel things.

“And you two can sort that portkey out before you sit down to breakfast!” Agatha called to the boys as soon as she saw them enter.

“Perhaps you could help too?” she looked at Helga.

Helga flushed. “I’m sure they can manage quite well enough by themselves. And besides, someone needs to rescue the breakfast!”

The boys didn’t need much persuasion to leave again immediately. They settled on an old bowl for the portkey, which they thought would do the trick nicely. Now it was placed out in front of them, it all seemed a little too real somehow. They felt a little apprehensive.

“I reckon we could apparate,” Godric mused to Salazar.

“Apparate!” Agatha cried in horror. “All that way, and you haven’t got the foggiest clue where you’re going. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It would be worth a shot!” He giggled.

“Not if you ever wanted to make it!” she replied.

“There’s something I need to say,” Helga announced, frustrated with herself. “Something at the back of my mind, but I can’t think what it is.”

“Well, let us know, dear, when you remember it,” Agatha quipped.

Breakfast was enjoyable enough, while the boys played referee. Rowena had made a great list of all the things she wanted them to do while they were in Greece and recounted it to the boys one by one. The boys nodded politely but had no intention of remembering any of it. Time soon passed, and after they’d made their final arrangements and said their final goodbyes, it was time to go.

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Salazar said to Helga.

“I know, I know,” she replied. “But there’s something I must say to you.”

She could kick herself.

“Don’t forget to enjoy yourselves,” Agatha smiled, certain they would.

“We will,” they chimed in unison.

“My husband would have loved to have seen the things you will. May he rest in peace,” she said as she wrapped her arms around each of them.

Salazar glanced at Godric’s head.

“Oh, you’re not seriously wearing that hat, are you?” he asked incredulously.

“What? Don’t you think it suits me?” Godric asked, adjusting its position.

Salazar sighed. They looked up at the sun in its noonday position, then turned to each other and nodded. They took hold of each other’s hands and stepped into the bowl. In a stomach-churning whirl, they vanished from the glen, seeing the girls whizz by in a blur of colour. Then they landed, hard.

“Wait!” Helga cried, stretching out her hand.

She was too late.

“What on earth is it?” Rowena asked urgently.

“It was the bowl,” she said. “It was the bowl. I remember now. The bowl I gave you last night. I’ve been thinking about it. It wasn’t Godric’s I gave you; it was Salazar’s.”

Rowena tried to look unconcerned and calmed her down, telling her it was nothing. But the more she thought about it, the more she didn’t like it. That did change how she saw the things in the bowl, if you saw it in the light of Salazar, or rather the significance of it. “A great fall,” she repeated to herself again and then tried to shake off a feeling of foreboding.

*

The boys had landed on a dusty, rocky acropolis. A great temple loomed over them, columns towering toward a blue sky. The sun beat down on them ferociously.

“Neptune’s beard, it’s hot!” Godric exclaimed, removing his travel cloak and trying to fan himself. “This isn’t a summer in Scotland.”

Salazar followed suit, shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare and looking around them. There were a few trees scattered about, which looked like they were barely surviving. Sandy, light dust covered the ground everywhere, and more temples could be seen behind them. A haze blurred the horizon. There didn’t seem to be any other signs of life.

“What do you think we should do?” Salazar asked.

Godric looked blank. Thankfully, at that moment, an elf appeared from a nearby shadow. It wore some cotton cloth like a toga and was red with sunburn. It spoke, but in a foreign language.

“I can’t make head nor tail of this,” Salazar said. “Here.”

He pointed his wand at Godric and himself, in turn, repeating an incantation Rowena had taught him.

“Try again,” Godric said to the elf. “What’s your name?”

“Hinkey,” the elf trembled. “Hinkey, Sirs. My master, Caractacus, is expecting you some hours ago, Sirs. He is asking Hinkey to wait, Sirs, till you arrive.”

“Thank you, Hinkey,” Godric said. “I am Godric, and this is Salazar. Please would you take us to your master?”

“Yes, Sirs, right away, Sirs. This way, Sirs!”

The house-elf, seemingly overwhelmed with the magnitude of his responsibility, started off at some pace. The boys looked at each other and followed after him. They could not speak because of the speed and the heat, but they looked around themselves all the time. It was like nothing they’d ever seen before. Little monuments and statues in alcoves lined their path. Symbols were carved into them. Trinkets and vessels had been left out at them. Then they saw the blue of the sea in the bay, unlike any of the waters of the northern oceans. Buildings made of rock rose up before them as they descended into the town. Hinkey led them through the winding streets to the town’s edge. The natives stared at the strangers as they passed. The children turned from their games to point and laugh. At last, Hinkey stopped outside a large white house with tiny square windows set either side of a wooden door.

“In there, Sirs,” Hinkey pointed. “In there, Sirs. Come in, and I will get my master.”

Hinkey opened the door, and the two boys followed. They gasped. It was incredible. Colonnades led to rooms off a courtyard, statues surrounded a pool of water, and the floor was tiled with mosaics. It felt cool and fresh after the heat of the afternoon sun.

“They must think us savages,” Salazar exhaled, trying to take it all in.

Godric made a grunting sound, staring, mouth slightly ajar, at a group of women in the corner of the courtyard. They were wearing less than he had imagined and attending to large water jars, giggling to themselves. They had dark, curly hair worn up and large dark eyes.

They heard noises as Caractacus approached through one of the archways.

“My dear, dear friends!” beamed a large man, who they assumed to be Caractacus.

“How are you?” he asked, embracing them one by one. Before they had a chance to answer, he added, “Well, I can see that you are well!”

“Sir, it is an honour to meet you. Thank you for welcoming us so graciously into your home,” Godric said deferentially.

“Not at all,” Caractacus declared, “the pleasure’s all mine.”

Then he stepped back to take a proper look at Godric.

Looking at the tall, good-looking, fiery redhead, he said, “You must be Godric Gryffindor,” and added with a twinkle, “dragonslayer!”

“You are very well informed!” Godric grinned, impressed.

“News of that kind always travels. I’m afraid to say we do not suffer from dragons as much as the northern lands do, but do not fear, we have enough beasts of our own to keep you amused!”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Then Caractacus turned to Salazar, who was tall, pale, and thin.

“You must be Salazar Slytherin,” he said courteously. “I know of your father, of course, a great man, a great man in his way.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Salazar bowed his head.

“No, no, enough of that. Please call me Caractacus, or Caracas as my family does.”

Then he turned and indicated the two people standing behind him rather awkwardly.

“These are my children,” he said, and they stepped forward, “Erebus and Juliana.”

Salazar could not imagine two more beautiful creatures. They had the Greek complexion, large dark eyes like their father, and large red lips, presumably like their mother. They looked as young as Godric and him but did not speak.

Caractacus motioned with his arms around him, assuming his wishes would be fulfilled. “Take the boys now, show them their rooms, take their things. I am sure you would like to get accustomed to your rooms and wash! Erebus and Juliana will show you.” Then he added, "we'll reconvene for dinner!"

The boys thanked their host again and were led through a passageway by Erebus and Juliana, just as he had said.

“You will sleep here,” Juliana said, indicating an open door to Godric, who flushed bright red.

“And you here,” Erebus pointed to the room next door.

“Is there anything else that I can get you?” Juliana asked, looking at the two boys.

“These clothes,” Godric said, holding his long woolen robe, trying to find the words to put it politely, “they’re just, erm…”

“Say no more,” Erebus smiled for the first time, holding up a hand, “I will see what can be found of mine.”

Then they left, leaving the boys to look at each other, rather bewildered. Salazar entered his room. It felt dark but cool. He looks around. There was a low bed flush with the wall, and basin on a side table.

Salazar pointed his wand at the basin and said, “Aguamenti.” and washed his face.

Was Godric feeling as lost as he was? What were they going to do to dinner? 

At that moment Erebus came back, entering the room holding some clothes to his chest.

“Do you want to come to the baths with me?” he asked boldly. “It is still a little while before dinner.”

“Sure,” Salazar replied, growing as red as Godric.

The thought was very enticing. The brook that morning felt like an age ago now, and the hot sun and dusty paths had made his skin feel sticky and salty. Besides, what else was there was to do?

It didn't take long to get ready and, once they were, Erebus led them outside to go to a nearby villa. Salazar noted, as they travelled, how much all the villas looked alike. He was trying to gasp in amazement at everything less than Godric was, but that wasn't hard.

On arriving at the destination, Erebus gave a password to a wooden door, which then swung open, and the three boys entered inside.

There mouths dropped open. It was huge, bigger on the inside than the outside. A glass roof rose in domes above the palm trees and pools of water. Plumes of steam rose from some of the pools, while ice bobbed along others. Creatures of various origins relaxed and chatted together, either in the water or on the sides. Some goblins lay on a bench nearby, being massaged and making sounds as though they were rather enjoying it. Through one door to their right, the boys could see some wizards sitting on a bench, dripping with sweat. An endless fire was burning to keep the room hot. Godric and Salazar just gaped at it all.

“You like it?” Erebus laughed at them.

“It’s fantastic!” Godric replied brightly. “This place is amazing!"

"I could get used to this," acknowledged Salazar.

Erebus led them to a long wooden bench at the side of the room. There they undressed and left their things in neat piles. Godric was the quickest, eager to begin. They wandered over to the pools and wondered where to start. Erebus taught them exactly what to do.

Away from his father, Erebus seemed much more relaxed and inclined to talk. He took great lengths to explain little foreign quirks or words that hadn’t been translated well. He introduced them to wizards, who were obviously known to him. Some were friends, some were friends of his father. The family was clearly well connected. Some of the men, Erebus mentioned, would be joining them tonight, and Salazar tried to make a concerted effort to learn their names. There were no women present, which was quite a relief to Salazar.

Godric was once again like a puppy dog, wanting to hop around from one pool to the next, trying all the different treatments and steam rooms, and pulling every lever and opening every jar available. He made quite a stir with some of the young men when Erebus mentioned his dragon-slaying skills, and he answered their questions with characteristic humility. They both answered questions about their homelands, which were being referred to as Britannia.

By the end of their stay, Salazar felt like a new man. He didn’t think his skin had ever felt so clean and smooth after all the various potions and lotions they’d tried. He put on Erebus’ tunic and realized he smelled just like him. He felt a thrill of excitement and inhaled deeply.

“It is time we were getting back,” Erebus said to the others. “You do look like proper Greeks now!”

That was a little generous. Though the tunic suited Godric with his physique, his hair would never pass for Greek, and Salazar was pale as a ghost.

“It looks good on you, Godric, but I don’t think it suits me. I’m too thin.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “But look at my hair. Maybe I should change it.”

“Do you have Celtic ancestry?” Erebus asked inquisitively.

“Probably, somewhere,” Godric answered.

That evening Caractacus hosted a lavish banquet in the courtyard. The guests reclined at a long table in Roman style. Plates of olives, vegetables, and sweet fruits lay out in large abundance. Big clusters of grapes lay juicy and enticing. House-elves and servants stood around the edge of the room, ready to click their fingers and fill the gold cups again with endless sources of wine. Godric and Salazar were seated together on one side, quite close to Caractacus, Erebus, and Juliana. Juliana wore a gold leaf design in her hair and gold bangles on her wrists. Caractacus was a well-experienced host and spoke and laughed loudly. Those around him did too. Salazar noted some of the men present had been at the bathhouse.

“And these two,” Caractacus introduced Godric and Salazar to his neighbours, “are starting a school in Scotland. Is that not so?”

“We are,” Godric answered politely.

“A school?” an old man exclaimed on Caractacus’ left and chuckled to himself. “I did not think the northern lands went in for that sort of stuff.”

“We have some schools here in Greece,” Caractacus added, smiling with the old man, as though sharing in his joke.

“The schools here do a lot of thinking,” Salazar said pointedly, mainly for Godric’s benefit.

“Thinking?” Godric exclaimed. “When do they do ‘the doing’?”

“My boy!” the old man replied. “How do you know what you are doing is right in the first place unless you have thought about it?”

This logic was utterly baffling to Godric. Knowing what was the right thing to do always seemed the easy part to him. Doing it was the hard bit. He turned to Salazar helplessly.

“Godric’s a man of action,” Salazar said with a great deal of pride.

“Yes,” Caractacus applauded, “the great dragonslayer!”

The old man lifted one solitary eyebrow.

“But I think it’s far too late for that tale tonight,” Caractacus decided, “as much as I am looking forward to hearing it.”

Then he clapped his hands twice, and the servants vanished the table and all its belongings, whether the diners had finished or not.

He gave a sly smile to his daughter and said, “But perhaps we could persuade Juliana to sing a song for us.”

There were noises of agreement from across the courtyard. Juliana, unfazed, stood up and moved towards a more advantageous spot. The moonlight and candles gave her a soft glow. Hinkey was ready with a harp and started strumming.

She sung in a sweet, caressing voice:

Oh weary traveller, ride on by,
For should you stop you’ll groan and sigh,
For, lo, you know his love will die,
But, do not ask, I know not why.

You give your heart, you give your life,
But that dear boy will be your strife,
He’ll take you not, to be his wife,
But pierce your heart with his own knife.

No potion stops the march of time,
Nor magic spell the age-old crime,
But death is pleased should his bells chime,
So weary traveller, heed my rhyme.

Oh Weary Traveller, Ride on By

She bowed when she had finished, and there was polite clapping.

“Blimey!” Godric whispered to Salazar, clapping, “cheery little number, wasn’t it!”

“Quite,” Salazar replied.

He wasn't sure whether he'd ever get used to Greece.