The School
Chapter 4: The School
Rowena sat across the table from Helga in an inn called the Hog's Head, located in Hogsmeade. They stared at the drinks they had ordered, unsure whether they dared to drink from the mugs. The place was certainly rustic, or at least the smell was. It was rather exciting, they thought. They could have adventures too!
“I think it’s perfect,” Rowena started.
“Hmm,” Helga said, caught in a daydream, “What is? This?” she asked, looking at her drink.
“No, the place! The location!”
Rowena had rarely been so animated. Now that she had seen that cliff, the black lake, and the forest, she could envision it all. In her mind’s eye, she saw the school proudly dominating the skyline and overlooking the landscape. It seemed more tantalizingly close than ever before. They could really do it!
“We would need to perform some Muggle-repelling spells, of course,” Rowena said thoughtfully. “We don’t want to be intruded upon.”
Helga looked around at the state of the room. “Quite. I can see the Muggles flocking here.”
“It will be so handy to have this village here as well, so close. I’m sure we could get everything we needed here.”
“Yes,” Helga sighed. “I'm sure. It does have a certain charm.”
“And, besides, the price is right.”
“Now don’t worry about a thing like that,” Helga said sternly. “Salazar Slytherin and I have more than enough between us. And, on that note, I still don’t like the idea of the school charging fees. Anyone should be able to come, regardless of their parents’ means.”
“I know, that is why we have compromised and set aside a fund for particularly needy cases. But, really, we want this school to last, and at some point, it needs to be self-sufficient.”
Helga looked ready to argue the point.
Rowena held up a hand and said, “I also think that it reinforces the point that learning has value.”
“Value? Honestly, like a price could be put on it.”
Rowena tried to change the subject slightly. “Well, since money is no object, I feel strongly that we should employ a proper architect on the project. I know we all have ideas about it - Isis help us if Godric has his way - but I want this to be done properly. I’m sure we can all still have our inputs, but an architect will have their own ideas and could bring ours together.”
“Well, if you insist,” Helga said. “I can't see anyone objecting to that. So long as the needs of the students are put first in the design.”
“I will write to Winchester. I have heard that there is a particularly gifted architect there who specializes in magical buildings.”
Helga looked at her cup again; she felt thirsty.
“We should probably be getting back,” she said.
“Yes,” Rowena sighed, “to my mother.”
“Now, don’t be too harsh on her,” Helga warned, her hands moving to her hips. “I know she can be difficult, but she is scared.”
“Scared?” Rowena frowned, scoffing.
“Yes, she’s worried. What is she going to do when you are gone?”
“She can live with us if she’s that bothered.”
“But she’s too worried to leave, isn’t she? She's spent most of her life there; she must have so many memories there.”
“Well, alright, maybe,” Rowena conceded, slightly crimson in the cheeks. “But, worried as she may be, she does not have to take it out on me!”
*
Salazar lay on his bed, holding the blanket close to him. It had been several days since the night Erebus had taken him to the chamber. Erebus had not mentioned it since, and Salazar had no desire to bring it up either. Moreover, he had firmly decided not to mention it to Godric. This did not sit entirely comfortably with him, but he reasoned that it was better for Godric not to know about it. The chamber, though it seemed like a dream, had disturbed him more than he cared to admit. Erebus, beautiful on the outside, had this ugliness on the inside. It wasn’t quite ugliness, though, was it? The more Salazar thought about it, the more he saw that the darkness and corruption, thick as blood, that swirled within Erebus, was also power, glory, and strength. Could one truly have one without the other? The turmoil brewed inside him. Godric had seemed to mistake it for something else. He had been making a concerted effort with Salazar ever since the incident with Juliana. He’d even, on a few nights, charmed his bed into Godric’s room on the pretext that he was lonely. Salazar had to admit that he was glad. Godric was a shield, stronger than any Patronus. He missed him too.
Juliana had not wanted to go back to the hills, understandably, so the boys had spent their time in Caractacus’ library and exploring the town. The library was filled with many scrolls, all filled with magical wisdom from the centuries. Salazar found it a little more interesting than Godric, but he found that if he read to Godric, they both enjoyed it more. He could read, and Godric could laugh at the silly names. In the town, they had pottered around the market, usually with Juliana, tempted to buy all sorts of unusual items. They visited the cafes and ate fresh fish at the harbour. One night, they visited a wizarding theatre. The play was farcical, and they laughed heartily, but they had to admit the magical effects, which included an erupting volcano and the beheading of a troll, had left them feeling somewhat queasy. On the last day, the boys were going to visit a Greek school.
“Are you ready?” Salazar asked Godric as they stood by the front door.
“Yes,” he said.
Juliana arrived to take them. “I’m sure this will be really insightful for you. A real treat for your last day!”
“I hope so,” Godric gulped. “This is, after all, what we’re planning to set up.”
The school was in a central part of the town. Juliana knocked on the door. An old man answered. He was short, bald, and had a long, wispy, white beard. He wore a white robe with a white cord tied around it. He spoke softly and with a croaky voice.
“Ah, Miss Juliana Populus, are these the boys your father spoke of?”
“Yes, Professor,” she replied politely. “Mr. Godric Gryffindor and Mr. Salazar Slytherin.”
“I am Professor Cericles. Please come in. You are most welcome, Mr. Gryffindor and Mr. Slytherin, to attend the lectures today. I trust you will find them most illuminating.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Salazar said, feeling slightly apprehensive. “We are looking forward to them.”
“You are students of the Stoics then?” Cericles asked, peering closely at Salazar before leading them away.
Godric looked blank and followed the others with his mouth slightly agape. They passed several small courtyards as they walked along a main colonnade.
“In here, you will find Professor Chira. She is expecting you.”
They entered a classroom, unsure of what to expect. It was a clean, bright room, with a large rug laid out in the centre. Several young students sat in a circle on cushions. Professor Chira was as old as Cericles and did not appear to be any more interesting. Professor Cericles introduced them and then left.
“Join us, join us,” she said, indicating the floor. “We were just considering this flower.”
There in the middle of the group was a flower, a lily. Its colour changed all the time.
“Perhaps you, Mr. Gryffindor, would be able to tell us, please, what is it worth?”
Godric Gryffindor looked absolutely flummoxed. His mind worked fast, but he could not come up with anything that sounded remotely appropriate. His mouth made physical movements, but no words came out.
“Well, er, hmm,” he coughed at last. “How can I possibly say?”
“Interesting,” Chira chimed. “Interesting.”
Godric breathed a sigh of relief, as this must have been an acceptable answer. Professor Chira spoke at great length about his statement, bringing out unique nuances in each word. She spoke so highly of it and in so much detail that by the end of it, Godric was cursing his genius and wishing he’d said something shorter. He had propped up his head with one hand and was blissfully drifting off when he heard the words of Professor Chira drift into his consciousness.
“Perhaps, children, we could persuade Mr. Gryffindor to be kind enough to answer another question for us, yes?”
There was a murmur of agreement. Salazar’s voice was most prominent. Godric shot him a thunderous look.
“What would you transfigure this flower into?”
Godric stared at the flower. What a silly question. Would he rather it be a Portkey so he could escape this lesson, or a cup of Living Death? But then, suddenly, a gong was heard, and he was saved.
“Ah, children, we are out of time. Thank you, Mr. Gryffindor. We will resume our lesson next time.”
On the way to the next class, Godric whispered furiously into Salazar’s ear, “That was a set-up, it must have been. She can’t have been serious.”
“You enjoyed it then?” Salazar grinned.
“I’m telling you, there is no way our school will ever be like that! Over my dead body!” He huffed. “And you can stop your smirking now!”
The next class was held in a similar room, though it was much darker and had an atmospheric feel, enhanced by the incense burning in the corner. The professor, still old, had a warm face that seemed to invite trust and curiosity.
"Let us resume our lecture from where we concluded last time. To the Ancients, the nature of the force behind a spell was as important as the nature of the spell itself. It was of keen interest to them."
Salazar assumed that Godric had already lost his keen interest.
"The force behind a spell gives it its power, and it is a mystery, to say the least. The Ancients were keen to study it, to learn from it, and to harness it if they could. The force, they deduced, came from within a person. Its roots were in the person’s very own emotions.”
A soft lull fell over the whole room.
“The great Shirpa of Ancient Greece believed that the feelings and emotions of love were the greatest force. Of course, feelings of love are complex. To understand the complex effects of this force on a spell would be difficult to quantify. Shirpa reasoned that the effect on an incantation would be nuanced, just as the love one feels for others is nuanced.
Take, for example, this conundrum. To whom can a man show his greatest love? A lover, a friend, or a stranger? Shirpa’s conclusion was that the love shown to a lover may be buoyed by the help of nature—biology, if you will. The love to a stranger is abstract, ethical in nature. But the love to a friend, who is known, platonic, and true, must surely be the greatest.
Shirpa believed that the union of lovers was physical; they were united in flesh. But the union of friendship was spiritual; they were united in soul. Should the friendship be of such quality, the two would be bonded together, their souls knitted together. He believed it to be a very powerful thing, which strengthened the two individuals. The two would be greater than the sum of their parts. But at the same time, it would come at a great cost. For it would be a dreadful, dangerous thing for such a connection to be severed. To separate two souls bonded together would, unequivocally, scar one or both of the souls forever."
He allowed a dramatic silence to fall.
A girl put her hand up. "But, Professor, what about lovers? Surely their souls are united?"
The professor answered, "Indeed, dear. Shirpa would have said that if they were truly friends, then yes, their souls would be united too."
"But, Professor," another student asked, "who was the great Shirpa?"
"I am afraid to say that Shirpa the Great was, in fact, the brother of none other than Herpo the Foul."
Salazar felt a strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Then, to his utter astonishment, Godric raised his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Gryffindor?”
“Professor, what about the love of an enemy?” he asked shyly.
“An interesting point, Mr. Gryffindor. Love of an enemy?” The professor mused. “Can any man truly say he loves his enemy? I cannot be sure. But should such a man exist, and the Ancients be right about the power and nature of love, then I should not wish to be his enemy.”
He physically shuddered. “I tremble at the thought of it.”
The class was silent as they walked out. He and Godric, Salazar thought, could their souls really be connected? Surely that was impossible. What did Godric think? Salazar turned to look at him. He was strangely silent. If Herpo could split a soul, was Shirpa right about joining them?
“You enjoyed that lecture more than the last one?” Salazar asked.
“Yes, I did,” Godric replied. “It was like it was more about the old magic, the deep magic, wasn’t it? That stuff Agatha goes on about. I'm glad, it's one of the things I wanted to learn about in Greece.”
Agatha, Salazar thought. He hadn't thought about her or Scotland for ages. He was ashamed to admit it. Thinking about them now made him feel quite sad; he missed them. He was glad he was going back tomorrow. Greece had been great, but only for a holiday.
That evening, another feast was held, unsurprisingly. It was thrown in honour of the two boys leaving. It was, after all, an excellent opportunity for Caractacus to indulge himself and his guests once more. Salazar would miss the food, as well as the entertainment—the singing and the dancing girls. As this was their last night, Salazar suggested that they teach their hosts some traditional folk dances from Britannia. This was thought to be an excellent idea. After the food, Salazar enchanted the instruments to play, and they danced, reeled, and jigged the night away. It was joyous and fun. Salazar and Godric demonstrated the various sets and figures to the others, consequently dancing hand in hand most of the evening. At various points, Godric danced with Juliana. She was a quick learner and danced well. Salazar sighed; they did, after all, look well-suited to each other. Distance would do its work, but a heart once opened would not be easily shut.
It was at this point, when he was watching them some way off from the main group, that Erebus came over. What did he want? Erebus stood close, so they would not be overheard. Salazar got a strong waft of his scent, which reminded him of their first trip to the bathhouse. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. He must be strong.
Erebus purred, “I would not have taken you for the dancing type.”
Salazar retorted, “Really? I would not have taken you for the cultish type.”
Erebus looked unfazed.
“I’ve been known to dabble, in my time—dancing, of course,” he said adroitly. Then, licking his lips, he added, “You are not tempted then? The cult, I mean, of course, not the dancing.”
Salazar was aware of how close Erebus was standing. The way he was looking at him. Reason began to fail him. Erebus looked round at the couple dancing.
“Because, of course, I can see the dancing is tempting,” he caressed.
“Does your father know about you?” Salazar advanced. “Your little night-time excursions?”
A nerve flickered across Erebus’ face. Just for an instant.
“Does your father know about you?” Erebus countered, the passion in him rising. “I bet he does, doesn't he? Has he seen you drooling over Gryffindor? Does he think it’s pathetic? Is he ashamed? I hear they burn your kind in England, and I don’t mean the Muggles.”
“You're depraved,” Salazar spat.
He felt rooted to the ground.
“You could find me repulsive,” Erebus scoffed, “but I bet you'd still say yes, wouldn't you?”
Erebus’ eyes flickered in the torchlight.
“Have you imagined us together? Have you wondered what it would be like? Have you imagined me? What did you think I’d be like?”
His sickly, sultry tones seemed to cast a kind of magic.
“The blood pumping through our veins, pumping through our bodies. The blood of centuries pulsing through us. Deep, deep magic waiting to be united, waiting to be entangled, waiting to be released.”
Salazar realized his face had grown hot, and that he wasn’t just frozen—he couldn’t physically move.
“Let me go,” Salazar demanded nervously.
Erebus laughed, then whispered into Salazar’s ear, “It's nothing, you know, compared to the feeling of your thirst for power being quenched. When your lust for power is finally released. To have your every whim be your greatest pleasure to fulfil.”
He was so close, but he never touched.
“Just something to think about whilst you’re away.”
He released him and then left. Salazar’s heart thumped loudly.
“Blimey!” Godric said, coming over to him radiantly. “We should do that more often!”
He stopped when he saw Salazar’s face.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, concerned.
“Nothing,” Salazar lied. “Would you, would you share rooms with me tonight?”
“Yes, please!” Godric beamed.