The Guest
Chapter 6: The Guest
It was morning, and Rowena was sitting at the table. She stared at her hands, imagining the pressure of Oswald's firm grasp. The memory of his passion gave her a flutter of nerves. She jumped when she heard Godric speak.
“Any chance of breakfast in bed?” he groaned, looking up.
“No!” Rowena retorted, flinging a rag at him.
“I want your clothes now,” Agatha commanded as she walked into the room. “Off now!”
She was wearing her oldest clothes, and her hair was not yet made up.
“It’s washday,” she informed them.
Knowing resistance was futile, the boys got up and helped. Agatha was in a particularly aggrieved mood that morning. She had pinned her hopes on the architect not showing up yesterday. Consequently, she made no effort to conceal her disappointment, making every chore seem particularly arduous and tiresome. This approach might have been effective had the four of them not known that she begrudged them nothing and delighted in mothering them.
“What’s the plan today, Row?” Godric asked when they were finally allowed some food.
“Well, I was going to check in with Oswald this—”
“Oswald?” Salazar asked pointedly.
“When did he become Oswald?” Helga probed, like a hawk.
“When they were all alone together,” Godric joined in, laughing heartily, mimicking them.
Rowena blushed violently. “Well, you lot can all find something constructive to do today.”
There was a knock on the door. No one ever knocked on the door. The occupants of the room looked at each other in wordless astonishment.
“Hello!” a man called from outside.
“Father!” Helga cried and leapt up.
She ran across the room, flung the door open, and embraced her father. The man, who was presumably her father, followed her in. They both had an arm around each other.
“I’m so sorry to intrude,” he said in a booming, thick valley accent, “but I just had to see my daughter.”
The man had the same colour hair as Helga and had big, thick features. He was broad, but in a way that showed he had been muscular in his youth. Helga beamed as he introduced himself as Oregon Hufflepuff. The other three youths were enthusiastic in their greetings, and he tried, successfully, to guess their names right. Agatha had not said a word but remained seated, looking thunderstruck.
“You must be Agatha,” he boomed, coming over to clap his large hands around hers. “Naturally, Helga has told me so much about you. Thank you so much for looking after her and letting her stay here. I know it means so much to her, and I’m sure it must be a real burden at times.”
“It is nothing,” Agatha managed to croak. “The girl is most helpful and attentive.”
“It must be such a help to be so close to the school. I confess, I too am very keen to be closer to her. Don’t you think the school is a wonderful idea?” he asked earnestly.
“Yes, yes I do. I’ve always said so,” she explained clearly. “It was my Rowena’s idea at first. She is so bright and clever.”
“Much like you then, I’m sure!” he said. “Helga, why don’t we go for a walk?”
Helga agreed enthusiastically, and the two of them went outside. Rowena, Godric, and Salazar all slowly turned to look at Agatha. She was pearly white, but for two spots of rouge on her temples.
“Mother of Isis,” she gasped. “Think of it—washday!”
Oregon Hufflepuff, it transpired, had gotten the notion to move closer to Helga. He even wondered if Agatha might know of anywhere nearby that might be suitable. Agatha, once washed and changed, had become a lot more agreeable. She could not do enough for Mr. Hufflepuff, especially when she remembered that he was a widower too. She was not amused, therefore, when Rowena broached the subject of her moving to Hogwarts again.
“Move? Whatever gave you that notion, child?” she continued. “Worried! Lonely! What on earth does Helga Hufflepuff know about it? That girl! At my age! What age do you think I am?”
Some time later, Rowena also spoke to Helga.
“Did you—” she hesitated, “suggest your father come, Helga?”
“I did,” Helga smirked, like the cat that had got the cream. “I just thought my father might prefer a change of scenery.”
The two girls giggled together.
*
Both Salazar and Rowena went to the site that day, a little later than they had anticipated. Rowena was glad as she did not wholly trust herself with Oswald alone. Salazar did not wholly trust Oswald. To him, Oswald seemed to be a bit of a bumbling idiot. The site that greeted them that morning was a complete shock. The beautiful grassy clifftop they remembered now looked like an explosion had gone off. Great trenches of mud had been ripped up through the land. It was a hive of industry, in stark contrast to yesterday when Oswald had worked in solitude. Here he was like a general, commanding his army. There were men answering his every beck and call. There were shovels removing great quantities of dirt by themselves. Two beasts that looked like small trolls were shoveling the earth, waist-deep in the trenches. There were men, wands out, vanishing the soil, clearing water, and holding up the soil with various spells. A little way off, tents had been erected.
“Excavation is well underway,” Oswald said proudly. “Should be done by the end of the week.”
He took them around the site, pointing out novel bits, often talking in technical language. Here amongst the workmen, his natural habitat, he appeared much more confident and collected.
“Why all the different techniques?” Rowena asked, interested.
“Well, I find it gives a better result,” he said, thinking. “Mixing muggle and magic methods seems to make everything stronger.”
“Is it possible to do it once the building has been finished? I mean, if we ever wanted to expand?” Salazar asked nonchalantly.
“I can’t see what you’re going to need,” he puzzled. “There should be more than enough space. But it’s easy enough.”
He showed them a simple excavation spell.
“The trick is to remember to stabilize the soil around it,” he said, demonstrating. “We’ll soon be able to start the foundations and the dungeons.”
“The dungeons?” Rowena asked, looking surprised.
“Yes, apparently, underground is the best condition for potion brewing,” he said, then added, “I’ve got some men in the hills nearby, already, quarrying the stone.”
“This is an efficient ship, Mr. Otterly, you're running,” Salazar praised him, quite impressed. “And are these the sleeping quarters?”
“Yes,” Oswald confirmed. “Though we’ll work night and day if we have to.”
“Oh, Oswald,” Rowena said, “we don’t expect that.”
“It’s my pleasure, Rowena,” Oswald replied, looking flustered, doffing his hat.
Salazar groaned internally again. He took that as another clue to leave them to it. So he slowly meandered through the site, taking in the beasts grunting, the wizards charming and calling to each other. Then he stared into the ground, like an abyss, and looked at the layers of mud and dirt. The build-up of centuries of undisturbed nature churned up and exposed. It reminded him of the muggles. Why did they have to use muggle methods? Surely everything a wizard did was superior. They were cleaner. When he got back to Rowena, she was even more animated than before.
“Salazar, Oswald says those woods, that forest, is enchanted,” she said, pointing.
“I suppose they are,” he replied, nonplussed.
“I am going to stay a while,” she said, and implored him, “you go on without me. I am going to explore the woods for a bit.”
Salazar assumed this meant she’d be exploring it with ‘Oswald.’ So he left, turning on the spot and apparating.
*
Back at the Ravenclaw’s, Helga was walking with her father. They had ventured down the river. The day was grey, but it did not matter to the two of them as they were enjoying each other’s company.
“Helga, the reason I came was for more than just to be closer to you,” Oregon said, importantly.
“Yes, father?” Helga said, stopping and sounding worried.
“It’s nothing to be concerned about. The business, over the last few years, has not been doing as well as it has. The sheep, I mean, have not been— We have had many setbacks, and now this year they have been afflicted by disease. Helga, I may as well come to it. You’re a sensible girl. There is enough left for me to start a life up here afresh and be comfortable—”
“But there’s no more money for extravagances like schools?”
“Exactly,” he sighed.
“We will give it all back. You shall have everything you’re owed—”
“Helga, my dear, I would not dream of it. I would not want it. You and that school are the best investment I’ve ever made, and I would make it a thousand times over. I only wish there was more I could do, more that I could give, to help.”
“Oh, father,” she said, with tears brimming in her eyes, “what would I have done without you?”
“Now, now,” he said, “you’re the strongest woman I know. Just like your mother.”
Helga held her father tight, but she was still distressed. All her father’s money had been used up on the school. How could she forgive herself if it were to fail? What would she do if it did? She would have nothing. He had been so good. He asked for nothing but was so generous and kind. His only distress in his reduced circumstances was that he couldn’t give more away.
“How do you like Agatha?” she goaded him at last.
“She seems like a strong woman to me,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye.
*
As she entered the forest, she felt the humidity increase, and as the trees grew thicker and denser, a darkness descended upon the place. Rowena walked, arms out by her sides, feeling the magic thick in the air. Her cloak billowed out over her robes, rustling over leaves and ancient roots as she moved by. An owl hooted, and she was startled. There were clicking noises and rustling, and she started to feel the prickles of fear. Be sensible, she told herself; there is nothing to be frightened of. Further on into the forest, she had not seen a single sign of life, but she could not shake off the feeling that she was being watched. She made up her mind: she would turn around and go back. But then suddenly, she heard rustling, and this time she could hear hooves clopping. Out between two trees appeared a man, but he was not riding a horse—his body was the horse. She gasped at the centaur, who looked fierce and carried a bow. She knelt down at once and bowed low to him.
“Have women learnt to honour before men have,” he asked, “or have they merely mastered the art of flattery better?”
His voice was soft but commanding, and it seemed to echo around Rowena.
“My lord,” she said, “I can only speak that which I came to say. You must be the judge of my intentions. I acknowledge that these are your realms and that your people are under no obligation to recognize the laws of man. My friends and I have bought this land to start a school. We would not have started building it had we known that you had a prior claim to it. But, say the word, and we will stop and we will move out of your lands.”
She was breathless and nervous, and she looked up into his dark brown eyes but could not read his expression.
“Such thought and wisdom are rare amongst your kind. For that, I believe you will be remembered. Our lands extend no further than the edge of this forest. Do whatever you will with the land. But, I cannot take responsibility for anything that should happen to one of your kind if they enter this forest. Do not intrude upon us, and we will not intrude upon you.”
She raised herself up. “Thank you,” she said. “This forest shall henceforth be forbidden to us.”
He too bowed and then turned around, but before he left, he said, “I will though afford you this advice: look to the stars. You can read the stars? A great change is coming.”
With as mystical an air as he had arrived, the centaur turned sharply and left. Rowena let out a sigh of relief. She stared up; it was dark now. The stars were indeed shining brightly. She turned on the spot and apparated.
*
Dinner was a raucous affair that night. Oregon, who was larger than life, was retelling old tales of long ago, much to everyone else's amusement. Some were so unbelievable that Salazar was certain they were fictitious, but he didn’t dare say it. Helga would say things like, “Oh, tell them the one about the three men who turned into mice!” And then Mr. Hufflepuff would be delighted to tell them the story. They always started well and ended badly.
“There were three boys, all in the same village, and they doted on this one girl. Beautiful lass, Esmerella or some such name. Anyway, it was a small village, so there was not much choice to be had, and the girl could not decide which of the three boys she liked better. See, one was brainy, one was brawny, and one was rich. So she decided to test them. She said they were to transfigure themselves into mice, each one, and live inside her pocket. The one who stayed a mouse the longest would win her heart and be allowed to marry her. Only she owned a cat, you see, and all involved had forgotten this. The ones with brawn and riches never made it, but the one with brains managed to transfigure back to a man inside the cat. Well, after the cat exploded, neither felt much like marrying the other—”
The others would gasp in horror and laugh. The candle shortened quickly in such company, and at last, Agatha admitted fatigue. So they went about their ways, settling down for the night. Oregon had brought and set up a tent, which he had pitched some way outside the hut. Godric found this all greatly exciting.
“Can I see it? Can I see it? Is there room for us to stay inside?” he asked, bouncing up and down.
There was, as it turned out. Agatha was pleased to have her room back, free from boys in the morning, and the boys were hoping it meant they could have a lie-in. They entered the tent in a middle compartment, and hangings separated two rooms off to either side of the central one. There were bear rugs and sheepskins everywhere. A small wooden table had a lamp on it, and Oregon had conjured three wooden chairs. Salazar couldn’t help feeling slightly intimidated by the air of masculinity—the kind of awkwardness one felt when having to talk to an older man.
“You guys often share a room?” Oregon asked, starting to undress.
The boys answered at the same time, Godric less concerned than Salazar.
“We’re—”
“Yes,” Godric said.
“—brothers,” Salazar finished. “Practically brothers. We’ve known each other since we were ten.”
“Oh, right,” Oregon said, almost pensively, then brightened up. “Well, not to worry. Two good-looking guys like you, and it won’t be long till you’re both finally married!”
Then he bid them goodnight and entered his compartment. The boys entered theirs. There were more rugs, dead animals, and blankets. It was very warm, soft, and cosy.
“Why did you say that?” Godric asked him at last.
“You might be able to be cavalier about such things, but I can’t afford to be,” Salazar replied, annoyed.
“You think Oregon would say something?” he asked, outraged. “He’s Helga’s dad. Besides, it’s none of his business. There’s nothing for you, or us, to be ashamed of.”
Salazar wanted to tell him that it was easy for him to say. He arranged the items he was sleeping on aggressively until he could get comfortable. After a while, his breathing calmed down, and he could smell Godric again. Why were they all in such a hurry to get married? he wondered to himself—to marry themselves off? What was wrong with this? The way things were? Was Godric unhappy? To him, this was perfect. This was all he wanted, forever. Was that too much to ask? He was content. He reflected on the feeling. At that moment, he was, truly, grateful.