The Dinner
Chapter 21: The Dinner
Hogwarts at Yuletide proved to be refreshingly quiet for Salazar. After weeks of students popping up everywhere, the castle was suddenly deserted and peaceful. It was cold, and the snow was falling regularly. Salazar kept mostly to his own room, where a log fire regularly burned in the grate. He focused on some of his sadly neglected projects, such as new manuscripts, potions, and spells. Four students remained at Hogwarts over the break. Two of them were Muggle-born—Tip Pickles and Martha Smith—and two whose parents could not afford to keep them during the break—Horace Binns and Daniel Marner. Salazar kept very much out of their way too.
Salazar had resolved, for the umpteenth time, to forget Godric and nail shut the coffin of their friendship, if Godric hadn’t already. Consequently, there was little to disturb the surface of his proverbial pond, except for a dinner Helga was insisting on hosting for Christmas Day, and she was insisting that Salazar attend. She had tried to appease him by telling him that only the castle residents would be there, along with the new Mr and Mrs Hufflepuff. Salazar had asked if Gladys would be making an appearance, and Helga had replied, "naturally," which he found regrettable. Salazar began to wonder if the two could ever bear to be parted again, before reminding himself that he didn’t care and returning to his work.
It was a surprise, therefore, when who should knock on his door but Godric, again. Salazar rubbed his eyes subconsciously. Godric looked listless, as if he hadn’t a thought in his head. A waft of spices following him indicated that he’d been in the kitchens.
“How are you?” Godric smiled in a pleasant, disarming sort of way.
Salazar stared back at him blankly and replied curtly, “Fine.”
“Good,” Godric said, either obliviously or pointedly.
“To what do I owe the honour of this rare visit?” Salazar countered pointedly in return.
Godric made a sort of indignant, exasperated noise and replied, “Not that topic again. Me being a bad friend is my least favourite topic.”
Salazar thought angrily, You know where the door is, or there’s an easy way to remedy that, but remained silent.
Godric continued, “I wanted to let you know I’ve invited your father and mother to come for Christmas. I was surprised you hadn't already. I suppose you’ve been busy in here, being all bitter and twisted.”
“You invited my father and mother?” Salazar asked incredulously.
“It is Christmas after all.”
Salazar started pacing behind his desk. This was beyond comprehension. He massaged his forehead. Suddenly, his mind was brought back to Fordlow. What should he do? What should he say? Where to begin? He turned to look at Godric unemotionally. He couldn’t look at him, so he dropped his gaze as he sat back down.
“Godric, there is something I have to tell you.”
Godric looked slightly taken aback and perplexed, but he said nothing.
Salazar carried on determinedly, “I only found out recently, but I didn’t know how to tell you.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in, and took a deep breath. “My father—Razledorf—he had a friend, a close friend—” his words quickened and trailed off, “my father knew and was friends with your uncle—your Uncle Fordlow.”
Godric’s eyes widened, but his mouth remained resolutely shut until he knew Salazar had finished.
“Your uncle was like me. I don’t know how, but apparently some vermin,” Salazar spat, “found out and had him arrested. He was sentenced to death, Godric. They killed him,” he said, his emotions finally betraying him now he was able to talk about it. “And my father did nothing. He could have saved him. But he abandoned him,” Salazar’s voice tailed off.
Godric’s mouth started to work as his mind tried to comprehend what Salazar had just said. But it was too slow.
“What?” Godric said at last. “How do you know? I know nothing about my family. Your father would have told me. He wouldn’t have done that. I don’t believe it.” Then his tone became more accusatory, “Why are you saying this? Why are you making this up? It’s sick!”
“It’s the truth, Godric. I heard it from Orion Black’s own mother. She was there. She grew up with them. She knew who your mother and father were, Godric.”
Godric’s mouth trembled as his legs gave way. He crumbled onto a seat. He was a wreck of a man.
“It’s not true, it’s not possible,” Godric repeated to himself, his eyebrows narrowed. “There’s no way Razledorf would have known my uncle—known my parents—and not told me.”
“Really?” Salazar questioned. “How certain are you?”
Godric looked uncertain about everything.
“Well, there is one way for us to find out,” Salazar said calmly. “We ask him.”
“Alright, okay,” Godric nodded. “But after the dinner, let’s not spoil that.”
The plan agreed, he turned around and walked straight out of the office. He couldn't get out of there quick enough.
*
By the time Salazar arrived at the feast, all the other guests had been seated. The hall had been decked out with holly and ivy, and the sky was snowing white. The four students were sitting at one end near Helga and Rowena; Mr and Mrs Hufflepuff were next, then Godric, Gladys, and Mr and Mrs Slytherin. There was a space left for Salazar, who felt horribly detached from the whole event. As he approached, his father stood up and greeted him.
“Son,” he said, holding out an arm.
Salazar ignored it, sat down, and said, “Father. Mother.”
Razledorf sat down too. He looked like he was going to say something. Salazar was ready for him—let him just try—but before he could say anything, Godric spoke.
“Now we’re all here, we can begin!” he said merrily. “A toast! May all Christmases be spent in such company!”
He raised his glass, and the other diners copied, cheering loudly. Salazar looked at Godric, who looked slightly confused, and mouthed, "What?" Salazar mouthed back, "Nothing."
Just then, the food magically appeared, and they began serving themselves. The smell of the still sizzling roast now accompanied the orange and cloves of the festive hall.
“Martha Smith, isn’t it?” Agatha said, addressing a very small, pretty-looking girl down the table, who nodded, frightened. “Are your parents struggling to come to terms with you being a witch?”
“No,” replied Martha meekly. “But my father is very busy at the moment. He is looking after my aunt, who is very sick. He did not want me to risk catching anything. My mother died.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Agatha said.
“You must miss him, though, terribly?” Helga offered comfortingly.
She nodded.
“I’m happy you’re staying,” Tip acknowledged. “Means I’m not alone in the Hufflepuff common room, and it means we get a lot more time to practise!”
Oregon was gesticulating with a piece of pheasant dangling precariously from his fork. “Umm, this meat is so good!” he declared, salivating slightly.
Agatha looked at him incredulously.
“Try some of this!” Razledorf said encouragingly, indicating the game pie. “I’ve not seen such a table as this for a long time!” His eyes beamed.
“Will do!”
“You should consider moving up here,” Agatha said thoughtfully to the Slytherins. “You’ll be closer to Salazar and Godric.”
“I’ve done alright out of it!” Oregon joined in with his mouth full.
“Father’s always lived in our house, haven’t you, Father?” Salazar said, testing him.
“Well, erm, since we moved there, yes,” Razledorf replied uncomfortably. “But I fear I would be further away from all my business interests.”
“Moved,” Salazar exclaimed in mock surprise. “You’ve never mentioned that before. From where?” he asked, trying to sound interested.
Godric kicked him under the table, but Salazar continued to look at his father intently, searching his face for any clues.
“Well, you never asked,” Razledorf replied evasively.
“You’ve been at your place such a long time,” Godric added.
“Oh yes,” Gladys said, edging into the conversation as she dabbed her mouth. “I should love to see it. It sounds so wonderful. Of course, it holds such a fascination with me, being the place Godric spent so much of his youth. You two must be saints, having raised Godric as your own. He speaks so highly of you.”
Salazar involuntarily cocked an eyebrow and almost snorted. But his father and mother blushed from the praise.
“Yes, they were like parents to me,” Godric said, grinning at them and holding Gladys’ hand. “I’m not sure what would have happened to me if they hadn’t taken me in.”
“I imagine a lot more of the world would have had to suffer your juggling,” quipped Salazar.
“Juggling!” Gladys exclaimed, clapping her hands. “You can juggle? You never said! Oh, Sal really does know everything about you, doesn’t he?”
“Can we see, Professor Gryffindor?” Tip asked boyishly.
“Please, Professor!” the others joined in.
“Oh yes, Godric,” Gladys declared, fluttering her eyelids. “You must show us. It is Christmas, after all!”
Godric looked at Salazar with frustration and protested profusely. But it was no good. Gladys had the bit between her teeth. She stood up and insisted that he perform. She even tried to pull his chair out and haul him off it. He looked at them shyly, then gave in and stood up in his usual charming way.
“Alright,” he acquiesced, “but I haven’t done this in years. I may be a bit rusty.”
Gladys sat back down. Godric stared at his hands for a moment, as though trying to remember what to do. Then suddenly, flaming balls erupted in the air, and he tossed them up and down in a great circle. Seven or more of them roared and sizzled as they moved, flashing over Godric’s features as their scorching heat lit him up. He smiled broadly as those watching gasped in rapturous amazement, their eyes wide with adulation.
Suddenly, Salazar was back in his mind to the time he had first met Godric all those years ago, watching that boy juggle in a village square. They had both been so young. So much had changed. Would he have ever believed it then? And yet, so little had changed. Godric was just as impressive now as he had ever been.
Godric spun the balls around a few more times, turning on the spot and flinging a few under his arm when he felt more daring and confident. Then he stopped, and they vanished, and the group applauded loudly. Godric bowed, and his hair flicked as he returned.
“Well, that’s the best crowd I think I’ve ever had!” he exclaimed loudly.
He then went back over to Gladys. She was still looking at him admiringly, her fingers pressed to her face. A slight look of confusion flickered across her face as she looked at Godric, who had a wooden box in his hand, where the last flaming ball had extinguished. He offered it to her, and she took it bashfully, enjoying the eyes of everyone in the room on her.
“Open it,” Godric implored her, smiling ardently.
She lifted half the shell up. Inside was hollow, except for a piece of parchment, which she took and opened.
“I can’t read it,” Gladys admitted, frustratedly. “What does it say, Sal?”
'Sal' took it from her reluctantly and opened it up. He could hardly keep his composure. The colour drained from his face. He felt winded, as though his insides had poured out of him. He looked up, his mouth slightly ajar, at the faces around the table, eager to hear what he was about to say. Gladys looked at him encouragingly.
“Will you marry me?”
The voice that came out of Salazar’s mouth sounded like somebody else's. His gaze dropped immediately, unable to look at Godric, the scene, or anyone else’s reactions. He thought he might cry.
“What do you say, Gladys? I love you!” Godric confessed, his voice quaking with nerves and boyish charm.
“Yes, of course I will!” Gladys announced, happily throwing her arms around Godric.
Godric cheered, and everyone erupted into clapping and cheering, all except Salazar, who felt cold and alone. The meal was practically over now anyway, and he suspected that no one would miss him, so he left quietly and unobserved.
Outside was cold, and he shivered. It wasn’t cold enough, though. It wasn’t cold enough to stop him feeling or thinking ever again. It wasn’t that he expected it to be said to him or even wanted it to be. It was just the pain he felt seeing it all happen to him, knowing that he was no longer needed.
The door swung open behind him, and his father appeared. Oh, no, thought Salazar, his emotions were all over the place. Razledorf strolled over, crunching the snow, looking somewhere between confident and uncomfortable. Well, Salazar too.
“Impressive place you’ve got here,” Razledorf said, speaking first, indicating the castle. “Money well spent.”
“I’m glad you approve of your investment,” Salazar replied coldly.
“Well—”
“I imagine you’re pretty proud of Godric too, today,” said Salazar, not sure how to attack him but strongly wanting to wound him. “What a present! At last, one of us is getting married!”
“Salazar, I—”
“Someone should tell his family. Shouldn’t they? They’d want to know. What about you, Father? Do you know any of his relatives?”
“What is this about, Salazar?”
“Hmm? Well, do you?” Salazar said, gesticulating wildly, all pretence of indifference gone. “Do you know any of his family?”
“I—” Razledorf coughed feebly.
“Because, you know, it might have been something you should probably have mentioned before now!”
Razledorf looked at his son with a strained, almost fearful look in his eyes, as though the haunted memories of his youth were resurfacing after a long time. Salazar waited for him to speak. He was not going to end the torturous, uncomfortable silence prematurely. He stared at him, repulsively.
“Someone’s said something,” Razledorf said at last, defensively. “Who was it?”
“A ghost from your past,” Salazar spat callously. “And now would be a good time to mention Fordlow.”
It was as though he had been shot. Razledorf crumbled to the ground in a mess, his head in his hands. He was distressed in a way Salazar had never seen before, but Salazar, cruelly, did not relinquish his gaze, nor did he flinch. He would not move to try and comfort him.
Breathing heavily, Razledorf said, “It sounds like you already know everything.”
“How could you do it?” Salazar asked scornfully. “Weren’t you friends?”
His words were like a knife, twisting deep in him. His father stood up, regaining his full height and some composure. It was already out now.
“You don’t understand; you never did. The threat is real, Salazar. The threat is real. He had already been damned. If I had not brought that charge, I would have been as well!”
“You brought the charge?” Salazar exclaimed, aghast.
“Yes. Of course I wish it could have been different, that things were different. That Fordlow had been different—”
“You sold your best friend out,” Salazar trembled furiously, “to save your own neck, and now you have the gall to blame him for not being different to the way he was? And this is where I have come from,” he cried, shocked and outraged, his arms gesticulating wildly.
He'd had enough. Salazar moved quickly past his father. He could no longer bear to be with him.
“Salazar, come back!” his father called.
Then his father took out his wand and flicked it. Salazar felt a pull as he was drawn backwards. Then he unsheathed his own wand and retaliated. The pull stopped. His father was thrown backwards.
“Don’t you forget that I paid for this place. You owe me. You made a promise!” Razledorf shouted, pointing an accusatory finger.
“You think now is the time to bring that up?” Salazar questioned incredulously. “You think a word given to someone like you has meaning?”
“You know full well what the word of a wizard means. I have found you a wife. You will marry her.”
“I cannot talk to you. I am repulsed by you. You make me feel utterly sick.”
“Her name is Gisella Gaunt.”
“Her name is of no consequence to me,” Salazar seethed. Then he backtracked. “So you're not denying that you knew who Godric was when you took him in? You knew he was the nephew of your best friend, the man you murdered?”
“No, not at first, but yes, I did know. Of course we looked into the background of the boy we were housing.”
“Do you have no shame?” Salazar fumed.
Razledorf said nothing. There was nothing he could say to assuage Salazar. Realising the utter futility of further discussion, Salazar left. Razledorf made no protest.
Salazar breathed frantically, his chest rising and falling uncontrollably. Not only had his father allowed it to happen, he had caused it. How could he ever forgive him? How could he ever be okay with this? That was the man he had come from, this was his lineage.
Salazar turned a corner and was confronted with Godric and Gladys locked in a passionate embrace. The sight of them kissing seared his retinas. The sound of their lips bore into his ears. He darted around a corner and ran straight into an empty classroom. Shutting the door firmly behind him, he roared. He scrunched up his eyes and blocked out his ears, but he was unable to free himself from the scene. His insides were in absolute agony. He didn’t know if he was crying, howling, or neither. He had lost control. He was a mess—a wreck.
Godric didn’t care, Salazar managed to think to himself at last after lying, unmoving, for a long time. Not really. In fact, Salazar reckoned if push came to shove, Godric would have done exactly the same thing to him as his father had done to Fordlow.