Harry Potter- Founders fic scene
Here is a scene to be fitted into the Founders Fic whenever the time comes: the origin of the Fat Friar and the departure of Slytherin from Hogwarts.
I have an idea that the Fat Friar might be a victim of Henry VIII's Reformation, but no real idea what JK Rowling actually intended.
For both this and the previous post of the outline for my hypothetical work, I have included a disclaimer at the end of this text.
The serpent door was open this time, the two leaves evidently sliding into the wall itself. Father Fidelius made his way as quietly as he could through the dampness and looked past. Entranced at the sight, he let himself down by the wooden stair on the far side of the door, and stood, and gaped.
The chamber beyond the door was breathtaking in its scale, but at a closer look it crossed the border into the profane. Columns upheld a high roof, but their capitals were the heads of serpents, and the columns themselves had carven snakes twined about them. He could not tell if the ceiling was natural or built. Longer and darker than the longest church nave he had ever seen the passage stretched. Round side-tunnels were blocked by grates, suggesting that they were drains. As he neared the end the wan green light brightened, and he knew the worst.
A high, rounded room, surely natural and with a floor mottled by puddled water, took the place of an apse. Where the altar should have been there was a statue. Fidelius looked far up and knew the ancient, simian face well. He could not stop shivering. This was an unholy place, but what was it for? Too wet for a dwelling, too dark and hard to find for a general gathering. Private worship? So huge and grandiose, the opposite of a monk's cell or a confessional. That, then, was the key. The man whose face was carven in the far wall meant to be the object of such worship: himself and never God, nor any other gods.
He realized that being caught here would surely not be good. He had to get back before Salazar Slytherin found him. He must tell the others. He started back down the dark hall, and paused. Off to one side he could see a pile of dirt with light flecks near the top. Dung, from the smell, and eggshells. How many eggs?
Fidelius turned, and prayed to his Savior as he ran. He could see the brighter dimness beyond the door.
A small dark shape, a blacker shadow, darted out from behind a serpentine column and touched his foot.
Immediately Fidelius was in agony. Not realizing that he had fallen he grasped his leg, trying to halt the progress of the pain. Until it spoke he was unaware of the figure that had come to stand beside him.
"Of all the common- bloods in the school, why did it have to be you, my friend? You, who can name my little servant. Name him now, look at him, and end your pain. I can do that for you at least."
Fidelius managed only to crack an eyelid open, and as he hissed the name he remembered why he shouldn't look.
"Basilisk...."
In the school, his school, the deadliest of creatures. They must be warned-- he cried out to his Lord-- a flash of bright, poisonous yellow--
The pain stopped.
Fidelius expected darkness, and dreaded it, for surely the flames would follow. He had served God all his life, and served the Church, but was painfully aware that he had never chosen to do so. His father, barely remembered, had chosen for him, offering him as an oblatus to the monastery, hoping to beat out the curse of the power he had been born with and the petty sins he never seemed able to avoid. Even Archbishop Dunstan had chosen for him, ordaining him priest and then sending him here to minister to the new school. No words from his Archbishop, no scholarship, and no observations of his charges had ever quite rid him of the feeling that-- for himself at least-- his wizardry was a shameful thing that would never please God, and so neither could anything he did be of merit.
That is not the whole sum of your life, but it will do, said the familiar voice that sounded almost like his own thoughts. Perhaps you should look.
There was light. He seemed to have shed his clothes, but he wasn't cold; nicely comfortable, in fact. Still, he had never been immodest. Ah, there was his habit, or at least a habit; it seemed to be new and perfectly clean, as were the linen breeks and the sandals. How odd; he had gone so often barefoot.
He looked about him. He seemed to be in a vestibule, perhaps of a large church or cathedral: there were the great doors in front of him, and a plainer set behind. Where was the light coming from? Of course; now he saw the lamp hanging from the ceiling. A stone ceiling, and walls, and floor, unadorned but beautiful in his eyes, sturdy and warm and safe.
You cannot stay here, prodded the voice. You have a choice. Your body is gone. Your soul must go on to face your Judgment. But there is something you feel must be done.
"The children-- there's a basilisk loose in the school-- they must be told! They have to get out!"
If you tell them, your fate will be delayed. You will go back to your place, but you will have no body. As you are, you will remain until you are called here again, growing and diminishing only a little in knowledge. Is that your desire, to put off your eternity?
"Even if my eternity is the Lake of Fire, I long to see my Lord who must tell me so! But there is no choice here, is there? Only a temptation. Which door leads to the school?"
Silence. Fidelius chose to try the plain doors first, that should lead into whatever sort of building this was, leaving the beautifully- carven great doors for later; they would lead outside, surely, and somehow he had never thought that the Throne of the Almighty would be confined in a building made by hands. The unadorned portal seemed the obvious choice if he wanted to go back.
Until later, my friend.
A moment's confusion: should he have come back to his body? Where was he? Oh-- the tunnel before the serpent- bound door, now shut. The way he had come down had been blocked off. There was a niche in the new wall. Instead of a statue there was a small stone figure lying, clutching at its leg, eyes partly open. Fidelius didn't have to see the tonsure and habit to know that his petrified corpse had been reduced to a figurine. Was he too late? Was Slytherin in charge of the school, his precious purebloods learning his ways, the Basilisk hunting down the commoners? How to manage this ghostly body?
Several false starts taught him that he could flow through solid rock, but not into Slytherin's Chamber: it seemed to be guarded by wards he could not penetrate. There was no other way out of this anteroom that he could see. Slytherin had blocked the other passages as well, with thick enchanted doors or walls, and Fidelius could feel a spell working on himself even in his bodiless state. Confundis-- he wouldn't remember how to get back here. No matter. He was in a hurry. Straight up, then.
He emerged into a drain and followed it upwards, twisting and branching, until he gave up on the ever- smaller feeder pipes and went up through the rock again, suddenly debouching in a cellar passageway. He knew where he was now, only a stair between himself and the Hufflepuff common hall. He flew as fast as he knew how, failed to turn the doorknob, growled in frustration and went through the door.
"Helga! Where's Helga?" he shouted at the dozen or so students. Why were they cowering? Oh....
He tried to take a deep breath, realized he wasn't, and then just tried to speak normally. "You. Holger. There's no time to explain myself. You are the eldest. Get every single person out of this dormitory and into the courtyard, ready to walk to the village. Quickly! There is a danger loose in the school. Where will I find Helga?"
"I-in the kitchens, I think. But-- Father--"
"No buts, not until there's time. I will have much to explain then, but now get away from the school!"
"What about Slytherin's folk--"
"They will be well, of that I'm sure. Go!"
Helga wasn't in the kitchens. He had to repeat his warning to the terrified house- elves, who made no move to leave. Up again. No Helga-- but, oh glory, there was Godric in his high window!
"Godric! There is danger! A Basilisk in the dungeon! Get the students out, find Helga and Rowena--"
"Father! Father, what--"
"Hurry!"
"FATHER FIDELIUS!" bellowed Godric. "Settle down and start making some sense! What happened to you?"
Fidelius did calm down a little then; surely Godric could sort this all out. "I found a passage behind the lavatorium in Helga's cellar dormitory. I followed it far down, below Slytherin's dungeon, to a door bound with wrought serpents. It was open. I descended into a secret chamber-- more like an unholy heathen temple, having pillars carven with snakes. At the end of the nave was an icon carved from the stone, and a pile of dung with broken eggshells on top.
"Godric, the carven idol's face and figure were Slytherin's. As I ran back I was bitten. Salazar himself was there, and bade me look upon his Basilisk to end the agony of its bite. But I came back to tell you all. Godric, the students must leave! I have told Holger Karlsen to-- good man, there they go now! Yours and Rowena's must follow, and the elves. Quickly!"
Only a split second did Godric hesitate, looking out the window, then he strode through the open door to the hallway beyond, pulling on his gloves. The lion sprang from the tip of his wand, crying out the alarm; and a second flew through the window to Ravenclaw's tower. A third leapt down toward the dungeons.
Confused students began to pack the tiny courtyard, tutors behind as all of their charges were accounted for. Last out of the Ravenclaw tower came Helena, just before Baron Ranulf from the dungeon, armed, behind an orderly line of Slytherins and a mob of terrified house- elves. Fidelius nodded at Godric as the last of his Gryffindors came through the door, shuddering at his aspect. Godric had surely never looked so enraged before. Now to get everybody to Hogsmeade... Godric marshalled the students, making sure the Baron was guarding the rear, those scholars with arms scattered throughout, wands in their right hands, shields or bows in the left and swords or axes or arrows in evidence. The house- elves Disapparated at Gryffindor's word. He took a last look, turned and started for the archway. There was a sudden crack in front of him.
"Most convenient," said the smooth voice from the entrance. "Thank you for gathering like this. My term as Magister commenced at midnight, as you recall. This school is now mine. And now we will begin to teach our arts as they should be taught, to those who should learn them...."
"SALAZAR!" Godric roared, overriding the soft, measured voice. "YOU MURDERED FIDELIUS!"
"Regrettable," said Slytherin, raising his wand; even Godric in his rage had sense enough to stop. "But not quite accurate. You must calm yourself, Godric Gryffindor.
"I promise that this school will now be conducted as a school of wizardry should be run! I have no wish to quarrel with you, Godric, you are more pure of blood than many here, but you yourself know that you are not the man to govern this collegium. Neither have the dear women proven any such skill. You will all stay and learn from me, of course. Indeed, you will find that only myself and the elf- thralls can Disapparate from within the grounds now.
"And so, out of deference to your presence, and that of the chaplain: Any of you who do not have my token will leave now. You are not worthy to learn or practice our highest arts, and will never progress beyond the simplest charms. Go now and your lives will be spared. Stay and you will be found out and hunted down to join your common- blood Father Fidelius."
Every single person heard Godric's reply.
"Hunted down and killed, Salazar? How did Fidelius die? What did he discover? A temple, he said, below this place, a temple to Salazar Serpent- Tongue, with a heap of dung and eggshells. How many basilisks have you hatched, Slytherin?" Godric's voice rose. "And now you threaten death to any whose birth does not please you. Who controls a worm- king, Serpent- Tongue? You?-- and when it outlives you, who stops it from feeding on whatever kind of blood it likes?"
"ENOUGH!" said Slytherin firmly, overriding Gryffindor. "Nithling!"
The onlookers drew breath in horror. The insult was one that any free man, warlock or warrior, must answer to the death.
Slytherin had no need to speak the spell that followed; all that was heard was the swish of the wand. But instead of countering with his own wand, Godric raised his left hand, and met the curse.
Godric rocked on his feet, then stood firm once more.
Slytherin stared, speechless.
"All these years, and you know nothing of my strength," said Godric. "Greater men than you, kings and warlocks, have proclaimed me to be no coward, and the days when I would do slaughter over a foolish falsehood are long past. Leave this school, Salazar. We have learned to teach all, and so we will keep on, without threatening any with death."
Enraged now, Salazar Slytherin moved his wand back, ready to finish the man he had called his friend. Godric did not move. His charges, his children as he thought of them, were packed behind him. If he must suffer death for them so be it; but suddenly his wand did move, a red light reached Slytherin, and bounced off. In response Slytherin's wand flicked out and Godric was disarmed.
"Stupid oaf," said Slytherin, regaining his balance. "You must lower your principles sometime." Once more the wand swept slowly, impressively back, ready to fling the deadliest curse.
The attack was silent. A brown blur seemed to brush past Salazar, who was left to stare at an empty hand. Then the blood rose from the new gash in his arm. Behind him, out of the now- bright morning mist at the end of the stone passage, came Helga's voice.
"It's you who will leave, Salazar. I heard all you said. You may be the greatest wizard, as you often claim, but together we all can match you."
"And we will," said Baron Ranulf Le Strange, stepping up beside Godric. "A murdered priest must have justice, no matter what. And these all came to learn, regardless of blood, as we asked them to. I will not see any harmed or rejected."
The brown shape flapped down onto the flagstones of the courtyard, between Godric and Salazar. It was an eagle, bronze in the sunlight that had begun to pierce the mist. It stretched upward--
Every single person who saw, save for Helga and Helena Ravenclaw, gasped as Rowena stood, wand pointed straight at Slytherin.
"When you go, you might need a new wand," she said. "It was a clever curse you put on it, but eagles can deal with sticks that turn into snakes. I'm afraid it's in several pieces and you won't be here long enough to find them all. Go now, Salazar. Just go. Helga, let him by."
As he passed her Salazar Slytherin turned and spoke, the tunnel magnifying his voice. "My Chamber of Secrets is closed, and even Fidelius will not find it. It awaits myself or my true heir, who will puzzle out its riddles and complete my work, making this place pure and worthy of true wizards. None of you are capable of that, and so my creature will wait, and grow, unless he finds his own way out. Think on that."
He went. He walked into the mists and was lost to sight, until a crack announced that he had Disapparated, even without a wand.
"Ranulf. Helena. Holger." Godric's voice was faint. "Get them all to the village. Rowena and Helga to me. Help me stand."
With their assistance he was able to move far enough to one side that the student body could pass. Stunned and upset by the confrontation, nonetheless many managed a nod, a look, some gesture of respect; someone picked up Godric's wand and pressed it into his right hand. Over the noise of tramping on the flagstones and timbers came the occasional clink at the teachers' feet. When all had passed, Helena bringing up the rear and gripping her mother's hand as she left, Helga bent down and picked up several of the objects.
They were largish silver coins with a hole off- center. Some were on thongs or strings, others on fine silver chains. All were identical, with a winged boar on one side and a coiled serpent on the other.
"His tokens," snorted Helga. "For his purebloods."
"Later," whispered Godric. "Take this glove off...."
Rowena did so, wanting to scream at the sight of Godric's ravaged left hand, but quickly mastering herself and touching his arm with her wand, muttering all the time. The hand was raw and blistered, and blackening even as they watched.
"Keep that up," said Helga briskly, "I'll start moving him. Loki!"
Crack. "Yes, Mistress?"
"I need dittany, essence of murtlap--" only Loki could have followed the spate of instructions that followed-- "and some broth, he'll need something strengthening. But whatever you do, don't go anywhere alone! Call Aelfsi or one of the other elves to help, and...."
"I will watch over them, Helga," said Fidelius. "It surely cannot kill me again."
"Oh, poor Fidelius...!"
"I will tell you all that happened, but not until Godric is out of danger. Lead on, Loki!"
The refectory was closest, the trestles set for breakfast. Godric floated on his back, until Helga lowered him onto a table. Rowena had never ceased her spell. He heard when Loki brought a mug. Helga propped him up and had him drink it down, slightly bitter but well- flavored to go down easily.
"It'll take awhile," she said. "Best you sleep 'til we're done." He did so.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters and elements are the property, copyright and trademark of Warner Bros. and J. K. Rowling and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.
I have an idea that the Fat Friar might be a victim of Henry VIII's Reformation, but no real idea what JK Rowling actually intended.
For both this and the previous post of the outline for my hypothetical work, I have included a disclaimer at the end of this text.
The serpent door was open this time, the two leaves evidently sliding into the wall itself. Father Fidelius made his way as quietly as he could through the dampness and looked past. Entranced at the sight, he let himself down by the wooden stair on the far side of the door, and stood, and gaped.
The chamber beyond the door was breathtaking in its scale, but at a closer look it crossed the border into the profane. Columns upheld a high roof, but their capitals were the heads of serpents, and the columns themselves had carven snakes twined about them. He could not tell if the ceiling was natural or built. Longer and darker than the longest church nave he had ever seen the passage stretched. Round side-tunnels were blocked by grates, suggesting that they were drains. As he neared the end the wan green light brightened, and he knew the worst.
A high, rounded room, surely natural and with a floor mottled by puddled water, took the place of an apse. Where the altar should have been there was a statue. Fidelius looked far up and knew the ancient, simian face well. He could not stop shivering. This was an unholy place, but what was it for? Too wet for a dwelling, too dark and hard to find for a general gathering. Private worship? So huge and grandiose, the opposite of a monk's cell or a confessional. That, then, was the key. The man whose face was carven in the far wall meant to be the object of such worship: himself and never God, nor any other gods.
He realized that being caught here would surely not be good. He had to get back before Salazar Slytherin found him. He must tell the others. He started back down the dark hall, and paused. Off to one side he could see a pile of dirt with light flecks near the top. Dung, from the smell, and eggshells. How many eggs?
Fidelius turned, and prayed to his Savior as he ran. He could see the brighter dimness beyond the door.
A small dark shape, a blacker shadow, darted out from behind a serpentine column and touched his foot.
Immediately Fidelius was in agony. Not realizing that he had fallen he grasped his leg, trying to halt the progress of the pain. Until it spoke he was unaware of the figure that had come to stand beside him.
"Of all the common- bloods in the school, why did it have to be you, my friend? You, who can name my little servant. Name him now, look at him, and end your pain. I can do that for you at least."
Fidelius managed only to crack an eyelid open, and as he hissed the name he remembered why he shouldn't look.
"Basilisk...."
In the school, his school, the deadliest of creatures. They must be warned-- he cried out to his Lord-- a flash of bright, poisonous yellow--
The pain stopped.
Fidelius expected darkness, and dreaded it, for surely the flames would follow. He had served God all his life, and served the Church, but was painfully aware that he had never chosen to do so. His father, barely remembered, had chosen for him, offering him as an oblatus to the monastery, hoping to beat out the curse of the power he had been born with and the petty sins he never seemed able to avoid. Even Archbishop Dunstan had chosen for him, ordaining him priest and then sending him here to minister to the new school. No words from his Archbishop, no scholarship, and no observations of his charges had ever quite rid him of the feeling that-- for himself at least-- his wizardry was a shameful thing that would never please God, and so neither could anything he did be of merit.
That is not the whole sum of your life, but it will do, said the familiar voice that sounded almost like his own thoughts. Perhaps you should look.
There was light. He seemed to have shed his clothes, but he wasn't cold; nicely comfortable, in fact. Still, he had never been immodest. Ah, there was his habit, or at least a habit; it seemed to be new and perfectly clean, as were the linen breeks and the sandals. How odd; he had gone so often barefoot.
He looked about him. He seemed to be in a vestibule, perhaps of a large church or cathedral: there were the great doors in front of him, and a plainer set behind. Where was the light coming from? Of course; now he saw the lamp hanging from the ceiling. A stone ceiling, and walls, and floor, unadorned but beautiful in his eyes, sturdy and warm and safe.
You cannot stay here, prodded the voice. You have a choice. Your body is gone. Your soul must go on to face your Judgment. But there is something you feel must be done.
"The children-- there's a basilisk loose in the school-- they must be told! They have to get out!"
If you tell them, your fate will be delayed. You will go back to your place, but you will have no body. As you are, you will remain until you are called here again, growing and diminishing only a little in knowledge. Is that your desire, to put off your eternity?
"Even if my eternity is the Lake of Fire, I long to see my Lord who must tell me so! But there is no choice here, is there? Only a temptation. Which door leads to the school?"
Silence. Fidelius chose to try the plain doors first, that should lead into whatever sort of building this was, leaving the beautifully- carven great doors for later; they would lead outside, surely, and somehow he had never thought that the Throne of the Almighty would be confined in a building made by hands. The unadorned portal seemed the obvious choice if he wanted to go back.
Until later, my friend.
A moment's confusion: should he have come back to his body? Where was he? Oh-- the tunnel before the serpent- bound door, now shut. The way he had come down had been blocked off. There was a niche in the new wall. Instead of a statue there was a small stone figure lying, clutching at its leg, eyes partly open. Fidelius didn't have to see the tonsure and habit to know that his petrified corpse had been reduced to a figurine. Was he too late? Was Slytherin in charge of the school, his precious purebloods learning his ways, the Basilisk hunting down the commoners? How to manage this ghostly body?
Several false starts taught him that he could flow through solid rock, but not into Slytherin's Chamber: it seemed to be guarded by wards he could not penetrate. There was no other way out of this anteroom that he could see. Slytherin had blocked the other passages as well, with thick enchanted doors or walls, and Fidelius could feel a spell working on himself even in his bodiless state. Confundis-- he wouldn't remember how to get back here. No matter. He was in a hurry. Straight up, then.
He emerged into a drain and followed it upwards, twisting and branching, until he gave up on the ever- smaller feeder pipes and went up through the rock again, suddenly debouching in a cellar passageway. He knew where he was now, only a stair between himself and the Hufflepuff common hall. He flew as fast as he knew how, failed to turn the doorknob, growled in frustration and went through the door.
"Helga! Where's Helga?" he shouted at the dozen or so students. Why were they cowering? Oh....
He tried to take a deep breath, realized he wasn't, and then just tried to speak normally. "You. Holger. There's no time to explain myself. You are the eldest. Get every single person out of this dormitory and into the courtyard, ready to walk to the village. Quickly! There is a danger loose in the school. Where will I find Helga?"
"I-in the kitchens, I think. But-- Father--"
"No buts, not until there's time. I will have much to explain then, but now get away from the school!"
"What about Slytherin's folk--"
"They will be well, of that I'm sure. Go!"
Helga wasn't in the kitchens. He had to repeat his warning to the terrified house- elves, who made no move to leave. Up again. No Helga-- but, oh glory, there was Godric in his high window!
"Godric! There is danger! A Basilisk in the dungeon! Get the students out, find Helga and Rowena--"
"Father! Father, what--"
"Hurry!"
"FATHER FIDELIUS!" bellowed Godric. "Settle down and start making some sense! What happened to you?"
Fidelius did calm down a little then; surely Godric could sort this all out. "I found a passage behind the lavatorium in Helga's cellar dormitory. I followed it far down, below Slytherin's dungeon, to a door bound with wrought serpents. It was open. I descended into a secret chamber-- more like an unholy heathen temple, having pillars carven with snakes. At the end of the nave was an icon carved from the stone, and a pile of dung with broken eggshells on top.
"Godric, the carven idol's face and figure were Slytherin's. As I ran back I was bitten. Salazar himself was there, and bade me look upon his Basilisk to end the agony of its bite. But I came back to tell you all. Godric, the students must leave! I have told Holger Karlsen to-- good man, there they go now! Yours and Rowena's must follow, and the elves. Quickly!"
Only a split second did Godric hesitate, looking out the window, then he strode through the open door to the hallway beyond, pulling on his gloves. The lion sprang from the tip of his wand, crying out the alarm; and a second flew through the window to Ravenclaw's tower. A third leapt down toward the dungeons.
Confused students began to pack the tiny courtyard, tutors behind as all of their charges were accounted for. Last out of the Ravenclaw tower came Helena, just before Baron Ranulf from the dungeon, armed, behind an orderly line of Slytherins and a mob of terrified house- elves. Fidelius nodded at Godric as the last of his Gryffindors came through the door, shuddering at his aspect. Godric had surely never looked so enraged before. Now to get everybody to Hogsmeade... Godric marshalled the students, making sure the Baron was guarding the rear, those scholars with arms scattered throughout, wands in their right hands, shields or bows in the left and swords or axes or arrows in evidence. The house- elves Disapparated at Gryffindor's word. He took a last look, turned and started for the archway. There was a sudden crack in front of him.
"Most convenient," said the smooth voice from the entrance. "Thank you for gathering like this. My term as Magister commenced at midnight, as you recall. This school is now mine. And now we will begin to teach our arts as they should be taught, to those who should learn them...."
"SALAZAR!" Godric roared, overriding the soft, measured voice. "YOU MURDERED FIDELIUS!"
"Regrettable," said Slytherin, raising his wand; even Godric in his rage had sense enough to stop. "But not quite accurate. You must calm yourself, Godric Gryffindor.
"I promise that this school will now be conducted as a school of wizardry should be run! I have no wish to quarrel with you, Godric, you are more pure of blood than many here, but you yourself know that you are not the man to govern this collegium. Neither have the dear women proven any such skill. You will all stay and learn from me, of course. Indeed, you will find that only myself and the elf- thralls can Disapparate from within the grounds now.
"And so, out of deference to your presence, and that of the chaplain: Any of you who do not have my token will leave now. You are not worthy to learn or practice our highest arts, and will never progress beyond the simplest charms. Go now and your lives will be spared. Stay and you will be found out and hunted down to join your common- blood Father Fidelius."
Every single person heard Godric's reply.
"Hunted down and killed, Salazar? How did Fidelius die? What did he discover? A temple, he said, below this place, a temple to Salazar Serpent- Tongue, with a heap of dung and eggshells. How many basilisks have you hatched, Slytherin?" Godric's voice rose. "And now you threaten death to any whose birth does not please you. Who controls a worm- king, Serpent- Tongue? You?-- and when it outlives you, who stops it from feeding on whatever kind of blood it likes?"
"ENOUGH!" said Slytherin firmly, overriding Gryffindor. "Nithling!"
The onlookers drew breath in horror. The insult was one that any free man, warlock or warrior, must answer to the death.
Slytherin had no need to speak the spell that followed; all that was heard was the swish of the wand. But instead of countering with his own wand, Godric raised his left hand, and met the curse.
Godric rocked on his feet, then stood firm once more.
Slytherin stared, speechless.
"All these years, and you know nothing of my strength," said Godric. "Greater men than you, kings and warlocks, have proclaimed me to be no coward, and the days when I would do slaughter over a foolish falsehood are long past. Leave this school, Salazar. We have learned to teach all, and so we will keep on, without threatening any with death."
Enraged now, Salazar Slytherin moved his wand back, ready to finish the man he had called his friend. Godric did not move. His charges, his children as he thought of them, were packed behind him. If he must suffer death for them so be it; but suddenly his wand did move, a red light reached Slytherin, and bounced off. In response Slytherin's wand flicked out and Godric was disarmed.
"Stupid oaf," said Slytherin, regaining his balance. "You must lower your principles sometime." Once more the wand swept slowly, impressively back, ready to fling the deadliest curse.
The attack was silent. A brown blur seemed to brush past Salazar, who was left to stare at an empty hand. Then the blood rose from the new gash in his arm. Behind him, out of the now- bright morning mist at the end of the stone passage, came Helga's voice.
"It's you who will leave, Salazar. I heard all you said. You may be the greatest wizard, as you often claim, but together we all can match you."
"And we will," said Baron Ranulf Le Strange, stepping up beside Godric. "A murdered priest must have justice, no matter what. And these all came to learn, regardless of blood, as we asked them to. I will not see any harmed or rejected."
The brown shape flapped down onto the flagstones of the courtyard, between Godric and Salazar. It was an eagle, bronze in the sunlight that had begun to pierce the mist. It stretched upward--
Every single person who saw, save for Helga and Helena Ravenclaw, gasped as Rowena stood, wand pointed straight at Slytherin.
"When you go, you might need a new wand," she said. "It was a clever curse you put on it, but eagles can deal with sticks that turn into snakes. I'm afraid it's in several pieces and you won't be here long enough to find them all. Go now, Salazar. Just go. Helga, let him by."
As he passed her Salazar Slytherin turned and spoke, the tunnel magnifying his voice. "My Chamber of Secrets is closed, and even Fidelius will not find it. It awaits myself or my true heir, who will puzzle out its riddles and complete my work, making this place pure and worthy of true wizards. None of you are capable of that, and so my creature will wait, and grow, unless he finds his own way out. Think on that."
He went. He walked into the mists and was lost to sight, until a crack announced that he had Disapparated, even without a wand.
"Ranulf. Helena. Holger." Godric's voice was faint. "Get them all to the village. Rowena and Helga to me. Help me stand."
With their assistance he was able to move far enough to one side that the student body could pass. Stunned and upset by the confrontation, nonetheless many managed a nod, a look, some gesture of respect; someone picked up Godric's wand and pressed it into his right hand. Over the noise of tramping on the flagstones and timbers came the occasional clink at the teachers' feet. When all had passed, Helena bringing up the rear and gripping her mother's hand as she left, Helga bent down and picked up several of the objects.
They were largish silver coins with a hole off- center. Some were on thongs or strings, others on fine silver chains. All were identical, with a winged boar on one side and a coiled serpent on the other.
"His tokens," snorted Helga. "For his purebloods."
"Later," whispered Godric. "Take this glove off...."
Rowena did so, wanting to scream at the sight of Godric's ravaged left hand, but quickly mastering herself and touching his arm with her wand, muttering all the time. The hand was raw and blistered, and blackening even as they watched.
"Keep that up," said Helga briskly, "I'll start moving him. Loki!"
Crack. "Yes, Mistress?"
"I need dittany, essence of murtlap--" only Loki could have followed the spate of instructions that followed-- "and some broth, he'll need something strengthening. But whatever you do, don't go anywhere alone! Call Aelfsi or one of the other elves to help, and...."
"I will watch over them, Helga," said Fidelius. "It surely cannot kill me again."
"Oh, poor Fidelius...!"
"I will tell you all that happened, but not until Godric is out of danger. Lead on, Loki!"
The refectory was closest, the trestles set for breakfast. Godric floated on his back, until Helga lowered him onto a table. Rowena had never ceased her spell. He heard when Loki brought a mug. Helga propped him up and had him drink it down, slightly bitter but well- flavored to go down easily.
"It'll take awhile," she said. "Best you sleep 'til we're done." He did so.
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