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A ficlet about the teenaged!Founders and numerous OCs. The 'title' is not to be taken as anything more than a description of the contents. Warning: random ships abound. And there's no slash. And it's got onetinylittlefault with TSE canon. Which I plan on blaming on Godric's incredibly faulty memory if it ever leaves my harddrive and this journal. Oh, and Salazar is actually mentioned in this one. (Am working on a fic about younger!Salazar right now, actually. To be written entirely in letters, Wizards' Council meeting transcripts, and notes, if all goes well.)
Edit 12/12/2009: This fic is Not Canon For My Founders, but I'm keeping it up because hey, why not? The master Founders post is here.
Title: Godric Gryffindor and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Godric, Helga, Rowena, and various OCs
Rating: PG
Summary: There is a goblin rebellion. There are stupid love triangles. There are bullies. And then there's Godric, in the middle of all of it. 4857 words.
* * *
Once upon a time - the late tenth century, to be precise - there was a land - a place by the laughable name of Engla-lond, to be accurate - where witches and wizards controlled everything.
Well, this was not entirely true. They controlled most things. The Muggles didn't know it, of course - had they known the full extent of magic's power in their own politics, they would have been deeply displeased.
Unfortunately, they thought they controlled everything. Which made for unpleasant situations when some things decided they didn't want to be controlled.
And in this land, in this time, some rather uncontrollable things had just become very sick of not getting their own way.
* * *
"Goblins!" cried Mistress Lockhart.
Four small heads turned to look at her. One was her daughter Helga's, the other, her son Leo's. The third and fourth heads belonged, respectively, to Rowena Aeaeae, daughter of the current Wizards' Council Chief, and to a small and grubby Muggleborn boy named Godric, but more often, to his great distress, called Runty.
"Rowena, dear," called Mistress Lockhart, "your mum's coming to take you home. Isn't that nice?" She tried to smile.
Rowena pouted. "No," she said. "Should it be? Is she bringing goblins?"
"Heavens, no. At least, hopefully not," said Mistress Lockhart.
"But then why did you -" started Rowena.
"Never mind that," she snapped back. "Now go and get your things together. Helga, Leo, go help her. Godric?"
Godric looked up, trying to look polite and helpful.
"Try and stay out from underfoot." Putting the letter she was reading down, she scurried away after the others.
Sighing, Godric rolled his eyes. Then, when he was certain nobody was going to come back in again anytime soon, he snatched the letter from where Mistress Lockhart had left it, and read. It was not easy for someone who had learned to read at the ripe old age of eleven, particularly since this handwriting was terrible. However, Godric, despite appearances, was a clever boy and a quick learner. He managed to decipher the letter with a minimum of squinting. It read:
Dearest Elmira (Godric knew this to be Mistress Lockhart's first name) -
I have just received reports of rebelling goblin tribes all over Britain, as well as some on parts of the Continent. Slytherin's wife is bent on studying the things, and she's obviously no politician. Loosest tongue I've ever seen. No maternal instincts at all, as she keeps that son of theirs right with her through thick and thin.
Speaking of which, the goblins - according to Lady Slytherin, at least, who's disgustingly honest - are concentrating their attacks on areas with large wizarding populations, and being rather high-profile, I'd rather keep my Rowena out of this. I have, therefore, arranged a match with a Muggle nobleman, Lord Arianis Ravenclaw. He seems rather jumpy around magic in general, and is thus the perfect choice; no goblin would bother with him if they're really angry at us.
Am sending Lady Slytherin in to investigate goblins. I'd very much appreciate it if you didn't tell anybody else about that, however; Slytherin's rather overprotective of her - acts as if she were important, rather than useful. She and I have come up with an explanation for her absence that will satisfy him, but he's not completely stupid, and I'd rather not risk having my information being cut off.
Rest assured, Elmira, that I will update you first on new developments, but meanwhile, I'll be coming to take Rowena at noon. See you then.
- Ophelia Aeaeae
Godric blinked. He didn't quite know what to make of it. The bottom line seemed to be that Rowena was leaving - leaving to get married. He considered this. Rowena wasn't really the kind of girl he could imagine getting married. She swore a lot, and stepped on peoples' fingers, and swiped Mistress Lockhart's broom one night every week or so to go flying. Of course, she also put in a lot of time flirting with Helga's brother, but in Godric's experience, all girls did that except for Helga. It was very inconvenient for a young boy to live in the same house as Leo Lockhart, because no one would look twice at him, and Godric's nickname hadn't helped any.
Not, of course, that this had anything to do with Rowena. He just didn't think she'd like it any, being married to a Muggle.
Godric wondered vaguely if being married to a Muggleborn would be any better, shook his head, and went off to find Rowena.
* * *
Meanwhile, Helga was standing outside of Rowena's room. One does not, generally speaking, enjoy the sight of one's best friend losing all mental powers in the face of attempted romance.
So Helga was waiting. In actuality, she was sulking, but she preferred the kinder, gentler term of "waiting." She did not particularly like the incarnation of Rowena that manifested itself when her brother was around, and she'd never liked any incarnation of her brother. He was older than her, anyway, so she didn't have to worry about the illogic of hating infants.
"I-is Rowena in there?" She turned to see Godric, fiddling with a piece of parchment.
"Not entirely," she said, rolling her eyes. "She's talking to Leo. Is that the letter?" she asked.
Godric nodded solemnly.
"Good Runty," she said, patting him on the head. "I'd give you a sweet, but I haven't got any."
He glared. "I'm not a dog."
"No, you're not. A dog wouldn't settle for bones and table scraps when there's a real feast to be eaten in the next room."
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Godric.
"Rowena's besotted. And so are you. Look, Godric, you shouldn't have to put up with being kicked around. I mean, I like Rowena, I really do, but I can't pretend she's a perfect saint."
"Rowena's a heathen, isn't she? So she'd -"
"That's not the point. I mean, I know there was the whole... the throwing you off the roof thing, but had we not done it, the question might have remained unanswered forever! You must understand that it wasn't out of spite - it was out of genuine curiosity. This, however... this is just out of - well, maybe spite. Maybe she's just stupid," said Helga doubtfully. "I don't think it's her fault, of course, but -"
"Well, look, you give her the letter," said Godric, shoving it into Helga's hand.
"Me? I'm not going in there!" said Helga. "It's too risky. You do it!" She pushed it back into his hand
"But you just -"
"Never mind that, just go in there. It's very simple, really."
"But - but - Rowena! Leo!"
"Exactly. Imagine the possibilities." She shuddered.
He grimaced.
"Therefore," she continued, "it's really your duty to go in and interrupt them."
"Interrupt them doing what?" he asked, now startled.
"Talking, one would hope. She pushed him towards the door. "Go on."
"But -"
"Go," she said again, pushing him harder.
"All right, all right," he said, "I'll go!"
* * *
Rowena had been enjoying herself immensely until she realized she'd gotten herself in deep water. She was by no means dim-witted, but she was only sixteen and was therefore not the very best judge of, well, anything, really. So it wasn't really until Leo had said, "Well, it's now or never, I suppose," and pushed her against the wall roughly, that she'd realized that this really wasn't what she'd had in mind.
So when the door had opened, she'd taken the opportunity to push Leo away and see who was there.
It seemed to be Godric. He was turning an interesting shade of pink.
"S-sorry," he managed to stutter. "I - I didn't mean to interrupt... your... er... your packing."
He looked almost as terrified as she felt, though not nearly as disgusted. "That's all right," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "I was done, anyway." She didn't dare look at Leo as she hurried out of the room. "What did you want?" she asked Godric.
He held a parchment out to her wordlessly.
She scanned the letter. Phrases jumped out at her. ...rebelling goblin tribes all over Britain... concentrating their attacks on areas with large wizarding populations... arranged a match with a Muggle nobleman... coming to take Rowena at noon...
"What is it?" asked Helga, looking worried.
"Looks like the beginnings of a goblin rebellion. Mum's marrying me off to some Muggle," said Rowena. "And she's ranting about Lord Salazar's wife again. She does that a lot."
"Why?" asked Helga.
Rowena shrugged. "I don't know. She's really nice, actually. She sends me books, sometimes."
"Maybe your mum's anti-book?" asked Godric. "I know lots of people who don't like books."
"Yes, but those're all Muggles, Runt," said Rowena, rolling her eyes. "Muggles can't read, I don't think."
"They can't?" Godric asked. He hadn't known that.
"Well, have you ever met one who could?" Rowena asked reasonably. "Maybe it's a kind of magic. Anyway, I can help this Lord Ravenclaw out a lot. I mean, I can read and he can't."
"How do you know he can't?" asked Helga.
"Because he's the Muggle I'm marrying," she explained.
"Is he nice?" Godric asked.
"How should I know? Anyway, he's better than some alternatives," she said, grimacing.
Godric muttered something that might have been an apology and ran off quickly.
"Well?" asked Helga, raising her eyebrows.
"Well what?" Rowena demanded.
"Oh, honestly, it's not his fault you don't like him," she said.
"What? Yes it is!" said Rowena.
"No it isn't. I'm not asking you to even look at him, but you could at least - "
"Do you know what he just did to me?"
"No, Rowena, I don't," said Helga, putting her hands on her hips, "but you can't possibly convince me it warrants that kind of treatment."
"Oh, yes I can."
"Fine," snapped Helga. "Convince me."
"He just - he just pushed me against the wall and tried to... to... to -"
"He what?" Helga was shocked.
"Lucky Godric came in and distracted him, really," added Rowena, "or I might not've been able to push him away." She blushed. "You know, I feel like an idiot," she added.
Helga stared at her.
"And I thought you'd say 'I told you so,' but here you are trying to convince me he's really nice. I mean, I know blood's thicker than water, but -"
"Rowena!"
"What?"
"Leo - Leo did that?"
"You think I'm lying?"
"No," said Helga. "It seems like just the kind of thing he'd do. I thought you were talking about Runty."
Rowena stared. "Now that is a bizarre mental image."
"Exactly."
Frowning, Rowena considered this. "Why did Runt run off like that?"
Helga sighed. "I don't know. I haven't the foggiest."
"Oh, all right." She drifted off, preoccupied.
On the verge of ripping her hair out, Helga satisfied herself with muttering, "...and there's no chance that was sarcasm."
Rowena turned. "What?"
"He thinks you just insulted him!"
"Nothing wrong with that, is there?" Rowena asked. "I mean, I do it all the time, it's not as if -"
"It's not as if he's got an ounce of brains!" said Helga. "Runty fancies you."
Helga watched as her friend paused, blinked, and stared. "He what?"
"Are you deaf?"
"Why does he - I mean, that's - really very flattering - only not - but - but - wait a minute, how do you know?"
She sighed. "Isn't it obvious? He watches you. All the time."
"He's just trying to learn Latin, that's all," Rowena said quickly.
"And he's got it down well, hasn't he?"
"Well..."
"And he's been reading ahead in that book you gave him," Helga added.
"What?"
"He wants to impress you."
"That's just silly," said Rowena, calmly ignoring the obsession with Leo that she'd been nursing for years. "Anyway, how do you know all that? Have you been following him?"
"Well... no," said Helga slowly. "I mean, it's a bit obvious, if you just watch him -"
"Which I have no intention of doing," said Rowena. "That would only encourage him, anyway. You take him."
"That's not very ni- what?"
"Well, you're the one who's been watching him," said Rowena. "And he's been watching me. Ergo, as you said yourself, he fancies me. So your watching him means you must -"
"Rowena! Don't be... don't be... strange."
"I'm not being strange," insisted Rowena. "I'm being logical."
"You're being rude," said Helga.
"But logical," Rowena said.
Helga digested this. Finally, not willing to confirm or deny anything about the real subject of their conversation, she said, "Well, I still think you should talk to him."
* * *
Jabbing the mud viciously with a stick, Godric stood watching the puddle swirl. It had rained all night, and would most likely start raining again, but he didn't care. He supposed he was being stupid, but no one had ever expected any great brilliance from Godric, so he'd never seen fit to show them any. He Transfigured the muddy water into clear water - magic so simple it required no wand for the determined wizard. Or the moody and very unlucky one. Then, stabbing the puddle again, he watched as the water clouded up.
"Godric?"
The sudden noise startled him, and he whirled around, dropping the stick and splattering mud all over a dress that had, no doubt, cost a fortune and a half, as blue dye was near-impossible to come by, even for those who practiced magic. "OhGodI'msosorry," he said, horrified. "Here, I'll -"
Rowena drew away quickly. "I'm fine," she snapped. "It's just a dress."
"Er. But - but it's... you know, all... all nice. Was all nice." Before I ruined it.
"It's just a dress," she repeated. "I have loads more at home," she added with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Godric went back to staring at the mud puddle, silently. He watched Rowena out of the corner of his eyes, inwardly berating himself for his silence, for his choice of sulking-ground, and for his clumsiness. Then, he got an idea, and with a theatrical wave of his hand, he turned the mud on her dress into water. She looked at him in surprise. "It's really easy, you know," he said.
"You haven't got a wand," said Rowena.
"Still. It's easy," said Godric. "You just have to grit your teeth a little."
Rowena still looked skeptical.
"I could... I could turn this whole puddle into wine," said Godric suddenly. Would that make him a heretic? No, he decided, probably not. Just very, very desperate.
"What, so you can get drunk?" Rowena asked in disbelief. She clearly hadn't seen the reference, and Godric was thankful. Not because he'd expected her to care about heresy or lack thereof, but because it would've been more embarrassing had she said, "What, you think you're Jesus?" or something similar.
"Never mind," he muttered. "It's not important." He wondered vaguely whether the wine he could make would be any good. Perhaps he could sell it to rich people for high prices. But first, he'd have to get them drunk. Very, very drunk. Necessitating decent-tasting wine. He shrugged the idea off as unworkable.
"Look," said Rowena suddenly, breaking his concentration, "it's not as though I've asked to get married. It's not as though I want to."
He studied her for a moment. "You don't?"
She shook her head. "Muggles sound dull," she said.
"They are," said Godric. "Well, mine are. Yours will probably be very rich and interesting and will give you lots of gold and things like that."
"I don't want gold," she pouted. "I want to sit around doing nothing all day. Is that so much to ask?"
All of his past experience dictated that yes, this was a great deal to ask of life. "No, of course not," he lied. "But, er, what would you be doing?"
"Lots of... weaving and... and vulgar things like that," said Rowena, wrinkling her nose. "Or maybe I can just do it by magic and read all day," she wondered to herself. "That wouldn't be so bad, I suppose..."
Godric went back to stabbing at the puddle.
"What are you doing?" Rowena asked, standing at the edge of the mud and looking hesitantly into it. Something about her tone annoyed him. It was the same tone of voice most people used on two-year-olds who'd put something nasty in their mouths.
He glared at her. "I'm trying to kill this puddle. What does it look like I'm doing?" he snapped, and watched Rowena's tentative half-smile collapse. Inwardly cringing, he merely sighed.
"About Leo," she started again, sounding more like a real person this time.
He froze. He was discovered. Found out. Was it a good thing? Possibly. But had he wanted it? No, of course not. He stuck the stick into the puddle with a final squelch, and, leaning on it, turned to face her again, hoping he appeared irritated rather than hopeful. "What about him?"
"He's... not very nice," she whispered.
"So?"
"And... well, I feel like an idiot, having followed him around for so long."
"Right," said Godric. Did this mean...? He allowed himself a shred of hope.
"So I - I know how you'll feel, but... erm. Well, I am getting married very soon, and it really wouldn't be... proper for me to, ah, really like you at all. In that way. So I'm sorry, Godric, but it isn't going to work."
In that moment he hated her and he hated the Muggle and he hated Leo and himself and everything in the whole world. "Fine," he said, feeling himself flush with anger. "Fine. I don't care." He turned to storm away - or attempted to - but lost his balance and fell into the puddle.
"Oh! Are you -"
"I'm fine!" he shouted. "I'm perfectly, completely, horribly bloody fine!" He decided he'd better storm off before he burst into tears, as that would only serve to complete his humiliation.
* * *
Helga sat inside, pointedly ignoring her disgruntled brother. When Godric came in, covered in mud, she watched him silently for a few moments. Had Rowena shoved him in? She wondered, hoping the answer was no. Finally she said, "You're all muddy."
He turned to glare at her. "Am I really?" he asked, voice thick with sarcasm.
"And you're being rather prattish, so I can see why she dumped you in," said Helga. "You're acting like... like him," she said, nodding at Leo.
Leo got to his feet. "What?"
"He's acting like a spoilt brat who -"
"SPOILT? I'm not spoilt! I'm -"
"...and rotten, and selfish, and... and you steal things!"
"I do not steal things!"
"Yes you do. You stole Wulfric Keddle's daughter last week!"
"That," said Leo, blushing slightly, "was an accident."
"Oh! And I suppose you just tripped and fell on her?" With that, Helga turned away from her brother to look at Godric.
"I never did any of that," he said quickly. "I don't even know which of Keddle's daughters you're talking about!"
"The one with the funny mole on her chin," said Leo promptly.
"Eurgh. Her? She's hideous," said Godric.
"I was bored," Leo said.
Helga sighed. "You two are hopeless. Mum's going to kill you if you leave those footprints all over the house, Godric," she said. "Why don't you Transfigure it into water?"
Godric blinked, and stared at her. "How..."
"Never mind," she sighed, and, carefully picking her way around Godric's muddy footprints, went outside to find Rowena.
She found her, standing by a mud puddle, looking glum and rather wet.
"Did you have to push him in?" she asked.
"What?" Rowena looked up, startled.
"Did you have to push Runty in?" she asked again.
"Push him in? Push him in what?"
This was going nowhere. "Nothing," she said quickly.
"Do you think I could run away?" Rowena asked, staring into space again.
"Run away from what?"
"A wedding. I mean, they sound boring. I don't really have to be there, do I?" She nudged at the mud with one boot-toe. "I wish I didn't have to leave."
"I know," said Helga. "But... but what if he's nice?"
"Who?" Rowena asked.
"The Muggle."
"They never are," sighed Rowena. "What usually happens is the girl marries a lecherous old man under duress. Then she refuses to do anything but mope for a good hour and a half. Then the knight comes riding up, with news that everything was all a big mistake, and the girl and the knight ride off to get married."
"And that's what usually happens, is it?" said Helga skeptically.
Rowena nodded.
"Is it always the same lecherous old man or different ones?"
"I think it's different ones. Usually he's murdered all his other wives or something," Rowena said promptly.
"Must be a lot of lecherous old men out there," said Helga. "And knights. Perhaps the knight ends up killing the girl and becoming a lecherous old man?" she asked.
"I should hope not," sniffed Rowena.
"Well, I think we've got a shortage of knights around here," said Helga, "and you'd think most lecherous old men would rather see what you looked like before agreeing to marry you," she added, "so I suppose this will be an unusual situation."
"No sense in losing all hope," Rowena pointed out.
Helga rolled her eyes. "No, I suppose not," she sighed.
* * *
Godric watched from the stairway as Lady Aeaeae fussed over Helga and Leo. Holding a glum Rowena by the wrist, she turned to Mistress Lockhart and spoke in hushed tones. He leaned forward to see if he could read their lips or hear any of it, but looked away when Mistress Lockhart glanced at him. Finally, Lady Aeaeae turned to him.
"And what's your name, boy?" she asked. Her tone was the same as Rowena's had been, earlier. Unpleasantly condescending. He supposed she had a right to it, being the Chief of the Wizards' Council and all.
"Godric," he answered.
"No surname," observed Lady Aeaeae. "And how old are you?" she asked.
"Thirteen," he replied promptly. "And a half. I think." He counted on his fingers. "Yes. Thirteen and a half."
Lady Aeaeae shot Mistress Lockhart an amused look, before tsking to herself. "Ah well. If there'd been a few more years... well, we'll have to get rid of... anyway," she continued, perhaps aware of Godric's staring at her, "we'd better be going. Come, Rowena, I had a new broom made for you..."
Rowena, looking slightly less glum, followed her mother outside, and Godric watched her leave. He'd probably never see her again, but, what with the embarrassment today had provided, it was a very good thing indeed. And he didn't have to learn any more Latin.
"Well," said Mistress Lockhart. "Godric, get your things. We're sending you home."
"We are?" Leo asked.
"I am," Mistress Lockhart corrected.
"Why?" said Helga.
"Because," she said simply. And that was that.
* * *
As Godric stood in the pentagram, waiting to be Transport Key'd to his village by a friend of Mistress Lockhart's, Helga dashed down the stairs holding something in her hand. "Wait!" she cried.
"He can't wait," said Leo, "it's up to whatserface to Summon him."
"I knew that," snapped Helga. "Godric, give me your hand."
"What?"
"Just do it," she said.
Doubtfully, he held out his hand. Helga pressed an uncorked glass bottle into his palm, and he peered at it. It contained some soil and two fat pink worms. "Which ones are those? I can never tell them apart," he said.
"That one's Sampson," said Helga. "The other one's Beowulf. Try not to touch them too much. They breathe through their skin, so you don't want them to suffocate."
"You gave him worms?" Leo asked in disbelief.
"What do they eat?" Godric asked curiously.
"Stuff in dirt, as far as I can tell," said Helga.
"You gave him worms?" Leo repeated. "That's the stupidest gift I've ever seen," he said.
"I like worms!" Helga snapped.
Godric was aware of a pulling feeling, and he clung to the Transport Key desperately. As the room wavered around him, he heard Helga's and Leo's voices waver slightly: "Really romantic present, Helga." "Oh, shove it -"
He suddenly found himself on the floor of a dingy room, which smelled vaguely of rotten eggs.
"There you are, there you are," said the old woman, picking him up off the floor. "Well! You've grown a bit," she said. "What've you got there?"
"Two worms," said Godric, holding out his prize for her examination. "Helga gave them to me. That one's Sampson - no, wait, that one is. And this one's Beowulf. I think."
She nodded. "Learn any good spells?" she asked.
"I can turn mud into water," said Godric.
"Never seen much use for Transfiguration myself," said the old woman, "but I almost wish I knew some of it. Beats hauling water from the well, that."
"It's really easy," said Godric quickly. "I can do it without a wand, even."
"Well, that's good, then," she said, smiling toothlessly at him. "Now hurry home, your mum and dad will be surprised to see you. And tell your brother if his leg's acting up - he broke it last week - if his leg's acting up, he knows who to see."
Godric nodded, and, clutching Beowulf and Sampson, he started for home. He'd almost reached it when he heard laughter coming from behind him. Knowing it'd be far better for him if he broke into a run, he turned around instead. He recognized the three faces, not because he'd seen them recently, but because years of being beaten up had built up a direct link in his brain between these faces and the concept of terror.
In other words, now he turned and ran.
But not very far.
"What's this?" asked John, grabbing the worm bottle from his hand after having knocked him to the ground. Now all four brothers were here. I'm doomed, Godric thought.
"Looks like worms," Matthew said.
"Here, let me see!" Luke whined.
Mark, who was sitting on Godric, poked him in the back of the neck. "Are they magic worms, ickle runt boy?" he asked.
"They're dragons," said Godric.
"Lemme see! Lemme see!" Luke called again.
"It don't look like dragons," Matthew said doubtfully.
"He's lying," John said. "Let's throw them in the well."
"Lemme see!" Luke shouted.
"All right, all right. You're such a baby, Luke."
"Am not."
"Are too!"
"Are so."
"Yes you are."
Godric watched them silently. It was painful to serve as Mark's chair, but perhaps if he didn't say anything, they'd forget he was here and argue amongst themselves.
No such luck. Mark stood, and kicked him in the ribs. "Get up," he ordered.
Godric, not wanting to be kicked again, got up.
"What do we do with him?" Luke asked.
"We could throw him in the well," John proposed. "Along with his 'dragons.'"
"You don't want to throw me in the well," Godric said quickly.
They stared at him. "And why not?" Matthew asked.
"I'd make the water taste bad," he said matter-of-factly.
They looked at each other. "He's right," said Matthew. "We should just hit him a little and be done with it. I don't want to be turned into no bugs or anything like last time."
"You made a good moth," John said.
"Shut up or I'll hit you too!" Matthew said. He clobbered Godric over the head with the worm bottle, and Godric clutched his head.
"It didn't break! What kind of glass won't break?" Matthew clonked the bottle against Godric's head again, in the same place, and Godric winced. He continued to do this until Godric crumpled to the ground, clutching his head, after which he shrugged and filled the bottle with water from the well and threw it on the ground next to Godric. Then the four brothers walked away, arguing amongst themselves.
"Ow," Godric hissed to himself. "Owowowowow. Bastards." He levered himself off the ground, head still throbbing, and picked up the worm bottle gingerly. Sampson and Beowulf floated, looking dead and bloated and grey. "Ow," Godric muttered again, dumping the water out. He decided to give the worms a proper burial - or one as proper as worms could have, anyway. After all, their names seemed to indicate that they were good Christian worms. It would be wrong to leave them out to rot. So he walked slowly to the outskirts of the village, occasionally muttering "ow," and crouched down to dig a hole with his hands for the worms.
It was getting dark when Godric decided that the grave was deep enough. He poked the bottle in, and began to fill up the hole. It began to rain, and Godric decided that his day could not possibly get any worse if he had planned it that way.
What he didn't see were the banners of an approaching goblin tribe just over the horizon.
Edit 12/12/2009: This fic is Not Canon For My Founders, but I'm keeping it up because hey, why not? The master Founders post is here.
Title: Godric Gryffindor and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Godric, Helga, Rowena, and various OCs
Rating: PG
Summary: There is a goblin rebellion. There are stupid love triangles. There are bullies. And then there's Godric, in the middle of all of it. 4857 words.
* * *
Once upon a time - the late tenth century, to be precise - there was a land - a place by the laughable name of Engla-lond, to be accurate - where witches and wizards controlled everything.
Well, this was not entirely true. They controlled most things. The Muggles didn't know it, of course - had they known the full extent of magic's power in their own politics, they would have been deeply displeased.
Unfortunately, they thought they controlled everything. Which made for unpleasant situations when some things decided they didn't want to be controlled.
And in this land, in this time, some rather uncontrollable things had just become very sick of not getting their own way.
* * *
"Goblins!" cried Mistress Lockhart.
Four small heads turned to look at her. One was her daughter Helga's, the other, her son Leo's. The third and fourth heads belonged, respectively, to Rowena Aeaeae, daughter of the current Wizards' Council Chief, and to a small and grubby Muggleborn boy named Godric, but more often, to his great distress, called Runty.
"Rowena, dear," called Mistress Lockhart, "your mum's coming to take you home. Isn't that nice?" She tried to smile.
Rowena pouted. "No," she said. "Should it be? Is she bringing goblins?"
"Heavens, no. At least, hopefully not," said Mistress Lockhart.
"But then why did you -" started Rowena.
"Never mind that," she snapped back. "Now go and get your things together. Helga, Leo, go help her. Godric?"
Godric looked up, trying to look polite and helpful.
"Try and stay out from underfoot." Putting the letter she was reading down, she scurried away after the others.
Sighing, Godric rolled his eyes. Then, when he was certain nobody was going to come back in again anytime soon, he snatched the letter from where Mistress Lockhart had left it, and read. It was not easy for someone who had learned to read at the ripe old age of eleven, particularly since this handwriting was terrible. However, Godric, despite appearances, was a clever boy and a quick learner. He managed to decipher the letter with a minimum of squinting. It read:
Dearest Elmira (Godric knew this to be Mistress Lockhart's first name) -
I have just received reports of rebelling goblin tribes all over Britain, as well as some on parts of the Continent. Slytherin's wife is bent on studying the things, and she's obviously no politician. Loosest tongue I've ever seen. No maternal instincts at all, as she keeps that son of theirs right with her through thick and thin.
Speaking of which, the goblins - according to Lady Slytherin, at least, who's disgustingly honest - are concentrating their attacks on areas with large wizarding populations, and being rather high-profile, I'd rather keep my Rowena out of this. I have, therefore, arranged a match with a Muggle nobleman, Lord Arianis Ravenclaw. He seems rather jumpy around magic in general, and is thus the perfect choice; no goblin would bother with him if they're really angry at us.
Am sending Lady Slytherin in to investigate goblins. I'd very much appreciate it if you didn't tell anybody else about that, however; Slytherin's rather overprotective of her - acts as if she were important, rather than useful. She and I have come up with an explanation for her absence that will satisfy him, but he's not completely stupid, and I'd rather not risk having my information being cut off.
Rest assured, Elmira, that I will update you first on new developments, but meanwhile, I'll be coming to take Rowena at noon. See you then.
- Ophelia Aeaeae
Godric blinked. He didn't quite know what to make of it. The bottom line seemed to be that Rowena was leaving - leaving to get married. He considered this. Rowena wasn't really the kind of girl he could imagine getting married. She swore a lot, and stepped on peoples' fingers, and swiped Mistress Lockhart's broom one night every week or so to go flying. Of course, she also put in a lot of time flirting with Helga's brother, but in Godric's experience, all girls did that except for Helga. It was very inconvenient for a young boy to live in the same house as Leo Lockhart, because no one would look twice at him, and Godric's nickname hadn't helped any.
Not, of course, that this had anything to do with Rowena. He just didn't think she'd like it any, being married to a Muggle.
Godric wondered vaguely if being married to a Muggleborn would be any better, shook his head, and went off to find Rowena.
* * *
Meanwhile, Helga was standing outside of Rowena's room. One does not, generally speaking, enjoy the sight of one's best friend losing all mental powers in the face of attempted romance.
So Helga was waiting. In actuality, she was sulking, but she preferred the kinder, gentler term of "waiting." She did not particularly like the incarnation of Rowena that manifested itself when her brother was around, and she'd never liked any incarnation of her brother. He was older than her, anyway, so she didn't have to worry about the illogic of hating infants.
"I-is Rowena in there?" She turned to see Godric, fiddling with a piece of parchment.
"Not entirely," she said, rolling her eyes. "She's talking to Leo. Is that the letter?" she asked.
Godric nodded solemnly.
"Good Runty," she said, patting him on the head. "I'd give you a sweet, but I haven't got any."
He glared. "I'm not a dog."
"No, you're not. A dog wouldn't settle for bones and table scraps when there's a real feast to be eaten in the next room."
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Godric.
"Rowena's besotted. And so are you. Look, Godric, you shouldn't have to put up with being kicked around. I mean, I like Rowena, I really do, but I can't pretend she's a perfect saint."
"Rowena's a heathen, isn't she? So she'd -"
"That's not the point. I mean, I know there was the whole... the throwing you off the roof thing, but had we not done it, the question might have remained unanswered forever! You must understand that it wasn't out of spite - it was out of genuine curiosity. This, however... this is just out of - well, maybe spite. Maybe she's just stupid," said Helga doubtfully. "I don't think it's her fault, of course, but -"
"Well, look, you give her the letter," said Godric, shoving it into Helga's hand.
"Me? I'm not going in there!" said Helga. "It's too risky. You do it!" She pushed it back into his hand
"But you just -"
"Never mind that, just go in there. It's very simple, really."
"But - but - Rowena! Leo!"
"Exactly. Imagine the possibilities." She shuddered.
He grimaced.
"Therefore," she continued, "it's really your duty to go in and interrupt them."
"Interrupt them doing what?" he asked, now startled.
"Talking, one would hope. She pushed him towards the door. "Go on."
"But -"
"Go," she said again, pushing him harder.
"All right, all right," he said, "I'll go!"
* * *
Rowena had been enjoying herself immensely until she realized she'd gotten herself in deep water. She was by no means dim-witted, but she was only sixteen and was therefore not the very best judge of, well, anything, really. So it wasn't really until Leo had said, "Well, it's now or never, I suppose," and pushed her against the wall roughly, that she'd realized that this really wasn't what she'd had in mind.
So when the door had opened, she'd taken the opportunity to push Leo away and see who was there.
It seemed to be Godric. He was turning an interesting shade of pink.
"S-sorry," he managed to stutter. "I - I didn't mean to interrupt... your... er... your packing."
He looked almost as terrified as she felt, though not nearly as disgusted. "That's all right," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "I was done, anyway." She didn't dare look at Leo as she hurried out of the room. "What did you want?" she asked Godric.
He held a parchment out to her wordlessly.
She scanned the letter. Phrases jumped out at her. ...rebelling goblin tribes all over Britain... concentrating their attacks on areas with large wizarding populations... arranged a match with a Muggle nobleman... coming to take Rowena at noon...
"What is it?" asked Helga, looking worried.
"Looks like the beginnings of a goblin rebellion. Mum's marrying me off to some Muggle," said Rowena. "And she's ranting about Lord Salazar's wife again. She does that a lot."
"Why?" asked Helga.
Rowena shrugged. "I don't know. She's really nice, actually. She sends me books, sometimes."
"Maybe your mum's anti-book?" asked Godric. "I know lots of people who don't like books."
"Yes, but those're all Muggles, Runt," said Rowena, rolling her eyes. "Muggles can't read, I don't think."
"They can't?" Godric asked. He hadn't known that.
"Well, have you ever met one who could?" Rowena asked reasonably. "Maybe it's a kind of magic. Anyway, I can help this Lord Ravenclaw out a lot. I mean, I can read and he can't."
"How do you know he can't?" asked Helga.
"Because he's the Muggle I'm marrying," she explained.
"Is he nice?" Godric asked.
"How should I know? Anyway, he's better than some alternatives," she said, grimacing.
Godric muttered something that might have been an apology and ran off quickly.
"Well?" asked Helga, raising her eyebrows.
"Well what?" Rowena demanded.
"Oh, honestly, it's not his fault you don't like him," she said.
"What? Yes it is!" said Rowena.
"No it isn't. I'm not asking you to even look at him, but you could at least - "
"Do you know what he just did to me?"
"No, Rowena, I don't," said Helga, putting her hands on her hips, "but you can't possibly convince me it warrants that kind of treatment."
"Oh, yes I can."
"Fine," snapped Helga. "Convince me."
"He just - he just pushed me against the wall and tried to... to... to -"
"He what?" Helga was shocked.
"Lucky Godric came in and distracted him, really," added Rowena, "or I might not've been able to push him away." She blushed. "You know, I feel like an idiot," she added.
Helga stared at her.
"And I thought you'd say 'I told you so,' but here you are trying to convince me he's really nice. I mean, I know blood's thicker than water, but -"
"Rowena!"
"What?"
"Leo - Leo did that?"
"You think I'm lying?"
"No," said Helga. "It seems like just the kind of thing he'd do. I thought you were talking about Runty."
Rowena stared. "Now that is a bizarre mental image."
"Exactly."
Frowning, Rowena considered this. "Why did Runt run off like that?"
Helga sighed. "I don't know. I haven't the foggiest."
"Oh, all right." She drifted off, preoccupied.
On the verge of ripping her hair out, Helga satisfied herself with muttering, "...and there's no chance that was sarcasm."
Rowena turned. "What?"
"He thinks you just insulted him!"
"Nothing wrong with that, is there?" Rowena asked. "I mean, I do it all the time, it's not as if -"
"It's not as if he's got an ounce of brains!" said Helga. "Runty fancies you."
Helga watched as her friend paused, blinked, and stared. "He what?"
"Are you deaf?"
"Why does he - I mean, that's - really very flattering - only not - but - but - wait a minute, how do you know?"
She sighed. "Isn't it obvious? He watches you. All the time."
"He's just trying to learn Latin, that's all," Rowena said quickly.
"And he's got it down well, hasn't he?"
"Well..."
"And he's been reading ahead in that book you gave him," Helga added.
"What?"
"He wants to impress you."
"That's just silly," said Rowena, calmly ignoring the obsession with Leo that she'd been nursing for years. "Anyway, how do you know all that? Have you been following him?"
"Well... no," said Helga slowly. "I mean, it's a bit obvious, if you just watch him -"
"Which I have no intention of doing," said Rowena. "That would only encourage him, anyway. You take him."
"That's not very ni- what?"
"Well, you're the one who's been watching him," said Rowena. "And he's been watching me. Ergo, as you said yourself, he fancies me. So your watching him means you must -"
"Rowena! Don't be... don't be... strange."
"I'm not being strange," insisted Rowena. "I'm being logical."
"You're being rude," said Helga.
"But logical," Rowena said.
Helga digested this. Finally, not willing to confirm or deny anything about the real subject of their conversation, she said, "Well, I still think you should talk to him."
* * *
Jabbing the mud viciously with a stick, Godric stood watching the puddle swirl. It had rained all night, and would most likely start raining again, but he didn't care. He supposed he was being stupid, but no one had ever expected any great brilliance from Godric, so he'd never seen fit to show them any. He Transfigured the muddy water into clear water - magic so simple it required no wand for the determined wizard. Or the moody and very unlucky one. Then, stabbing the puddle again, he watched as the water clouded up.
"Godric?"
The sudden noise startled him, and he whirled around, dropping the stick and splattering mud all over a dress that had, no doubt, cost a fortune and a half, as blue dye was near-impossible to come by, even for those who practiced magic. "OhGodI'msosorry," he said, horrified. "Here, I'll -"
Rowena drew away quickly. "I'm fine," she snapped. "It's just a dress."
"Er. But - but it's... you know, all... all nice. Was all nice." Before I ruined it.
"It's just a dress," she repeated. "I have loads more at home," she added with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Godric went back to staring at the mud puddle, silently. He watched Rowena out of the corner of his eyes, inwardly berating himself for his silence, for his choice of sulking-ground, and for his clumsiness. Then, he got an idea, and with a theatrical wave of his hand, he turned the mud on her dress into water. She looked at him in surprise. "It's really easy, you know," he said.
"You haven't got a wand," said Rowena.
"Still. It's easy," said Godric. "You just have to grit your teeth a little."
Rowena still looked skeptical.
"I could... I could turn this whole puddle into wine," said Godric suddenly. Would that make him a heretic? No, he decided, probably not. Just very, very desperate.
"What, so you can get drunk?" Rowena asked in disbelief. She clearly hadn't seen the reference, and Godric was thankful. Not because he'd expected her to care about heresy or lack thereof, but because it would've been more embarrassing had she said, "What, you think you're Jesus?" or something similar.
"Never mind," he muttered. "It's not important." He wondered vaguely whether the wine he could make would be any good. Perhaps he could sell it to rich people for high prices. But first, he'd have to get them drunk. Very, very drunk. Necessitating decent-tasting wine. He shrugged the idea off as unworkable.
"Look," said Rowena suddenly, breaking his concentration, "it's not as though I've asked to get married. It's not as though I want to."
He studied her for a moment. "You don't?"
She shook her head. "Muggles sound dull," she said.
"They are," said Godric. "Well, mine are. Yours will probably be very rich and interesting and will give you lots of gold and things like that."
"I don't want gold," she pouted. "I want to sit around doing nothing all day. Is that so much to ask?"
All of his past experience dictated that yes, this was a great deal to ask of life. "No, of course not," he lied. "But, er, what would you be doing?"
"Lots of... weaving and... and vulgar things like that," said Rowena, wrinkling her nose. "Or maybe I can just do it by magic and read all day," she wondered to herself. "That wouldn't be so bad, I suppose..."
Godric went back to stabbing at the puddle.
"What are you doing?" Rowena asked, standing at the edge of the mud and looking hesitantly into it. Something about her tone annoyed him. It was the same tone of voice most people used on two-year-olds who'd put something nasty in their mouths.
He glared at her. "I'm trying to kill this puddle. What does it look like I'm doing?" he snapped, and watched Rowena's tentative half-smile collapse. Inwardly cringing, he merely sighed.
"About Leo," she started again, sounding more like a real person this time.
He froze. He was discovered. Found out. Was it a good thing? Possibly. But had he wanted it? No, of course not. He stuck the stick into the puddle with a final squelch, and, leaning on it, turned to face her again, hoping he appeared irritated rather than hopeful. "What about him?"
"He's... not very nice," she whispered.
"So?"
"And... well, I feel like an idiot, having followed him around for so long."
"Right," said Godric. Did this mean...? He allowed himself a shred of hope.
"So I - I know how you'll feel, but... erm. Well, I am getting married very soon, and it really wouldn't be... proper for me to, ah, really like you at all. In that way. So I'm sorry, Godric, but it isn't going to work."
In that moment he hated her and he hated the Muggle and he hated Leo and himself and everything in the whole world. "Fine," he said, feeling himself flush with anger. "Fine. I don't care." He turned to storm away - or attempted to - but lost his balance and fell into the puddle.
"Oh! Are you -"
"I'm fine!" he shouted. "I'm perfectly, completely, horribly bloody fine!" He decided he'd better storm off before he burst into tears, as that would only serve to complete his humiliation.
* * *
Helga sat inside, pointedly ignoring her disgruntled brother. When Godric came in, covered in mud, she watched him silently for a few moments. Had Rowena shoved him in? She wondered, hoping the answer was no. Finally she said, "You're all muddy."
He turned to glare at her. "Am I really?" he asked, voice thick with sarcasm.
"And you're being rather prattish, so I can see why she dumped you in," said Helga. "You're acting like... like him," she said, nodding at Leo.
Leo got to his feet. "What?"
"He's acting like a spoilt brat who -"
"SPOILT? I'm not spoilt! I'm -"
"...and rotten, and selfish, and... and you steal things!"
"I do not steal things!"
"Yes you do. You stole Wulfric Keddle's daughter last week!"
"That," said Leo, blushing slightly, "was an accident."
"Oh! And I suppose you just tripped and fell on her?" With that, Helga turned away from her brother to look at Godric.
"I never did any of that," he said quickly. "I don't even know which of Keddle's daughters you're talking about!"
"The one with the funny mole on her chin," said Leo promptly.
"Eurgh. Her? She's hideous," said Godric.
"I was bored," Leo said.
Helga sighed. "You two are hopeless. Mum's going to kill you if you leave those footprints all over the house, Godric," she said. "Why don't you Transfigure it into water?"
Godric blinked, and stared at her. "How..."
"Never mind," she sighed, and, carefully picking her way around Godric's muddy footprints, went outside to find Rowena.
She found her, standing by a mud puddle, looking glum and rather wet.
"Did you have to push him in?" she asked.
"What?" Rowena looked up, startled.
"Did you have to push Runty in?" she asked again.
"Push him in? Push him in what?"
This was going nowhere. "Nothing," she said quickly.
"Do you think I could run away?" Rowena asked, staring into space again.
"Run away from what?"
"A wedding. I mean, they sound boring. I don't really have to be there, do I?" She nudged at the mud with one boot-toe. "I wish I didn't have to leave."
"I know," said Helga. "But... but what if he's nice?"
"Who?" Rowena asked.
"The Muggle."
"They never are," sighed Rowena. "What usually happens is the girl marries a lecherous old man under duress. Then she refuses to do anything but mope for a good hour and a half. Then the knight comes riding up, with news that everything was all a big mistake, and the girl and the knight ride off to get married."
"And that's what usually happens, is it?" said Helga skeptically.
Rowena nodded.
"Is it always the same lecherous old man or different ones?"
"I think it's different ones. Usually he's murdered all his other wives or something," Rowena said promptly.
"Must be a lot of lecherous old men out there," said Helga. "And knights. Perhaps the knight ends up killing the girl and becoming a lecherous old man?" she asked.
"I should hope not," sniffed Rowena.
"Well, I think we've got a shortage of knights around here," said Helga, "and you'd think most lecherous old men would rather see what you looked like before agreeing to marry you," she added, "so I suppose this will be an unusual situation."
"No sense in losing all hope," Rowena pointed out.
Helga rolled her eyes. "No, I suppose not," she sighed.
* * *
Godric watched from the stairway as Lady Aeaeae fussed over Helga and Leo. Holding a glum Rowena by the wrist, she turned to Mistress Lockhart and spoke in hushed tones. He leaned forward to see if he could read their lips or hear any of it, but looked away when Mistress Lockhart glanced at him. Finally, Lady Aeaeae turned to him.
"And what's your name, boy?" she asked. Her tone was the same as Rowena's had been, earlier. Unpleasantly condescending. He supposed she had a right to it, being the Chief of the Wizards' Council and all.
"Godric," he answered.
"No surname," observed Lady Aeaeae. "And how old are you?" she asked.
"Thirteen," he replied promptly. "And a half. I think." He counted on his fingers. "Yes. Thirteen and a half."
Lady Aeaeae shot Mistress Lockhart an amused look, before tsking to herself. "Ah well. If there'd been a few more years... well, we'll have to get rid of... anyway," she continued, perhaps aware of Godric's staring at her, "we'd better be going. Come, Rowena, I had a new broom made for you..."
Rowena, looking slightly less glum, followed her mother outside, and Godric watched her leave. He'd probably never see her again, but, what with the embarrassment today had provided, it was a very good thing indeed. And he didn't have to learn any more Latin.
"Well," said Mistress Lockhart. "Godric, get your things. We're sending you home."
"We are?" Leo asked.
"I am," Mistress Lockhart corrected.
"Why?" said Helga.
"Because," she said simply. And that was that.
* * *
As Godric stood in the pentagram, waiting to be Transport Key'd to his village by a friend of Mistress Lockhart's, Helga dashed down the stairs holding something in her hand. "Wait!" she cried.
"He can't wait," said Leo, "it's up to whatserface to Summon him."
"I knew that," snapped Helga. "Godric, give me your hand."
"What?"
"Just do it," she said.
Doubtfully, he held out his hand. Helga pressed an uncorked glass bottle into his palm, and he peered at it. It contained some soil and two fat pink worms. "Which ones are those? I can never tell them apart," he said.
"That one's Sampson," said Helga. "The other one's Beowulf. Try not to touch them too much. They breathe through their skin, so you don't want them to suffocate."
"You gave him worms?" Leo asked in disbelief.
"What do they eat?" Godric asked curiously.
"Stuff in dirt, as far as I can tell," said Helga.
"You gave him worms?" Leo repeated. "That's the stupidest gift I've ever seen," he said.
"I like worms!" Helga snapped.
Godric was aware of a pulling feeling, and he clung to the Transport Key desperately. As the room wavered around him, he heard Helga's and Leo's voices waver slightly: "Really romantic present, Helga." "Oh, shove it -"
He suddenly found himself on the floor of a dingy room, which smelled vaguely of rotten eggs.
"There you are, there you are," said the old woman, picking him up off the floor. "Well! You've grown a bit," she said. "What've you got there?"
"Two worms," said Godric, holding out his prize for her examination. "Helga gave them to me. That one's Sampson - no, wait, that one is. And this one's Beowulf. I think."
She nodded. "Learn any good spells?" she asked.
"I can turn mud into water," said Godric.
"Never seen much use for Transfiguration myself," said the old woman, "but I almost wish I knew some of it. Beats hauling water from the well, that."
"It's really easy," said Godric quickly. "I can do it without a wand, even."
"Well, that's good, then," she said, smiling toothlessly at him. "Now hurry home, your mum and dad will be surprised to see you. And tell your brother if his leg's acting up - he broke it last week - if his leg's acting up, he knows who to see."
Godric nodded, and, clutching Beowulf and Sampson, he started for home. He'd almost reached it when he heard laughter coming from behind him. Knowing it'd be far better for him if he broke into a run, he turned around instead. He recognized the three faces, not because he'd seen them recently, but because years of being beaten up had built up a direct link in his brain between these faces and the concept of terror.
In other words, now he turned and ran.
But not very far.
"What's this?" asked John, grabbing the worm bottle from his hand after having knocked him to the ground. Now all four brothers were here. I'm doomed, Godric thought.
"Looks like worms," Matthew said.
"Here, let me see!" Luke whined.
Mark, who was sitting on Godric, poked him in the back of the neck. "Are they magic worms, ickle runt boy?" he asked.
"They're dragons," said Godric.
"Lemme see! Lemme see!" Luke called again.
"It don't look like dragons," Matthew said doubtfully.
"He's lying," John said. "Let's throw them in the well."
"Lemme see!" Luke shouted.
"All right, all right. You're such a baby, Luke."
"Am not."
"Are too!"
"Are so."
"Yes you are."
Godric watched them silently. It was painful to serve as Mark's chair, but perhaps if he didn't say anything, they'd forget he was here and argue amongst themselves.
No such luck. Mark stood, and kicked him in the ribs. "Get up," he ordered.
Godric, not wanting to be kicked again, got up.
"What do we do with him?" Luke asked.
"We could throw him in the well," John proposed. "Along with his 'dragons.'"
"You don't want to throw me in the well," Godric said quickly.
They stared at him. "And why not?" Matthew asked.
"I'd make the water taste bad," he said matter-of-factly.
They looked at each other. "He's right," said Matthew. "We should just hit him a little and be done with it. I don't want to be turned into no bugs or anything like last time."
"You made a good moth," John said.
"Shut up or I'll hit you too!" Matthew said. He clobbered Godric over the head with the worm bottle, and Godric clutched his head.
"It didn't break! What kind of glass won't break?" Matthew clonked the bottle against Godric's head again, in the same place, and Godric winced. He continued to do this until Godric crumpled to the ground, clutching his head, after which he shrugged and filled the bottle with water from the well and threw it on the ground next to Godric. Then the four brothers walked away, arguing amongst themselves.
"Ow," Godric hissed to himself. "Owowowowow. Bastards." He levered himself off the ground, head still throbbing, and picked up the worm bottle gingerly. Sampson and Beowulf floated, looking dead and bloated and grey. "Ow," Godric muttered again, dumping the water out. He decided to give the worms a proper burial - or one as proper as worms could have, anyway. After all, their names seemed to indicate that they were good Christian worms. It would be wrong to leave them out to rot. So he walked slowly to the outskirts of the village, occasionally muttering "ow," and crouched down to dig a hole with his hands for the worms.
It was getting dark when Godric decided that the grave was deep enough. He poked the bottle in, and began to fill up the hole. It began to rain, and Godric decided that his day could not possibly get any worse if he had planned it that way.
What he didn't see were the banners of an approaching goblin tribe just over the horizon.