The Founders

ONE

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A bitterly cold wind swept over the graveyard, scattering dead leaves and decaying flowers. Snowflakes began to fall from the gray sky. It seemed like the world was in mourning, but in reality, only two people were in the cemetery, silhouetted against the gray of early evening. The days had been growing shorter and shorter: winter was on its way.

The men stood a short distance away from each other, but it was somehow clear that they had come together. They looked to be about the same age, but that was where the similarities halted.

One of the men stood a little ways away from the other, his hands in his pockets. He looked down at his feet and occasionally paced, unable to keep still. Underneath his fine black cloak he wore robes of deep burgundy, and a sword hung from a leather sheath at his waist. A pair of expensive gloves kept his hands warm. The cold wind tangled his light brown curls, and his brows drew close in concern as he watched his companion, glancing over his shoulder occasionally.

The other man was sitting in front of a grave, staring at the stone with a deadened expression. His hair was near black and fell to his shoulders messily. Unlike the first man, his cloak was tattered, torn in some places and thin in others. Scraps of burlap were tied around his hands in a vain attempt to retain some heat, but his fingers still shivered.

The first man, Godric Gryffindor, finally spoke. "It's nearly dark."

His companion did not respond and instead ran a hand down his face.

"It's nearly dark," he repeated. "And the snow is falling more quickly now. If we stay out much longer, we'll both freeze to death. Come on. It's time to go."

Salazar Slytherin stared at the grave for a moment, then nodded. Godric offered his hand, which he took gratefully. He brushed the snowflakes off of his shoulders and cast an anxious look around him.

"I suppose you're right," he muttered, shaking his head. The two men began to trek out of the cemetery, walking stride for stride.

"And you do hate it when I'm right, don't you?"

The ghost of a smile brought back a glimmer of life to his pale features. "Do not cross me, my friend. I've grown in power since our last duel."

"I'd be disappointed if you hadn't."

"Never underestimate me, Godric. I learn from my mistakes. You don't." Salazar drew his cloak more tightly around himself, wishing it was warmer, and cast a final look at the gravestone behind them. The snowflakes began to cover the top of it. "He worked all his life, you know. He talked of changing the world, and his lungs gave out in a measly field. My father died with his hands in the dirt."

Godric nodded, unsure of exactly how to respond. There was pity in his eyes, yes, but no true understanding. Most of the time, the two could ignore their pasts for the sake of friendship, but times like these brought to light their glaring differences in society.

The Gryffindors were an ancient bloodline, well-respected knights and nobles of England.

The Slytherins were poor Irish serfs, destined to live life on their knees in the service of others.

Godric grew up with fine dragon-skin gloves on his hands.

Salazar grew up with dirt under his fingernails.

Godric spent his youth dueling the best swordsmen in England, disarming every single one and making quite a name for himself.

Salazar spent his youth working under the harsh command of an aristocrat, doing whatever he could in the hopes of one day escaping the horrors of his life.

They met by chance, two days after Salazar left the nobleman's land for the first time. The man had finally granted him his freedom, saying that it would be a crime to keep such a gifted young man cooped up in a potato field for the rest of his years. Salazar smiled, graciously thanking the man who had tortured his youth, but he also saw through his lies. The aristocrat was not a philanthropist, nor did he have a compassionate bone in his body: he feared Salazar Slytherin.

In the absence of a wand, the young man had taught himself wandless magic.

This was no easy feat. He spent years listening to high-class conversation, picking up different spells, watching hand moments and understanding the correlation. Each night once the sun set, he spent hours with nothing but his sheer willpower, and it worked.

When Salazar left the nobleman's land for the first time, he was thirty years old, wandless, penniless, and hungry to prove himself. A few days later, he happened upon Godric Gryffindor in a pub, who was betting thirty Galleons that no one could beat him in a duel. Salazar had never seen so much money in his life, let alone have money of his own to lose. Desperate for any form of sustenance, Salazar recklessly took the bet, and while the two were evenly matched, he emerged from the duel with the pleasant weight of gold in his satchel. Godric invited his competitor to dinner, and a brotherhood slowly began to grow.

Now, as the two walked through the gates to the cemetery and onto the cobblestone road, Salazar looked over at his friend, smiling slightly.

"Thank you. For being here."

Godric nodded and put a hand on his friend's shoulder, gripping it for a moment. "Of course. I wouldn't miss it."

Salazar looked up at the cloudy night sky, shivering as the snowflakes fell on his cloak. "I suppose I'd better be off. Send me an owl when you return home safely."

"What? No, I'm not leaving yet!" Godric said boisterously. "I know exactly what you need."

"Oh? And what exactly do I need?"

"You, my friend, need a drink."

Salazar pinched his nose, letting out a slow breath. "What I need is a good night's sleep, the money to pay my landlord, and a new cloak."

"I'll lend you the money," Godric said sincerely, but Salazar bristled at the offer. The very idea of taking his friend's money was revolting.

"I don't need your charity. I make my own way."

"It is not charity, Sal: it is friendship. These are two very different matters."

"I'm all right. Really, I am." Salazar ran his hands down his face, ignoring the shudder in his fingers. He felt like a fraying thread, dangerously close to coming undone. "I'm just not up for the pub tonight. It's too soon."

Godric nodded, sensing that there would be no argument that he could win. Salazar was as proud as he was determined. Being companions with such a capable wizard had certainly reduced Godric's ego. He could still clearly remember the day he lost a duel for the first time. If anything, being friends with Salazar Slytherin pushed him to be a better wizard, so that each time they dueled for practice, he improved.

"At least say that you'll come for Christmas," Godric implored. "We're throwing the most marvelous ball. All of the most powerful witches and wizards will be in attendance. You deserve to be among them."

The cold wind picked up, blowing Salazar's black locks into his face. He was silent for a moment before speaking. "I'll do my best."

"Good." Godric smiled, then held out a hand. "Farewell, my friend."

Salazar smiled back and shook his hand. "Until next time."

The two men stepped apart, and with a crack louder than the howling wind, disapparated.

Chapter 1 is up!!! What do you think?