Rowena {a founders story}

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

        The castle was alive, in a way it had never quite been. It was a busy night, mischief was in the air – all could feel it. The children slept restlessly.

In the kitchens, Alva had sent the girls away – there was little left to do, and she wanted to bake something special for the founders. The second month of classes was drawing to a close; the moors were cold, and the children were bringing out their thicker cloaks. So far the school was a success, with parents writing that their children were very happy and seemed to be learning a lot. Rowena had been bursting with pride and joy every time Alva saw her, especially with Godric's large hand on the small of her back, his eyes following her as she moved.

Alva had gotten to know Godric better over the last month, as he was constantly hungry and frequented the kitchens. He made all the kitchen girls giggle, with his broad shoulders and dashing smile. He would come in windswept and starving, muddy from the moors where he trekked and trained – for what Alva was never sure. Rowena and he would go riding in the early mornings or on weekends and come in laughing and pink with cold; he would kiss her nose, try to warm it, and she would blush and push him away as the kitchen girls sighed. Alva would smile and say nothing, prepare a pot of tea and some biscuits they could take up before a proper breakfast with the students.

Tonight though she was in the kitchen alone, and was surprised to look up from the dough she was kneading to see Salazar, standing tall and stoic. "Are you terribly busy?" his voice had always made the back of Alva's neck prickle, but she shook her head.

"Not at all – can I get something for you?"

He did not move from the doorway. "No, thank you – I wanted to ask about your family."

She stilled. Her hands, covered in flour, abandoned the dough. "Oh."

"Your ancestors, to be more specific –" Salazar noted her tension; he knew she missed her family, and how difficult it must have been to leave. To be hated. "The castle."

"Well, I do not know much I must admit – only that they found the castle abandoned, lived here for a generation or so, and then left themselves a few generations later."

"Why did they leave?"

"They thought it haunted." She smiled wearily at him, resuming her work on the dough. "Though having lived here myself for over two years, I know it not to be – I am unsure what unsettled them so as they felt the need to abandon it."

Salazar knew. Even Muggles could sense the deep magic beneath the castle. It radiated from the chambers he had discovered. "Thank you Alva, you have been very...helpful." He nodded to her, turning to leave, only to bump into Godric. "I thought you were spending the evening with Rowena?" he asked, rather coldly.

Not entirely noticing his friend's tone, Godric brushed past him. "Just picking up a few nibbles, Salazar – not to worry, I am taking care of her." He grinned, but something flickered in his eyes.

Salazar scowled, but Godric didn't catch it. He returned to his chambers, where a familiar figure stood before the fire, swathed in white. Zephyr Slytherin looked like a goddess in the firelight, her strong, dark features highlighted by the flames. Her hair, usually coiled atop her head, fell in tight, small ringlets down her back. As a small child Salazar had pulled them and watched them bounce back up; his own hair was similar, as was his sisters.

"Mother. I was not expecting you." He shut the door to his chambers firmly.

"A mother needs no invitation to drop in." her eyes slid over the furnishings of the room, not nearly as lavish or fine as those at the Slytherin castle. "You have not been home in many months, Salazar, nor have you sent me any news on your sisters."