Rowena {a founders story}

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

Otho O'Caoimh was quite sure he was deeply, incredibly in love with Rowena Ravenclaw.

Most things, emotions and such, made Otho uncomfortable – but not his love for Rowena. He had felt something like it, a niggling, an inkling, of what he could feel for her from the moment they met. He had known her for eight months now, had spent many evenings talking long into the night. They oversaw many Astronomy evening classes together; trips to the waters edge on spring days. She would watch the stars, or the Mer people, and he would watch her. They would leave books on one another's desks; sit in on the other's class. He could listen to her teach for years, and always felt as if he were learning something new. She knew so much, taught so well – and cared so deeply. They had become close friends quickly, as they had so much in common. Outcasts, lovers of learning, of the unknown – they had found a friend in one another in a way they never had before.

Otho was cautious, however. He knew Godric Gryffindor had broken her heart, and though they were friends once more he could see a wound she carried, open and healing, but still a wound. He thought of one afternoon most frequently.

They had been sitting in one of her window seats, and though it was cold she had the windows open, the air settling over them. She had shoved her stocking feet under his thigh; he learned quickly etiquette was not something she cared for.

"I do not take to these stories," she said, tossing a book of love tales aside. "If there is anything like this in the library I want it removed."

He had not taken her too seriously. "They have some fun in them."

"They are lies." She had kept her gaze fixed on the forest beyond, the frozen lake. "I never wanted love, but when it found me...well, these stories did not help. That is what they are. Stories."

This is what scared him. He would be fine if Rowena never loved him, he would be fine – but if Rowena never loved? She deserved it, more than anyone he knew. He had heard her say love was too treacherous. Otho knew, if Rowena ever let him, he would show her love could be gentle. But he would not resent her if she never loved him, he had decided early on – simply knowing her was enough, sharing her life. That was enough.

Helga sat in the green house, watching Gwylim orchestrate the watering cans over all the plants. Over time, these nearly two years, she had let him help her. He never pushed, never took over, let her tell him what went where. He was kind, she had realized – thoughtful, gentle and loving. He loved her plants, and Hogwarts, and caring for it all. Not once did he look down upon her for being a woman, question her knowledge or ways, like so many had before.

"Are you happy you came here, Gwyllim?" she asked, swinging her legs off the tabletop.

"Of course." He straightened up, smiled lovingly over at her. "I have never been happier than I am here, I love it here, being here...with you."

Helga, without thinking, blurted out: "I love you."

All the watering cans stopped moving and hovered over the same plant as Gwylim swung around to stare at her, wide eyed.

"Oh my." Helga went bright red, but she couldn't look away from the searching eyes of the groundskeeper. "I'm sorry, I –"

"No, no – don't be sorry!" he stepped closer to her. "I – I love you too, Helga."

"You do?" she asked, so shocked she could hardly breathe.

"I believe I have loved you for a long time now." Gwylim, too, was quite flushed. "In fact I have wanted to say so for so long I thought perhaps you already knew."

"You love me?"

He blinked at her, as if he couldn't believe she had asked such a thing. "How could I not?"

Helga leaned forward and grabbed him by his collar, pulling him to her and kissing him. Helga was done thinking, done quietly loving. The cans continued to water, and they didn't notice until Gwylim's feet felt wet. He pulled away, gasping. "The plants!" he cried, waving his wand in a hurry.

"Oh no!" Helga jumped down from the tabletop, and rushed to rescue the plants. In the crisis, Gwylim called to her over the rows of plants –

"I do love you, Helga Hufflepuff!"

And Helga had never been happier.

          "Rowena!" Helga was running through the castle, yelling. She found her friend in the library, and as she passed the few students about, cried, "Out, all of you – um – Professor meeting! Out!" the students, not used to their sweetest professor yelling.

Rowena looked up from her book, amused. "Whatever is bothering you Helga, sent you into such a whirlwind?"

"I told Gwylim I loved him." Blurted Helga, twisting a handkerchief in her hands. "And – and he told me he loved me too. Oh Rowena! He loves me too!"

"Oh my!" Rowena slammed her book down and hugged her friend; they spun about, laughing and crying. "He loves you!"

"He does, oh he does!" the flushed Welsh woman was out of breath she was so excited. "Can you believe it, Ena?"

Rowena looked at her best friend, her sweet and caring friend and favourite woman in the world – and she had never believed anything more. 

A/N: I've actually had this written for a few weeks and forgot about it, sorry. I find Otho's thoughts and feelings for Rowena so drastically different to Salazar's...that's what I'm most intrigued by, I think. 

Rose