"When, if not this morn?"

"Fain by the day I die, of course..."

Lord Slytherin scowled, walking off and staring into the lake. The mermen were growing bolder, crawling to the surface by manipulating water around them. The cackle of a hag could be heard from the forest. His scowl deepened; he cared not to see what else dared breathe of his air or burrow in his land. No, it would all have to be put to flight, else thick walls and thicker warding would have to shield the little witches and wizards, the natural world just outside the door. There had to be some way of hastening the process; it would not do to have it said of him he was an old, doddering warlock by the time he finished something he started as a young lord.

He returned to the carriage by which he had arrived. Lord Gryffindor had been generous to provide a few old Thestrals from his conquests; Lady Ravenclaw added a sense of style, of traveling in comfort that would not have occurred to their partner. Her eyes flitted in his direction once, which was enough for her to read his expression.

"Ill news, then-"

"Would that better could come of such an ill-fated plot, a cursed plot of every manner of foul creature, demons of sea and sky... The forest is a miasma; a wizard cannot breathe without sharing the putrid air of a wight." He sighed. It would have to be cut back as far as they could cut it, carefully so, lest the quicker of the beasts realize they lost their possession.

"What is there established?" the young lady asked. "Thy boots no filth adorns; must there have been a path to walk."

"But a dwelling of some forgotten line, no greater than a hut could it be named. Never have I heard of the old man within; in his madness he would pass suns and moons before work can but begin. Fie! Fails he to clear the land, he leaves a babe, a little daughter to carry on his toil. A path of pebbles laid he, should there be a drop of magical blood in his line, may he have mine eye, yet he claims a little witch is his progeny, and he her progenitor." He stared out the window of the carriage. "A witch born in muggle womb, brought out by mother's suffering and reared by father's sweat, hast thou heard of it?"

Looking back to Lady Ravenclaw, she was silent again, as always when some thought consumed her mind and senses. Never had she heard of it, yet the idea interested her; it ensnared her. Lord Slytherin reminded himself that should Lord Gryffindor and his father ever return from Burgandy, he would have to keep from contributing to all the different versions of history she seemed to believe simultaneously.

"Perhaps, then, possesses she the will to build our great school, raised in toil and born with magic."

"The will, then, if not the talent passed through seed and womb," he muttered back. "Let Godric and his proper sons and daughters learn the war-bastards if they wish, but mine efforts shall be preserved for the purest." He knew the lady across from him favored taking the cleverest, in her measurement, but there was room for disagreement in a joint venture, as long as there was substantial contribution. On that front, she had herself covered, at the least. He had seen her designs for warding, the secrets of the castle, but if she thought they would all be hers, she was fooling herself. Already he had a nest's worth of eggs, though they would take long enough to hatch. Quietly, he found it fitting, for a beast of such longevity.

Their waiting proved as dolorous as he had dared to dread.

For an age they gathered and they planned, they drew up masters-at-wands from Lord Gryffindor's armies who might serve as teachers, while the old man toiled. At length when she spake and thought as a witch grown, they included his daughter Helga, though it was decided she would work for her stake if she should claim one. The senescent laborer continued clearing the forests and beating back the creatures, lowering the lake and muttering to the mermen, even the old dragons of the north could be persuaded to ignore the area if they would be pleased elsewhere. Long enough time passed it would have been far swifter to carry it out themselves with fire and magic, but the same old Hufflepuff to insist on his ancient line insisted on the contract.

If it were a school for which he waited, he could wait for wisdom first, said he. Perhaps the first could come before the latter, but what kind of school would it be? Maddening though the old man was, his daughter at least shared his efforts, if his obsession with it. As soon as she could levitate a stone without thinking of it, she took their designs and put each into place, trusting none other with minute details or enormous pieces of masonry. She insisted on all being welcome at the school, as if only to vex the proper lords; even Godric wanted the children of those distinguished for valor.

When the day came it was overcast and raining. Deadly beasts and wicked creatures still surrounded the school, but Lady Ravenclaw's warding would be enough to keep them far enough away. The gold for the rest of what it would need to be called a school had already come from the two Lords.

"Hast thou wisdom yet, Lord Slytherin?"

"Address me as a peer again and shall I remove thy tongue," he responded, his voice shaking slightly. "If I have learned, I have learned that never shall I trust thee again." He waited for the other three to come inside before waving his wand to close the door.

 

~989 words

 

Spoiler

I had trouble getting into this. The language is a bit over-done, in my opinion. Yes people would have spoken different a thousand years ago. But we just had a thread on how to manage accents or other things about speech properly and I think you try to do a bit too much.


I get that this is a story about building Hogwarts but I’m struggling not to skim. I had trouble getting my head into this enough to sort out what actually happened, apart from Hogwarts being built.

 

Spoiler

Bleh.

The dialogue killed this for me. Too ye olde english that kills the story. Much like accents, it's a case where less would have been more, but leaning into it too heavily just makes it needlessly difficult to read.

1/5