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“Are you certain, Margaret?”
Margaret Weasley, Hogwarts’s Healer, bites her lip. “Yes. We don’t have a cure for this sort of disease. You have between two and four years left, probably, though the end won’t be pleasant, even with magic.”
“Thank you for telling me.” She nods, then leaves. I settle back into my chair, contemplating her words. I will die soon. Unerringly, my hand reaches for and finds a scroll, with an ancient spell on it in a language few can read. I knew that hieroglyphics would be useful one day. I nod as I read it over once more. I will perform this ritual tonight.
* * *
“Salazar,” I said, standing in the doorway, “you can’t go.”
“They want me to. Even you disagree with me, Helga.”
“I object to your views, Salazar, not to you! Don’t any of you understand? We cannot break apart, or Hogwarts will fail!”
“I refuse to let the Muggles in, and they will come with the Muggleborns, whether we want them here or not!”
“I am a Muggleborn, Salazar!”
“And you were raised magical!” He shook his head. “It is not their blood I object to; it is their upbringing. They are raised to believe that the Church is always right, that magic is evil, that we are possessed by demons. Once the children learn what they can do, they’re not a problem, but their families are! You saw what happened this March, with the McKinnons; the price to keep one Muggleborn here against the wishes of his family is too high.”
“And that may be a problem, but the children must be taught.”
He shook his head. “Not by me, Helga. Not by me.”
I felt numb as I watched him packing his bags. He lifted one, as though about to leave, then put it down and came to me. “Helga,” he said urgently, grabbing my shoulders, “don’t let them hurt my children.”
“I won’t.” I may not have agreed with Salazar, but his children deserved a chance as much as any of ours. I would not hurt them, and I would not let Godric or Rowena do so either.
“I…thank you.” He stepped back, and I nodded. Then I moved out of his way and let him go.
We had split. We, the four Founders of Hogwarts, had finally broken, after over 30 years together.
* * *
“Of course, Freya.”
“You seem…melancholy.”
“Not really,” I say, shooting a glance at Margaret. She looks grim, but she nods slightly; she will not tell anyone what she has told me. I turn back to Freya and smile gently. “And I’ve told you to call me Helga.”
Augustine laughs. “That’s not an easy task, not when you were our teacher.”
“I suppose not.” I pick at my supper, noticing the worried glances they continue to shoot my way. I choose to ignore them.
After being alone for so long, the idea of death does not bother me. However, that will not make my death easier for those left behind. I am glad the students have left for the year, however; the others will have time to mourn, and time to prepare for a new year without me there.
* * *
“I fought a dragon.”
I couldn’t see her, but I knew Rowena was rolling her eyes as she came to stand by the bed. “Yes, but how did you get those injuries? You’re usually quite good at dealing with dragons.”
“I…did…something stupid.” His voice sounded stilted, like he was having a hard time breathing. I frantically tried to heal him, but his injuries were beyond my talents with charms, or Rowena’s with potions, or even her phoenix, Fawkes, who sat on the bed next to Godric and sang mournfully.
Rowena looked at me. I reluctantly shook my head. There was nothing I could do here. “Godric, what did you do?”
“Never…tickle…a…slee-sleeping dragon.” He tried to breathe in, but his lungs didn’t work correctly. He coughed, then coughed again, unable to stop, and Rowena and I each held one of his hands. All we could do was be there with him. Finally, after what felt like longer than it must have been, he stopped coughing and went limp. I closed his eyes.
“Never tickle a sleeping dragon,” Rowena repeated wistfully. She smiled. “Yes, I suppose that qualifies as somewhat stupid.”
I smiled sadly. “Yes.” I sheathed my wand and looked at Godric. “You know, Rowena, we haven’t got a motto yet.”
“In Latin, though – draco dormiens nunquam titillandus.”
I nodded. “Of course. It will be a good way to remember him.”
“And now it is just we two.”
No, I thought. It is just we three.
* * *
“You is welcome, Headmistress. Is you needing anything else?”
I glance at my materials – the scroll, my wand (9 inches, slender, holly and dragon heartstring), a few herbs, a silver knife, a cauldron and other tools for making potions, a phoenix feather from Fawkes’s tail, and the picture frame that Tibby just brought. That’s everything, I think.
“No, Tibby, I think that should be all.” She prepares to pop out, and I think of something. “Wait, Tibby, I do have a question for you.”
“Yes, Headmistress. What is you needing?”
“I wanted to know how house-elves are bound. I know about freeing with clothing, and I know you’re connected to people, but it’s possible for elves to be passed through a family when one member dies…”
“You is not giving Tibby clothing, Headmistress?” She sounds horrified by the mere thought.
“No, Tibby, I just wanted to know how house-elves are connected to people.”
She sighs in relief. It takes all my self-control not to smile.
“We is bound to our families, to the house and the people, through blood and magic. The Hogwarts elves is bound more to the castle than to the people, because there is not just one family with one blood and there is always many new students.”
Good, I think. It’s possible to be bound to a building, and particularly to Hogwarts, though this ritual will not bind me in quite the same way as house-elves are bound. This does explain the prominence of blood in the ritual, though. “Thank you, Tibby. That will be all.”
She bows and pops out. I survey my preparations. Almost ready.
* * *
“And I you, my sister.” Her hand clutched mine convulsively as I smiled sadly. I felt the weakness in her bones – Rowena had never been very strong, which explains why she never married, never had children. I doubt she would have lived through the experience. And then, finally, her ill health was taking her, pulling her beyond the realms of healing.
I smoothed her brow and she smiled, her breaths getting shorter. Finally, she passed, far more peacefully than Godric had, yet with the same phoenix song floating through the room. I kissed her cheek and closed her eyes.
“You are free to go, Fawkes,” I said, turning to the phoenix. The song had stopped; Rowena had raised him from an egg, and I did not know if he would stay past her death.
He trilled, contemplating, then flew to my shoulder and mussed my hair. “Thank you, Fawkes.” Two of my closest friends were dead, and the other was gone. My children were grown, and my husband had died over 40 years before. So many holes in my heart, but Fawkes was doing his best to fill them. I stroked his feathers and he trilled again.
I left Rowena’s bedchamber and found the entire staff in her sitting room. “She’s gone?” Margaret asked. I nodded.
“My condolences for your loss, Headmistress,” Augustine said.
“No.”
“No? I thought…”
“We vowed that the last of us would be the first Headmistress or Headmaster of Hogwarts, yes. But I am not the last, not yet.”
“But Slytherin left,” protested Patroclus Nott, the Potions professor.
“He is alive,” I stated. “Perhaps Godric or Rowena would have taken the title. I will not.” I think they were all taken aback a bit at my emphasis on this, but I barely noticed. “Until Salazar dies, I will not take the title of Headmistress. And if I die before him? Then perhaps one of you will have that honor.”
“You are indeed known for your loyalty,” Freya said, bowing her head.
“Thank you,” I said. “And now, we have a funeral to arrange.”
* * *
I ask you, my friend, to arrange things as I wish, for I trust your ability to be fair and just above all else.
Do not mourn my death; I choose to die, knowing that I am not long for this world. Through my death, if all goes well, Hogwarts will gain additional protections and I, too, shall live on in some manner.
I appoint Augustine Longbottom my successor as Headmaster of Hogwarts. I have faith that he will perform this job to the best of his ability.
I leave my notes to Margaret Weasley, for she has most need of them.
I leave my supply cabinets to Patroclus Nott, for use in his classes.
I leave my books to the Hogwarts library, so that all may use them to learn.
My worldly goods go to my children; Freya, please make sure that all is distributed fairly. I do not expect them to fight, but such things may happen whether expected or not.
Fawkes is left to whomever he chooses; I am proud to have been his companion.
Please give my love to the students; they have been my life these last 55 years, and it is for them that I choose this path.
Yours,
Helga Hufflepuff.
* * *
I looked up at Margaret – who would have come to see me?
“He said to tell you that the badger outlasts the serpent. I’m not at all certain what he means by that, though, perhaps…”
I stood up, interrupting her. “Where is he, Margaret?”
She blinked. “I put him in the guestroom on the ground floor, he didn’t look able to climb the stairs…”
I rushed down, Margaret following, obviously curious. I ignored her as I rushed into the guestroom. He looked different, older, with a young woman and a teenager sitting by his bed, but I still knew him.
“Helga,” he said.
“Salazar,” I answered, sitting next to him. Margaret gasped softly from the doorway. I took out my wand.
“Don’t bother, Helga. I know I am dying. I wanted to see Hogwarts again, before…”
I blinked tears away. My wand confirmed his own diagnosis, and Fawkes trilled sadly. Salazar smiled at him. “Oh, Salazar, you are always welcome here.”
“I would not have been, to Godric or Rowena.”
“I am not Godric or Rowena. I am not Headmistress.”
“You did not accept, after Rowena’s death?”
“I keep my vows, Salazar.”
A pause. Then, “You will be Headmistress.”
I looked at him, saw his acceptance of his imminent death. “Yes. I will be Headmistress.”
Margaret made a soft noise, and I turned to her. “Margaret, please go. There is nothing you can do here, and the others will be wondering what has happened.”
She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Yes, Professor.”
I could feel stares as she left, and I turned to see both the woman and the teenager watching me. Salazar noticed as well. “Helga,” Salazar said quietly, “this is my wife, Edwina, and my son, Samuel. They are Muggles.”
“You married a Muggle?!” The question came out before I could stop it.
Luckily, it didn’t seem to bother him. He chuckled as he spoke. “Yes, I married a Muggle, and I fathered a…well, I don’t know if you’d call Samuel a Muggle or a Squib, but he’s certainly not magical.”
“A Muggle, probably, but it doesn’t matter.”
“No, it doesn’t.” He paused. “I…Helga, I need to tell you, I…I was wrong about Muggleborns, they aren’t any worse–”
I cut him off. “Salazar, I know. I do not blame you for sticking to your beliefs.”
“I…thank you, Helga.” He took a deep breath. “My sister.”
“You are welcome, my brother.”
He grabbed my hand, holding it as tightly as he could. It wasn’t very tightly at all. “Helga, take care of my possessions. Divide them, give half to Samuel and half to Octavian.”
“Octavian will not be happy.”
“I know. I don’t care. Let him have the family heirlooms, Samuel can’t use most of them anyway, but divide my personal items, as well as the gold.”
I nodded.
“Also, I have been…well, I’ve been raising a basilisk.” He hissed, and a large snake, its eyes closed, slithered out of his sleeve. I blinked at the sight of it, too stunned to do much else. “Put her someplace safe, where she will not hurt anyone.”
“You will not give her to Octavian?”
“No. I do not trust him with such a weapon, and I did not raise her to be one. He is…far too much like the person I used to be, Helga. And he would not forgive me for my abandonment of Julia – he will see it as such, you know, though it has been over 40 years since her death. No, I will not give my serpent to Octavian. I will not give my son the means to kill his brother.”
I nodded slowly. “I will hide her.” I gingerly lifted the snake, letting it coil around my arm.
“Thank you.” He looked at his wife; tears ran down her cheeks. His son stared at his hands, as though avoiding my glance. “Helga, will you…”
“I will let you say goodbye.” I moved away from the bed, then put a silencing sphere around them. I would hear nothing, for it was not mine to hear. Then I turned away, absently stroking the snake on my arm.
After a few minutes, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Edwina, her eyes red. She looked so young – she could not have been older than 30, compared to Salazar’s 70. “He would like to speak to you.” I nodded and ended my spell; I wanted his wife and son to have the opportunity to know what was said.
“Helga…please, watch my children.”
“I always have, Salazar, and I always will.”
“Thank you.” He gripped my hand, then his son’s, and then his wife’s. After, his body slowly gave out, and Fawkes began to sing.
“You love him, don’t you?” Her voice was quiet.
“As a brother, Edwina, nothing more. When I met Salazar, we were both in mourning, and though we helped with each other’s children, and perhaps could have been more in another situation, we always stayed siblings, not lovers. I keep my vows, Edwina. I would not betray my husband that way, so soon after his death, and I already had enough to do, with five children.”
She nodded slowly. “He told me about magic when he proposed. He also told me his age, that he might not live long. We have had 15 years together. And I still have Samuel.”
“Would you like to remain here? I know neither of you can do magic, but I am now…Headmistress, and what I say goes.”
“No,” she answered. “You know, he never told me how rich he was, not until just now. We will use what he has given us to make a new life for ourselves elsewhere.”
“Alright.” I looked at the door. “I must speak to my staff; Margaret has undoubtedly gathered them all by now. Then I will find a place for this basilisk, and prepare for the funeral. A quiet one, I think.” Edwina nodded, agreeing.
“May I come with you?” It was the first time I’d heard Samuel speak – perhaps he had in private with his father, but I had not heard. “To hide the basilisk, I mean. I cannot understand snakes as he did, but I am still good with them.”
“Of course you may, Samuel, if your mother agrees.” She nodded, and I handed him the snake, quite glad not to be holding it any more. I would do it for Salazar, but if I had my way, I’d never go quite so near a snake again. “Now I must speak to the staff.”
I went to the door; I was not surprised to find everyone waiting outside. I inclined my head.
“My condolences for your loss,” Augustine spoke quietly. “Headmistress.”
“Yes,” I answered. “I am the Headmistress.” I could see the nervous glances towards the area behind me; obviously, my staff was wondering about Edwina and Samuel. “I have one task to do, and then we will prepare the funeral. Freya, Margaret, please stay with Edwina.” They nodded. “Samuel, come with me.”
The basilisk was hidden under his sleeve, but as we passed the crowd, it hissed. He soothed it, but I knew they’d be wondering what sort of monster he harbored.
“Where are we going, Headmistress?” he asked once we were alone.
“Please, call me Helga. We are going to a cellar that could not be used for anything, but that also could not be removed without danger. It is closed up now, and will be closed up again after she is there.” He nodded, then followed me silently.
We trekked down the dirty passage, and he placed the basilisk in the chamber at the very end. I closed the entrance with magic and stone, after performing spells that would bring water and mice to her lair. I would not let her kill others, but I would not kill her either.
“This is a depressing place,” Samuel said, and I nodded. I used my wand to create a statue of Salazar, making it directly in front of the entrance. “That’s better,” he said, “so it’s not quite so dismal.”
“Unfortunately, it must remain a secret.”
“Yes,” he said, “Father spoke about the circumstances under which he left. It is best that it remain a secret, though I will tell my children, if they are magical, about the secret chamber that houses a snake.”
“A Chamber of Secrets,” I grinned. Then I led the way to the surface.
I blocked the entrance, creating another room in front of it – one that would hopefully be used for something later. Then I decorated the entry with a small carving of a snake, hidden in a niche right where the door handle might go.
“Thank you, Helga.”
“You’re welcome, Samuel. Good luck in all your future endeavors.”
He cracked a grin. “I will need it.”
“Yes,” I said simply. “You will.” Then I turned, and he followed. “Come,” I said. “We have a funeral to prepare.”
* * *
The first step is creating the potion. However, for it to work, my blood is a vital ingredient, and so I begin by taking the silver knife and cutting both of my hands, from the tip of the middle finger straight down to the wrist.
I notice the pain, but my mind concentrates on my task. The blood itself is a bigger distraction, as it pours down my hands. However, this is necessary. So I ignore what it’s doing to my equipment (I doubt any of this will ever be reusable) and I make the potion. Luckily, the potion itself isn’t very complicated.
When the potion turns a bright, blinding white, I know that I’ve done this step successfully. I bring the frame over, laying it face-down on the table. Then I take the phoenix feather – donated willingly by Fawkes, as the ritual requires – and paint the potion on the back of the frame, using every last drop.
Then I lift my wand and begin the spell itself. I’m glad I’ve studied ancient Egyptian, because otherwise the chant would be unpronounceable.
As I chant, the frame lifts up and attaches itself to the wall where my wand points, directly above the door. I finish the chant itself, leaving me only two parts of the spell. Unfortunately, both of these require that I be touching the frame, which isn’t easy when you compare its height to mine. Luckily, I have a stool handy, which I drag in front of the door.
I step on the stool and place my hands on the frame, connecting myself through my blood, the frame, and the potion to very heart of the castle itself.
And then, in Egyptian, I say “I, Helga Hufflepuff, Headmistress of Hogwarts, do hereby give my life force to safeguard this building. May those within be forever safe. So I intend, so let it be done.”
Magic travels between me and the castle, and I feel myself starting to fall asleep. I step down from the stool, noticing as I do that there is no longer blood on the frame where I touched it. My hands are healed, and all of the blood is gone, though the leftover ingredients remain. The instruments are clean as well.
My strength is going quickly, and I barely stumble to my desk chair, where I sit down quickly, trying to avoid falling.
Inside the frame, paint is beginning to appear, forming into a portrait of me. As it does, my spirit saps away, pulled into the castle. My body will not survive, but my soul and my magic will safeguard the castle. As the picture is formed, my other self smiles gently.
“You will–”
“I will watch them,” she says serenely, and I smile. It worked.
“Thank you,” I say, “Helga.” She smiles again, and all is dark.