Founders Four: Pillars Of The Ages o~O~"The Beginning"~O~o By:Shadowkat ---------------------------------------------- Disclaimer: I'm only putting this here once. I am not J.K. Rowling, as she is certainly not an eighteen highschool student...and I'm also fairly sure she doesn't feel the urge to cry everytime she opens her wallet. That said, I hope you enjoy the story. ------------------------ Long ago, in a time of darkness, arose four of the greatest witches and wizards of the age: the brave Godric Gryffindor from Wild Moor, the wise Rowena Ravenclaw from Glen, the kind Helga Hufflepuff from Valley Broad, and the cunning Salazar Slytherin from Fen. Together, as you know, they became the founders of one of the most prestigious magical schools in history: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Yet, Hogwarts is only one part of a much larger story. Be warned, dear readers, for I cannot promise a happy tale, only a true one. If you dare, feel free to continue... ------------------------------------------------- The day with which we begin was a pleasant one, the afternoon air blowing warm and gentle as the sun shone bright in a blue summer sky. Birds chirped up in the trees and laughing children chased each other in games around the village square. Yet, there was one boy who would not be seen with the rest. So it happened that young Salazar could be found in his normal hideaway on that fine evening, far from the laughter and play of others and sitting quite contentedly up in an oak, his head trapped firmly and predictably within a book. A peaceful scene...for the moment, at least. "Salazar Slytherin!" He started, barely catching himself from falling out of the nook he'd wedged himself into. His book, however, wasn't nearly as lucky and landed spine up with a thud fifteen feet below. With a slight scowl, Salazar glanced down to see his mother gently picking up the leather-bound tome. Little wisps of chestnut hair had escaped the bun she'd attempted to trap them into, and her gray eyes were tired, the heavy bags making her seem far older than her thirty-five years. Yet, as she raised her face to look at him, he saw that she was smiling, and his scowl lessened…if only a tiny bit. Her name was Amara. "Reading out in the woods again, I see," she called, then shook her head and smiled. "I thought I'd find you up there. Must be a good story…I'd called three times before you'd so much as look up from the dratted thing." He merely shrugged, muttering a quick, 'You didn't have to yell,' before beginning the short climb down, jumping the last few feet and bending his legs to absorb the impact as he landed. Straightening and brushing off, he took his book as it was held out to him and inspected the pages for damage before snapping it shut. Salazar frowned and raised an eyebrow, looking blankly at her small grin. "What?" "Nothing," she answered dismissively. "I was just thinking how like your father you've grown up to be...both of you always stuck in some dusty pages." Amara reached out to ruffle his hair and bit back a laugh as he hurriedly shook her off. She smirked as he went back to checking his book. He really was like him, she thought. Calculating eyes, the sharp face and inky-black hair, their dry wit and thin frame...and the identically infuriating habit of trying to act more serious than they should. Her face softened, eyes gaining a faraway expression. 'Just like he was, way back then.' Amara shook herself from her thoughts, inclining her head toward the general direction of their cottage. "Come on, there are things I'd still like help doing before nightfall. The book can wait a short while longer." Salazar simply nodded and contented himself to follow without reply, book still held firmly under his arm. ----------------------------------------------- Godric let his gaze wander around the crowded, cobblestone streets, allowing his feet to take him in whatever direction seemed best at the present moment. He imagined that he likely seemed all the world as lost as he truly was, blundering around aimlessly as he was doing. In his own defense, it wasn't as if he'd been there long enough to know where everything was. After a hard two weeks ride, including about a dozen different instances of backtracking and multiple moments spent contemplating just how badly someone could mess up a simple map, it was a welcome relief when he finally spotted the town's dark clouds of chimney smoke rising over trees and tall hills in the distance. He rode into Florin approximately an hour thereafter, leaving his horse with a weary-looking stable boy on the outskirts of town and spending quite a bit more coin than he would have liked. He grumbled about that last part a bit, of course, but a few extra pieces of copper just wasn't worth the fight. He'd pay that sum all over again if someone could just give him some blasted directions. Now, however, Godric found himself wondering if the town wasn't the wrong place to find his old mentor entirely. He hadn't seen him since age fifteen, and a lot had happened in ten years. He could have moved a dozen times over since his informant had seen him. After all, he already moved once after Godric left, who's to say he hadn't done so again? Godric casually sidestepped a few children that nearly rammed into him chasing each other in some sort of game, smiling as they rushed off. His mentor had a boy of his own, he recalled, around six years old at the time he left. That would mean he was sixteen now, almost seventeen. Salazar...he'd always thought it a strange name. Probably something or other his father had pulled from one of those boring books of his. He looked around, searching for someone he could ask for directions, but anyone else who might have known the man or at least where he could look were lost in their own business, jostling each other about in the daily rush of the market place. It didn't matter much, he supposed. Asking around wasn't always a good idea for a stranger to do upon coming into a new town nowadays...especially one who was a good six feet tall and stood out like a troll. He'd already gotten a fair share of suspicious glances tossed his way, even with the guise of a common traveler. Although...it could be his sword that caught their attention. It always did attract unwanted eyes, even with it's relatively plain design. Inhabitants of a small town such as Florin could probably hardly afford daggers for protection. Many probably weren't used to someone carrying such a big weapon around. He could have left it with the rest of his supplies at the stable, of course, but it would feel odd without the familiar weight. He kept walking, a grim smile on his lips. At least the sword swinging at his side was better than carrying around a wand and getting chased about the countryside... 'Blast Corial and his vague instructions, clear as water he said...mud's a more accurate description. As soon as I get back I'm hexing his head on backwards.' He smiled at the mental image. Maybe he'd actually do it this time. 'Make him think twice about those rude remarks he's always throwing out, at least...and remember to give me a better map. Expert mapmaker my left foot.' Godric stopped dead in his tracks almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind. Swinging in the light breeze above him was a sign...a sign with a fairly explanatory image of a book carved into its surface, it's name, "Scribe's Hidaway", carved in swirling letters into the wood. A small grin spread across his face. Godric chuckled to himself as he strode inside, a bell chiming softly as the door swung open. 'Now, why didn't I think of that one earlier?' The moment his foot passed the threshold he found himself assaulted by the scent of musty paper and dust, bringing back memories of long nights and ancient texts read by candle light. A strange sense of comfort washed over him. If anyone knew about his old mentor, he'd bet every last possession on him that it would be whoever owned the local bookshop. What he didn't bet on, however, was seeing said mentor stuck in an argument right inside…and as what seemed to be the owner himself. At the moment, neither of the men seemed to have noticed his entry, their gazes locked in what seemed to be a silent clash of wills. Ingvar stood calmly with arms crossed, his pale face expressionless as a man, at least a head taller-though shorter still than Godric by a good few inches-stood glowering down at him. The stranger was tense, his grey eyes narrowed and stance practically radiating aggression. He couldn't be much older than Godric himself, maybe thirty at the most, with a head of dark blond hair tied neatly back by a strip of leather and clothes of a much finer make than what he'd seen of many in the town. All in all, Godric's instincts told him that what he was looking at was a bigoted fool. He had to be, picking a fight with Ingvar Ingvar was the first to break the silence, clearly tired of whatever intimidation game the other seemed to be playing. "I told you to leave, Marcus. You're not welcome here, and I'd highly advise against throwing threats at me and my family. Only a fool would bring themselves to as low a level as you are right now." Ingvar smiled coldly, and Godric couldn't help but smirk at the sight. Whoever this Marcus fellow was, he almost felt sorry for the man. That wasn't a smile you'd want to be on the receiving end of...he knew that from experience. "But," He started, and here his smile only grew colder. "Here you are, throwing the word 'fool' right back in my face. There's only one fool I can find in this room, Marcus. I suggest you leave my shop and find yourself a mirror." Ingvar leaned nonchalantly back on the counter, but his eyes stayed steadily locked onto the other's. The casual stance didn't make him appear any less intimidating. In fact, it probably only made him more, and it was if his presence expanded to fill the entire room, dwarfing everything else around it despite his physically small size. However much the stranger seemed to think he was in control previously, anyone who knew the older man for more than a few hours could clearly see it was a different case. The younger man's face flushed. Whether it was in anger or embarrassment at the lack of effect he seemed to be having, even I as the teller of this tale could not say. In that moment he almost looked like he would lunge across the space between them and throttle the shopkeeper. He shot a furious look at the older man. "Have it your way," he spat. "But don't think for a moment this entire town isn't aware that there's something foul about you and your precious family. Rumors spread, old man. I suggest you watch yourself. I've given you plenty of chances, don't be surprised when they run out!" That said, the stranger spun on his heel, storming past Godric and out of the shop. Momentarily, the noise of the outside streets filtered on, then the door closed and all was returned to muffled silence. The seconds dragged by, and when Godric finally turned from the door it was to see a set of dark eyes casually watching him. "I apologize for the spectacle. The man thinks himself quite intimidating...even when he's really not." Ingvar was standing back behind the counter, hands clasped behind his back as dust swirled in the space between them. A feeling of nostalgia rose within Godric. "It's been awhile, lad. Seems you've finally hit that growing spurt you were waiting for." The old snake was still smiling, but this one wasn't cold, and there was a spark in his eye the younger man hadn't seen in years. In that moment, it almost seemed as if those ten years away had never passed at all. It was rare to see such real and honest casualness in a man like him. He almost hated to ruin it...almost. "It really has been a while, but that man was right about one thing." A grin threatened to split his face as his mentor sent him a questioning look. He laughed. "You really are looking quite old!" The smile on Ingvar's face vanished instantly, but Godric's didn't. In fact, it likely only widened. Just in the nick of time he spotted the warning gleam spark up in Ingvar's eyes and hurriedly dropped down to the floor, landing on his right side with his sword holder digging into his leg. Only half a second later, a thick book shot like an arrow right through the spot his head had been only a moment earlier. Hearing footsteps, Godric turned awkwardly on his back to see a slender wand pointed directly at his face, birch with a core of unicorn hair, thirteen inches if he remembered correctly. Funny, he thought, what thoughts bubble to the surface at the strangest of times. Yet, he knew from experience that even grouchy Slytherin could only hold back a smile for so long. Experience held true. Ingvar lowered his wand and slipped it back up his sleeve where a concealed pocket was stitched and hidden, holding out a hand to help pull his former pupil to his feet. "You always did say the most foolish things, boy. At least that hasn't changed. Among all of your countless antics, that one might have been the most annoying by far." "To you, maybe," he countered. "But there have been quite a few others that've called that same trait endearing. I myself tend to consider it a compliment." He could never seem to help himself, there were times that you just couldn't resist poking at a coiled snake, especially after so long...almost like a Godric version of a welcoming present. It was worth it every time, even if the man did have a famous temper. After all, that was what made it so much fun. "Godric, you always did talk too much." Ingvar scowled, but Godric saw the small twinkle in his eyes, and he only laughed. After all that had happened it felt good to be back. Yet inside, a cold hand tightened around his chest. If only he was just there for a casual reunion, but dark times brought darker news. No matter how much he wished, Godric couldn't delude himself of that. However, maybe he could just imagine, until tomorrow night at the latest. ------------------------------------------------- A/N: Since there is an astonishing lack of stories for these characters, ones which I'll remind you there would be neither Hogwarts nor fandom without, I am hereby taking charge of uncovering their history myself. I'm probably not going to be near as good as J.K. Rowling, but I'll do my best. I promise, not a single chapter will be put up without an extensive amount of editing, you have my word.