A/N: So I'm having trouble with my other stories. They're getting increasingly difficult to write, even though I enjoy writing them and have more or less mapped them out to the very last chapter. I figured it's the pair and general storylines I usually work with, so I decided to play with other pairs and ideas lying around to sort of get a break from Hermione/Viktor.

Nerida Vulchanova is the founder of Durmstrang Institute. Unfortunately she's not listed as a character here in Fanfiction, but somehow her descendants are, which is a shame because she's perhaps one of the most mysterious, interesting characters out there and I've only found one fanfic dedicated to her. So yea, she's not an OC. I don't own any of the characters in this story, except for one but he's kind of a minor character and- eh, we'll talk about him when we get there. Anyway, thought I'd mention that to clear up any future misunderstandings. Second, this story is slightly AU as Harry Potter Wiki claims that Vulchanova was born at least a thousand years after Gryffindor.

The story takes place before Slytherin left Hogwarts. He's a notorious basilisk breeder and Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff are aware of his ideologies but he hasn't yet started proposing that they 'cleanse' the school of muggles and half-bloods.

That is all, I believe. I hope you enjoy this strange, random little concoction of mine that I am oddly proud of.

Salazar had warned him. Rowena had threatened him with her usual choice of elegant, sophisticated words. The two founders disagreed on many things but they always managed to put their differences behind them when it comes to chastising Godric. Sweet Helga would usually take his side, but this time the renowned herbologist shied guiltily behind an exasperated Salazar and a furious Rowena.

They were to receive envoys from the newly established wizarding school somewhere in the Nordic regions. It had been Rowena's idea to establish a relationship with the only other wizarding school in all of Europe, and as usual Rowena's ideas were received well by the other three founders, however it took Salazar over a year of correspondence with the Headmaster's aide to finally convince them to accept the invitation. It gave Salazar the impression that they're extremely cautious and reserved and maybe even a little bit skittish, therefore it's imperative that they are to be received and treated as if they were priceless silverware.

Godric was especially asked to behave himself. He didn't understand why and he took great offence at the implication. He's the mighty Godric Gryffindor, one of the four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and notorious slayer of trolls, not some pathetic bumbling schoolboy!

He stormed into his favorite tavern and took his frustration at his friends' lack of trust out on all the ale he could drink. He was going to return after his third pitcher but then a beautiful woman with rather impressive, barely concealed breasts took an interest in him and his adventures. Godric loves talking about his adventures. He often speaks of them when no one asks so when someone actually does ask, there's no stopping him. Before he knew it he had an audience. He lost track of the amount of pitchers he downed. The beautiful, busty woman had moved onto his lap and silenced his drunken ramblings with the sweetest kiss, sending the equally drunken men around them into a roar of approval. She then led him into her quarters, stumbling and groping and giggling, and for the rest of the night she made him a very happy man.

He didn't know which to blame, the beautiful woman or the ale that likely replaced the blood in his veins, but he's sure that one or both caused him to wake from his deep slumber late in the morning on the day he and his colleagues were meant to receive the envoys, not his usual rash and irresponsible ways.

He barged into his study wearing nothing but his stained tunic. His great red mane and beard were a tangled mess and he's certain that he's omitting the most foul odor. Much to his horror, he found that his colleagues and the two envoys were apparently meeting in his study. Worse yet, the envoys turned out to be the aide Salazar spoke of and the Headmaster.

Headmistress, he suddenly realized. A very beautiful, tall woman with steel for eyes. Her robes, all black with a heavy fur cloak fastened over her shoulders, covered every inch of her skin save for her hands and the upper half of her neck. A grey banner with a large two-headed black bird was stitched onto her breast, and one sharp look from her had him flushing and quickly averting his eyes from that particular area. Her dark hair was braided and pinned to her scalp with not a single strand out of place, and unlike the woman he bedded the night before she lacked the soft round curves and sultry smile. If anything she looked like she hadn't eaten or smiled her entire life, but somehow she still managed to look powerful and domineering in the way she looked disdainfully down at him.

She was granite cloaked in darkness, yet like the sun she struck him blind with only one look.

"Godric, so good of you to join us!" Helga, bless her heart, attempted to break the chilling silence that settled over them with a nervous laugh. She ushered Godric to come closer. He obeyed meekly, suddenly very aware of the fact that he hadn't even bothered to wear his boots. "Headmistress Nerida Vulchanova and her aide Harfang Munter from Durmstrang Institute."

He hadn't even noticed the aide, a small yet sharp looking man with speedily receding grey hair. Godric kept his eyes on Vulchanova. He gave her his best charming smile and bowed low, then hurriedly straightened himself when he felt a cold breeze caress his backside.

"An honor, my lady," he said.

She regarded him icily, then turned to Rowena. "Who is this jester?" she spoke with a notably thick accent, but it was more Balkan than Nordic.

"Why, Lady Vulchanova!" Munter cut in quickly, nervously. "That is Godric Gryffindor!"

Godric puffed up his chest, proud of the announcement despite his current state. Still she didn't look impressed.

"Please allow me to apologise on Sir Gryffindor's behalf," said Rowena smoothly, sparing Munter a haughty glare. She always hated it when people interrupted her or spoke for her. "I assure you that this is a first. I have known him for many years and I have never once seen him in a less than presentable state." She was also capable of uttering a convincing lie. "I am certain that there's a very good reason as to why he chose to present himself in this manner today of all days."

The look she gave Godric told him that she'll castrate him on the spot if he doesn't come up with a good story. Helga looked extremely worried while Salazar smirked to himself, happy as always to watch his notoriously brave friend miserably squirm his way out of trouble.

Godric glared at him, envious for once of Slytherin's sharp tongue, then turned back to his guests with another charming grin. "Lady Ravenclaw is right, of course. You see, I was strolling along–"

Vulchanova was having none of it. "I wish to retire."

He blinked in shock, his mouth hanging open mid-speech. Rowena furiously gestured for him to close his mouth.

"But the feast!" said Helga anxiously. "You've come a long way, my dear, surely you'd like to have lunch first?"

She was already on her way out. "You are right. I come a long way. I wish to rest."

"Alright, very well," said Rowena quickly before Helga could protest. "Allow me to take you to your quarters."

"There will be no need for that. My lodgings on board are adequate enough."

On board? Godric rushed to the window and, sure enough, a large ship was docked on the shores of Black Lake. How the bloody hell did I miss that?

"But Lady Vulchanova, we prepared–"

"And I thank you for your hospitality," she said, pausing by the doorway to glance back at a flustered Rowena, "but I must decline. I am more comfortable on my ship." She then looked at Munter. He quickly scurried after her, bowing to the four founders in what appeared to be an apologetic manner.

Rowena rounded on him when Vulchanova and Munter's voices faded into the distance, her fury now on full display. Godric nearly flinched. "What. Happened?"

Godric looked at Salazar for help. Salazar shook his head. "Please. I want to hear this."

"Oh dear, I hope we didn't offend them," said Helga, staring out the window at the two distant figures. "The aide at least was willing to cooperate, but it's the Headmistress we must convince." She then turned to Godric with an anguished expression that made him look away in shame. He absolutely hated upsetting Helga. "Oh Godric, you must make it up to her! This school, Durmstrang, it's the only other school that accepts our kind. We need to be friends with them for the sake of the children!"

He couldn't take it anymore. He took her hands in his large, callus ones and kissed them. "Of course, dear Helga, of course! The last thing I'd ever want to do is cause you misery. I will do whatever it takes to right this wrong, you have my word!"

"So you will apologise?" asked Rowena, her beautiful face stern. Godric was relieved she didn't insist on hearing the story behind his embarrassing, disheveled state.

He grinned. "Better. I will hunt."

Salazar sniggered. "Just when I though your antics couldn't get any more amusing. At heart you are a jester indeed, my friend."

Godric ignored him. "I will provide the meat for the feast tonight. A boar, the biggest these forests could offer, and my elves' finest wine."

Helga looked happy. Rowena has yet to forgive him. Salazar always loved that what his friend lacked in patience, logic, and critical thinking he made up for in bravery and brute strength. It never failed to provide him with endless entertainment, and as much as he'd like to impress their guests, he couldn't help but eagerly anticipate the feast for all the reasons Rowena dreaded.