Four Unlikely Friends
Summary: Urged on from glimpses of flickering lights and truth not known to history, four friends are forced to face a past they ran from in another life. To learn that your soul is threaten, your key to this world and your friends in danger, one starts to look deeper than the others might.
"Prologue: The Start of Four"
In the times of witch hunts and Pagan religion ruled the land, the ordinary people which made up the world feared what they did not know. Ignorance bred misunderstandings, and misunderstandings bred hatred so foul that it lasted long after the families that felt it was gone from this world.
The word magic was only spoken in whispers, and never in public. The people of ole were fearful of their neighbors, and sometimes even their own kin. It was not surprising when the townsfolk started to cry out for bloodshed. Nor was it surprising that only one misdeed – even if simply being at the wrong place and time – led one to their death. It did not matter to these creatures that it was their own brood that they were burning, did not matter if they were innocent or to ask what they really were. It only took one word for someone to be convicted of witchcraft and be punished for their crimes.
Life would never be easy, the magical folks of the world had decided long ago, but that did not mean they wouldn't fight. Magic was an open secret for the world, and as long as it was in their veins people would continue to worship it. Living without it was near impossible if they didn't want to go insane, or hurt someone around them. No, much like the people around them, they had no choice in the matter when it came to their abilities.
It was a millennium ago that our great heroes were born to this world, and it was many centuries ago that spoke of the horrors they faced in life. But to understand this horrible story, the one very few know of, you must understand where it all began. Their tale was not happy, nor was it kind. In fact until their last breath they were tortured by the way the world worked, and had only hoped that when they finally greeted the great deity that was Death, they would finally be rid of their pain. At least, that's what they had prayed to their chosen gods for.
Fate was never kind to her chosen ones, and you would never be reading this story if their spirits had stayed beyond the Veil.
And so begins our sad, sad little tale that started with four, and ended with three.
A sound so hollow passed through the worn down farm house, blood soaking the hay that was under a body of a young woman, no older than fourteen. She wasn't a beauty – not by the high expectations of noble life, in the very least – but she did have a certain charm about her. Tan skin of the Caribbean covered her limbs, and blonde hair the color of sunlight – her eyes very much the dull color of the deep sea in which she had once inhabited.
She had been sold to a wealthy man in his late forties when she was eight, caught in attempt to steal food for herself and her ill-fated mother. She was taken from the sea and brought to Shropshire of the isles of Britanniae where her owner now awaited her. It did not take long for the older male to trap her in a corner and steal her maidenhood from her. In the years that passed she was known to the other slaves and servants of the lord as the whore that willingly opened her legs to him whenever he commanded. It did not matter if she did not have a choice, could not fight back – and if she did she could very well be killed on the spot.
It was when she was thirteen, after a year of waking as a woman and no longer a girl, that she realized she was pregnant with that monster's child. Everything in her mind and body was telling her to kill it, to not let the lord know for then surely he would murder them both. And yet… as she set her hand against her still flat stomach, she couldn't bear the thought of losing the little seed within her to the man that forced this upon them.
After six years of imprisonment to the horrid man, she had gained a minimal of his trust. And so when she slipped a touch of Arum maculatum to his nightly drink after a session of 'love making,' it was no surprised that he took it before he opened his bed to her. In order for the poison not to be noticed until it was too late, and no one would come to his rescue as he always had his servants far away from his chambers when he decided to take her – had decided long ago that her screams, moans, silky skin, wild hair, and crystal eyes were meant for him and him alone – there would be no one but her as he died.
She knew the exact moment when he started to realize something was wrong, his member deep inside of her and his mouth worshiping her bosom. He found he could no longer breathe, his throat closing and the air no longer passing through his windpipe. It took a minute for him to die, his hands desperately grabbing onto her as if she was his salvation. It was his last breath, grip going slack and face slacking into her breasts. With him no longer in control, his body ejected the last of his essence into her – almost a mockery of what had happened between the two and a message that even after death she would always be owned by him.
With disgust clear on her face, she pushed him off of her and slid out of the bed, mindful of the blood and semen trailing down her thighs. She once again soothed her stomach, telling the child inside that they were going to be okay in her mother tongue – that she had protected them from such a monster.
She ran, gathering up the few clothes she had as well as some supplies. She didn't dare steal too much – there was a chance they would believe he died in his sleep of heart failure and would only come after her if she stole more than what belonged to her – but in the end she decided to steal some gold coins from the man's dresser. It was the least he could have done for her.
And so the young woman ran – through the house, the town, the woods, the mountains and streams, careful never to be noticed. It was on her journey that she met a young man of two years her senior, charming and handsome, hands covered in blood. And when those crimson hands were offered to her, she reached out with her own, knowing that her child would be okay with this man of shadows.
Full circle, the young woman gives birth to the child of her former owner, tan skin no longer smiled upon the sun and hair a limp sentient of its past self. A child cries out into the open night, and the young woman smiles – her child, the one she risked everything for, is alive. Blood rapidly stains the straw underneath her, the man at her side clinging and praying to whatever god that will listen that the mother will live to see tomorrow's dusk. The mother has but a few moments, and as she gazes upon her child, she can't regret everything that has lead up to seeing this beautiful infant in her arms.
She tugs at the man's arm, a silent plead to listen to her next words. She doesn't want to leave her child, doesn't want to go beyond the grave and wait for these two for the next several decades, but she can feel her body failing her – the blood a clear sign happy endings never existed in the first place.
"Godric." A powerful name is needed to make it through this world, one that will guide him with the gods' favor.
Blonde hair, so much like hers, and blue eyes brighter than the sky meet her oceans'. That's the last thing the woman sees, her soul slipping beyond the Veil before she could say anything else.
And so Godric was born, the first of four.
Young and beautiful, a woman with auburn hair and deep green eyes looked over her garden, the sweet scents of the flora filling the air and easing her troubled mind. It had been weeks since her husband was last home, and she feared there would be many more. She knew where he had been, it was hard to ignore when he bragged about it to their guests. He was the leader of the committee for the Burnings, stalking out villages for weeks to months at a time and giving his verdict upon the souls that had been deemed dealing with the devil. There were times when the sight of her husband disgusted her, and some where she couldn't stand his presence.
It was not a known fact, even to her only family left, that she too was a witch. Her family had cast her out when it was found out that she was not her father's daughter, shaming her mother in such disgrace that she took her own life not a week after it had been found out. They had allowed the knowledge to be present in her head – who she was, what she was, why she was so different from others – but the safety of their blood and magic was denied to her. Forever shut out of her families' walls.
She could not go to her mother's family, as deeply shamed as they were. They would never accepted her – the living proof of their daughter's infidelity. It was only by pure chance that she had finished her family education before her mother was found out.
With nowhere to turn to, and too frightened of others, she turned to the people who cursed her kind. She could not present herself to another and ask if they were of magic, and so she kept everything she had been taught hidden from the townsfolk. All they had known of her was that she was a bastard child and she was sweet and kind. For a long time she lived on the outskirts of the village, only venturing further when in need of supplies.
One day a man had visited the small village, and hearing of a beautiful maiden, had decided to offer her liberty from this place. She had been hesitant, this strange man unknown to her, but she was wasting away in this poor town and had ultimately decided that she would accept his hand. He could have done a number of things to her – could have kidnapped her, sold her to the slave market, or even taken away her womanhood by force – but he didn't. So she took a chance and accepted his offer.
She once more sighed through her nose, the tea cooling in her hands. She knew what her family would think of her, a blood traitor they would sneer. Gone were the days when they could freely practice their craft in open, betrayed by the ones they had once helped. Their blood was the only thing that made them different from them, magic running freely through it unlike others. To be called a blood traitor was to denounce that blood, denounce magic, denounce who you were from the moment you were born.
It was betraying everything that had been given to you.
As hard as it was to swallow, she came to terms with what she was. To have this life with her husband she needed to hide that part of herself from everyone, even in the privacy of her own room. Magic was forever out of her reach, taken away by her very own heart that belonged to a man that killed her kin.
A cry rang out from inside the cottage, forcing her to set her tea down to rush to the room nearest to her. A basinet laid out before her, the child being of her father's pale skin and her mother's hair. Warm brown eyes gazed at the woman who had given birth to her, a clear sign of her father once more. Wrapped in her arms the child stilled, welcoming the warmth that it brought her.
Footsteps made their way through the cottage, and the voice of her husband husked around the corner. She felt such relief that she spun around and almost slammed the door open in her haste to welcome him. It was only stopped by the second footsteps reaching her ears, another voice whispering through her walls. A friend, a colleague of his from the hunts, she thought. She cracked open the door, just to make sure she wasn't about to interrupt a quick meeting of theirs, and quickly closed the door.
She clenched the door handle and the child within her arms, not believing that it had happened once again. An anger that was not unknown but not familiar to her rushed in her veins, followed by despair. Keeping her mind away from the door and what laid behind it, she hushed her child, feeding her as she had wished. She felt the little hands that grabbed her flesh instead of the banging of hips against one another. She listened to the suckling of her child instead of the throaty moans and groans that passed through the thin walls, and most of all she felt the dependent need her daughter held for her instead of the crippling heartbreak that threaten to engulf everything she was.
She thought of her blessing in this cruel world, her pure light in the darkness.
And the second had arrived.
A young girl watched and studied and learned. Her mother taught her how to see what wasn't there, and her father taught her how to use her hands. They worked day and night, coming to their room exhausted every evening or daybreak. Their hands were covered with calluses, as was their feet. It didn't matter that they had magic as nothing was gained without work. Her older sister had started to lend her hand as well in the fields, and her older brother had left home long ago to travel with a master.
Sometimes, when she was alone – which was often, given that everyone else worked all day – she thought bad thoughts and wished that she could be a boy. She wanted to learn like her older brother, wanted to find someone to teach her. She wanted to grab a book and be able to tell what it said, be able to read it to her parents and let their worries ease away.
Most of all she simply wished to know.
Her mother and father, along with her sister, didn't know how to read. Didn't know how to teach her. That was okay, she decided long ago. It was okay because one day she would learn how to read and teach her parents and sibling as much as they wanted to learn. There was not a thought in her mind that would regret disobeying her lord and the law if she could simply learn all there was to the world.
And learn she did. Piecing together letter after letter, stringing them together to form the words she spoke and the meaning behind them. It took her months to learn, hours spent hiding in the corner of her master's library in hopes that no one would find her and figure out what she was attempting to do. She knew the consequences of her actions, knew them intimately, but still she pressed forwards in the hopes that her mother would finally smile and her father's eyebrows would ease into his too-old skin. She wanted her sister to fall asleep while she read to her, and she wanted her older brother to be proud of her when he came home. It was a simple wish to share knowledge and happiness with her loved ones.
One day she wasn't careful enough, so determined to finally sit down and finish the last book in the room – the final book so she could determine herself to actually be able to read. And so when a hand reached out and smacked her, she did absolutely nothing – knowing she had deserved it for not following her master's order.
If she had been found by another servant, maybe she would have continued. Maybe she would have been more careful and gone at night to widen her knowledge. However it was not just another servant that found her. Black hair filled her vision, as well as cold brown eyes she was so used to be warm when they looked at her.
Who had found her was indeed another servant, but that servant was also her mother.
And so when her mother gripped her painfully by the shoulder, and threw her in their room, telling her to wait for her father, little Rowena knew that everything had gotten so much worse.
And so the third part was played.
Never give your enemies an advantage, never show your emotions to anyone for they might betray you, never allow a moment of weakness to befall your composer. Those words were constantly ringing in his head, a mantra that never ceased and an oath that meant life or death. He was held to a higher standard than his younger brothers, pushed harder and faster and expected to know and be a master in every subject known to mankind.
When had his father actually looked at him and saw his son? How long had it been since mother had fallen ill and left them behind in the mortal realm? Why had his father not remained faithful to his mother's memory and instead courted another maiden, had other kids that were and were not his siblings? When had his father stopped being his father?
Failure was never an option for him, no matter what else had to happen. It did not matter if he had to lie, to cheat, to manipulate others. If his father never learned of his heir's contempt and hatred it would be far too soon.
Lines upon lines, book after book he read, and master after master he studied under. To anyone else he would be labeled a genius, a once in a millennium protégé that would have had the world at his feet even if he didn't have it already. His father didn't see any of it – all he saw was the failure of a son that reminded him of his departed wife.
It was hard not to think of his mother when looking upon him, he knew. He shared too many similarities with her, from the long wavy black hair to the pale skin to the startling emerald eyes that haunted their faces. From his father he only inherited his strong jawline and his tall height, as well as his talent in ruling. He could understand his father, not wanting to look upon the reminder of what he had lost. Sometimes he himself couldn't look in the mirror somedays, finding instead of the man he was becoming, a young woman who had died long before her time.
Today he had swordsmanship training, the broadsword almost feeling off in his hand. He and his master knew it was not the weapon his body was made for, but neither of them dared to go against his father's order. His opponent was skilled in the weapon, being made for him in every way while he helplessly fumbled with the large blade in his hand. It didn't take long for the older man to disarm him and have him at yielding point. He could do nothing but offer his surrender.
Once everything had been clean and taken care of, his father called him away from his master. He didn't allow the dread to bumble to the surface, pushing everything that connected him to the world away and out of his system, locking it away from the horrors that were about to befall him.
He knelt before his father, chest bare, and waited for the whip to crack once more.
Salazar, High Prince of Britanniae, Heir to the Slytherin throne, was once more punished for his failure.
And so the set was completed.
Our four heroes were not forgotten in the modern day. But they were not remembered as they should have been. Their history was erased, washed away with the passage of time. That same devil twisted their personalities in everyone's eyes, deeming one unfit and the others exceptional. The world crushed four magnificent people, and wished to do it once more.
The house of bold and courage was an idea for such a young man, who hated and loved his job as a mercenary – who didn't need chivalry or honor.
To be wise and knowledgeable seemed like a goal to such a young mind, to never be in a position where people hated the idea of sharing an advantage.
To a girl who watched as her mother worked all day, and the affair her father had right in front of her mother, loyalty was something she wanted in everyone, and hard work wasn't something to slouch in.
And the one known as evil? The darkest of our houses today? Well…
That young man simply wanted the approval of a father that couldn't stand the sight of him – even if it meant going against ideal morals that had no place in the real world.
Before I go any deeper into this story, before I reveal who is who (because it might change on what you answer) we need to talk ships. Do you want the Hogwarts Four to be a foursome, or pairs? Depending on your answer will determine who Helga and Salazar are.
Hi! I'm alive. Sorry for anyone who might have been worried about me and my surgery. It turned out fine, I didn't loose too much height (if at all) and my biggest concern is a slight limp that I have to overcome before seeing my doctor (who I was supposed to see in December, but didn't because I had a test).
Guess what!? I graduated 10 days ago. I am free from school, social obligations, and can continue to live my life as a hermit... or that's what I wish could happen. I hopefully have school in the fall for animation (and maybe writing?), and I'm planning to get my license sometime this summer so I can get a job.
I'm in the process of deleting every story that needs a rewrite (for the most part, the Phoenix Series is going to remain untouched) so be warned that my profile might start to look empty.
I do have an incentive for you to review this time. I will be giving away a scene/spoiler/riddle/answering one question of a review of a every number of my choice. (I'm not going to tell you the number, because then you wouldn't review if you really wanted it and would just stalk the review section waiting for it to happen). This will also be my last big author's note for awhile on this story. I plan to cut of my rambling a lot and just not say anything so I don't spoil anything for you guys.
Thank you for being so patient with me, and I hope you enjoyed the first rewritten chapter of my re-written stories.