FicWad

Chapter Five: In Which Harry Gets Medieval

On his second night in Hogwarts, Harry had a different type of dream, but one no less intense. He dreamed of war. He dreamed of Godric Gryffindor.

He didn't just dream of Gryffindor, he dreamed he WAS Gryffindor.

And he was tired. So very tired.

He stood on a hill looking over a valley covered in death. Bodies carpeted the once grassy valley in the brisk autumn sky. A few streaks of clouds scarred the otherwise perfect blue of the sky. It should have been a beautiful, glorious day. The Lion of Gryffindor once more proved his mettle and once again was handsomely rewarded in the Saxon traditions of Wessex, paid in the gold taken from the bodies of the fallen.

Wizards and witches, mostly.

"Gryffindor!"

Godric tiredly turned to face his king. Aethelstan was no longer a young man. Now aged 42 years with sixteen years on the throne of Wessex, the middle-aged king still strode tall and strong in his mailed suit and helm. His hand never strayed far from his mighty sword named Heathen-Slayer.

"Five kings have I lost this day," Aethelston said.

"Many earls did the enemy lose as well, my Liege," Godric said. "Including Causantin mac Áeda's own brother. The day is yours. The Strathclyde and Alba kingdoms have given submission. You are now the king of the Britons."

Aethelston's fierce eyes took on a distant look. Like Godric, the king had seen battle and the blood and grime from it coated his mail and the red cloak he wore over his shoulder. His helm had several dents. But otherwise the king was unharmed. "Of all Britons," he said.

His eyes cleared. "You have done great service to me this day, Lion of Gryffindor. You shall have lands and gold aplenty. All the kings saw you challenge their war wizards and bring them low. We saw how you killed many of their witches and their evil kin. We also saw you take many bodies from the field as is the custom of you wizards. A great boon does this king owe you. Name your wish, my friend."

Gryffindor nodded. "I wish peace, my liege. There is a valley between the kingdoms of the Strathclyde and Alba, where wild boar run free and few if any people live. I wish to take my spoils and the slaves I gained in battle, and live there in peace."

Aethelstan's eyes narrowed. "That is far from my throne, my friend. Far from the reach of my sword. You would be caught between the Norsemen and mac Áeda of the Scots. Is this truly what you wish?"

"I shall cast great enchantments on the valley," Gryffindor said without pause. "None who are not of my kind shall enter, save you as my liege or by right any king of the Angles."

"My friend, why do you do this? Why cast yourself and your kind apart from us?"

Gryffindor looked back at the line of trees that bordered the valley floor. It was in those trees that Godric hid most of his spoils. "My liege, today for your glory I killed forty two wizards and fifteen witches. They were young and weak by our kind's standards. Poorly trained by foolish masters who themselves knew so very little. I am strong, yes, but I also learned my arts among the Franks and studied at the great libraries of Egypt and the Orient. I have done pilgrimage to the magical lands of the Romans, and learned much. The blood on my hands and on my sword is the blood of children. They came because they were called by the Norseman and his alliance with mac Áeda. I killed them for my pledge to you. But I did not wish it, and I wish it never to happen again. I wish to take those foolish children and teach them proper arts, and let them never use their magic against the proper kings of this land. We are of this land, my liege, but we are not of your kingdoms."

Aethelstan listened in growing silence. Before him stood the great Lion of Gryffindor, the most powerful warrior wizard in the land. A wizard of such prowess in battle and magic that his name was sung from Rome to Dunnottar. Aethelstan personally watched the man storm into battle with a sword in one hand and a wand in the other, heedless of the warriors around him. No enemy sword touched him; no vile witches' curse came close. Yet the man stood weeping unabashedly before his king.

"These past years you have done much for me," Aethelston said at last. "Your spells have healed my wounds; your wand and sword have taken the lives of my enemies. But today you have done more for me and for this land than any other soul. For this, you shall have your wish."

Gryffindor bowed deeply before his king, not trusting himself to speak. When at last he reached his tent, his two attendants greeted him quietly and began the tedious process of removing his mail and armaments. Another attendant stepped forward with warm towels heated in the steam of boiling water. He accepted the towels gratefully and began to wipe the horror of battle from his arms and face.

As he cleaned himself, a dark-haired man in robes that looked reminiscent of a cleric's garb stepped into the tent. He handed an earthenware vial to the warrior. "A new potion," the man explained.

Gryffindor drank it without pause, and to the shock of his attendants a puff of steam shot from each of Godric's ears. "Gods, man!" Gryffindor said after gagging, "what hellish concoction was this?"

Salazar Slytherin grinned. It was a decidedly predatory look. "I've yet to name it. The taste is vile, but tell me, old friend, how you feel?"

Godric stared at the other wizard for a time, before he gave a broad smile. "Truly, my friend, I feel stronger than I have since this bloodied business began!"

"Precisely!"

Gryffindor bellowed with laughter. "Well done, Salazar. Well done!"

Salazar took his leisure in a camp chair near the other wizard while the attendants brought wine, meat, cheese and bread for the two of them. He broke the bread and handed half to Gryffindor, while Godric used his eating knife to carve an entire breast from the fowl and handed it to his friend.

"So," Salazar said, "what did your king say to your words?"

Godric looked his friend in the face. "He said aye, Salazar."

"You do not sound enthused, my friend."

"It is a hard thing you have talked me into," Godric admitted. "This is the only life I have ever known. I have been a warrior since I had age and strength enough to wield a sword and a wand. To just take our slaves and hide away from the world feels wrong to me. Yet as I said to the king, I so tire of the blood."

"How many nights have we spent discussing this?" Salazar said. "How much magical blood did you have to spill this day for these mugatu formala fools."

"Don't spout your Basque tongue at me, heathen," Godric said, though he laughed as he said it. "Mugatu formala. A long word for those without magic. Perhaps you should call them Gatus."

"Gatu?" Slytherin said with a shudder. "Only a Frank like you could utter such a sound without becoming ill. No, perhaps Mugas. It is a dirty sound, just like the dirty people I would use it for."

Gryffindor stilled a moment. "My friend, don't let your hatred for them poison you for the whole of your life. You are young, still."

"Celesta was my life," Salazar said, all hint of humor gone. "I cannot hold the Mugas in anything but hatred."

Gryffindor said nothing as he took a large bite from his meat. Finally, after a few minutes of eating in silence, he said, "Well, my friend, I suppose we should see our slaves."

"I have seen them," Slytherin said. "Olaf Gutthrithson brought many witches and wizards with him, more than mac Aeda. Most who fell by your sword were the wizards of the Scots and Picts. Those we captured were from the Norselands."

"Then show me, Salazar."

The two wizards left Gryffindor's tent in the center of Aethelstan's camp in a place of honor near the king. The soldiers of the king's army and his vassals gave Gryffindor respectful nods and bows for his prowess on the battlefield, even while they eyed Godric's dark friend warily. Salazar Slytherin had, on more than one occasion, cursed any soldier who crossed his path.

Finally they came to the great wooden cages that held prisoners of war awaiting either ransom, or waiting to be divided and enslaved. There were three cages—the one on the farthest edge of the camp stood apart from the others because in addition to its normal fastenings it had also been sheathed in the strongest spells known to magic to prevent either escape or the use of magic.

"Do you have the manacles, old friend?" Godric said.

Salazar nodded and summoned the first of the manacles. Godric swept his eyes across the dirty, defeated faces of the witches and wizards before him. He noticed that those wizards that survived were young and untrained, but filled with hatred.

The witches were also obviously angry. Godric's eyes fell on one young witch in particular. She was obviously a Norse witch, with long blond braids falling down her back. Her maiden's dress was cut low to reveal a heaving bosom the color of fresh cream. Angry blue eyes stared at him from the center of a round, comely face.

He remembered her not only for her beauty, but for the fact that she was one of the few who presented a true challenge both in her power and her skill. He stepped directly in front of her. "You, girl, what is your name?"

She spit at him.

"I think she likes you, Godric."

Godric nodded, but did not take his eyes from her. With a wandless spell, he released the bonds on the cage before her, and the wooden beams barring her exit folded away. She eyed him warily, but stepped out without hesitation. She set her feet as if to do battle.

"I am Godric Gryffindor," he told her. He spoke in Latin, since he did not know the Norseman's tongue. "I am he who took you in battle. By all rights you are mine to free, enslave or to kill at my leisure."

Surprisingly, the witch understood. "I know who you are, scourge of Staff-Bearers," she muttered.

"And your staff has been broken, witch," Gryffindor said. "Yet even as I defeated you, I noted your strength. You are young to have such power, child. Tell me who trained you."

"I am prenticed to Aegir, prenticed by Skuld."

"Aegir I know not," Godric said. "But of Skuld I have heard. A great and powerful witch she was. My own master was honored to know her."

The witch scoffed. "What is it you wish of me? I shall die by my own hand before I let your filthy hands on me."

"It might be worth your life for just that chance," Godric said. "You are a woman of great beauty. But this day I have other goals in mind. You are to come with me this day, all of you. You shall come with me of your own free will as my vassals, or in chains as my slaves. I shall accept your oaths to follow."

"And why shall we follow you?"

"Because if you do not follow, you shall be dragged," Godric said coldly. He allowed his power to flow out of him, so that the staff wizards of the Norse could feel the sheer strength of it.

"And you shall not take leave with the witches?" the woman said.

"I shall treat all my vassals as any other servants," he said. "If I choose to take my pleasure with a woman, it is my pleasure to take."

The woman grimaced, but said nothing as she turned and looked at the others. Her eyes dwelt on a brunette beauty even younger than she, and then on the other witches. Finally, she turned back to Gryffindor. "I'll give my oath to you, Staff-Breaker, and even my sex if need be, if you give your word as well than no other witch among us will suffer at your hands, or the hands of those under you."

"Listen to this whore," Salazar muttered in high Frankish.

"I am no whore, you dog!" she snapped back in the same tongue.

Godric could not help but laugh at his friend's expression. "A woman of many tongues."

"A way to get a many-tongued lashing," Salazar bit back. "Kill her and be done with it; we can work with the rest."

The woman tensed, obviously ready for a fight. She and the Norse used staffs rather than wands, and without hers she was little more than one of Salazar's mugas. Still, she stood defiantly and ready to fight.

Gryffindor realized that, at that moment, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "No," he said at last, "I shan't kill this one. I shall teach her. I am your new master, Wicce. I shall build you a wand, and together we shall discover just what power you possess. And you and your people will have a chance at life."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because, in return for the oaths of you and your people, I will give you one of my own. I am Godric Gryffindor, Earl of Wessex. The ring-giver Aethelstan has granted me a boon of land—land no other sets foot on. It borders the Strathclyde and Alba, and I shall make a great fortress there, and it shall be a refuge for all witches and wizards who tire of the petty wars of ordinary men."

Something in his words must have caught the witch's attention. She straightened a little out of her fighting stance. "War is all a beast like you knows."

"So it has been," Godric agreed. "Our kind may live far longer than our normal cousins. For forty years I have fought for them. But I grow weary. I caused your brothers and sisters to fall, and I could not help but weep for them. So I got to the Valley of the Boars, and I will erect enchantments of such power no mere mortal men shall dare set foot in it. And you shall come with me, and be the heart of this new land."

"You speak great words, Staff-Breaker," the woman said.

"I dream great dreams, and wield great magic to make them so."

"And you give your oath that none of my people shall be harmed?"

"So long as their service to me is just and good, so shall I be just and good to them. But you, child, I will have as my own to train."

She lifted her chin bravely. "A fair trade. I am Helga of the Blowing-Winds."

Salazar laughed. "She names herself for her mighty flatulence?"

She swung her hand with an enraged growl, and an elemental burst of wind struck the Basque wizard full in the face. He flew back from her and landed with a thud. "I am a wizard of the winds, foul beast!"
"Helga of the Blowing-Winds indeed," Godric said. "But you are Norse no longer. We are not Norse or Frankish or Wessex. We are not Brytons. We are wizards, and from this day forward we shall owe allegiance to ourselves alone. So, Helga of the Great Puffing Air, I give you this oath: I, Godric Gryffindor, Earl of Wessex and captain of the Angles, swear upon my magic that no wizard shall be harmed by me or mine who joins me willingly in the Valley of the Boars, so long as the abide by the common laws of the land, and so long as Helga Puffing-Air shall consent to be my apprentice and vassal in all things."

The magic of the oath poured through the small space. The Norse magicals—wizards under twenty and witches with their children—found they had little choice but for what hope Gryffindor gave them. One by one, they gave their oaths and the magic locked the oath in place. Last was Helga herself. She looked Gryffindor in the face as she gave her own oath, of the loyalty of a vassal and an apprentice.

They both knew that what she was giving him was more than the loyalty of a vassal. He made clear what he wanted, and she bargained that desire for the safety of her people.

--

--

Harry woke with a start and sat up abruptly.

Hogwarts perched on the edge of his bed, once more dressed in school robes. "Pleasant dreams?"

He sat up further and took a deep breath. "I like my dreams with you a lot better," Harry said.

Hogwarts laughed at him in delight. "I would be disappointed if it were otherwise."

Harry blinked as a throb of pain pounded through his brain. "Why does it hurt?"

"It was not just a dream, Harry. It was a lesson. Your first from the founders. Gryffindor, I would say."

"He was in a battle. He spoke to a king named Aethelstan."

"Yes. That was in 937 by your calendar. Godric built me in the fashion of his Frankish homeland. Before him, this island had never known such a castle as this. It would not be until William conquered this land that such castles would be commonplace."

"Godric..." he flushed. "I never realized Helga Puffing…I mean, Helga Hufflepuff was a…she was his slave? That wasn't in Hogwarts: A History or in history of magic."

"Godric never allowed it to be spoken. He grew to love her, and she in time to love him. But more, he respected her. By the time the school was built, she was one of the most powerful witches alive. The two of them had titanic fights that sometimes scared even Slytherin and Ravenclaw away."

The brunette, the beautiful one with the green eyes. "Ravenclaw was also one of the Norse prisoners, wasn't she?"

"Rowena and Helga were both captured fighting for the Scots, Picts and Norsemen against Aethelstan. They were captured, along with all the northern wizards and witches in the battle, but like Helga, Rowena proved her worth and her power, and went on to be the most famed researcher in the magical world. She built upon the Greek practice of observation and created the foundation of spell research and experimentation. It was she who created the first wards, and she who apparated for the very first time. Though Gryffindor created the first wards of Hogwarts, he did so using designs made by Ravenclaw."

"Why don't they teach any of this in History of Magic? It would be a lot more interesting than endless goblin rebellions."

Hogwarts laughed and reached out to run a hand fondly through his dark hair. "I do love you so, my Harry. Come, Albus will be coming soon. You must be ready."

"Ready for what?"

"Your first day of training."

Harry ate breakfast with the staff that morning after another long shower. Afterward, Harry and Albus went to the great hall together. "Well, my boy, I suppose it is time to start training."

Harry nodded.

"First, I must say how proud I am of your accomplishments. It is no easy task producing a patronus at the age you did, or producing protego charms as powerful as yours. But what you will learn is not just spells, but the applications of those spells. Are you aware, Harry, that the Death Eater you stunned in your home was killed?"

Harry blinked. "Killed?"

"You stunned him with so much power, the shock of the impact snapped his neck. Wizards may bounce, but we are not invulnerable, as you well know. You have great power, Harry. Much more, in fact, than any other student in Hogwarts. What I am going to teach you is how to use it."

And so he did, one-on-one. Albus proved himself a patient and effective teacher, proof of his many years in the profession before he assumed the Headmaster role. He knew exactly how to explain what he needed Harry to do, and was quickly able to assist when Harry did something wrong.

They worked on simple spells that Harry already knew. What he learned was power application. Not just brute force versus light power, but also the placement of the power itself. He learned how to actually direct the lifting force of a leviosa spell, how to angle his protego more effectively to either absorb, deflect or even redirect enemy spell fire.

It was probably the most enjoyable lesson he had ever had, save for those few classes Remus Lupin taught during his Third Year. He was so engrossed in what he was learning he did not even realize it was lunch time until Albus called a break.

They paused long enough to eat a lunch of roast beef sandwiches before resuming their lessons. This time, Dumbledore transfigured several moving targets, and they started to apply the lessons of the morning. Midway through, Harry surprised both himself and Dumbledore. He shouted out, "Torri!" with a violent slash of his wand.

There was no telltale flash of light. His target simply shuddered, and then fell apart into a hundred pieces. Dumbledore blinked owlishly behind his glasses. "A Welsh hex, Harry? I assure you that is not on any curriculum."

"Err, it's something I dreamed about last night," Harry muttered.

"Ahhh," the old wizard said. "Hogwarts said she would be training you as well. I happen to know from history that such a spell was a favorite of a certain Godric Gryffindor. War magic not seen since."

Harry nodded. "Did you know that Helga Hufflepuff was really beautiful when she was younger?"

Dumbledore smiled. "As it so happens, I may have heard that once or twice. Show me what else you dreamed about, Harry. Perhaps by combining the lessons taught by myself and the school, we can cover more ground."

Harry surprised both himself and the headmaster with the sheer number of spells floating in his head. Not just the spoken words, but the wand motions and the intent. He found himself shouting old Frankish curses along with the Latinate forms, accompanied by an occasional Greek hex. Godric was a well-educated man for his time, and that knowledge seemed to float just on the edge of Harry's perception.

Even with all these spells in his head, though, Dumbledore still had things to show him. The headmaster's knowledge was astounding, and if Voldemort was a threat to this incredible old wizard, Harry wondered what he could possibly hope to do.

"There is one last thing to do today, Harry," Dumbledore said, winded but with a surprisingly happy smile on his face. He transfigured a wall of steel in the middle of the room. Then he made another and another, until a four-foot thick wall of metal stood in the middle of the room.

"We have yet to test the upper range of your power, Harry. This is a test you take when you begin auror training. I want you to shoot a blasting curse at this wall, but I don't want you to end it. I want you to continue to pour as much power into the curse as you can, and do not stop until I tell you. You remember what I showed you this morning about prolonging and strengthening spells."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. He raised his wand, took a deep breath, and fired the hex. He poured his magic into it. He touched something else, then, something he had never felt before his morning's dream. In all his adventures, all the terrible things he had experienced, he had never felt this strange rage, this overwhelming urge to destroy that he felt at that moment. With a half-articulated cry, Harry harnessed that anger and poured it into the spell.

"Harry, enough!"

He blinked and pulled back with a deep breath. That breath stopped a moment as he surveyed the damage.

The four-foot thick wall of steel was split right down the middle, as was the wall making up the back of the hall. He watched, breathless, as castle elves quickly and efficiently repaired the damage to the wall itself.

"Hmm," Dumbledore said. "How very curious." He sounded just like Ollivander.

"Was that wrong?" Harry asked. "Did I do it wrong?"

"Wrong?" Dumbledore said. He suddenly laughed. Harry could not ever remember hearing the headmaster laugh. "No, dear boy. You did nothing wrong. Extraordinary, but not wrong. There have been perhaps five wizards in the course of history who could do what you have just done. Sadly I do not fall within their number. Lord Gryffindor, however, does. This dream you had must have been extraordinary. I cannot wait until you dream of the next founder. Tell me, are you at all tired?"

"A little," Harry admitted. "But not too bad."

"Curious indeed," Dumbledore said. "Well, I don't know about you, my boy, but after nine solid hours of lessons, I am both famished and exhausted. I am not as young as I used to be."

Harry gaped in surprise. "Nine hours?"

Dumbledore banished the steel blocks and the two went for a quiet dinner in the headmaster's office, rather than the staff lunch room. While there, Dumbledore began giving Harry another lesson. They spoke about Voldemort.

As Harry ate a deliciously season lambchop and greens, the headmaster described the first time he met Tom Riddle. How he knew there was something wrong with the child. "If I had known I was looking at the most dangerous wizard of our times, I do wonder what I would have done," Dumbledore summed up.

"Headmaster, there's something I've always wondered," Harry said. "How was Voldemort able to come back? How was he able to survive without his body?"

"That, dear boy, is the rub. How indeed. Do you remember the book that nearly led young Miss Weasley to her doom four years ago?"

Harry nodded. "Tom Riddle's diary."

"It was more than just an enchanted book, Harry. Within it dwelt a piece of Riddle's very soul, placed there by a ceremony so dark it has been banned even from discussion. I am of the belief that the book was a horcrux. And there are others."

"What does that mean?"

Dumbledore steepled his long, age-spotted fingers together before his mouth. "Voldemort broke off pieces of his soul and used those pieces as anchors to this world. When he died in the back-lash of your mother's blood sacrifice, he lost his body. But his spirit was firmly anchored to this world. So while a single horcrux remains, Voldemort is in essence immortal."

Harry went very still. "While they remain. That means…"

"If we are to have any hope in defeating Tom, we have to destroy all his horcruxes."

Harry felt a spark of anger. "When were you going to tell me this, sir?"

"I was actually going to show you this coming year," Dumbledore said lightly. "I had it all planned out, you see. Pensieve memories giving you a background on Tom's character. I was also going to do a little hunting on my own this summer, for leads I already had. I was going to go slowly, building you up for the finale. And then I was going to set you free to go chasing the horcruxes with your friends."

"And now?"

The old wizard chuckled. "Harry, would you believe me if I told you as of July 31st, I will be one hundred and fifteen years old? Yes, Harry, coincidentally we share a birthday."

Harry, though, did not care about the birthday. He did the math and, "You were born in 1881?"

"My parents were legal adults when the Americans fought their civil war," the Headmaster said. "We wizards are very long lived. I will be quite shocked if you don't see one hundred fifty. I tell you this, Harry, to give you context. I have not been young in a century. I was already in my sixties when I fought Grindelwald. It has been a very long time since I was a man your age. And when I was, I admit I had but few of the terrible burdens you have had to bear. I have come to realize that in many ways I have failed you. I have tried to control what information I gave to you. In my caring for you, I unintentionally caused you harm. No more. I cannot promise I will never hurt you, Harry. But I will promise that I shall no longer lie. If you have a question to which I have an answer, I shall share without hesitation."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said. "So can we beat Voldemort?"

"We can," Dumbledore said firmly. "And we must."

"Now, dear boy, I wish you a very good night, and productive dreams. I look forward to learning what you dream about in the morning." He stood and removed a large leather-bound book from one of his shelves. "In the meantime, I would like you to read this. It is the grimoire of Rowena Ravenclaw. Her spellbook. It was her research into Arithmancy that laid the foundations for all future ward construction. Before her, wards as we know them today did not exist. I wish you good reading."

Harry returned to his room. That night, he dreamed of a raven-haired beautiful with cold blue eyes sleeping on a bed of leaves under a cold, clear sky filled with billions of stars.

She lifted from the leafy mat on her elbow, and saw a man staring at her. Sallow complexion, pitch-black hair and dark eyes as cold as ice. Around him slithered snakes, and he was hissing at them. The snakes slid up her legs to her horror, but she could not speak or make a sound.

"My friend is easily swayed by a nice bosom," the man said in Latin, "but I am not so forgiving. You and yours challenged us. You and yours should be dead this day. For your crimes, I shall have my payment. And I tell you this now, witch. I am a master of serpents. They hear me and obey. Speak a word of this to any, and I shall visit such torments on you as you shall ever know."

A pale hand grabbed at her bodice and pulled it roughly away, while a series of spells kept the girl from crying out or fleeing. Thus Rowena Ravenclaw could do nothing but lay under the stars as Salazar Slytherin tore away her dress and raped her again and again.