Written by: Hamstergeist, joanna, wishiwereaweasley, Slian Martreb, Chaser74
Edited by: Poultrygeist99
“Father, I’m home!” Helga called to her father as she entered their small cottage. She looked around. It was very quiet and the fire in the hearth had burned down to nearly nothing. Helga’s father was no where to be seen. “Father?” He did not answer.
She hurried out the door and ran around to the back of the cottage. “Father?” she called, increasingly anxiously.
Helga continued to look for her father. She found his horse, standing next to the water trough, huddled against the wind, reins dragging on the ground.
Helga stopped in her tracks. She took out her wand, balanced it on her index finger and watched as it spun and stopped. She looked up, and ran in the direction it pointed.
As Helga hurried past the rabbit hutch Godric appeared around the corner of the cottage.
“I thought I’d stop and chat with your…” His words trailed off as he noticed the worry in Helga’s eyes. “Is something the matter?” he asked.
“Father,” she said quietly, then continued following the path indicated by her wand.
Godric followed.
The sight that greeted them took Helga’s breath away and made Godric draw his sword. He quickly pushed Helga behind his back and then inched their way towards the weeping willow. He thought that its trunk would provide them enough cover until he assessed the situation.
Harlan Hufflepuff was facing four men armed to the teeth. One of them was clearly the leader; he was not only dressed in finer clothes than the others, his weapons also marked him as someone of high status. His armor was made of some kind of hide and he wore a helmet with a spectacles-like visor. Godric simply had to admire his weapons. His sword was in the scabbard, but the scabbard itself was a work of skilful hands. The wooden cover was leather-bound and decorated with foreign-looking ornaments. The Viking”because in the meantime Godric had come to the conclusion that they must be Norse raiders”also had a long-handled battle axe on the back. But his spear was in his hands and its blade was touching Harlan’s throat.
“We have to help him,” Helga whispered into his ear, and Godric nodded in agreement.
“Just trust me,” he whispered back, and as a response, he felt her hand slip into his. She squeezed his hand and then let go of him.
Godric observed the rest of the little group. Two of them bore spears and one was armed with a bow and arrows. It would certainly be quite simple to stun them with a spell, but Godric wasn’t sure whether they were alone. Vikings rarely traveled this far inland in such small groups.
If these Vikings followed the pattern of others Godric had encountered, others were waiting for their leader somewhere nearby. Were they plotting to attack the village with its residents oblivious to their presence? No, he couldn't risk that. Of course, the wizards and witches in Hogsmeade were capable of defending themselves, but Godric was not ready to risk his neighbours’ lives if he knew the means to thwart the assault.
Helga crouched behind the willow, sheltered by its weeping boughs. Her long braid was in her hand and she was plaiting and unplaiting it as she waited for Godric to do whatever he was going to do. She trusted him completely, but hated that he forced her to wait in the background. It wasn’t that she was aching to go into battle, it was that she wanted to be treated as an equal. Didn’t everyone deserve that? That was such a huge part of why she wanted to start the school. She wanted all magical children to have the same opportunity to be educated.
Helga was jerked out of her reverie by a loud explosion. She jumped up and ran to the edge of the tree, peering frantically between the drooping, leafy branches, trying to see what was going on. Her vision was obscured by a large cloud of odd, greenish smoke; she couldn’t see either her father or Godric. What on earth had he done? Calling out to them, she received no response. Slightly panicked, Helga decided to go for help.
Closing her eyes and forcing herself to relax, she focused her whole energy on Rowena’s small cottage. It had become like a second home to her, and the image of its blue door and ivy covered front with blue shutters peeking out was soothing. When she was confident that she had an accurate picture in her mind’s eye, Helga spun on her heel and Apparated, arriving outside on the doorstep. Catching her balance, she pounded on the door.
“Rowena! Rowena? Help!” Barely a second had passed before the door was flung open. Rowena and Salazar stood before her, the former with an expression of concern and shock, the latter looking inquisitive and perhaps a touch worried. Helga breathed a sigh of relief. Here were her loyal friends. Here were safety and love. Here was help.
“Helga? What’s wrong?” Rowena asked, taking a step forward to usher the younger woman past the threshold, into the warmth of her home.
“My father. Godric,” Helga answered, turning to the support offered by her friend. “Vikings“they have him. Godric“ he stayed. There was an explosion,” she continued, panic in her eyes as her words become stunted, rushed. “I didn’t“I left“I didn’t know“”
“Calm yourself,” Salazar commanded, his voice confident as he drew his wand. “It is nothing some magic can’t handle.”
“But“”
“Helga,” Salazar said, “all will be well. Nary a hair on your father’s head to come to harm, aye?”
“I shall go with him,” Rowena declared, releasing her. “And I will make sure that that foolish Gryffindor doesn’t kill himself, either.”
Helga laughed, sniffling and then suddenly flung her arms around Rowena and Salazar, both.
“Oh! What did I do to deserve such friends as you!” she exclaimed.
“Such friends,” Rowena clucked her tongue. “Friends who would not help one another are not true friends. Come,” she said. “Let us go.”
They arrived at the edge of the property moments later. Smoke hovered over the open pasture, clinging like a thick fog despite the brisk wind. Broken branches covered the ground. In the haze of magic that filled the air was Godric, valiantly fighting four blonde-haired men.
Invaders.
Vikings.
Salazar eyed them with distrust and distaste, these men who were clearly not native to Scotland. Without thought he yelled, rushing into the battle and raising his wand, sparks of power shooting from the tip as he thought, wished, pain upon those who have come to harm his own. He yelled again loudly, a battle cry learned from the Knights of Walpurgis, as he ducked sword-blows aimed at his head. On his right, Godric’s own ruby-hilted sword glinted in the sunlight, nearly blinding him. A battle-axe missed him by a mere hairsbreadth. Salazar dropped to the ground with a hiss, rolling to the side and safety.
Rowena watched the battle-axe swooping toward Salazar. From her perspective, it looked as though he might have taken a hit as he fell close to the ground, rolling to safety with a hiss.
Unexpectedly, a serpent rose from the earth, large and black and angry, pink tongue darting out to taste the air as both Salazar and his enemy froze. Rowena watched as it wove through the air, swaying, undulating its way closer to where Salazar lay on the green ground. He did not blink as his hand extended to stroke the snake’s head before he hissed again, seeming with purpose now. And then…
Salazar observed the creature tasting his words in the air before it turned to the invader, thin lips pulled back in threat, showing venomous fangs. The enemy eyed the snake warily and took a quick step backward.
A mistake.
The snake struck, sinking teeth in the man’s heel. A scream rose from the man’s throat as poison filled his blood, striking at every nerve in his body.
Godric stopped fighting the other men. There was no longer any need. The snake all but pounced at them, poison dripping from its fangs. In moments, the four men lay dead on the ground, twitching slightly.
“We,” Godric said slowly, addressing Salazar while eyeing the snake warily, “need to talk.”
Helga stared at the bodies of the dead men, their eyes glazed over from the venom of the snake. The sight of them made her feel faint. She hadn’t meant for anyone to die! But she steadied herself; there were more important things to do than pity assassins. Slipping past Godric and Salazar, who seemed to be in close conversation, she ran quickly to her father. He was huddled up by a tree, his slight frame seeming suddenly old and frail to Helga. “Papa!” she cried, falling to her knees and taking his hand in her own.
“Daughter,” he said, voice wavering slightly. “How glad I am to see you. Your friends, they saved me. They helped…” The way his voice trailed off mid-sentence worried Helga. He was not well.
“Papa, are you feeling all right? Perhaps it would be better if you sat down.” He nodded his agreement, and allowed Helga to help him take a seat on the soft grass beneath the tree.
“Thank you, darling. You are so kind.” Helga smiled at him, noticing that new creases had formed in his weathered face. His eyes were burdened with worry.
“Papa, why were those men after you?” asked Helga, unable to squelch her curiosity. The question set off a most unexpected reaction in him.
“The Cup, Helga, you must burn the Cup! It must be destroyed, burned, blasted! Just rid yourself of it! Rid the world of it; it must go!” His ramblings were frenzied, his eyes tortured. It scared Helga.
“What cup, Papa?” she asked, willing to do anything to comfort him.
“The Cup…” was all he could choke out before his eyes rolled back into his head, and he crumpled to the ground, passed out. Helga screamed in surprise.
“Papa! Oh please, Papa, wake up!”