I can hear them through the curtain; walking softly, whispering.
Sunlight streamed in through the open window, resting butter warm and yellow over the high bed on which I lie. The bed curtains are drawn back so that the gentleness of spring air brushes my cheek. If I close my eyes I can pretend, for a moment, that all is well, and that the weakness of my body will pass.
It won’t, of course.
It started in the early days of the school; the numbness and tingling in my hands and feet. I paid it little mind; I was kept far too busy, engrossed in categorizing and recording the spells and potions that Mistress Hufflepuff and Master Slytherin had collected in their travels. My quill scribed the charms and hexes that Godric employed so well in his duels and captured for all time the enchantments that were my family’s legacy to me. Hogwarts would have the greatest collection of Magical knowledge in the world.
It was enough to distract me even from the pain of my long separation from Gareth; from my guilt that our unhappiness was my failing. A wife’s first duty is to bear children, and to do so quietly, frequently, and with little fuss. I could master Arithmancy and discourse for hours on Runes, but I could not, it seemed, carry a child. With every loss I wept. My husband told me to put aside my sorrow; that I was all he needed for happiness, but I could not but mourn my lost children, born too early to draw breath.
The proposed school brought me out of myself. Of course, Master Slytherin had been educated by the monastery, but never had I heard of a school for the magically gifted. Always it was family traditions passed from father to son, mother to daughter, but now, now, I could envision how the living knowledge assembled in Lord Gryffindor’s household could be shared with young witches and wizards thirsty for the wisdom we had. I do not think that Gareth ever really shared my delight, but he could not but be pleased for my smiles and laughter, and for my sake he would bear the absence of his helpmeet.
For of course the school could not be in Godric’s Hollow; we could all see that. But when the time came to leave and travel to the wild North Country the sadness in Gareth’s eyes gave me pause. Was I right to leave him for the dream of a school for wizards and witches?
The whispers grow louder and soft footsteps approach; but I am not ready for them just yet. My little owl, Athena, sits on the footboard, her heart-shaped face turned away from the window, drowsy in the daylight.
Gareth and I spent more years apart than together as his duties kept him in Godric’s Hollow and my love of the school I helped found kept me at Hogwarts. Perhaps the happiness I found here was more magical than all the potions and spells I had tried, for at long last a child was born to us, a beautiful daughter; Helena. To my sorrow, my everlasting regret, she was the only child we would have for in the spring, bare months after her birth, Gareth fell in battle against the Danish wolves. The memory brings a pang to my heart, as fresh as when I first felt it – the loss of my beloved.
There are tears in my eyes and I cannot brush them away. Weak, faithless body; it fails me here at the end.
Hard on the heels of that sorrow came the razing of Strathclyde and the death of my father in a cowardly attack as he sat at his meat. King Ethelred’s suspicion and distrust of the magical had raged unchecked after the death of the sainted Oswald, and when the Danes ceased to harry his coasts he had taken the opportunity to act on his fears. The attack shocked us. Indeed, Master Slytherin spoke for the expulsion of all those of non-magical families from the school. For a time I agreed with him, for who knew where loyalties would lay? But my brother Godric was convinced otherwise, and indeed, what witch would betray her own, knowing how ill the non-magical treated women?
For it is true, as strange at it may seem to me, that non-magical women can never be as strong as their men; can never have as sure a defence as does any witch. Mayhap that is why they fear us, hate us. Ours is a world where a woman can be as powerful as a man, where a Lady can wield as much authority, nay, more, than a Lord by sheer strength of magic. I need never fear a man. Never. And never have I.
Athena lifts her head, and turns to the curtain, shifting from foot to foot on her long legs, she half spreads her pale wings and hisses softly.
Strength of magic? Yes, that I had – and strength of body, once on a time. It was nothing for me to run up and down the shifting stairs of the school; for it was I who had enchanted them to move and confuse. A test for bewildered students? Perhaps. It was a joke, a lark, an airy confection of humour, although, if the truth be told, none but Master Slytherin understood that.
The tingling grew worse after the birth of my daughter – our daughter – and in time it spread to my legs and arms. It would come upon me for a fortnight or a month, or a brace of months, and then leave. I hesitated to go to Mistress Hufflepuff, for it seemed such a little thing, such a nothing at all. And there was much to do; what with the apprentice witches and wizards, with the shaping of the school.
But in time it was something I could no longer hide, for my balance suffered and my vision would show me double what was truly there. I did less, and even that more cautiously; hording my strength as a goblin hordes gold. My daughter suffered for my failing; poor child, for she was as old as I had been when my own fate had been decided, my marriage arranged, and I could do none of that for her. She wished for broader skies than Hogwarts; wished to be praised and made much of. Wished to be the centre of my world; and that I would not do, for she was only one of many and had to strive on equal footing, no matter what her parentage might be.
She would ask for favours of us all; Master Slytherin would grant them – amused by her cajoling, flattered by the attention. Her uncle Gryffindor would pet and praise her, and then forget her when his attention drifted – he was ever busy with defences and planning. Mistress Hufflepuff treated her with the same common goodness she bestowed on us all.
But it was not enough, not nearly enough for my beautiful Helena, for she wanted to be as brave as Gryffindor, as crafty as Slytherin and as wise as Ravenclaw, and that she could not be, she could only be herself. It would have been enough for me. But instead she stole my diadem, a thing of beauty forged by Harold Smith; a thing so fine that it might have been goblin-forged. It had been a gift, commissioned by Gareth, and enchanted by Mistress Hufflepuff to bestow wisdom and goodness. I would have given it to her for the asking, but it was not her way to ask.
And having stolen it, she left.
It broke my heart, and the grief weakened my already weak body. I had failed her as I had failed Gareth, as I had failed my father. I was not there when they needed me; I was here, here at the school that housed my dreams; tending my apprentices, my wonderful journeymen – nurturing their knowledge. Soon I could no longer rise and attend even them. And then, all too quickly, I could no longer arise and tend to my own needs. Perhaps Mistress Hufflepuff could have helped if I had told her, but I was too proud, too foolishly proud to ask for help. Now I can only accept that my body is but a frail housing for my spirit, and that it will not be strong enough to contain it for much longer.
Eventide has come, and Athena lifts her head, spreads her wings, and takes to the night air. She is the essence of freedom, floating silently – would that I could be so free.
And now, and now... my daughter will not come back, even though I have sent her lover after her. I would wish for one last sight of her; long for one last kiss. Master Slytherin left us not long ago, pursuing his pet I know not where. If I could take my leave of him and ask his pardon, I would, for I regret the argument we had before he went away. My brother Godric stays away, pouring over defences and plans and safeguards for the school’s future; I think it makes him too sad to see me as I am now. Only Mistress Hufflepuff is beside me, always, holding my hand, waiting with infinite kindness so that I am not alone. The strength of my youth is gone, even to the use of my limbs. My dreams are all around me, for what did I dream of if not this school? It is enough now; I think that it is enough.
The voices behind the curtain beckon me; I can hear Gareth, whispering my name, as he used to. It is such a small distance, such an easy step to make, to pass through the curtain and to leave this poor body behind. I need but choose; I need but take that step. . . .
Gareth! My love, my heart. . . .