Foundations, a harry potter fanfic

A/N: Okay, so I know that canonically, the Founders come from different parts of the UK, but that didn't work for me, so I guess AU where they grew up near each other. Age-wise, the founders are early-mid teens. Helga - 14ish, Rowena - 15ish, Salazar / Godric - 16ish.

o . o . o

Lately I been, I been losing sleep
Dreaming 'bout the things that we could be

Rowena dashed through the doorway of her house, dark curls flying out behind her as she ran down the dirt path. She looked every bit like her mother, whose family had come from the Holy Land when the fingertips of the Roman Empire had still stretched into the English isle. Her father said he was descended from Merlin himself, but her mother always scoffed at that.

Rowena's bare feet pounded against the ground. Dust was flying up around her in small clouds, dulling the blue of her dress, but she didn't care. Today, she was going to Helga's to meet her friends and practise magic, and she was so excited that she felt like she was floating in the air. (Maybe if she got good enough, she really would be able to float.)

Helga was outside when Rowena arrived, fair hair tied in a long plait that swung over her shoulder as she bent to pick flowers. In the distance, Rowena could see Salazar and Godric walking down the hill together, Godric's head tossed back in laughter at something his companion had said. They were as close as brothers, but they could not have looked more different. Salazar's skin was darker than anyone Rowena had ever seen, though her mother sometimes spoke of wise men in the desert who looked similar. Godric, on the other hand, could have been Helga's twin, with the same golden hair and ivory skin and pink-stained cheeks. He had never claimed it, but Rowena would have believed that Godric was descended from King Arthur. There was just something about him that screamed leadership and majesty.

Rowena paused for a moment, feeling the wind rustling through her hair, cooling her skin, and she watched as Helga looked up and saw the boys approaching, a smile spreading across her face. Helga's happiness to see them brought a smile to Rowena's face, and she thought about how lucky she was to have three wonderful friends who understood her so completely.

It had started when they were all just small children. Witches and wizards were not common and tended to live private lives, but they learned to recognize each other in ways that non-magic folk would never notice. Rowena had just passed her fifth or sixth name day* when she had gone to the nearby village with her mother to buy more herbs for her potions. A little girl only a bit younger than Rowena had been playing amongst the flowers, and somehow her mother had just known. They had met the boys a year later, the two of them a little bit older than the girls. Godric and Salazar had known each other nearly their whole lives, both of them living closer to the village, but they had clicked with Helga and Rowena immediately. Over time, they had developed a routine of meeting at Helga's house once a week to play, and then study magic as they got older. She was the midpoint between them all, but her family was also the most willing to let three other children run rampant in their fields and sleep in their house when it got too late to go home.

Rowena rushed down the path to Helga's house, a smile on her face as she joined her friends, eager to begin their day.

"Hi! Did you hear that Æthelstan has declared himself King of all England?" Rowena gushed, keen to share the news that her father had heard from a passing traveler two days ago.

"Why should we care what muggles do?" Godric scoffed, bright eyes focusing on Rowena and offering her a small smile that softened the harshness of his words.

"The muggles affect us," Salazar answered quietly. "They are the ones that govern this land, and they are the ones who fear magic enough to condemn anyone who possesses it."

"Hush, enough of that," Helga said, shaking her head as if she was clearing her mind of bad thoughts. "We have nothing to fear from muggles, and they have nothing to fear from us."

Salazar opened his mouth to argue, probably to say that having nothing to fear did not seem to stop muggles from being afraid, but he thought better of it and shrugged. The four of them moved to the field behind the little house, where they often did their practicing. There had been enough accidents indoors for them to learn that they were safest in the open.

They settled themselves in the small clearing on the edge of the field that they preferred, tall shafts of wheat melding into ancient tree trunks reaching toward the heavens with viridian fingers. Rowena nestled amongst the trees, leaning her back against one of the thick trunks, bark pressing against her spine as she tried to gather her thoughts toward her task for the day. In the beginning, they had all worked on the same things together, learning basics and helping each other along. But now they often followed their own interests, reaching along the vine of magic to pluck at what they fancied most. Rowena had been trying to work out how she might use an object to harness and enhance her powers; she had heard of wizards in other lands who used wands or tridents or other objects to direct their magic, but, so far, they had none that she knew of in England.

"Have you heard the talk of the muggles starting a university in the South?" Helga asked as she practised knitting broken tree branches back together and sending them up to join with the trunk.

"Wouldn't that be wonderful," Rowena mused, as images of grand buildings swarming with students filled her mind.

"Do you think we could ever have something like that for wizards?" Salazar wondered aloud, his eyes glazed over in thought.

"How many wizards are there in England?" Godric asked abruptly, skepticism colouring his voice.

"Maybe a hundred," Rowena answered, doing the math in her head. If the four of them lived so close together, and one assumed the concentration of wizards was consistent throughout the isle… It stood to reason there could be well over a hundred wizards and witches.

"It would be so nice to be with our own kind," Helga said, looking out over the swaying wheat. "To live and learn in the open."

"We could do it," Rowena whispered, eyeing the other three from beneath her lashes.

Salazar's eyes were bright with excitement, the thought of creating a society where they could be free together enticing to him. Godric seemed unsure, but as he looked at the others, he squared his shoulders, never one to back down from a challenge.

"How would we find them all?" Helga asked, turning one of the twigs in her hand over absentmindedly.

"Where would we take them?" Godric added, wind whistling around him from the storm that he had been trying to brew.

"What would we do with them?" Salazar continued, piling on to their list of questions.

"We could teach them," Rowena answered. "Sort of like a university, but when they're younger. We could show them how to control their magic, how to use it properly so that no one gets hurt. Wouldn't it have been so much easier if we'd had teachers?"

"We need a plan," Salazar said, needing no persuading.

"We should make a list of all the things we would have to do," Rowena suggested, and Helga conjured parchment and a long ivory quill, already dripping with ink.

"We can decide who is the best to handle each task as well," Helga offered, her quill hovering over the page.

They spent the afternoon dreaming about their school, about all the wizarding children who would be brought together in their midst. They thought about the life they could give them, not having to hide who they were, and all four of them were filled with a sense of purpose that they had not experienced before that day. By the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, staining the sky with hues of pink and orange, the four friends had devised a plan, and though it would take some time to execute, they vowed never to give up until they saw their vision realized.

o . o . o

*"Name day" is drawn from the idea that in societies affected by high infant mortality rates, people often delayed naming their children for a few months until the likelihood that they would survive was better. This day might be celebrated in place of a birthday, as it marks the point when the child becomes recognized by society.