Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!
A/N: I apologise for this fic, especially to the Hufflepuff House, who I feel like I'm letting down because I don't think this is up to scratch. I could give you excuses, because I do have them, but I'd rather not go into it, and something is better than nothing. Onwards and upwards: I'm writing for the Hufflepuff House, and my first prompt was Embrace.

When they were younger, Helga was the one with rosy cheeks, and a bosom that heaved when she laughed. She married very young, to the gentlest man she'd ever known, who didn't attempt to court her, or shower her with expensive gifts. Edgar showered her with love, and Helga had never wanted more than that. She had her daughter, Meredith, who was her mother's greatest gift.

Helga had Rowena's friendship, which she kept dear and close to her heart, and Rowena offered it freely. But Rowena was jealous, too.

'Sweyn refuses to enter the castle.' She stated primly, when Helga questioned her on her husband's absence.

Helga patted her arm softly. 'I'm sorry, dear. I'm sure he'll come to his senses,' she told her. Rowena didn't know how her emotions were so legible to Helga, when they weren't to anyone else.

'I'm sure he will. He refuses to understand why Hogwarts is so necessary,' she replied, 'I think he is afraid of us being discovered by the Muggles, but his fears are unfounded, and I can't give this up now. Our students need me.'

'Rowena, I was not thinking of Hogwarts. I'm sure we could function fine without you if you wanted to take leave to find him,' Helga looked sympathetic. She was trying not being patronising, but it seemed that way to Rowena. 'I was thinking of you, and of Helena.'

Rowena's own marriage was one of sensibility. Sweyn was not scared away by her righteous intelligence, or the sharpness of her tongue. For that alone, she admired him. He was often away, dabbling the Muggle business that he had accepted so freely, so senselessly, over their world. Though he tried to pretend otherwise, Rowena was not a fool; she knew that his pride could not allow him to completely accept her place was in the school, and not with him.

Her husband was a handsome man, more so than Edgar, or Salazar, or even Godric. She could see no reasonable explanation for his ever marrying her. She was not rich, she was not extremely beautiful or maternal, she could not be a perfect wife. All she had was her intelligence, a small gift for any man.

Still, he had taken her as his. And, like a sharp stone, weathered with time, she softened. As her stomach swelled with life, Rowena's body grew less harsh, and the hard edges of her intelligence softened into creativity.

Sweyn's visits to Hogwarts became more and more infrequent over the course of her pregnancy. For many years, they climaxed in an encounter, months after Helena's birth, when he had tried to take the two of them from the castle. He had, most foolishly tried to overpower her, to take her and their baby from their home. Rowena was not the most powerful witch of the age for nothing.

'Helena and I are fine.' And they were. They had almost everything they needed at Hogwarts. 'I've had time to devise new floor plans for the castle, while he's been away. Really, Helga, I'm far more stimulated working without him, than I would have been were my husband here. I do not have to waste a second of my time.'

'Your plans are indeed spectacular, but don't you miss him, even a little bit?' Helga attempted to probe further. 'Surely Helena is in need of a father?'

Rowena considered it for only a brief few seconds. She had thought before that she should miss him. 'I am not loyal, like you are. Sometimes I miss him, but that is not a sensible use of my time. Why dwell on what is not going well, when I have so much that is?' She smiled easily. 'My Helena is not growing up without the presence of males, is she? Godric dotes on her, Salazar teaches her the ways of cunning and ambition, and Edgar is as wonderful with her as he is with Meredith.'

She smiled honestly, stopping and taking Helga's hands in her own. 'My dear Helga, please do not think that your worrying about me and Helena is not appreciated. You know I could never have retained my sanity without you.'

Helga could do nothing but smile, and nod understandingly, though the look in her eyes was one of disguised disbelief.

Truthfully, Rowena did miss him, sometimes. There were moments, in the time that they spent together, that Sweyn was tender with her and her body. She discovered, from him, the power of her own mind when given completely to another. Her mind was sharper than anyone's of their age, and her logic stimulated that, but she had soon found that she could learn in other ways too.

It wasn't in her nature to discuss that particular subject with anyone, no matter how much she loved Helga. With her thanks, their conversation was ended.

By the time Helena was ten, her father had visited them twice. Rowena was not surprised. Many Muggle women spent vast amounts of time without notice from their husbands, especially when they were playing at battles, like Sweyn was. At least they received regular owls.

When he returned, she barely recognised him as the same man who had been so loudly unsure about Hogwarts, and who had left them for so long. He picked his little girl up easily, and looked proudly down into her beautiful, fair face, so like his. Beaming, he proclaimed his intention to come more often to the castle.

'I have learned lessons in honour from the Muggles, Rowena,' he told her sincerely when they were on their own, 'and while you know of my duties elsewhere, I intend to visit frequently, if you wish it.'

She fell into his embrace, and kissed him soundly. He was her husband, and she hadn't married him for no reason, really. Though they were not close when their wedding had occured, his caresses were the only ones she had ever known, and his slim ring was on her slim finger, and his letters, signed with love, were her constant companions. That meant something.

(Oh, how she wished it didn't, when word of this death reached the castle, and the tears on her face were far too illogical, far too real.)

Her teaching methods became passionless then, and her wisdom fell away until the sharp edges physically hurt again, like they never had when they were younger. She continued mechanically with her duties at Hogwarts. When Salazar had sidled up to her, they were both stuck on a moving staircase that had seemed like a marvellous idea at the time.

'I fail to see, dear Rowena, how your dear husband could ever possibly have appreciated you.' Salazar had hissed softly, his words tickling her ears. She had known he was manipulating her, but it was what she had needed to hear. She had embraced his cold words. His sensibilities had, in the past, impressed her. He balanced out Godric's occasionally irrational actions, and he did not pity her for her loss.

'I'm sure he must have done a little,' she had blushed. Starting this affair with him had been a mistake, a horrible mistake, but she made it gladly.

His fingers were long and knowing, his touches precise. He manipulated her body with meticulousness, and Rowena slowly learnt how to return the favour. There was nothing in their affair that was allowed or acceptable. It wasn't something that she liked, but it was a learning curve, and if she wasn't learning, she suspected that she would rather not be living anymore.

Unfortunately, Salazar was the one who taught her the meaning of anger, too, and she'd always known that there was nothing sensible in pointless anger like that.

Yet his leaving made her angrier than any fight he and Godric had ever had before, because in his smooth way, he'd made her need him and their secret encounters. Somewhere along the line, the differences that they all knew where there grew beyond control. Four became three, and Salazar was just another person who left her.

Helena left Hogwarts not long after them, they'd restored her passion for knowledge. Teaching her daughter was more fulfilling than she had ever imagined, and somehow, being with Salazar had taught her things she was sure she had forgotten.

Even had she still been in possesion of her diadem, the lessons the two had taught her would not have prepared her to lose them. Even with the diadem, Helena had not found the wisdom to see that Rowena had only ever tired to actin her best interests. The Baron loved her daughter, like Sweyn had once loved her. It didn't seem to matter that Helena, at present, did not have a passionate, true love for him. Sometimes, she had tried to reason, love was grown, and not discovered. Her reasoning had not worked.

'Rowena?' Helga called her name, intercepting her journey to the library, with pity in her voice and loyalty in her eyes. 'My dear, please, take some rest?'

Between them, Godric and Helga were the only constants in her life. Godric was like a fire, his temper rife since the duel with Salazar, and his entire person screamed of burning if she got too close. In the past years of their friendship, none of them were afraid of each other, but she was too fragile, too frail in her own mind to risk burning now. Yes, he worried for her, but he was still Godric, too courageous and headstrong for his own good, with the booming laugh that students seemed to trust. And Helga was still her closest companion, who the whole castle, the students that passed through and Edgar, worshipped like a maternal Goddess.

'I cannot. When sleep comes, they come back to haunt me, and I refuse to let them.' Rowena's back remained tall as the students hurried past Helga's smile, and her own, newly stern face. 'I am of use to no one when I am resting. At least now I have my teaching.'

'Wit beyond measure, Rowena, that is what you used to say. Will rest not bring that woman back to us again?'

Rowena studied Helga's face for a moment. There was the sincerity that she had expected, the hope of regaining her lost friend. Her resolve crumbled momentarily. 'I think you and I both know that woman was incorrect, do we not? My friend, no matter what I have said in the past, we both know – I suspect that you have always known – that wit has never been man's greatest treasure.'

She did not elaborate, and Helga did not ask further. She did not have time to, as Meredith (who had remained at Hogwarts, to help with the teaching of certain subjects, and with the Hospital Wing) came quickly down the corridor.

She smiled easily at Rowena, who smiled back and did not even attempt to mask the jealousy that was resurfacing after so long dormant. She watched as darling Meredith, a woman now (who she loved almost as greatly as her own daughter) embraced her mother, and Rowena turned back towards her growing library. She'd spent years drowning in the love for her daughter that was so often unrequited, and the grief that had gripped her since Sweyn's death, and the anger that had burned softly since Salazar's leaving. She accepted the cold woman she had become, who she did not care if history forgot, with open arms.