Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling

After long months, a large empty castle was finished. Worn and spirited, their long sinewy limbs raced towards it near dusk. Godric Gryffindor first, ushering them to follow. Salazar Slytherin second, chasing boyishly behind him. Helga Hufflepuff third, scurrying hastily after the two. And finally Rowena Ravenclaw, Whose young pride was too great to chase the three.

"Whatcha think Ro?" Asked Godric, giving her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"It's wonderful," she said, catching him. They'd been working on it a year, night and day. And had long awaited moving their things out of the sloppy tents they had set up next to the lake. Everything in the castle shined of a newness and impassiveness. Something the four embodied.

And at that moment the four best witches and wizards of their time began to dance in slow circles. Trading off between arms, as their robes spun under the enchanted sky.

Godric Gryffindor pranced handsomely, with his heroes jaw, and a lion's mane. He wore red robes emboldened with gold, a crisp brown hat, and a sword strung in a jeweled belt at his hip. He had a reassuring smile and a roaring laugh. He was confident and brave as stories do tell; with a gallant chivalry that drew people to him like flies.

Helga was in his arms, with her merry blue eyes and flyaway curls. She wore a corset and skirt of shimmery coal, and had a frivolous yellow robe buttoned over it, with little pearls. Her freckles didn't stay disguised, and her smile made her instantly likeable. She embodied the kind and just. Above all she possessed a sharp north-pointing moral compass, and deep tolerance of others.

Salazar stood close at hand, mysterious to the outside world, but crystal clear among his friends. He had dark hair, olive skin, and grey eyes. He was wearing green robes that buttoned stiffly to neck. His hair fell messily past his ears. He was handsome then, bright and cunning, with enough ambition to rocket him to the moon. He had a smile on that night, as he circle around the great halls floor led by a pretty lady.

Rowena aged twenty-two, possessed the same energy as the other three. She wore all blue; a tightly synched corset, full skirts, and a laced robe. And as she lolled around the floor that night, her spirit almost burst from her clothes. She was the most beautiful and clever witch of her time. Her face shone like a polished shell, her lips like the smear of blood, and her eyes were a hazel one couldn't place anywhere else. She was brilliant, but crowned with a foolish pride, not yet softened by long measures of wisdom.

The four founders danced until the sunset, but this my friends was only the beginning.

Not sure if i'll continue this

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