Author's note: Ériu is Ireland. Can you say longest chapter? I hope you all enjoyed this. Feedback on what to write next is always appreciated; I aim to please.

L'Épée de Godric Gryffondor
(The Sword of Godric Gryffindor)

4.

It was the feeling of somebody crawling into his bed that woke Godric.

"Who is-" he began, still not yet fully escaped from the world of dreams.

"Shh." A finger pressed to his lips. A body laid down beside his. A smell that was familiar.

He pulled the former student to him. "Aoibheann." He kissed her hair.

"I could not sleep," she confessed quietly. The fire in the grate snapped as it broke a log in two. "I have missed you greatly."

Years had passed since the original Hogwarts students had graduated and moved on. But they needed more teachers and more escorts to the school, with more students coming to them each week. Godric's first five children did him proud.

Æðelwine scouted the country, looking for magical children to send to Hogwarts. Godric had told him not to worry about their age; if they waited to take in the children, it might be too late. Æðelwine had saved dozens in his first year alone.

Sigeberht trained King Æthelred's soldiers, the English king seeking a way out of paying the tribute he owed the Danes from his loss at Maldon. The children of these soldiers, those who had magic, were also sent to Hogwarts, each with a dagger made for them by Sigeberht himself.

Felicia had married a strong enchanter from the south, a man by the name of Peverell. Together they fortified their castle, making it a safe haven for children on the way to Hogwarts. Her sons, she would write to Godric, were strong. They would be legends; she could feel it in her heart.

Mildþryð, always following in her adoptive father's footsteps, carried on the Gryffindor's fight in Francia along side Gisela, a daughter of Hugh Capet, whom rumor had it had some magic in her yet. Last he had heard, the two supposed sorcerers had made their way to Gisela's sister Hedwig in Hainaut.

But Aoibheann, the most beloved of Godric's students, had refused to leave Hogwarts. She never said why, though Godric never did ask; there were some things best left unspoken. She grew attached to him as she trained under masters, Godric encouraging her studies until she had become a master herself in powerful magic.

And Godric grew attached to her as well. She was a rock of stability as the grounds of Hogwarts continued to settle. His dear friend Slytherin had left years earlier, taking beloved Edith with him. Ravenclaw, though she would never admit her love for the man, had recently fallen ill. Sweet Hufflepuff, try as she might, was becoming aged as well. The time was coming for Hogwarts to move to other hands.

In his legacy, Godric Gryffindor had begun to leave behind what he could. The Sorting Hat, still as sleek and fashionable as the day he had pulled it off his own head, had been perfected years earlier in sorting students. Sometimes, Godric thought, it even did a better job than the founders had; it could see potential in the students who passed under it. It was unbiased.

The tower that had been built for his students was furnished in red and gold furniture, tapestries hanging from the walls, life brimming in its rooms. How many days had passed since he first sat with his five students? Since they created the first password, since they hoisted, together, the shield of Gryffindor high over the fireplace's mantlepiece? Godric had lost count.

Now Aoibheann was head of Gryffindor House. She was Godric's closest companion, the final keeper of so many of his secrets. Once, in a fit of passion, he remembers throwing her on the bed and telling her he would never marry her. When she said she did not need a ring, only his love and his word, he knew he had found someone to stay by his side until his death.

At first memories of nights spent with Seraphina had filled his mind, consuming him. He used to cry out her name as he came, but Aoibheann never said anything of it as he laid with her. She was the only person he had ever told of his dead love, the only person who could give him a second chance. After months of love making, the flashbacks stopped, and it was only Aoibheann, blonde hair thrown back wildly, strong thighs pulling him to her, pale skin aching to be touched, he would see. Aoibheann Gryffindor, his young wife.

The next morning Godric laid in bed, watching her. So it had not all been a dream, her creeping into his room. He had returned late from his meeting with the goblins; when he was away, Aoibheann slept in the tower. She said the bed was too big without him in it.

Aoibheann stood naked before her armoire, tying her hair up with her ribbon. Having done so in a pleasing manner, she selected her clothes, bringing them to the bed, where she began to dress.

"Did you get your sword? Godric? Godric!" His eyes snapped up from her pale breasts to find her eyebrows raised. "Shall I parade about in the nude today as well? Did you get your sword?"

Godric smiled. "With breasts like that, my dear, any man would have a sword." He chuckled to himself, ignoring his wife's glare. "But yes, I did. I watched them fix the rubies into the hilt. Sigeberht made a good choice in who to have forge the weapon, Ragnuk has good hands."

"And are you pleased with it?"

"Very much, as I am pleased with you."

Her red gown hung from her body, long gold sleeves moving as she made to sit on the bed. She kissed her husband lightly. "Good."

The rubies threw red light about the small room as Godric held it, Aoibheann finishing the preparations for their spell. Godric had never discarded a sword, and now he was glad; he was able to bring all of them to the goblin, who forged from the pieces one perfect blade. The rubies, the last of the sword, came from the necklace Godric had bought once, long ago, in Paris for Seraphina. The name GRYFFINDOR was etched beautifully in the blade.

"Ready," Aoibheann whispered. "You are sure, my beloved?"

"Positive," he responded, standing from the window.

Godric placed the sword upon the table. Aoibheann would work the magic; he was too old for such things. But he watched, aiding her where he could, reinforcing her magic with his. They had no children; the Gryffindor bloodline would end with him. How many generations of Gryffindors had lived in Cornwall, passing their knowledge and magical blood to their heirs? As a young man, Godric was ashamed to think it would all end with him. He had failed in his duties.

But as Aoibheann finished the spell, Godric knew this was how it was meant to be. Hogwarts had taken that shame from him, had reinforced that it did not matter if you were Pureblooded or of Muggle birth, or even Half-blooded. Students had come from high in the mountains, and from down in low lands. Aoibheann had come from Ériu, fleeing wicing raids. All were welcomed to call Hogwarts their home.

In his own lifetime, Godric had come to see the House of Gryffindor flourish. Witches and wizards, dressed in the same shades of red and gold, bearing lions on their capes, were his children. Godric knew each one by name; he knew there would be so many to come after that he would never know. But not one student had disappointed him, each a true Gryffindor in their own way. Sure, some had stumbled, but in the end, their loyalty to their House had not wavered.

With that, the spell was finished. Aoibheann sat, exhausted, and watched Godric lift the sword high into the stream of light coming from the window. This was the last thing he would leave behind to his House. A Gryffindor did not stand for material possession or worldly gain, for success in this life; a Gryffindor stood for chivalry, bravery, courage in the face of danger. No matter who tried, no matter how hard, the sword could belong to no one person.

For the Sword of Godric Gryffindor belonged to all Gryffindors.

FIN