(no subject)

[tamarindchutney]

Title: Between Here and Now and Forever
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: The Founders, various OCs
Rating: PG
Summary: A little tourism, a little espionage, a little planning.
Author's Note: This chapter has been beta'd by Kitty, but yes, I'm still looking for a beta.

Also, a brief note on canonicity, Pottermore, and worldbuilding: I'm sticking to the events and implications of the seven novels and three in-world books for canon. I'm NOT including information from the many and varied WB promotional materials, video games, things J.K. Rowling has said in interviews or put on her website over the years, or the new information Pottermore is providing us with. I love that JKR has giving us these details, and I will probably end up using some of them in this or future fics - I especially like her wandlore, for example - but the medieval world I'm writing in this fic doesn't reconcile well with a lot of the new information or the more obscure interview information, and I'd have to change the story completely to incorporate all of it.

(I may also have a slight grudge against Pottermore because I got sorted into Gryffindor instead of Hufflepuff.)

Chapter 1
Master Founders Post
Chapter 19

Their first day at sea was nothing extraordinary according to Helga. Godric felt differently, though; he'd never been, and it was nothing short of brilliant.

Cold and wet, yes. Cramped, definitely. Full of staring people, oh yes. But the constant up-and-down of the ship had been easy to get used to, at least for him, and there was something about the wind and the sea and the cold that made him happy.

Unfortunately, Rowena did not seem to be faring very well. Godric decided to leave comforting her to Helga, because after all, Rowena didn't like him, and he didn't think Helga would mind a distraction from worrying about Basil. He had been about to suggest that she read to keep her mind off the nausea, but perplexingly, Rowena had brought very few books with her, and the only one that wasn't hidden somewhere near the bottom of her trunk was a cookery book, which seemed quite unhelpful in this instance.

So Godric contented himself with looking out at the sea and watching the way the water moved beneath them. Sometimes the waves would be consistent, but sometimes the way the ship was moving forced one wave to crash into another, changing them both completely. It was a bit like how layering spells sometimes had intensely unpredictable results, and Godric wondered if it was just a good metaphor or if maybe magic really did work like water. It probably didn't, he decided. After all, you didn't have to keep magic in buckets and wells. It was just around.

He was jarred out of his contemplation when someone tapped on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be in the way," he said, getting to his feet. Then he saw that it was Father Iestyn, the hunter.

"Don't worry, you're not," said Iestyn. "...wait, you aren't ill, are you?" He took a step back.

"Oh, no," said Godric. "I was just looking out at the water. Er. I think Rowena's still feeling queasy, though, if you wanted to know where she was."

"Is she? I thought she went below," said Iestyn.

"I think she thought not being able to see the water would help," said Godric.

Iestyn wrinkled his nose. "It smells just like feet down there. I can't imagine that would help at all. Why doesn't she just sit up here and read?"

"The only book she's got with her is a cookery book."

"Eugh. Bad choice," said Iestyn. "Why'd she bring that?"

"No idea," said Godric. "I think she was going to tell stories, though. Maybe we could try to talk her into coming up and telling them here?"

"Oh come on," he heard Helga say, from somewhere below. "What you need is some fresh air."

"What I need is some solid ground," said Rowena mournfully. But whatever Helga'd said, it had been effective, because she and Rowena were on the deck in a few minutes. Rowena still looked rather ill, but considering the pained expression on her face, Godric decided it was best not to mention it. "Good morning," she said, upon seeing them. Apparently she was trying to be cheerful.

"Late afternoon," mouthed Helga.

"Or late afternoon," Rowena added. "Whichever the case may be." She sounded downright dismayed now. "I missed a whole day?" he heard her whisper to Helga.

"Master Gryffindor here was telling me you were going to tell stories," said Iestyn, smiling. "I can only do so much water-watching; would you favor us with a story now, or do we have to wait?"

"Oh, er." Rowena looked as though someone had caught her in a lie. "You wouldn't like them," she blurted.

"Why not?" Helga asked. "I like your stories. They're always so... er. Different! Alive!" Godric privately thought to himself that neither of these was necessarily complimentary.

"They're all about old dead people," Rowena said.

"They're, er, more what you'd call... not history," said Rowena. "I mean, there may be some historical basis, but I doubt if there ever was a Trojan Horse..."

"Oh, yes! I'm familiar with some of the story of Troy. I've read the Ilias Latina, it was thrilling," said Iestyn, enthused. He frowned. "I mean, not -- not that such stories are very philosophically enlightening," he said quickly, "but it did help us learn Latin. ...But, my lady, I thought your family was Greek."

"Yes, well," said Rowena, "the Romans mischaracterize everybody and talk about poor Odysseus as if he's some sort of villain. And they don't even get his name right. Ulysses! It's not even sort of the same name." She tsked.

"Oh, I'd be fascinated to hear your version," said Iestyn, and Rowena went slightly pink.

"That's that one about Achilles and Patroclus, isn't it?" Helga asked. "I remember liking it. Mind, these ancient foreign names are confusing, so you'll have to remind me which one's the man and which is the woman."

Iestyn looked at her as though she was perhaps turning into a turnip. "Neither is a woman. They're Aegean warriors. How could they possibly --"

Helga was equally confused. "But don't they -- I thought there was a tragic love story --"

Iestyn raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you're thinking of Troilus and Creseyde?"

For some reason, Rowena's expression was now slightly panicked. "I don't think we should tell that story. You'd need a lot of background information," she said. "Why don't I start with the story of my ancestor Odysseus returning from the war, over, er, the desert?"

"The desert?" Iestyn asked. "Are there deserts in Greece?"

"There are now, apparently," said Rowena. "It was her idea!" she added, pointing at Helga.

"There aren't deserts in Greece?" Godric asked, feeling very lost.

"The original story involves... things which are not good to talk about aboard ship, apparently," said Helga. "Anyway! I brought some folding chairs. None for you, Godric, sorry -- they don't unfold that much." She took three tiny objects out of a pouch and, through some fascinating-looking magic, they expanded and assembled themselves into some plain but passable benches. "There! Now sit down, Rowena. You'll feel much better once you're thinking about something else."

Rowena seemed skeptical, but she sat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "All right. It's been a long time since I told this one in full. Feel free to help me out a bit, if you care to."

Godric was confused. "But we don't know --"

She opened her eyes. "I wasn't talking to you, was I? ...Now then, back to the story. Odysseus was a great and clever warrior. It is said that the Trojan Horse was his idea, and though that made him infamous and cruel to the Trojans, he was a hero to his own people. This is the story of how he returned from war despite the curse of the... the, er, god of the desert. Whose name escapes me now, for some reason. Anyway, after many trials, Odysseus had found himself imprisoned, and being a Muggle, he couldn't do anything to escape..."

It was an interesting story, for all that it was pagan and historical, and Rowena obviously knew it well; she only ever hesitated in the telling when the desert was mentioned. By nightfall, Rowena had told them about the gods who had a stake in Odysseus' return or death, and about his wife Penelope and their son, Telemachus.

Apparently Odysseus' home was filled to bursting with men who wanted to marry Penelope and take his place as king. Rowena was careful to explain that, as unwanted as the guests were, the pagan gods looked down upon inhospitable hosts, and so Penelope could do nothing about them but hold them off and hope that her husband still lived.

At first Godric had found the whole thing a bit silly, and spent the story trying to pick out truth from fiction, but Odysseus had such horrible luck that Godric couldn't help but sympathize. When Rowena stopped telling the story, he was actually disappointed.

Over the course of the voyage, she continued to tell the story, which wound back on itself; after Odysseus was rescued by strangers, they asked him to tell his own story from the beginning, and his audience found out what had become of him since he left the war in Troy. Meanwhile, his family in Ithaca were undergoing their own trials in dealing with their unwelcome guests, and the gods above made deals and played games with the lives of mortals.

* * *

By the time they'd arrived at Bergen, the novelty of travel had worn off, but he was rather disappointed not to be getting any more of the story until the return trip. Still, it was nice to be able to get out of the ship's close quarters. He kept having to remind himself, even as he looked at the foreign harbor town, that they were somewhere new, because for some reason his mind was telling him that since he was here it couldn't be anywhere different. The language was the most notable difference, although when Godric listened carefully, he found he could understand most of what people were saying, as many of the Norsk words were similar to the Englisc ones.

The next day, they bade farewell to Father Iestyn, who would be staying at a monastery nearby for at least a month longer, and set off to the Transport Key shop. Stigandir Bjornson had his own Transport Key enchanters, of course, but the shop had been as good a place as any to wait to be summoned. Godric was actually a bit disappointed when they entered the shop and found that, on the inside, it was as dull as any Transport Key shop. Bored-looking people waited on the long benches and stood against the walls, waiting for the harried-looking woman behind the counter to call them up.

The shop was busy, though, and the woman was already dealing with a large, slow group of travelers when they arrived. They waited for the group to get their things together and move out of the way before approaching the counter.

"Excuse me," said Helga to the shopkeeper. "We're going to --"

The shopkeeper looked up from her list. "Are you the Undorn Key to Sandefjord?"

"Er, no," said Helga

"Then keep out of the way," said the woman.

"What's an undorn?" Godric asked, worriedly. He couldn't work out what it meant at all, but it sounded like some sort of vicious sea monster. He did not want to be eaten by a sea monster.

"Means afternoon," said Rowena. "They have eight parts of the day and night, instead of hours." She tsked. "Don't you ever read?"

"I do, actually," said Godric, "so it's always irritating when somebody else has taken all the relevant books from the library."

"They are my books," Rowena said.

Helga cleared her throat. "If you'd both shut up?" She turned back to the shopkeeper. "We're not regular travelers. We're going to Bjornson's fort at Dovre."

The shopkeeper looked skeptical. "You're late."

"We had a late start. Some of us are not early risers." Helga looked meaningfully at Rowena. "And some of us got lost." Godric looked away. He had wanted to see a bit of the city before leaving it.

"Well, I'm going to need to see your amulets," said the shopkeeper.

Helga sighed, and pulled her own amber pendant out. She showed the shopkeeper that it glowed in her hand. "Look, there you are. I promise I'm really Helga Hufflepuff. Come on, you two," she said.

"Is this what those leeches were for?" Godric asked, examining his own amber pendant. There was a leech trapped inside, and he was fairly certain he'd never actually seen a leech in amber before. They'd all been given leeches before the trip, to take blood samples, and he wondered what sort of spell they used to enclose it in amber.

"Last time I needed that sort of identification they were using fleas," said Rowena, wrinkling her nose. "Just when I'd got good at delousing charms, too. This sort of thing is why I'd much rather fly."

"All right, here's your key," said the shopkeeper, pulling a wooden cube from behind the counter. "It's supposed to leave soon," she added, glancing at the water-clock on the counter, "so I suggest you grab hold of your luggage and don't go anywhere. But do it somewhere else, right now you're in the way of the real customers."

Helga looked as though she was about to snap back at the woman, but she looked behind them and made a face. "Right, come on -- Godric, would you take my supplies bag? It's the heaviest. Thanks."

Godric grabbed three or four bags, including the one Helga had pointed at. He hoped all the clanking noises it was making weren't an indicator of broken supplies. He looked over his shoulder and saw another huge group of tired-looking travelers waiting for their Transport Keys. "I think we've got everything -- Rowena, can you carry this?" He passed her a bag before she could answer.

"I suppose we'll find out," she said, sounding strained. "Oof. Not for very long."

They managed to get to an unoccupied corner of the shop, and, after some minor arguing, arranged themselves and all their things so that nothing would be left behind once the cube was summoned.

"This is my favorite part," said Godric, unenthused. He had ended up with several more bags than he'd needed, and he had to stoop to keep hold of the Transport Key.

"Oh, don't complain. It's starting to glow," said Helga, "it probably won't be l--"

There was a nauseating pulling sensation, and Godric closed his eyes tight so that he wouldn't have to see the scenery change around him.

And then they were elsewhere, and it was windy. Godric just managed not to fall over, although now that his hand had suddenly come unstuck from the Transport Key and he could stand again, it took a great deal of effort not to fall over sideways. He opened his eyes.

Oh good. They were standing in what was apparently the center of a group of wooden buildings. In the distance, Godric could see something bright encircling the settlement -- probably wards of some sort, he decided. There were three or four Norsemen and a sturdy blonde girl of about sixteen or seventeen waiting for them. Among them, Godric only recognized Hrafen Stigandrson, though the girl looked exhausted, like she'd probably just Summoned three people and an inordinate amount of luggage. Godric put most of his things down and shook out his arms, hoping the feeling would return to his fingers soon.

Ari Stigandrson ran up to the group. When he saw them, he grinned. "I'm sorry I'm late," he told them. "We had a little problem with our usual Transport Key summoner, and I was reassuring Grimhildr's father here that he would be paid for her services."

At this, the teenage girl -- evidently Grimhildr -- rolled her eyes. "Am I done here? I mustn't upset my lord and master."

"Yes," said Ari. "I'm sorry about that. Blame it all on me, all right?" He patted her on the shoulder, and she scowled and left. "Anyway. Welcome to Bjornarbitholm!"

"Is that what you call it, then?" Rowena asked, looking at the wooden longhouses. "Bit of a mouthful for such a little place."

"It's not made of stone," said Stigandrson. "but the fortress has been here for a long time. It may not be a castle, but I assure you, our magic is more recent than our architecture; it is much more comfortable than it looks. So," he asked Rowena, "you are feeling better?"

"Oh, Healer Wootton's treatments got my wrist healed in about a week," said Rowena. "It's back to normal now."

"Good, good. I broke some fingers in a duel when I was young, and they never did heal right." He seemed to remember Godric, at the mention of broken fingers. "And you, my friend Gryffindor," he said, "have you also..." He looked to Godric's feet, where a number of crates and bags were still piled in disarray, and began to laugh. "They made you carry all the bags, didn't they?"

"I don't know what they'd have done without me," said Godric, shrugging. It was weird, someone being friendly to him who wasn't from the school, but it was also refreshing not to be feared. Then, he supposed people might find Ari intimidating too. He was big, for a normal person, and while he had dressed in a more southern fashion at the feast, his Norse finery made him look rather savage.

"And did Rowena bring eight thousand of her favorite books?" he asked Helga.

"Just a cookery book," said Helga.

"Come, I'll get somebody to show you to where you're staying," said Ari. Godric started picking up his baggage again, but it started floating of its own accord, and when he looked up, he saw that Ari had just put his wand away. "What, you don't think we can cook up here?" he asked, feigning insult. "Wild and uncultured, yes, but everyone likes to eat."

"I only wanted to bring the book I would miss the least," said Rowena. "I've never been on a ship before."

"Was the journey difficult?" he asked.

"Nothing bad happened," said Helga. "No pirates, no storms. It was very nice."

"Except I was ill," said Rowena. "But that passed."

"Rowena told stories," Helga added. "About a traveler who's telling a story about his journey. It all seems a bit recursive now. Does Odysseus end up encountering anybody along the way who tells him their story?" she asked.

"Sadly, no," said Rowena. "Unless you count the ghosts."

Ari led them to one of the further huts, and it transpired that they would have an entire longhouse to themselves. But of course, once they got into the house, though it was surprisingly large and well-furnished, there were no real walls. Just three beds -- one rather large and two of the usual size.

Rowena and Helga exchanged a look, then turned towards Godric.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh come on," said Helga. "The chivalrous thing to do would be to volunteer to sleep outdoors. And you are the only man."

"My definition of chivalry definitely doesn't include freezing my gullible arse off outside," he said. "Anyway, I have a better solution." With that, he raised his wand and transfigured a wall from the wood of the rest of the hut, trapping Rowena and Helga off in the smaller part, and leaving himself, the fireplace, the only door, and all of the still-floating luggage in the larger half.

The nearly instantaneous cacophony of knocking and shouting made him smile. He transfigured a door into the wall, and held it open for the two women.

"You're such an arse," Rowena informed him pleasantly.

"Do you get angry at everyone who opens doors for you?" Godric asked.

"No, just people who are completely patronizing about it," she said.

"We were sort of asking for that reaction," Helga pointed out. "I mean, not that we couldn't have spelled our way out, but it was very gracious of you not to leave us to starve to death."

"My kindness amazes even me," said Godric. "Which one of you would have killed and eaten the other?" He attempted to dismantle the floating charms on the chests, but to no avail.

"Me," said Helga. "Finite Incantatem!" The chests dropped abruptly. "Rowena's always struck me as very easy to kill and eat."

"I wouldn't be very nourishing, though," said Rowena.

"I could make you last," said Helga. "There's always bone marrow."

"How do you even have answers to these questions?" Godric asked.

"I like to be prepared for anything," Helga said brightly. "Cannibalism happens."

Godric looked around the hut. "Why's it like this, anyway? Why haven't they got a big stone fortress like Lord Slytherin? Bergen was a normal city, like Wyke and London."

"Bergen is a Muggle city. This," she said, gesturing at the hut, "belongs to an old wizarding family. The magic makes this old-fashioned stuff more comfortable and lets the owners show off how much money they've got to spend on spells. And by now you must have noticed the old families like to pretend they keep to the old ways, even if they don't. You should hear my Auntie Epione go on about tradition and honoring the gods. They'll have castles in a thousand years, maybe, but for now, here, huts are the thing. Old is fashionable."

"But Lord Salazar has got a castle," Godric pointed out.

"Lord Salazar's father was murdered by my mum just before she took over the Council," Rowena said. "I expect he wanted something a bit more solid between him and the Aurae, if she decided to declare war. Anyway," she said, "this place has got more spells on it than you would think." She waved her wand and said "Manifestus!"

All over the long, dark room, things began to glow -- bright blue knots flowed like waves over the chests, while the wall Godric had made, though it was technically wooden, glowed in a red brick pattern. He watched as his own bones burned and fizzed angrily beneath his skin.

Then, just as suddenly, everything went back to normal.

"What the hell was that?" Godric asked. He was just as glad it had gone away, but he still wanted to know.

"Makes magic visible," said Rowena. "I didn't want to risk bringing an aura lens. It's a bit flashy, but it'll do."

"Oh, I don't know, it wasn't that flashy," said Helga, rubbing her eyes. "I mean, I think everyone from here to Rome noticed that spell, but the Pope might have missed it."

Godric examined his fingers again, still disturbed. "But my hand was --"

"It looks like there are no eavesdropping spells," she said. "That means we can work out a plan here."

"Were you expecting eavesdropping spells?" Godric asked.

"Always expect eavesdropping spells," said Helga. "I think some nobles get their kicks out of listening to other people's conversations, even banal ones. Anyway, am I allowed to hear you make your horrible brilliant plans?"

"If you like," said Rowena. "Godric, I think you should be the one to ask about the prototype, since you're the most hopelessly obsessive about your subject."

Godric raised an eyebrow. "Why do you always say that like it's bad?" he asked.

"Well, if we were talking about me, I would have phrased it more flatteringly," said Rowena. "But we're not. Anyway, Ari really likes you, so he'll want to impress you with all the interesting people and things he has. I assume this thing involves some Transfig, so ask to meet their Transfigurator, maybe?"

"That's what I was thinking -- they have to have one if Bjornson's so interested in research," said Godric. "...you know," he added, "I don't think I've met another Transfigurator. Not a real one, at any rate," he added. "Once Prudentia Quigg sent Fudge an invitation to discuss the business while he was in London, but he turned her down because, well, he wouldn't have known what he was talking about." He shrugged. "I haven't heard of anybody particularly good up here, but you never know. Still, I don't think I'm up for anything but sleeping tonight," he said. "Unless you have more of your story?" he asked Rowena hopefully.

"I'll take sleep over story time, sorry," said Rowena. "Anyway, tomorrow there'll be a tour and you'll forget all about Odysseus."

* * *

There was indeed a tour the next day, which Ari seemed gleeful about. Godric felt very bad about this whole venture, because he liked Ari and didn't want to take advantage of his naïveté -- he wondered why they couldn't just ask him for the prototype in secret, but he supposed Rowena knew her friend better than that. Besides, these Norsemen were all about honor and courage and risky, difficult things like that, Godric thought. They probably wouldn't give up anything interesting without a fight.

And Godric didn't like the idea of a fight, especially not here. Bjornarbitholm was bristling with soldiers -- some were clearly other nobles, or warlords, or whatever Norsemen had; they had the helmets and weapons and were dressed as glimmeringly as Ari. Others were clearly Bjornson's private guards, and it was unnerving to Godric how alike they all looked.

There were few women -- none among the fighters, which Godric found odd, because some of the best duelists he knew were women. Most of the researchers had female assistants, though -- wives, daughters, sisters, nieces. They were going to meet Grimhildr's father Sindri, who, as it turned out, was the closest thing to a Transfigurator they had here, but in front of the longhouse on the outskirts of the settlement, they met Grimhildr instead.

"He's busy," she snapped, leaning on her spear. "Get out of here or I will run you through." There was a loud explosion from the longhouse, and a plume of orange smoke erupted from the chimney hole in the center.

They watched the smoke pour from the building for a moment. "Well," said Ari, speculatively. "I do not think that that's supposed to happen."

"Are you sure he doesn't need any help?" Godric asked Grinhildr. "I mean, we could conjure some water," he offered. "Well, they could conjure some water," he said, gesturing at Rowena and Helga. "I'm really of no use here."

"We had all noticed," said Grimhildr. "Get your stupid tourists out of here, Ari. I don't care how well you like the looks of --"

"It's just that that smoke looks like what happens when you're trying to transfigure a metal," said Godric. "He's not trying to transfigure a metal, is he? I mean. Everyone knows not to do that, even me."

Blue flames shot from the chimney, setting fire to the wooden roof. The acrid smell of burning potion reagents permeated their nostrils.

"Er. Except for him, apparently," said Godric.

Grimhildr was muttering under her breath and using the point of the spear to draw pictures in the air or something. Soon, a small cloud formed just over the smoking building, and began to pour rain down into the flames. "I can handle this as long as the stupid people stay out from underfoot," she said.

Grimhildr was built along the lines of Helga -- plump, sturdy, and quite short -- which made "underfoot" a terrible word for her to use. "Technically," Godric started, but Rowena hit him with a head-thwacking hex of her own invention, and he decided to shut up.

"I hope that turns out all right for you," said Helga cheerfully. "Why's she so grumpy all of the time?" she whispered to Ari.

"She takes after her father," said Ari. "Sindri is... a difficult man. We keep him here for his own good, mostly. He would not survive elsewhere."

"Oh, like Godric, then," said Rowena, jokingly.

"What are you talking about? I'm great at surviving elsewhere," said Godric. "I'm elsewhere now." Privately, he felt bad for this Sindri -- and he wondered if Lord Slytherin would let him leave, if he'd wanted to. Probably? Hopefully.

"...No," said Ari, frowning at Godric for a moment. "Not like Godric at all. Sindri is... he is an angry man. He acts like a beast in a trap." Godric supposed that Bjornson's fortress was the trap, although Ari didn't seem to understand why a person wouldn't like to be kept. "He is working on the problem of speaking across long distances. It seems to involve a lot of fire," he added. "I confess do not know why. But perhaps we can come back later," he said, "and not all burn to death."

"Oh, I don't think we should bother him," said Godric, making a mental note to come back there later, when everybody else was sleeping.

"What? But I thought you said you wanted to see the Transfigurator." Ari was baffled.

"It's just that -- he sounds very, well, ill-tempered," said Godric, "and I would hate to trouble him when he's busy."

"Godric is extremely afraid of fire," Rowena said, as if confiding an embarrassing secret that was not her own. Usually when she said this sort of thing, she wasn't lying, and it was rather galling that she sounded so convincing.

"I am not!" Godric said, automatically. Then, realizing she was giving him an easy out, he said, "Well, maybe a little."

"Then we will leave Sindri to his own... inflammable devices," said Ari. He frowned. "You would not have liked him much anyway. And he has moat duty today."

"Moat duty?" Godric asked.

"Yes," said Ari. He pointed at the bright orange wall encircling the settlement. Godric had thought it was a visible ward of some sort, but now he realized it was much simpler than that -- it was a wall of flame. "You did not notice?"

"Wow. Er. Actually, I didn't realize -- must take a lot of relighting, that," said Godric. He looked at Rowena, who was the only person he'd ever seen flinging about fire spells as though they were nothing.

She was frowning. "And Sindri takes care of the whole moat?" she asked. "He must be very powerful."

Ari shrugged. "His daughter has a great deal of magic, as women often do. I think he finds her very useful."

"She didn't look very happy about it," Helga pointed out.

"Well, she wants to be in charge of herself," said Ari. He looked around before adding, "I feel badly for her, but she is not any saner than him."

"Why doesn't she just leave?" said Helga. "I mean, if she's so powerful--"

"Oh, my father wouldn't let her," he said. "Besides, he hopes that one day he can convince her to marry me; our children would be powerful, you see, because I am...." He made a face. "They say I practice women's magic. Which I don't!" he insisted. "But he is very anxious to have me married. I doubt if it will happen, of course -- she dislikes me. I cannot imagine why."

He smiled smugly, and his tone of voice suggested that Grimhildr had had to put up with quite a lot of carelessly embarrassing remarks in front of foreign dignitaries and accidentally being tripped while carrying breakable objects, and Godric could see, for the moment, why she had been so unpleasant to them earlier. He began to ask why Ari didn't just marry somebody else, but Rowena shushed him. The tour moved on to the forges, and the intersection of magic and blacksmithing -- an art Godric was wholly unfamiliar with, given Transfiguration's inability to affect metal -- was too fascinating to bother with such petty interruptions.

* * *

After supper that night, Helga decided to take a walk. She'd had an uncomfortable idea about who Bjornson's pet lunatic Sindri was, and her suspicions had only deepened when Godric and Rowena had determined that the thought storage device hadn't been in any of the other workrooms, and was probably Sindri's invention.

Then again, there was Grimhildr to consider. He might be justified, if... but. No. Helga pushed the thought from her mind.

Helga listened at the door of the acrid-smelling hut they had stood outside earlier, and, hearing nothing, whispered an enchantment Basil had taught her which would alert her to another's presence nearby. There were only one or two people in the nearby workshops, putting away their instruments or waiting for metal to cool, but Sindri's burnt-out workshop was empty.

Good. She slipped in quietly, and closed the door behind her. There was a door directly opposite hers, facing out towards the moat of fire, and she put a jamming spell on both doors, to slow anybody down long enough for her to escape.

Then she took a deep breath, lit her wand, and looked around. The workshop was surprisingly dingy -- much like the others they'd seen that day, it was cluttered with all manner of magical debris and cruft. Preserved animals and bones made one end of the room look a bit like a wolf's den, while at the opposite end a cage full of bullfrogs sat surrounded by a worrying number of containment sigils. From what Helga could tell by looking at the sigils, the bullfrogs were either Inferi or they carried some sort of horrible plague. She couldn't work out which was worse, and decided that she didn't want to know. Elaborately-carved broken wands and staves lay scattered all over the worktable in the center, and funnels and glass flasks (mostly unwashed) were scattered near the firepit. She glanced through the few pieces of parchment scattered around the room, but all were notes of a theoretical nature, and not about anything she particularly wanted to know.

Sitting on a trunk next to the undead frogs was a bowl full of something shining and silver. Helga peered into the silvery stuff -- quicksilver, perhaps? -- and saw her own face, reflected, but very distorted. She frowned; it made her look much younger than she was, but she did not want to dwell on that. She picked the bowl up gently and set it down on the ground, not daring to spill a drop. This was probably what Rowena and Godric were looking for, from their descriptions, but that wasn't what she had come for.

She examined the trunk, biting her lip thoughtfully. It was scorched in places and spattered with alchemical and biological stains; apparently it had been witness to much. It's probably just supplies or something, she thought, feeling silly for having come this far. She hadn't found what she'd expected, and now that she was here in somebody else's laboratory, she didn't see why she'd expected to find it in the first place.

Still, in front of her was a trunk, as yet unexamined. If she just left without looking, she knew the feeling of uncertainty in the pit of her stomach would never go away. But if she looked...

If she looked she would know. Maybe. Either way.

Helga took a deep breath and reached down to open the trunk. It was locked, and very heavy. Damn it. What was that spell Basil'd told her about? He said it'd been indispensable in his larcenous youth.

She recalled it, unlocked the trunk, and pushed it open slowly.

Inside there were trays of corked bottles. Not what she'd wanted. Still, she picked them up and looked at the labels. Interesting. Curious. Lord Salazar would probably have killed to get his hands on these. She wasn't here for that, though. She sighed.

And then she blinked. One of these bottles was full of spiky Whomping Willow seeds. It was labeled "H XII." Where on earth had he got those?

She combed through the bottles, finding more seeds -- twelve in all, all labeled H I through XII. All of them were definitely Helga's plants. Helga's very proprietary plants. That horrible queasy feeling wasn't getting any better, and now she sort of wanted to cry.

She put the bottles back quickly -- she saw scrolls of parchment underneath the trays, but she didn't want to look at his notes. This had been a mistake. If anyone was better off ignoring the unknown, it was certainly Helga. She tried not to think about how all the seeds there had been her favorites, the ones that had taken her months to develop -- in some cases years.

She absolutely didn't want to think about this. She should have stayed in Scotland, she decided; she didn't want to be anywhere near here.

Helga returned the workshop to exactly the same way she'd left it. She wondered if she ought to tell Godric and Rowena that they were right about Sindri having the thought-collection thing, but then they'd want to know what she'd been poking around in his workshop for, and why she hadn't taken it for them.

She left the workshop, closed the door behind her, and circled the building to walk back towards the center of the fortress -- but as she turned the corner, she nearly bumped into Grimhildr.

"Sorry! Sorry," said Helga. "Didn't see you coming!"

"No," said Grimhildr, looking at her as a viper might look at a rat, although the effect was ruined because Grimhildr was just too young to take seriously. "You didn't. What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Helga blinked. "Taking an evening walk," she said. "It's sort of a thing I do after dinner. I usually go into the woods, but you've got your moat of fire," she said, gesturing at the flames. She gave Grimhildr what she hoped was a winning smile.

Grimhildr didn't look convinced. "I don't like you."

"I don't see why not," said Helga. "I mean, I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm --"

"I know exactly who you are," snapped Grimhildr. "Get out of my way." She shoved Helga to the side, and entered the workshop, closing the door with a slam.

"Viking hospitality," muttered Helga, shrugging to herself. She felt very bad for Grimhildr now. It occurred to her that, well, he had all those bottles and none had been labeled with Gs. She was never going to feel good about this, was she? She sighed. Best to move on before it got to her. Or before Grimhildr got to her.

She made her way back to the guest longhouse, where Godric and Rowena appeared to be arguing over bits of parchment.

"Yes, but these are the only thing we've got with a Council seal on it," said Rowena, holding up the documents they had used to get onto the ship and at the Transport Key shop. "So they sort of look official. And they say 'Authorized' at the top."

"Yeah, but if he looks at them he'll know we're not really safety inspectors," said Godric. "Since they say 'Authorized to Board Ship' or something, not 'Authorized to Be Fake Inspectors Who Are Really Thieves.' And what if he takes them and rips them up? How'll we get back to Hogsmeade?"

"We'll just say we lost them," said Rowena. "I've got plenty of connections to get us back, and I can always blame your absentmindedness."

"Great plan," said Godric, rolling his eyes. "I still think we should make up a fake checklist."

Helga cleared her throat. "Wouldn't it just be easier just to ask Ari for the thing you want to steal?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to do that to Ari," said Rowena. "He'd feel bad giving it to us. It's one of those honor things. They do honor here. I'm not very clear on how it works, but I don't think that secretly giving a bunch of tourists your super-secret mind magic device is allowed."

"I wasn't aware he was so fair-minded," said Helga. She could still remember him cheating in that duel with Basil on the day they'd first met. And he'd called her little. He was nice and all, but he was such an arse.

"Oh, I think he'd help, but he'd be found out," said Rowena. "The thing about Ari is he always has these terrible overcomplicated plans," she said. "It's best he doesn't know, really."

Helga raised an eyebrow. "Overcomplicated plans? I'd never have guessed. Well, all right, Rowena. Good luck." If she couldn't talk them out of a stupid plan, nobody could. She sighed.

"What's wrong?" Rowena asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, nothing," said Helga. "I'm just -- it's been a rough day, I suppose."

Rowena snorted. "Oh come on, you had fun today, didn't you? I know there were no interesting plants, but how about those metal-seeking moles they were breeding? Those were fun!"

"Yeah," said Helga, trying to sound cheerful. "But... I suppose I'm just homesick. I miss Basil." She did miss him, but it was those damn seeds Sindri had that she kept thinking of. "Look, I'll let you two get to your thievery, but I'm not helping. I did see Grimhildr go into Sindri's workshop, though, so you might want to wait until she's left it."

"All right," said Rowena. "Thanks." She paused. "And don't worry about Basil, all right? I know you two don't see eye to eye, but I'm sure Lord Salazar would know what to do if he got hurt over this full moon. And he doesn't usually get hurt," she added.

"Yeah," said Helga. "I know he'll be fine. I'm just a worrier. But really, don't worry about me."

"All right," said Rowena. "...Godric, where'd you put our travel documents?"

"Helga liked my checklist idea," he said, "so I win the argument. Right?"

"Right," said Helga, snorting.

"Whose side are you on?" Rowena demanded.

"Mine," said Helga. "Now make up your fake checklist and get to work."

"Well, I bet we won't even need to use them," said Rowena haughtily, apparently having lost all enthusiasm for the Fake Inspector Ruse in the last few seconds.

After a few minutes of busy chattering and nearly-friendly argument, Godric and Rowena had pulled something together that seemed to work well for them. When they left, Helga found the silence uncomfortable, but considering what she'd just seen, the sounds of merriment drifting in from outside of the guest hut were not at all tempting. She sighed, lay down on her bed, and soon fell into an uneasy sleep, filled with confusing, fragmented dreams.

Chapter 21