...Helga and the Potion's Lab | Salazar vs. Herbology | The Students.

1. Rowena’s Creatures, and How to Find Them.

Before she met Salazar, Rowena hated getting her clothes dirty. She avoided having to study the magical creatures as best she could, hid when her brothers came tumbling down the halls of the family estate with a Jarvey or whatever they were into that particular week.

But then she woke up tied to a stake and thought her life was over.

And then, just as suddenly, it wasn’t.

Rowena decided then and there that she wanted to live, not just exist. She decided she wanted to see all that the world had to offer and dance atop mountains while a storm raged around her. She wanted to tame a chimera, and find out why exactly a bogart can change its shape (because that is so freaking cool, and how does that work, is it some kind of function for driving off predators?).

And then, of course, she promptly wound up tied to a teaching position in Scotland of all places…

Plans had to be restructured. Stupid Godric.

(Step one: ‘When in doubt, blame Godric.’)

So when Rowena teaches at Hogwarts - on her good days, we do not speak of the bad days - she teaches the precursor to Care of Magical Creatures, and she does it by being a student herself. She picks up the nearest book (and there aren’t tons of them, but most of what they do have were nicked from her family library because nobody has yet invented the cloning spell), points in a random direction, and then off the class goes.

Sometimes this works, and the class has a nice stroll discussing all the interesting creatures…

And sometimes… a pack of witches and wizards can be seen fleeing at great speed from a large unidentified creature.

[It’s actually how the school’s motto comes to be: Rowena gets distracted by a rustling bush, and one of her curious kids tickles the sleeping Hebridean Black that the class is studying. Of course, then they have to book it right back to the Castle where poor Salazar has to apologize in parseltongue – because of course the giant fire-breathing lizard would speak snake.

((“Keep that woman away from my nest!”

“I’m sorry, really, I’m so sorry. I think she was dropped on her head as a kid… or maybe it was that time Helga’s potion exploded next to her. She won’t do it again, I promise.”))

Rowena isn’t really all that sorry. She’s more upset about not having the opportunity to find out what made the bush rustle.

((“It could have been something fascinating, Salazar!”))

Godric thinks it was probably a rabbit. He says as much, and Rowena hexes him.]

As a rule, Magical Creature Studies is limited to the more advanced students.

If only because they can run faster and escape.


2. Godric and the scribbles he calls ‘Runes’.

Godric Gryffindor is not known for his penmanship. He’s much better with a sword, and at the very least somewhat-competent with a wand; but if you put a pen in his hand and smile nicely, he’ll do his best.

His best being on par with a very bored teenager.

Which, is fair enough, because he’s little more than a teen himself. Not even twenty-two and he’s dragging three others like him up north to prod at rocks with their wands and hope a castle will magically build itself.

[It doesn’t. So they cheat, and buy one off a local laird.

Where did they get that much money? Magic darling, magic.

Then they wipe his memory, (which isn’t a good idea in retrospect because memory charms are really more of a heavy compulsion to just ignore shit at that particular point,) make it bigger on the inside, and just generally start hexing random shit.

It’s Salazar who gets shitfaced at a local pub and winds up making the stairs play tag. When he sobers up, he can’t fix them, so he just throws his hands in the air and declares: ‘I meant to do that, stop laughing Godric.’

That’s a story for another day though.]

But we’re getting off topic…

Godric chooses Runes because they look cool and you can blow stuff up with them. Also because thanks to some Viking heritage on his mother’s side of the family, he’s already sort of mostly fluent.

And that’s pretty much how that class goes.

Godric shows them a rune. The kids copy the rune. Part of the castle spontaneously catches fire.

On the bright side, they’re all getting really good at putting out fires, to the point where they could probably do it in their sleep. You can laugh dear, but when it comes to magic, it’s best to keep an open mind about these things.

Occasionally, Rowena wanders in, covered in mud on some days (or ink, on others) and lambasts him for his ridiculous choice of runes for building a ward.

“Are you kidding me?” She screeches one morning in March, “You call this a rune? It looks like one of Salazar’s plants tried to draw a butterfly and died halfway through!”

“It’s not that bad Rowena,” Godric protests. “You’re overreacting.”

It really is that bad. But it also works. Somehow.

Of course, this sets off a spirited debate which is always entertaining.

Things tend to explode or get turned into toads when Rowena and Godric debate things.

“I should have gone to Gaul!” the tall brunette shrieks, hair waving wildly about her face and falling loose from the tight chignon it had once been a part of.

Godric laughs in her face, and she turns his hair pink.

“Admit it Row’!” He shouts after her as she storms off toward her Tower, “You’re just jealous of my genius!”

She’s really not. His ability to make magic out of nothing drives her insane.

In the back of the lecture hall, a pair of Ravenclaws share a look, before turning to their Hufflepuff classmates to beg for sanctuary.

This is probably going to mean war, and they really don’t want to be a casualty of it.

3. Helga in the Potion’s Lab

Helga is, well, a bit of a scatterbrain.

Don’t get me wrong, she’s brilliant, but she’s so easily distracted it’s a bit chaotic. She’s a fabulous cook, learnt from the best in her humble opinion, and so because of that she declares herself the resident Potions Mistress.

Helga is a genius when it comes to whipping up things, but she doesn’t always know how to explain what she calls instinct. The ability to just know how to balance a Potion, or what to add in order to curb side effects – it comes as naturally to her as breathing.

(A thousand years later, and a broken shell of a man will take her place, just as much a genius, but without her capacity to love. Hogwarts – almost sentient after a thousand years of soaking in ambient magic – will see this, and think it tragic.)

The first thing any of Helga’s student learn is to watch the cauldron. Because for all her brilliance, Helga can be distracted by anything (including a lost butterfly, which - depending on the mood - she will either rescue, or use as ingredients) and a bubbling-over cauldron is a dangerous cauldron; if it blows the classroom up, she’ll drag you into fixing it. (“Come on everybody, many wands make light work!”)

The second thing they learn is that Professor Hufflepuff is an undeniable gossip. She knows everything. If it happens on school grounds, she’s got an opinion. Which is kinda funny if you’re up to scratch in her classes. But if you’re not performing to her satisfaction, she’ll use the gossip against you.

“Apprentice Summerby,” Professor Hufflepuff says, and Summerby gulps at the way her eyes twinkle dangerously, “I know that Apprentice Jones is a rather fetching young lady - and I am sure she is far more attractive than I, but when you are in class I expect your attention to be on me and only me.”

Apprentice Jones turns pink, and shifts a little to the left, huddling up against her roommate - Apprentice Mallory - who glares at Summerby.

Two rows down, and Apprentice Perkins pipes up. “But Professor, you’re the prettiest witch in Scotland.”

He’s twelve, and the youngest in a classroom of fifteen-year-olds, completely in awe of Professor Hufflepuff. He’s also Summerby’s roommate, and looks up to the older wizard. Helga, of course, immediately turns a hundred and eighty degrees to smother Perkins in a hug, completely distracted - just as the boy had intended.

“You’re so sweet,” She coos, not noticing Summerby sneakily mouth a thankyou to the younger wizard.

Of course, there’s just one problem. What with everybody staring at the Professor and all.

Nobody was watching the cauldron.

With the deafening screech of metal tearing apart at the seams, and the hiss of acid meeting stone, the cauldron collapses leaving a classroom of teenagers to panic and freak out.

“I got this!” Apprentice Williams shouts, waving his wand in a rushed movement, and completely botching the spell in his panic. The acidic green goop just continues to spread, cornering him against the wall.

“Okay, I don’t got this.” He cries, eyes wide with fear because he’s seen what she was putting in there, and it wasn’t sugar and spice - that’s far too expensive of course - so you can bet he’s terrified alright. “Professor help!”

“Oh for the love of magic,” Helga sighs, releasing Perkins and yanking her own wand from her perfectly coiffed bun. She raises it, mouth open to cast a spell, and then thinks better of it.

“On second thought,” she muses, eyeing the various Apprentices balanced on bookshelves and stools throughout the room, “Mother always did say that cleaning builds character.”

“Professor?” Gulps Apprentice Fairchild, a rather pretty young witch of about fourteen. Helga does nothing. “Professor!”

One of the older girls casts a whispered spell that sends a rushed white mist out of the door in a flurry of movement - and is then disarmed for her efforts by a smiling Helga. It’s not a nice smile. Whoever said Hufflepuff meant nice? Loyal, yes. Hard working, sure. But nice? Hah! You’ve got to earn it.

So when Salazar, summoned by a rather panicked student, arrives in the classroom, it’s to a collection of teenagers screeching in panicked tones, and some of them straight up in tears. And Helga watching them with a satisfied air about her.

“Don’t you dare,” She tells him when he opens his mouth to take charge.

“Helga, no.” Salazar says, eyeing the woman’s wand. Just in case.

“Helga, yes.” She hisses, eyes a little wild. That had been her favorite cauldron after all. “It’ll be good for them.”

Salazar sighs, and settles in to make sure nobody gets hurt.

They don’t, and Helga is insufferable for weeks.

(Please, like she’d really put kids in actual danger.

It was all fixable.)


4. Salazar vs Herbololgy

Out of the four, Salazar is probably the one best suited to teaching. His level head, tendency to stay calm in a crisis, and patience combined with a healthy sense of ‘don’t do that, it’s both stupid and dangerous, will probably get you killed, and I really can’t be arsed to clean up the smoking pile of leftovers’ makes for a well-rounded educator tinged with a dash of cynical laziness.

Except, well…

He chooses the subject that is as poorly-suited to him as possible.

People forget that Salazar has just as much courage and perchance for brave feats as Godric, it’s just that he’s more conscious of how wars are more oft won with less casualties by being cunning and waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

[Yes, Salazar is brave, but he does not believe in collateral damage.]

And stout-heartedly, the parselmouth barrels onwards along his chosen path.

Which is Herbology. You’d think he’d have it easy, but in all honesty, the plants kind of have it out for him.

Salazar builds houses of glass, just like the ones in Rowena’s books, and fills them with plants from around the world – and of course it’s totally legal, what do you mean you think you saw him slipping money under the table to a shady-looking bloke in the tavern last week? – tends to them, prunes them, feeds them apple cores and overripe plums and pumpkin innards, and just general coos over his precious babies.

It’s a sad, sad thing that said precious babies are not too appreciative of his efforts and lack the common sense that says ‘do not bite the hand that feeds you’ because they do, bite in fact, and they do so often.

But Salazar is no quitter, and he refuses to give in regardless of the abuse that the plants rain down upon him. He lectures diligently, re-pots plants, ensures that ears are firmly covered when the subject of Mandrakes comes up and makes damn well sure that the kids know not to just eat random berries - especially the hallucinogenic ones because that’s just asking for trouble.

Half of the lectures are interrupted by assassination attempts, but he gets rather good at sidestepping sudden barrages of poisonous needles, or the lashing thorn-covered tentacle of the flesh-eating Rose bushes; he learns to untangle himself from the Venomous Tentacula while simultaneously demonstrating why fire is the best way to tell a Devil’s Snare to behave dammit.

His snakes try to help, they really do, but in the end they just wind up irritating him more.

[“No, go that way !” Hisses Blue, and then turns to Cletus, “How does he find anything in here?”

“I can hear you,” Salazar reminds the pair of adder’s who turn as one to face him.

“We know,” Cletus tells him, completely unrepentant. The shameless little shit.

Salazar glowers, and then turns on his heel, stomping off down the greenhouse.

“He’s going the wrong way,” Cletus grumbles to Blue, and then shouts after the Wizard: “You’re going the wrong way!”

“Oh, go eat a rat!”]

Needless to say, even though they can’t understand a word, his students find these incidents hilarious.


5. The Students…

The students of Hogwarts quickly come to a general consensus of: ‘If anybody asks, you lie their ass off because Hogwarts is the best school in the world, you got it?’

In all honesty though, they’re more often than not torn between the two extremes of: ‘Oh wow, somewhere we can learn magic and stuff from these super-wicked magical genii without worrying about people trying to put us on a bonfire’, and ‘Oh my god, what even is my life? My teachers are all insane, what is happening? No – wait, Professor no, don’t touch that!’

The truth is, none of the four are really cut out to teach.

[Godric just sort of had an idea, and the others went along with it if only to shut him up because he just would not shut up or leave them alone – and then Helga really started to get into it because she has, like six little brothers and sisters and thought it would be brilliant fun.]

Like most genii, things come so inherently naturally to them that explaining the process (which is one-part theory, three-parts staring into space, and nine-and-three-quarter parts of lightning in a bottle – Or, in Helga’s case, ninety-nine percent pure stubbornness and one percent luck,) to others, children in particular.

But the students adore them anyway.

How could they not? I mean, they’re hilarious. Magic, Dinner and a show? What’s not to like?

For example, all of them have their own personal view on how to select students.

Godric blazes into their lives, all wonder and ferocity. He sort-of tramples any protests into the ground by accident. It’s not his fault that he naturally drowns other people out with his sheer volume alone.

Rowena watches her prey for several days beforehand, and then blindsides them with all the reasons they should up sticks and follow her to Scotland. Any argument is carefully planned for and dismantled with ease… It’s not bullying if it’s logic and reason, right?

Helga just waffles on and on while pottering around the garden, until finally people just give up and give in to her kind demeanor. She’s just so nice, they don’t have the heart to say no, and honestly they’re not even sure what is happening anymore…

And Salazar… Salazar is a firm believer in preventative kidnapping (which is how half of the students wound up at Hogwarts anyway) and has a bad habit of just grabbing kids by the scruffs of their necks and apparating up to the school without so much as a by-your-leave.

Godric really doesn’t approve of this, and so whenever it happens the poor student’s first night at Hogwarts is usually marked with a full-on row between the two friends, and the whole school getting a show out of it.

["Salazar, you can't just go around stealing children!" Godric rages, throwing his hands up in the air, while Salazar sulks.

"He was tied up and they were building a pyre! Was I just supposed to wait until they got the flint rocks out?” He snaps back in a rather petulant tone. The straightening of his spine, and stern expression says that Godric had better not say yes.

So does Rowena’s, even from halfway down the hall where she’s telling the little boy in question stories of all the fantastic things she’s ever seen and done. About the one time she tamed a threstral, or the time she wound up face to face with a unicorn. The time she tripped and fell head-first into a nest full of Jarvey, and you had better not imitate their appalling manners young man.

Godric isn’t fool enough to argue the case any further, and gives in while he’s still got some dignity left. Rowena’s hexes hurt dammit.

Meanwhile, Helga clucks over the skinny frame and threadbare clothes, before setting yet another plate of food in front of the waifish child and fixes him with a look that says ‘Now dear, you eat everything on that plate or else.’ Wisely, the kid doesn’t ask what ‘else’ means.

It should be noted, for the sake of a thousand-years-difference, that while Arthur Weasley might be of Gryffindor stock, but his wife Molly was born a Prewitt, and they can trace their bloodline back to Helga's youngest sister. Where did you think the Prewitt’s red hair came from?]

So yeah… Hogwarts might be crazy, and the teachers are even worse... but it works. Somehow.

And doesn’t that just drive you mad with wonderment?