Time Turner
. . . fiction by Odyssea
. . .Ashes to Ashes. . .
Ashes to Ashes.
Dust to Dust.
How the years fall, like leaves off a dying tree.
Rowena is old, and tired. She no longer teaches, because she can no longer see to read or write. She still stays in Hogwarts, though, where the students and staff treat her as though she was still vibrant, still burning with the urge to teach, to learn.
She sits, quietly, under the oak tree Godric had planted in the courtyard for her - a century ago, though to her it seems like yesterday. She can remember it clearly, clearer than the world around her, as Godric lead her into the courtyard, when the castle was still under construction, to show her the sapling he had planted, so that she would have a shady place to read in between classes.
It is old, now, like her.
Today she can feel its shade on her face, though she can only see it as a shadow against the glare of the midday sun. She sits on the stone bench, which Godric had carved for her. He said that he loved to watch her read, so intently. He had the design of the castle made so that the windows of his study faced the tree in the courtyard, so he could watch her when she read.
Now someone else sits there, and admires the view. They don't know what it meant.
Next to her is a student, young. He is one of Helga's children, though a few generations removed. He reminds her of Helga, cheerful and helpful, taking her hand and walking her from her room in the Ravenclaw tower to the Great Hall for lunch to the tree, where she whiles away the afternoon hours. He tells her stories; some are about his classes and professors, others about his siblings � there are a great deal of them, all redheaded and roaming about the castle in noisy, boisterous groups, some about his dreams. He wants to use his magic to help others; he dreams of being a healer. Like Helga.
It's been fifty years since Helga died, red hair turned to white.
She prefers the boy to the others at the school, especially the professors, who are obsequious and deferential. She gets the feeling they believe she is still keeping an eye on them. She isn't; she doesn�t care about that anymore. She built a good school, a strong school.
With Godric, who died early and was buried here, under the oak tree.
With Helga, who treated the students as if they were members of her own brood.
With Salazar, who left them long ago, but left his mark.
She misses them all, and waits for the day that they will return, holding out their hands to welcome her back.
Ashes to Ashes.
Dust to Dust.
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