Year 991
It was a serene, star-dusted night. The moon, a silver disc in the sky, cast long shadows that danced around four youthful figures. They stood in quiet admiration of what they knew to be the grandest magical feat ever conceived: an impregnable fortress. This stronghold would serve as their bastion against any invasion, and as the cornerstone of what they envisioned would become a prosperous and immortal legacy—their profound contribution to the world. The location had been chosen with care; neither the dense forest nor the vast lake would permit intruders passage. Any who dared make the attempt were doomed to fail. This was to be their school, a sanctuary where they would instruct children how to master, channel, and wield their magic with precision. Such was their noble intention, their loftiest ambition.
Godric Gryffindor was the first to break the silence, his voice laced with concern. "Do you truly believe that creature was necessary?"
"She will not harm any of the students," Salazar Slytherin reassured him, his tone confident. "She has strict orders to engage only with that which poses a threat to the castle."
Helga Hufflepuff gazed at the towering edifice, her expression a mixture of awe and unease. "It is rather unsettling that only you are immune to her power, Salazar," she remarked softly. "You know I trust your judgement, but still..."
Only Rowena Ravenclaw remained silent, her mind seemingly elsewhere. It was Rowena who had enchanted the castle's staircases to shift at will and devised an infallible system to identify their future students. Suddenly, her eyes rolled back into her head, the irises vanishing into stark white, and she collapsed to the ground.
Hours drifted by in the castle's newly established infirmary. None of them had imagined one of their own would be its first occupant. The three friends kept a silent vigil over Rowena, who was slowly regaining consciousness. Concern was etched upon their faces. They knew Rowena possessed a peculiar gift, a rare form of sight. Rarely had this ability manifested in such a dramatic fashion, which suggested that whatever she had witnessed must have been profoundly serious. They waited in hushed anticipation, ready to give her the space to speak when she felt able.
Finally, Rowena's voice cut through the stillness, thin and strained. "Hogwarts will face a grave peril. Not this year, nor in ten years, nor even in this century." She paused, gathering her strength. "I saw time itself unfold. Our work will endure for a thousand years, perhaps longer. But a darkness will concentrate, becoming a core in this very place. Seven anchors will encircle a monstrous figure with a reptilian face."
Godric Gryffindor's hand went instinctively to the hilt of his sword, his posture tense. "There is no creature that matches such a description," he stated, his voice a low growl.
"It is a metaphor," Salazar Slytherin concluded, his sharp mind already dissecting the vision. "The monster, the seven anchors, the serpent's face... The question is, what does it all represent?"
"We must do something," Helga Hufflepuff insisted, her words breaking the tense silence that had fallen. "Magic would not have shown her such a vision if it did not require our intervention."
"You cannot travel that far into the future," Rowena said, her voice stronger now as she pushed herself up on the stretcher. "And travelling to the past is far too dangerous; the paradoxes it could create would shatter the very fabric of the universe. We simply do not know what we would find, or if a journey to the future has ever been attempted."
"There is something we can do," Salazar began, his voice low and serious. "But you are not going to like it. Only one kind of magic would allow us to be there when the time comes. It is not truly dark, but it brushes dangerously close to it." He looked at each of his friends in turn. "We must bind our souls to the castle itself. We will let it release them only when it senses it is gravely threatened, when that ultimate threat looms. We cannot anticipate the exact moment, but the castle will know."
"And once our souls are freed, what will happen then?" Helga asked, her brow furrowed with worry.
"They will wander until they find a suitable body in which to reincarnate," Salazar explained. "It should not take more than forty years to find the ideal vessel."
"And if it cannot find one of our bloodline," Godric concluded, grasping his friend's logic, "it will find someone compatible in ability or aptitude after that time." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You are right, Salazar. I do not like this plan. I am not a patient man."
Year 1942
The death of the student caused a great stir. Rumours of the castle's closure circulated amongst its inhabitants, and the professors were fraught with anxiety, unable to identify a culprit. The castle itself, with the Founders' souls fused within its very stones, felt the darkness grow. This darkness reached its climax two nights after the girl's death. The expulsion of an innocent boy—a boy who saw only the best in all creatures—coincided with the creation of the first of the seven anchors.
It was then that the ancient magic was triggered. The four souls were freed, and their long search began. They searched for the right bodies, vessels in which their potential could be awakened and their rebirth finally completed.