The Gryffindor common room was a hive of activity, buzzing with the news of what had happened in Care of Magical Creatures. Many students were bewildered, and more than a few were openly annoyed, unable to comprehend why Harry Potter would save an enemy. The most vocal among them was Ron, who was complaining loudly about being denied entry to the hospital wing. From his armchair by the fire, Godric Gryffindor, in the form of Neville, understood Madam Pomfrey's decision; Ron had been shouting at the entrance to the wing.
"It was Malfoy!" Ron raged. "Harry should've just let the Hippogriff rip him to shreds!"
"That would have been a very bad idea," Godric said, his voice calm but firm, aware that the entire common room was now listening. "It's true that Malfoy provoked the Hippogriff, but it would have been far worse for the creature if it had actually harmed him."
"Longbottom's right, Weasley," a fourth-year boy chimed in. It was Cormac McLaggen. "My father works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. If a boy with a father like Lucius Malfoy had been hurt, that Hippogriff would already be choosing its own headstone." He spoke with an air of immense self-importance. "Besides, I was at the Malfoys' for dinner last week. Lucius was already furious that the gamekeeper was appointed as a teacher."
"I take it you're not a fan of Hagrid either, then?" Godric observed coolly.
"I'm of the opinion that Dumbledore should only hire qualified staff," McLaggen sniffed. "And it's obvious Potter was just protecting his oaf of a friend."
Godric frowned. There was a kernel of truth in McLaggen's words. The incident had been avoided, but it presented an opportunity. Everyone in Slytherin followed Malfoy's lead, and now Malfoy, whether he liked it or not, owed Salazar Slytherin a life debt.
When the conversation devolved into a debate about the accuracy of tea-leaf predictions, Godric decided it was time to leave. He slipped out of the common room to wander the castle. Personally inspecting the state of his school after so many centuries was a far better use of his time. He wouldn't try the hospital wing; after Ron's outburst, no students would be getting in. To act otherwise would be to draw unnecessary attention to himself—something Salazar would not appreciate, though given recent events, he couldn't exactly lecture anyone on the subject.
"Hello, Godric," a female voice said from the shadows.
He stopped. Leaning against the wall, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight from a high window, was a young woman with short, bubble-gum pink hair, wearing a t-shirt for the Muggle play Macbeth and a leather jacket. He smiled. Even in this form, he knew her instantly.
"Helga. We wondered when you would show yourself."
"I couldn't talk to him," she said, her voice soft. "I wouldn't have known what to say. He protected me... you know."
"We protected each other," Godric corrected gently.
"I know, it's just..."
"You will find a way to face what truly frightens you. I suspect it frightens you both."
"Godric," Helga said, straightening up from the wall, a flicker of vulnerability beneath her calm exterior. "I was the first to return. I've been alone for seven years. I was beginning to think something had gone wrong."
"We will discover why when all four of us are together. You are the eldest now, though you were once the youngest of us."
Their eyes met, and Godric saw the same strength he had always known. They were pioneers.
"Tonks," a deep voice called from the end of the corridor. "You know what Dumbledore said. We have a job to do."
"Ah, you must be the Aurors Dumbledore mentioned," Godric said, immediately slipping into his role as a flustered student. "Blast. Not only have I lost my bearings again, but I've mistaken an Auror for a student. My apologies."
"No harm done. It was fun," Helga—Tonks—replied with a wink.
"You didn't correct him?" the other Auror, Kingsley, inquired sternly.
"Relax, Kingsley. It's not like I put on a school robe and snuck into a lesson."
"Don't let your 'fun' interfere with our work, Nymphadora."
"It won't," she sighed. "And don't call me that."
"Well, I'd best be off," Godric said cheerily. "A pleasure to meet you both, Kingsley, Tonks." He chuckled. "Until we meet again, if the castle allows it."
"See you around," Tonks replied. "You never told me your name."
"Neville Longbottom."
Salazar was aware he had spent the night in the hospital wing only because the searing pain in his back had jolted him awake numerous times. Madam Pomfrey never had to say a word; she was simply there with a powerful pain-relieving potion that sent him immediately back into unconsciousness. Normally, he would have hated being drugged, but in this instance, he was grateful. In a brief moment of lucidity, he thought he saw Dumbledore and McGonagall at the foot of his bed, but he was gone again before they could speak.
By morning, the powerful draughts were replaced with a less groggy alternative, and he was served a hearty breakfast. The protein, he knew, would help regenerate the damaged tissue. His reaction had been foolishly impulsive; he should have simply immobilised the Hippogriff. It would have been a far cleaner solution.
He looked up as a man in yellow and brown robes, carrying a folder with the Ministry of Magic seal, entered the ward. The man, whose nameplate read AMOS DIGGORY, went straight to the nurse and began asking about his condition. Moments later, Dumbledore swept in.
"Amos," the Headmaster said pleasantly. "I told you yesterday there was no need to trouble young Harry. It was a minor incident."
"Don't tell me how to do my job, Albus," Diggory replied, his tone firm. "'Minor incidents' don't land students in the hospital wing with severe lacerations."
"I insist this is unnecessary. The creature is contained. Let the boy rest."
"A magical creature attacked a student. My department will investigate. Just as you should have notified us last year when a Basilisk was loose in your school. My Ced told me all about it, so don't play innocent." The man's words visibly unsettled Dumbledore.
"It's all right, Headmaster," Salazar said, forcing a weak but innocent smile. He focused on the Ministry official, ignoring Dumbledore completely. An enchanted quill hovered over a fresh sheet of parchment. "What happened was that Draco Malfoy either wasn't listening to Professor Hagrid's instructions or chose to ignore them."
He watched the quill scratch his words onto the parchment. Dumbledore's face was a peculiar mask of calculation and distaste.
"Hagrid told us that Hippogriffs are proud creatures and are easily offended," Salazar continued. "I suppose Malfoy calling him a 'great ugly brute' wasn't taken as a compliment. The Hippogriff went to attack him, and I just got in the way."
"Why did you intervene, son?" Mr Diggory asked.
"I reacted instinctively," Salazar said, a perfect half-truth. "I suppose I thought Malfoy might try to use the situation to get Hagrid into trouble, and I just acted. I'm sorry for all the fuss."
"Not at all, Mr Potter. Your statement has clarified everything."
"Nothing's going to happen to Buckbeak, is it?" Salazar asked, his voice laced with concern.
"Don't you worry, son. Everything is in order."
As Mr Diggory left, Dumbledore remained. "It was a risk, speaking to a Ministry official like that, Harry," the Headmaster said gently. "When politics and education mix, the results are rarely pleasant."
"I understand, sir," Salazar replied.
It wasn't until late on Thursday that Salazar was finally discharged. His first scheduled class was Potions. Knowing Snape would take points and assign detention for his lateness regardless of the reason, Salazar decided to skip the class entirely and went to the library to catch up on his missed work. The temptation to strangle the man was best avoided.
He gave vague answers to anyone who asked about his injury. His left arm was in a sling, but it didn't interfere with his wand work. He entered the staffroom for Defence Against the Dark Arts just as Snape was passing.
"Detention, Potter. For skipping my class."
"Severus," Professor Lupin interjected smoothly. "Madam Pomfrey has only just discharged him. I believe we can make an exception."
Snape shot him a look of pure loathing but stalked away without another word. Salazar knew the man would find another way to get even. He needed to understand the root of the professor's hatred for him.
A nudge from Ron pulled him from his thoughts. Professor Lupin had asked him a question.
"Could you repeat the question, please, Professor?"
"Of course, Harry," Lupin said kindly, gesturing to a rattling wardrobe. "Why do we have an advantage when facing a Boggart in a group?"
"Because there are so many of us," Salazar answered, drawing on his own knowledge. "It wouldn't know which form to take. A Boggart feeds on a single, primary fear. With a crowd, the ambient fear is too jumbled for it to focus."
"An excellent answer! Ten points to Gryffindor!" Lupin beamed. "Now, form a line!"
Salazar immediately moved to the very end of the queue. Facing a Boggart meant revealing one's deepest fear, a weakness he was unwilling to display. He couldn't be sure if it would transform into something he, Salazar, truly feared, or what the world expected Harry Potter to fear. Either outcome would raise questions he didn't want to answer. He caught Godric's eye, and his friend nodded, joining him at the back.
"We need a way out of this," Salazar murmured.
"Agreed," Godric replied. "We can't let it see what's in our heads."
The bell rang for the end of class before they, along with a frustrated-looking Hermione, reached the front. Professor Lupin awarded points all around, but Salazar could feel Hermione's glare. She was furious at having missed her chance to face the creature and prove herself.
"Why don't you ask him if you can face it now?" Harry suggested to Hermione. "Class is over, but it's still an opportunity. Besides, he seems competent."
"A vast improvement on Gilderoy Lockhart, at least," Godric added with a smile.
"Are you going to?" Hermione asked Harry.
"No," Salazar replied simply. "But our choices don't have to be yours."
They left her looking thoughtful and made their way back to the common room. Since his arm was in a sling and his back still ached, Salazar couldn't carry his satchel; instead, he used a quiet Levitation Charm to float it behind him. They settled into a secluded corner, and Godric began his homework while Salazar started catching up on the work he'd missed. He decided to tackle one subject at a time, methodically working through his Transfiguration notes.
Half an hour before dinner, their study session was abruptly interrupted. Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, slammed his hands down on their table.
"What were you thinking, Potter?" Wood demanded, his voice a low growl. "You've left Gryffindor without a Seeker just to protect some Slytherin git! Flint will never agree to postpone the match, and the last time we played without a Seeker we were annihilated! Did you want to hand the Snakes the Quidditch Cup?"
"Is a cup more important than a person's life?" Salazar asked, raising a single eyebrow. "I'm not going to justify my actions to you. However, since I am injured, it's unlikely I'll be fit for the first match. Have you considered finding a substitute?"
"Harry only joined the team because you couldn't find a Seeker in the first place," Godric pointed out calmly. "Now you have two entire year groups to hold tryouts for."
"I don't think—"
"Wood, I understand your desire to win," Salazar cut in, his voice even. "I understand it better than anyone. But berating your players isn't going to help you achieve that. Hold tryouts. I will even help you find a substitute who is up to the team's standard."
"In fact, you should have substitutes for every position," Godric observed. "You never know when you'll need them."
"Fine," Wood conceded, looking mollified. "I'll arrange tryouts for this Saturday."
Salazar watched him go, frowning. He knew Wood was fiercely competitive, but that passion was dangerously close to becoming an obsession, a win-at-all-costs mentality that was far from healthy.
"It's difficult, writing as a thirteen-year-old," Godric murmured, looking down at his essay. "I have to consciously hold back, because some of this would be impossible for someone our age to know."
"Except for Hermione," Salazar replied. "She's intelligent, perceptive, and has probably read the entire library, barring the Restricted Section."
"Do you think she could be...?"
"She has the potential," Salazar mused, "but I don't believe so. Her intelligence is academic. She seems driven by a need to prove she's the best, not out of malice, but as if she has to constantly justify her place here." He glanced over at her, surrounded by a fortress of books. "She could be brilliant if she ever stopped treating texts as infallible and started thinking more critically."
"You're not going to tell her that, are you?"
"No, my friend. Coming from us now, she wouldn't take it seriously. You have the reputation of a shy boy who struggles..."
"That was my father's wand, and my own foolishness for believing my grandmother's nonsense," Godric interjected.
"...and I have spent two years deliberately underachieving so as not to lose the only friends I had." Salazar lowered his voice. "You know I was raised by my mother's Muggle sister. My aunt and uncle despise magic. I was punished for any accidental magic, or for daring to get better marks than my cousin. Anything that made me stand out was stamped out."
"I see. So you held yourself back to avoid being alone. Are you planning revenge?"
"Not in the way you might think. The best revenge is to simply wait. They spoiled their son rotten, and he's already well on his way to becoming a juvenile delinquent. I don't need to do anything; their neighbours' judgment will be my revenge."
"As long as they don't find a way to blame you."
"Dear friend, I plan to leave that house behind the moment I am able."
The common room began to empty as dinnertime approached. They packed their things and joined Hermione on the way to the Great Hall. To avoid suspicion, Salazar began asking her seemingly innocent questions about her Ancient Runes homework, subtly steering the conversation towards more complex theories.
"Harry," a sheepish Ginny Weasley said as they sat down. "Wood told us about the tryouts, but I don't have a broom and... well, Fred and George won't take me seriously."
"Of course," Salazar said, understanding immediately. "You can borrow my Nimbus. I'll give it to you when we get back to the common room so you can get a feel for it."
"What was that about?" Godric whispered.
"She needs to rebuild her confidence. Besides, Luna told me she's a brilliant flier."
"When did you talk to Luna?"
"She ended up in the hospital wing. Some classmates 'accidentally' hit her with some stinging nettles from Herbology," Salazar said with a shrug. "We had a rather interesting chat."
"Harry, mate, can I borrow your broom for Saturday?" Ron asked from across the table.
"Sorry, Ron, I've already promised it to Ginny."
"But I'm your best friend!" Ron protested.
"And that doesn't mean I go back on my word."
"It's not fair! First, I have to hide Scabbers from that monster of Hermione's, and now this!"
"Well, cats do eat rats," Godric said mildly. "And Harry isn't letting you down. He's a man of his word."
"Stay out of this, Longbottom," Ron snapped.
"Besides, Ron," Salazar added calmly. "My very first friend at Hogwarts was Hagrid."
That silenced him. The rest of dinner passed peacefully, though Salazar could feel Malfoy's anxious gaze from the Slytherin table. The boy knew he was in debt, and it was clearly weighing on him. It was better to wait for Draco to make the first move.
On Saturday morning, Salazar made his way down to the Quidditch pitch. He had arranged with Wood to sit in the stands and help evaluate the Seeker candidates. He was still sore and took a pain-relief potion only when absolutely necessary; he knew they could be addictive.
Three second-years tried out. The test was simple: a few laps to test speed and balance, followed by a run while dodging the rest of the team and a pair of Bludgers. One boy washed out immediately, too afraid of a collision to be effective.
"I see they've made you a coach," a familiar voice said beside him.
It was Helga. He smiled at her pink hair, remembering the fleeing figure from Diagon Alley. Her hair briefly shifted to a mousy brown before snapping back to pink.
"So, a Metamorphmagus," Salazar commented. "It would have been fun to have you as a classmate."
"Dumbledore doesn't allow us to be in disguise. Or to be seen, most of the time."
"Bending the rules, are we? I'm surprised."
"A Quidditch tryout is a prime opportunity for a madman to attack a student," she retorted. "This isn't bending the rules; it's doing our job."
"Call it what you will. Dumbledore usually acts only after a disaster has occurred."
"Or perhaps he prefers letting children protect the school?" she mused, her tone sharp. "He tried to use Legilimency on me. I'm sure he uses it on my partner, too."
"Then I shall not hold your gaze for long," Salazar replied. "It would be odd for the 'vulnerable' boy to have powerful mental shields."
He watched the pitch, noticing Wood speaking harshly to the boy who had been eliminated. He saw the twins whispering and pointing his way; a prank was surely coming. Before Wood could cause a scene, Salazar picked up the commentator's enchanted megaphone.
"Colin, you flew well," his voice boomed across the stadium. "It's not what we're looking for today, but you have potential. Keep practising and try out again next time."
He set the megaphone down, catching an appreciative nod from the Chasers. The final two candidates, both girls, began their trial.
"What were you thinking, throwing yourself in front of that Hippogriff? That's more of a Godric move," Helga asked quietly.
"Honestly, I'm not sure I was thinking at all. I wanted to prevent trouble and forgot I had a wand," he admitted with a dry laugh. "I suppose I can claim I was feeding the paranoia of those who think I'm going to die because of a tea leaf."
"Well, just in case," she said, her eyes twinkling as she followed his gaze toward the castle entrance, "don't look now, but there's a Grim by the stands."
He felt a strange pang of nostalgia as he saw the large black dog, a sense of familiarity he couldn't place. He refocused on the match. One girl, Robbins, was faster, but Ginny was more cunning. She anticipated the Snitch's movements, faked out her opponent, and, after a long chase, snatched it from the air.
"I suppose you have your new Seeker," Helga said.
"It seems so. I need to speak with Wood."
"And I need to get back to Kingsley."
"May your burden be light," he said. He took her hand and, with an old-world gesture, raised it to his lips, brushing a light kiss across her knuckles.
"Thanks, Salazar," she replied with a roll of her eyes, before heading off.
The Gryffindor team approached. Wood looked stern, the twins were suppressing laughter, and Ginny looked simultaneously thrilled and teary-eyed.
"Ginny was better," Salazar told Wood before he could argue. "Robbins has speed, though. She'd make a good reserve Chaser. We should follow Neville's advice."
"Our little sister flies well," said Fred.
"...better than we thought," added George.
"...but she doesn't have a broom," they finished together.
"Yes, she does," Salazar said, turning to Ginny. "She can use the Nimbus 2000. It's yours."
"Professor McGonagall gave that to you," Wood protested.
"She gave it to the Gryffindor Seeker," Salazar corrected him. "For now, that's her. I know she'll take good care of it."
"Thank you, Harry," Ginny whispered, her eyes shining.
"Who was that girl, Harry?" George asked. "A bit old to be a student."
"She must be one of the Aurors," Wood said. "I don't know what she was doing here. You don't think Sirius Black is going to attack us during training, do you?"
"She was my Elizabeth Bennet, Oliver," Salazar said with a small, cryptic smirk.
Most of the team looked utterly bewildered. Only Angelina Johnson blushed and let out a soft, romantic sigh.