Sirius looked from the boy who wore his best friend's face to the young woman who was his cousin's daughter, his expression a whirlwind of confusion. Godric's jesting comment had clearly unsettled him, and a flicker of suspicion entered his eyes. Salazar took a slow, calming breath, fighting the urge to go after his friend. He had to remember that, guilty or not, this was a man who had spent over a decade in Azkaban; his potential for danger was an unknown quantity. He would not leave Helga alone with him, no matter how capable she was.
"So... are you two an item, then?" Sirius ventured, his voice raspy.
"That would depend on your definition of 'an item'," Salazar replied, his tone neutral and analytical.
"You should get yourself cleaned up," Helga suggested, her voice firm and bordering on dangerous.
"Right. So that's a 'yes', then!" Sirius exclaimed, a manic grin spreading across his face. "Blimey, that's corruption of a minor, that is!"
Helga rolled her eyes as Salazar let out a short, humourless laugh. They exchanged a look, both thinking the same thing: this was precisely how the modern wizarding world would react. Their archaic moral compass, so heavily influenced by Ministry propaganda, would see this as a scandal. They could find themselves in serious trouble. Helga's career could be ruined, her name permanently stained. Salazar would not allow that to happen.
"From a certain point of view, it might not be, Black," Salazar said coolly. "It is debatable, depending on the lens through which it is viewed. Whether by the laws of your modern Ministry, or the laws of ancient magic, in which the thirteenth year marks the death of the child and the birth of the adult."
"Sirius. Call me Sirius, Harry. So how long have you two been...?"
"We didn't say we were anything," Helga countered sharply.
"I can feel it," Sirius insisted, his gaze softening slightly. "The way you look at each other, the way you communicate without speaking. There's a connection."
"Tonks is an Auror," Godric's voice cut in as he re-entered the room. "And you're a wanted fugitive. I'd be more concerned about that than playing matchmaker."
"Now, you will shower, change, and tell us your story," Helga ordered, ignoring Godric's reappearance for a moment. "It's either that, or you can get acquainted with a full-body de-lousing charm. Your choice."
With a weary sigh, Sirius trudged into the bathroom the room had provided. Once inside, the simple luxury was almost overwhelming. The bathtub was already filled with steaming water. There were soaps, a razor, and a set of clean, new clothes laid out for him. Forgetting for a moment that he was the prisoner of a trainee Auror and two teenagers who spoke in riddles, he sank into the hot water, a groan of pure bliss escaping his lips.
While Sirius enjoyed his first proper bath in twelve years, Salazar, Helga, and Godric held a whispered conference.
"I'm going to kill him," Salazar muttered, glaring at Godric.
"Relax," Helga said soothingly. "Black is in no position to tell anyone anything. And you know why Godric does it."
"He shouldn't meddle."
"He wants his friends to be happy," she said softly. "It is something we have never truly spoken about."
Godric returned from the main room, levitating a tray laden with food. Immediately, the room reconfigured itself, providing a long table for the three of them and a smaller, separate table for one, placed opposite. They used their wands to distribute the platters of roast chicken, potatoes, and vegetables. In the process, Salazar deftly tipped a few colourless drops of Veritaserum into the goblet of pumpkin juice intended for Sirius.
"The house-elves have certainly taken a liking to you, Godric," Helga observed as he set down a treacle tart.
"They appreciate being shown a bit of respect, that's all."
"Our guest has decided to rejoin us," Salazar said, his eyes on the bathroom door.
Sirius emerged, looking like a different man. He was clean-shaven, his matted hair was trimmed and washed, and he was dressed in simple but clean black robes. The wild, deranged look was gone. Though he was still painfully thin, the man beneath the grime and despair was visible for the first time in over a decade.
The three of them took their seats, Helga in the middle, and gestured for Sirius to sit at the single table.
"Right," Helga said, assuming her role as the lead interrogator. "Tell us your story while we eat. Start from the beginning. What happened the night Voldemort attacked the Potters?" she asked, waiting until Sirius had taken his first long sip of the pumpkin juice.
"I had a bad feeling that night," Sirius began, his voice raspy but clear. He looked directly at Harry, his grey eyes filled with a deep, ancient sorrow. "We knew there was a traitor in the Order. I went to check on Peter at his safe house. When I found it empty, with no signs of a struggle, I knew. I went straight to your parents' house. It was destroyed."
He paused, swallowing hard. "Hagrid was already there. He'd just pulled you from the rubble. I wanted to take you, Harry. To look after you. But he said he had orders from Dumbledore to take you to your aunt and uncle. Your parents were dead. All I could think about was revenge." He took another gulp of juice. "I went after Peter. When I cornered him on that Muggle street, he started screaming, yelling that I had betrayed Lily and James. Then he blew the street apart, cut off his own finger, and vanished. He transformed into a rat. Peter Pettigrew is the real traitor."
"You said he betrayed them. How can you be so certain?" Helga asked, cutting to the heart of the matter.
"Because I couldn't have. None of us who knew their location could have revealed it. Only Peter could. He was the Secret-Keeper."
"The Fidelius Charm," Godric murmured.
"When we learned Voldemort was targeting them, Dumbledore suggested they use the charm," Sirius confirmed.
"Why would Voldemort want to kill me, a baby?" Salazar asked.
"The prophecy, of course," Sirius blurted out. The effect of the potion was absolute. He blinked, his eyes widening in horror as he realised what had happened. "You've given me Veritaserum!"
"We had to be certain you weren't lying," Salazar replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "Did you expect us to believe you on faith alone?"
"Are you sure you're a Gryffindor?" Sirius muttered. "You sound like a Slytherin."
"Why did Voldemort want to kill Harry?" Helga repeated, pressing the advantage.
"I don't know the specifics. Dumbledore never told any of us the exact wording. He just said a prophecy had been made and that Voldemort believed it referred to Harry."
"If you and James Potter were best friends, why did you make Peter the Secret-Keeper?" Godric asked.
"I was supposed to be the Keeper," Sirius admitted, a look of profound regret on his face. "But I thought it was too obvious. I thought I'd be the primary target. I persuaded them to switch to Peter at the last minute. A decoy. No one would ever suspect someone as weak and mediocre as Peter. It was the biggest mistake of my life."
"Something doesn't add up," Salazar said. "The Fidelius Charm is NEWT-level magic, at a minimum. How could someone as magically inept as you describe cast it?"
"Lily cast it," Sirius explained. "She was a Charms prodigy. Brilliant."
"Why did you escape from Azkaban?" Helga asked, her voice soft but direct.
"To commit the murder I was imprisoned for," he answered, his voice flat and dead.
At this, the three friends exchanged a look. Salazar's expression was unreadable; he understood the thirst for vengeance. Godric looked horrified; he had never countenanced revenge, even in the face of great loss. Helga's face was that of an Auror looking at an unstable and dangerous element.
"Finish your meal," Salazar said after a moment. "The potion's effects will wear off shortly."
"Am I your prisoner now?"
"You are not," Helga said. "But we cannot let you go free. We will help clear your name and see the real culprit brought to justice. But not by your hand, cousin."
"You're an Auror..."
"This conversation is entirely off the record. If I had reported your capture, you would already be on your way to receiving the Dementor's Kiss."
"We will need a plan," Godric said. "A way to catch Pettigrew and prove your innocence without you ever having to reveal yourself."
"I'll hide in the Shrieking Shack," Sirius said immediately. "I know the way in. I hate being locked up."
"We will ensure you have food," Godric promised. "But you must swear you will not enter the castle grounds or take matters into your own hands."
"Are you going to make me take an Unbreakable Vow?"
"Don't tempt me," Salazar said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
The room, sensing their need, created an adjoining chamber. The three of them entered, leaving Sirius alone at his table. For now, he was their secret, and their responsibility. Once the door was closed, Helga cast the strongest privacy charms she knew.
---
"Because I have the impression that Dumbledore has a finger in every pie," Salazar murmured, his voice laced with a coldness he had rarely shown. He did not like being manipulated. And if the Headmaster had been playing games with his life, who knew how many others he had gambled with. "Dumbledore knew why Voldemort attacked my family, but he said nothing at the time, nor did he answer when I asked him two years ago. Dumbledore suggested the Fidelius Charm. Dumbledore was in regular contact with my parents, yet he never once requested a trial for Sirius."
"We always knew there was something murky about it all," Godric said grimly. "But this is a battle that will have to wait. Still, I'd love to tell him a few home truths."
"To get to your parents' house, the Secret-Keeper must have given him the location, either verbally or in writing," Helga pointed out. "If it was written, Peter might not have even known your decoy plan was in effect."
"I know," Salazar said. "And I also know there were only a few people powerful enough to cast that charm for them."
"We can rule out Flitwick," Godric commented. "He would have spoken up. He has a reputation for absolute integrity, even if some look down on him for his goblin ancestry." He added, "That ancestry gives him a natural mental barrier. He can't be magically manipulated."
"So, we are facing either a conspiracy or a catastrophic chain of errors," Salazar summarised with a sigh. "We can't just snatch the rat. We have to force him to reveal himself, preferably in front of adult witnesses who aren't just you, Helga. Your partner and another teacher will have to do."
"Then it is time to formalise a plan of action," Helga agreed.
They spent the next three weeks preparing for the ritual. It was a type of magic that was rapidly falling into disuse, they had discovered. Many ancient rituals had been forgotten, and many more had been outlawed by the Ministry, wrongly branded as Dark Magic. Not all so-called 'black magic' was inherently evil; often, the practitioner's intent was more important than the magic itself. So much of what was now forbidden was simply the result of fear and ignorance—powerful magic that required immense preparation and experience. The impatience of unskilled wizards had led them to madness, and in doing so, had created the stigma that now surrounded these ancient practices. The three of them mourned all that lost and corrupted knowledge.
The ritual they needed to perform walked the thin line between light and shadow—much like Salazar himself had always done. He knew that without his friends, he could easily have become another soul lost to the darkness. Between the three of them, they gathered the necessary materials: salt, a purifying element; seven candles, three white and four of different colours to represent the elements; and several maps upon which the locations of the Horcruxes would be marked.
"Are we only using a map of the United Kingdom?" Godric asked. "If this ritual shows us the location of the soul fragments, might it not also show us the host?"
"According to Dumbledore, what's left of Voldemort is currently hiding in Albania," Salazar said. "It's possible. A fragmented soul is a fragmented soul, no matter the vessel."
"Then we'll need a map of Europe as well," Helga murmured. "With the maps, we'll know if any of them change location."
"But this ritual won't destroy the diadem," Godric stated.
"Oh, yes it will," Salazar assured him. "The soul-marking potion has a special ingredient: diluted Basilisk venom. The amount is too small to kill a living being—an accident would only make one terribly ill. But it is potent enough to reach a soul fragment and destroy it within minutes. That is why we will only have one chance."
"You're going to get it from Rhea's body, aren't you?" Helga asked, a sad smile touching her lips.
"I am," Salazar confirmed.
"Well," Godric said, "while you go on that errand, I'll finish preparing the maps."
It was still very early when they set their plan in motion. The ritual had to be performed at the hour of the wolf, and the potion had a shelf life of only twelve hours. Godric remained in the Room of Requirement while Salazar and Helga made their way to the second-floor girls' lavatory—what was once Salazar's private laboratory.
"Hiding the entrance in a girls' lavatory. An ingenious camouflage," Helga remarked as Salazar checked that Moaning Myrtle wasn't lurking nearby.
"A Gaunt touch, I'm sure," Salazar replied. "All clear." He faced the row of sinks and hissed in Parseltongue, "Open."
The basin of one sink retracted into the floor, revealing a wide, dark pipe slanting down into the depths. "Stairs," he commanded, and stone steps formed along the slide. He refused to arrive covered in slime again.
They lit their wands and descended, Salazar ordering the entrance to seal behind them. He regretted revealing its location to Dumbledore last year, but what was done was done. At the bottom, they found the tunnel just as Lockhart's spell had left it—damp, littered with rodent bones, and with a caved-in section of the ceiling. Further on lay the massive, translucent skin from Rhea's last shedding.
"Another day," Helga said, eyeing the priceless potion ingredient. "Right now, we need to make sure this tunnel doesn't collapse and bring a part of the castle down with it."
"If it hasn't already," Salazar agreed.
They set to work. Concentrating, their wands moving in swift, precise arcs, they used ancient magic to mend the damage. The crumbling rock solidified, the cracks sealed, and soon the tunnel was pristine and solid, the stone gleaming faintly as if newly cut. With the path cleared, they proceeded to the main chamber door.
"Open," Salazar commanded.
The great chamber was just as he had left it. The Basilisk's colossal body lay in the centre, and in a far corner was a large, dark stain on the floor—the magical ink-blood of the diary, the Horcrux he had destroyed by chance.
"Aren't you going to check for eggs?" Helga asked, gesturing towards the cavern from which the basilisk had emerged.
"No. There are Acromantulas in the forest. I won't have them claiming this territory," he said grimly as he carefully extracted the venom he needed into a small glass phial. "In fact, I'm sealing that passage completely. Nothing will enter my chamber again." He handed the phial to Helga. "Here. Keep it safe."
Salazar then went to a small, hidden study off the main chamber, returning with a bezoar and a gleaming, twenty-centimetre dagger of goblin silver. He handed the bezoar—the antidote to most poisons—to Helga, a silent understanding passing between them. He then carefully coated the dagger's blade with the remaining venom.
"Goblin-wrought silver imbibes only that which makes it stronger," Helga murmured, quoting the old axiom.
Once the venom had dried, leaving a faint, sickly green sheen on the blade, Salazar sheathed the dagger with a satisfied smile. They now had an infallible weapon against the damned anchors.
"You'll agree this is better than Fiendfyre, my friend," he said. "Far easier to control, and much less conspicuous."
"Let's go back. They'll notice your absence."
"True. Since Halloween, the teachers and older students have been watching me, as if I need their protection."
"From an alleged murderer, perhaps?" Helga deadpanned.
They exchanged a quick smile. It was time to return to their everyday roles. That night, the real work would begin.