Basilisk venom was just one of the five ingredients in the soul-marker potion, but it was far from the only one that was difficult to obtain. The potion's base was not ordinary water, but water from a specific magical confluence: the Stygian Lagoon, the mythical source of the river to the underworld. Helga had to use one of her rare days off to travel to the hidden location and retrieve a sufficient quantity. The obsidian and aconite were sourced from apothecaries; for security, Helga visited several different shops, each time in a new disguise. Obsidian, a volcanic glass forged in the heart of an eruption, was known to many as the 'glass of hell'. Aconite, a highly toxic plant, was paradoxically considered a purifying agent in certain combinations. For the final ingredient, a single Thestral hair, she simply had to walk to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, coax one of the creatures from the Hogwarts herd, and humbly ask for a strand from its mane.
Once she had everything, Helga configured the Room of Requirement into a state-of-the-art potions laboratory. She knew the right environment was essential, and this particular brew had to be perfect. If anything went wrong, they would lose their one great opportunity to stop hunting blindly. She carefully arranged the ingredients on a clean workbench, then read and reread the recipe—an old text Salazar had transcribed for her—until she had memorised every step.
Helga took a medium-sized copper cauldron and filled it three-quarters full with the water from the Styx, setting it over a low flame. While it warmed, she took a mortar and pestle and ground the obsidian fragment and chopped aconite together until they formed a fine, homogenous dust. In a second mortar, she placed the Thestral hair and, with a controlled burst of magic, incinerated it to a fine ash, preserving its potent properties.
"Perfect," she murmured with a sigh of relief.
She carefully tipped the contents of both mortars into the heated water, stirring the mixture before letting it simmer for a full hour, agitating it every ten minutes to ensure the ingredients were fully integrated. After an hour, she removed the cauldron from the heat and set it aside to cool. As the temperature dropped, she continued to stir, alternating every seven minutes between clockwise and counter-clockwise motions. Once the potion had reached room temperature, she carefully added the final, crucial ingredient: a single, shimmering drop of Basilisk venom. She covered the cauldron and left it to rest. The potion would be ready at the hour of the wolf. Helga resolved to stay with it for the rest of the afternoon; it was too important to leave unattended. She would smooth things over with Kingsley later.
Salazar looked up sharply as Ron and Hermione's raised voices echoed across the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Their arguments had grown more frequent and more absurd since the start of term.
"You can't honestly believe that fraud, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed.
"Scabbers is in real danger! Your stupid cat won't leave him alone!" Ron retorted.
"Crookshanks is just being a cat! Don't be absurd."
"You're the absurd one! You're just angry you're not top of the class in every subject!"
"Divination is a load of woolly nonsense! It's a waste of time!"
Salazar frowned and turned to Godric, who had slumped down in the seat beside him, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else. They were the only two students still seated; the rest of their Gryffindor and Ravenclaw classmates were watching the argument unfold like a tennis match. They took advantage of the commotion to have a whispered conversation.
"What is this about?" Salazar asked. "I thought I heard our dreary Divination professor's name."
"Trelawney predicted that a student's ailing pet would meet an 'abrupt and tragic end'," Godric explained. "Lavender burst into tears, thinking she meant her rabbit. Ron, however, has decided it's a prophecy about a plot to murder Scabbers."
"I see. And I never took Ron for a staunch defender of Lavender Brown."
"He's not. He's just convinced this is all about his rat."
"Well," Salazar said in a low, sinister tone, "if we didn't need the rat alive, I wouldn't be opposed to an 'abrupt end'."
"Your way of thinking is worrying sometimes," Godric muttered.
"I doubt it was a true prediction," Salazar continued. "In any case, prophecies are rarely literal."
"A metaphor?" Godric asked sceptically. "I'm surprised you're giving her the benefit of the doubt after dropping her class."
"I never rule anything out. As for a certain pet who isn't a pet... perhaps he is the 'pet' of a certain dark wizard."
Before Godric could respond, the classroom door slammed open. Professor Snape swept in, his black robes billowing behind him. He was substituting for Professor Lupin again. The class fell silent, frozen in place.
"Weasley, Granger," Snape began, his voice a silky drawl. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Each. And detention. For providing such a shrill and unasked-for performance." He glided into the middle of the room, his black eyes sweeping over the students. "Another five points from Gryffindor, each, from Brown, Patil, Thomas, and Finnegan, for spectating. And from the Ravenclaws: Turpin, Goldstein, Cornfoot, Corner, and Boot. Sit down. Before you bankrupt your Houses."
Salazar and Godric remained still and silent, their books and quills neatly arranged on their desk. They could feel Snape's gaze linger on them, searching for a reaction.
"Potter and Longbottom," he sneered. "The only two who have behaved as is expected of Hogwarts students. Do not expect points for doing what you are supposed to do."
"No, sir," they replied in calm unison. A flicker of annoyance crossed the professor's face.
"We will continue our study of werewolves. I have received essays only from the Ravenclaws and a mere three from Gryffindor. All of them were deficient, though regrettably, just good enough to pass."
"But Professor Snape," Ron protested, "Professor Lupin said we wouldn't be covering werewolves until later..."
"I," Snape said, his voice dripping with contempt, "am not Professor Lupin. Are you aiming to lose more points for your House, Mr Weasley?"
"You're a tyrant! Why don't you just leave us all alone!"
"Fifty points from Gryffindor," Snape said, a cruel smile touching his lips. "And another week of detention for your impertinence. I shall be writing to your parents. Now, as I was saying..."
Salazar and Godric exchanged a fleeting glance. They needed to talk to Ron, and soon. They remembered the Howler from last year all too well.
That evening, they found Ron in a corner of the common room, miserably inventing predictions for his Divination homework. They sat on either side of him.
"We need to talk to you, Ron. It's important," Godric began.
"What do you want? I'm not in the mood."
"We know," Salazar said softly. "But this can't wait. It's about what happened in Defence class."
"Don't tell me you're taking his side. You're both weird this year."
"We are not taking Snape's side," Godric objected.
"Snape is a wretch who will get what he deserves when the time is right," Salazar whispered, his voice dangerously low. "But today, you gave him exactly what he wanted. He found your weak spot, and you reacted just as he predicted you would. You're the one who told me not to rise to his provocations, remember?"
"Yeah, but..."
"He manipulated you," Godric stated simply.
"My mum's going to kill me," Ron groaned, his head in his hands. "She always says I have to be respectful. This is going to be worse than the car."
"Don't go down to breakfast tomorrow," Godric suggested. "If I knew a charm to silence Howlers, I'd teach you, but I don't." He glanced at Salazar. "Yet."
"Why?" Ron asked.
"My grandmother sends them to me whenever I fail to 'live up to the family name', according to her."
"Neville's idea is a good one," Salazar said thoughtfully. "It will save you the public humiliation. Tomorrow is Saturday, so you won't miss any classes. As for your mother..." Salazar made a mental note. A carefully worded letter, explaining the situation objectively, might be in order. "That sort of thing can destroy a person's self-esteem."
"I don't know if..."
"Listen to me," Godric insisted. "I haven't done anything to get on his bad side yet, but I'm sure he still thinks last year's car incident was my idea, not yours."
"Thanks, you two," Ron said, a faint, grateful smile appearing on his face. He finally seemed a little more animated.
---
A few minutes before midnight, everything was ready in the Room of Requirement. Godric had carefully placed the maps within the ritual's perimeter. Salazar had drawn a perfectly balanced circle of salt, surrounding a smaller, inner circle containing a single, powerful rune that symbolised the soul's transcendence. Three white candles stood sentinel around this inner symbol, while four coloured candles marked the cardinal points of the larger circle: red for fire to the west, yellow for earth to the east, blue for air to the south, and green for water to the north. Seven candles in total—the number of potent magic.
They lit the candles in sequence, starting in the east and ending in the north, with the three white candles in the centre lit last. Once the circle was complete, Helga brought the cauldron containing the potion and placed it on the salt rune. All that was missing was the primary element: the diadem itself.
The three of them stood before the circle, the maps laid out in a semi-circle at their feet. Together, they levitated the ancient diadem, positioning it directly over the cauldron. They waited, holding it steady, until the distant chimes of the castle clock tower signalled the midnight hour.
"Animus purificae marcus in movus," they recited in unison as they plunged the diadem into the potion. They repeated the incantation three times. On the final word, a silent explosion of light erupted from the cauldron. The diadem dissolved into ash, and the remnants of the potion, now glowing with a faint, ethereal light, rose from the cauldron and sprayed across the maps, forming distinct, shimmering marks. They had only to wait for them to settle.
"Can we clean up while it defines?" Helga asked, her gaze fixed on the glowing maps.
"No problem," Salazar replied.
"We should put on protective gloves," Godric suggested practically. "The venom in that potion is likely still active."
"So prudent, Godric," Salazar joked. "Who would have thought it?"
"This will take us a while," Helga said, a grim determination in her voice.
In a long, dark room, partially submerged in the Black Lake, three boys sat in a quiet corner of the Slytherin common room. The only light came from the ever-burning lamps hanging from the ceiling, casting a soothing, greenish glow that illuminated the fascinating creatures swimming past the large underwater window. To any casual observer, they were simply three thirteen-year-old students: one relaxed and staring at the ceiling, another engrossed in a book, the third finishing an essay. But beneath this placid facade, a tense conversation was unfolding. Draco Malfoy's uniform was immaculate. Theodore Nott's tie was loosened just enough to be almost imperceptible. Blaise Zabini's was gone entirely, the top button of his shirt undone.
"The gamekeeper won't be sacked," Nott said, breaking the silence. "But at least the Board of Governors has him on a short leash. You don't seem satisfied, Draco."
"I'm not," Malfoy snapped. "My father wanted that oaf gone, and he wanted Dumbledore's leadership questioned. This school needs a new Headmaster."
"The Hippogriff has vanished, Potter didn't press charges, and the matter is closed," Zabini said with a shrug. "Is there another plan?"
"If there were, I wouldn't tell you, Zabini," Draco retorted, a bitter edge to his voice. "As it is, I now owe Potter a life debt, and I'd prefer to see what he asks of me before I make any other moves." His discomfort was palpable.
"If Potter hadn't intervened, you'd be dead," Nott stated flatly.
"I know that, Nott," Draco hissed.
"You've spoken to him, then?" Nott asked, his curiosity piqued.
"On the train," Draco admitted in a whisper. "He warned me that my father wouldn't hesitate to put me in danger to achieve his own goals."
"And?" Zabini prompted.
"And nothing," Draco lied. He wouldn't admit it to them, but Potter's words had haunted him. His father had been involved with the Chamber of Secrets, and Draco had been at risk. The realisation was terrifying. "However, if the beast had done its work, my father would have had the gamekeeper's head, and Dumbledore's."
"And your mother would have become a permanent resident of St. Mungo's," Zabini added dryly.
"I don't want to be my father's pawn," Draco confessed, the words tasting like ash. "Not his, not anyone's."
"If you're going to defy your father, you'll need a powerful ally," Zabini reasoned.
"And becoming Dumbledore's pet is a better option than being a soldier for the Dark Lord when he returns?" Nott inquired sceptically. "I don't think so, Draco. Not when there is a third option on the board. An option that is subtly moving away from the path everyone expects him to take."
"I've noticed," Draco said quietly. "It is one of the possibilities I am considering."
"My mind is made up," Nott stated with finality.
"I have no idea what either of you are talking about anymore," Zabini sighed, getting to his feet. "I'm going to find someone to bother."
After several minutes, the glowing marks on the maps solidified. Once the area was meticulously cleaned—by hand, with protective gloves, to avoid any magical residue—the three founders gathered around to inspect the results. On the map of the United Kingdom, three distinct marks pulsed with a faint, dark light. On the map of Europe, a single mark glowed with a more intense, malevolent energy.
"Albania," Salazar whispered. "Dumbledore's sources were correct."
"If his location is known, why hasn't he been dealt with?" Godric asked.
"An excellent question," Salazar replied grimly. "Perhaps Dumbledore doesn't want anyone to know the secret of his immortality just yet."
"Let's focus on the fragments within our reach," Helga reminded them. "The map is large, but not detailed enough to show specific locations."
"It can be," she said, tapping the map with her wand. "We can zoom in on a particular point."
"Two in London, and a third near a place called Little Hangleton," Salazar summarised, observing the marks.
"One is in Diagon Alley," Helga said, manipulating the map. "The other is in a Muggle part of London. That doesn't make sense."
"It makes perfect sense," Salazar reasoned. "Muggle society has grown so vast, it's the perfect place to hide."
"I'll investigate these locations," Helga volunteered. "You two can't leave the castle, but I can."
"Agreed," Salazar said. "But do not attempt to destroy anything alone. They will defend themselves."
"I know, Salazar. You worry too much."
"He worries because it's you," Godric commented with a knowing grin.
"I destroyed one without knowing what it was," Salazar reminded them, his expression hardening. "Last year, in the Chamber. The fragment in that diary tried to kill me."