A flurry of snow and a biting wind whipped across the Hogwarts grounds in early December. Godric, Salazar, and Helga gathered in the Room of Requirement, a meeting they couldn't risk as often as they liked. Every shared moment was precious, a chance to advance their plans.
The map, marked with the locations of the soul fragments, lay at the centre of the room, which they had configured to resemble a war council chamber.
"We've destroyed three Horcruxes in a relatively short space of time, which is a good start," Godric began, summarising their progress. "We know what's left: three more fragments, plus the main one. If we can destroy them before Voldemort makes his move, we'll have won a major battle."
"We'll have to wait for him to act," Salazar said, his eyes fixed analytically on the map. "Given his recent activity, I doubt it will be long. He came for the Philosopher's Stone, but I suspect he was after something else in the castle. That attempt must have strengthened him somehow."
"If one of his followers finds him and helps him regain a body, things could get very bad, very quickly," Helga added grimly.
"Extremely bad," Salazar agreed. "I think we should go for the one in Gringotts first, then focus on Little Hangleton. I can handle Gringotts."
"How?" Godric objected. "They won't even let you go to Hogsmeade."
"But I can argue that I need to access my vault and that I don't trust an owl order. I will tell Professor McGonagall."
"It won't work, Salazar," Godric countered. "Dumbledore has you in a protective bubble."
"Not Dumbledore. McGonagall. And I'll make my request during the Minister's next visit to the castle."
"Then I'll offer to be your official escort," Helga chimed in with a smile. "That could work. As for Little Hangleton, I'll go. The Christmas holidays would be the ideal time."
"You can't go alone," Salazar said, a note of concern in his voice. "I don't trust you to face one of these things by yourself."
"I can accompany her, as long as it's not on Christmas Day itself," Godric offered. "My grandmother has a Wizengamot meeting the morning after the feast. I can slip away easily."
"And what about the Trace?" Helga pointed out. "It's not an issue at Gringotts, as the magic there is unplottable, but out in the country..."
"I've been looking into that," Godric said, a triumphant grin on his face. "The Trace is linked to a wizard's magical maturity. Once your core detects that your body has reached the age of seventeen, the Trace shatters. Interestingly, students who are homeschooled or transfer to Hogwarts after age eleven don't have it."
"So it's applied when students first cross the lake," Salazar deduced, his brow furrowed in anger. This was not a security measure; it was a method of control. "We will have to modify the wards. Our students should not be tracked like criminals." He looked at Godric. "You have a plan, I presume?"
"An Ageing Potion," Godric said. "A brew that will make us appear as adults for twenty-four hours, long enough to break the Trace for good."
"Lucky I don't have to drink it," Helga commented. "How long will it take to brew?"
"About six hours," Godric replied.
"It's ten o'clock on a Saturday night," Salazar noted. "If you start now, taking turns, it can be ready by morning. We'll take it, spend Sunday hidden, and return to our normal age on Monday, free of the Trace."
"You'll need an alibi," Helga said.
"Easy," Salazar proposed with a shrug. "We were up late studying."
And so they did. They brewed the potion in shifts, finishing in five hours and letting it cool for the sixth.
"Right then," Helga announced, waking the other two. "Time for you to grow up."
The potion worked perfectly. Both Godric and Salazar aged to the appearance of young men of about eighteen, and they felt the cloying magic of the Trace vanish from their beings.
A few days later, Salazar was being escorted down Diagon Alley by Helga, a development that had visibly annoyed Dumbledore. Their suspicion that they were being watched was confirmed when they spotted Hagrid attempting to blend in with the crowd nearby.
"Do you think anyone else from the 'Order' Sirius mentioned is around?" Salazar whispered to Helga.
"It's possible," she murmured back. "We'll have to be vigilant."
Salazar played his part, looking like a teenager who was both uncomfortable with his guard and frightened of the unseen threat. It was the most sensible approach. They reached Gringotts and entered the cool marble hall.
"Good day," Salazar said to the nearest teller. "I require an audience with Director Bagdod. It is a matter of some importance."
"I will inform him, Mr Potter. And you are...?"
"Tonks."
They were led to an ornate waiting room. Salazar reflected that wizards had been fools to relegate the goblins to mere banking; from this position, they had the power to collapse the entire magical economy. After a calculated wait, they were escorted to Bagdod's office.
"Director. My congratulations on your appointment," Salazar said respectfully.
"I appreciate it, Mr Potter," the goblin replied with a slight, toothy smile. "I imagine you are not here merely to offer pleasantries."
"She is with me and is to be trusted," Salazar stated, gesturing to Helga. "Though to the outside world, she is only my escort."
"I see," Bagdod said. "What brings you here?"
"I fear we are the bearers of bad news for your bank," Salazar began. "A dark artefact is hidden in one of your high-security vaults. One of Voldemort's Horcruxes."
"A serious accusation. On what authority do you make it?"
Salazar and Helga exchanged a long, silent look. The goblin's sharp eyes missed nothing.
"We found one at Hogwarts," Helga spoke at last. "And as the Muggles say, 'bad things come in threes'. So we investigated."
"Why not bring this to your Ministry?"
"Because they could use it as a pretext to interfere with Gringotts," Helga argued. "Certain factions in our government would leap at the chance to exert more control over you."
"We consider this a matter that concerns your institution alone," Salazar added smoothly. "After all, this bank is goblin territory."
"Indeed, it is," Bagdod admitted, clearly weighing their words. "Wait here. I will verify your information."
After half an hour, the director returned, his expression grim. "Your warning was correct. An ancient treasure has been corrupted in such a manner. I assume you wish for it to be delivered to you."
"We wish for it to be destroyed," Salazar corrected him.
"Very well." A goblin guard brought in a lead-lined box. "I trust you know how."
The object that emerged from the box stole the breath from both of them. It was a small, golden cup, intricately engraved with the image of a badger. It was Helga's. Now, it radiated a palpable wrongness. To destroy the Horcrux, they would have to destroy the cup. Salazar's hand tightened on the hilt of the goblin-made dagger hidden beneath his robes.
"Let me do it," Helga said, her voice strained. "After all, I was a Hufflepuff."
Salazar met her gaze, then drew the dagger and offered it to her, handle first. He understood.
As she plunged the venom-laced blade into the cup, a high-pitched scream echoed through the office, and the ancient metal blackened and crumbled to dust. The soul fragment within was no more.
While all this was happening, back at the castle, Godric was spending the afternoon with Ron and his pet rat. He had managed to convince Ron to take his studies more seriously, and for the first time, Ron wasn't leaving his essays until the last minute. They spent the rest of the time playing chess.
"Why don't you take Scabbers to a magical vet?" Godric asked, looking at the rat, which seemed thinner and more mangy than ever.
"They're too expensive," Ron sighed. "And the tonic I bought seems to be helping a bit. It's that bloody cat of Hermione's, chasing him all the time. It's the stress."
"Still, a proper check-up couldn't hurt," Godric pressed gently, knowing a qualified magizoologist would spot an Animagus in an instant. "I could help with the cost."
"No, Neville," Ron said, his ears turning red. "Thanks, but I can't. I can't keep taking charity."
"I see," Godric said, turning back to the chessboard.
Just then, Salazar entered the common room.
"Harry!" Ron exclaimed. "How did it go?"
"Fine," Salazar said with a casual shrug. "I even thought I saw Hagrid lurking about. Dumbledore's idea of support, I suppose." He exchanged a fleeting glance with Godric, who nodded imperceptibly. "All's well."
"I hope you didn't forget my Honeydukes order," Godric said playfully.
"I did not, Neville," Salazar replied with a smile, slipping back into his public persona.
---
The castle was practically deserted during the winter break. A biting wind whipped across the snow-covered grounds, and the small number of students heading for the carriages showed that everyone was eager to get home for Christmas. Godric had returned to his family, and Helga was on her official holiday leave, leaving Kingsley to hold the fort.
Salazar was left in the Gryffindor common room with only the Weasleys and Hermione for company. It wasn't an unpleasant situation, but for the constant arguments between Ron and Hermione over their respective pets. The bickering was so incessant that it made Salazar want to unmask Peter Pettigrew then and there, but the plan required patience. For now, he could only watch, restraining the urge to throttle the rat whenever it scurried into Ron's hands for protection from Crookshanks. Salazar knew Hermione's cat wasn't just being difficult; its Kneazle ancestry allowed it to sense that something was deeply wrong with Scabbers.
"Please, don't argue," Salazar interjected on Christmas morning. "It's a day for enjoyment, not bickering. We have presents, don't we? Let's open them."
"I already have. And Harry, I love the encyclop—"
"Yes, yes, you're happy with a pile of books," Ron cut in rudely. "Now get that beast out of here so Scabbers can have some peace."
"You're an idiot, Ronald Weasley," Hermione retorted, storming out of the room.
"And she insults me on top of it all."
"You earned that one, my friend," Salazar said mildly. He had unwrapped his own gifts, leaving one fine, sleek package for last. He opened it carefully. Inside was a top-of-the-line broomstick—a Firebolt. A small piece of parchment with a dog's paw print on it fluttered to the floor, which Salazar discreetly Vanished. The broom vibrated faintly in his hands.
"Wow, Harry! That's the best broom on the market! Will you let me have a go?" Ron asked, his eyes wide with awe.
"I'm not so sure," Salazar replied cautiously. If he was meant to be a more sensible person now, this was the time to prove it. He knew there was nothing wrong with the broom, but he also knew a supposed madman was after him. A cursed broom would be a brilliant assassination weapon. "There was no note."
"So what? It's an incredible gift!"
"An incredible gift that anyone could have sent."
"Someone who likes you a lot, obviously."
Salazar held Ron's gaze. Ron wasn't wrong. A godfather might give such a gift. But he was supposed to be completely ignorant of that relationship.
"I can't imagine who it could be."
"Lupin likes you," Ron suggested.
"If Lupin had this kind of money, he'd buy himself a new wardrobe."
"Professor McGonagall, then. She got you the Nimbus."
"That money was taken from my Gringotts vault."
"Are you serious?"
"Completely."
"Dumbledore!" Ron declared triumphantly.
"Dumbledore can't show that kind of favouritism to a student."
"That's exactly why it's him! You're his favourite!"
Salazar shook his head. Being seen as the Headmaster's favourite was a strategic disadvantage, designed to isolate him and limit his potential alliances. He needed to discuss this with Godric and Helga.
"I have to talk to Professor McGonagall," Salazar announced, grabbing the broom and leaving the common room.
He was grateful the castle was so empty, sparing him the usual whispers. He knocked on his Head of House's door, preferring to deal with her rather than the Headmaster.
"Come in."
"Professor, I have a problem," he said, placing the Firebolt on her desk. "I just received this. Anonymously. It's the best broom on the market, and... well, I may be paranoid, but what if Sirius Black sent it?"
"Caution is never a fault, Mr Potter," she said, her expression softening slightly. "You did the right thing. Professor Flitwick and I will examine it thoroughly. We will let you know what we find."
"Thank you, Professor."
After leaving the broom, Salazar slipped down to the kitchens. He asked for a generous package of food and, using a one-way secret passage, exited onto the snowy grounds, avoiding any concerned teachers. He made his way to the Whomping Willow, immobilised its violent branches with a quick charm, and entered the tunnel beneath its roots. It led, after a short walk, to the dilapidated Shrieking Shack.
"I see you've been tidying up," Salazar remarked as he entered.
"You told me not to arouse suspicion," Sirius replied from a corner.
"And yet you sent me a Christmas present that I was obviously obligated to report."
"There's nothing wrong with the broom."
"I know. But anonymous gifts are suspicious." Salazar placed the food on a crate. "I like it, though. I'd stay and share this with you, but my absence would be noticed."
"Go. Enjoy the feast," Sirius said. "By the way, when are you planning to catch the rat?"
"All in good time. We can't rush it." Salazar paused at the door. "Be careful. If you get caught, we can't help you. And you're my passport to leaving the Dursleys without causing a national incident, so don't get captured."
With Christmas over, the students were scattered. Godric found it much easier to slip away to meet Helga. His grandmother was at the Ministry, and his Uncle Algie was lost in the greenhouses. Using the Floo network, he travelled to Diagon Alley under the pretext of buying more parchment, a conveniently forgotten necessity. He met Helga near the entrance to Knockturn Alley. She looked like a girl a few years older than him, her appearance shifted by her Metamorphmagus ability.
"You're late," she said.
"For a moment, I was worried you'd taken on my grandmother's appearance," he joked.
"I could have," she replied with a grin. "Shall we?"
They Apparated to a dusty country lane near Little Hangleton. The place had the grim atmosphere of a town with a dark past—the unsolved murder of its former landowners lingered like a curse. Following the information Helga had gathered, they found the old Gaunt shack, a half-collapsed hovel choked with weeds.
"It must have concealment charms on it," Helga observed, her hand on her wand.
"Even so, I doubt anyone would willingly enter a place like this," Godric replied.
"You'd be surprised what foolish things Muggle teenagers are capable of."
"Then let's make sure this place doesn't become a tomb for some curious explorer."
They stepped inside, immediately feeling the oppressive chill of deep-rooted dark magic. The place was a trap, an aura of temptation designed to make intruders drop their guard. They braced themselves against it.
"I'm glad Salazar didn't want me to come alone," Helga admitted.
"No one should have to face these things by themselves."
"And yet, I fear we'll have to face Voldemort on our own, once we find Rowena."
"Let's hope that's soon," Godric said grimly. "According to my calculations, she should be a year or two younger than us."
"First things first. Let's find the Horcrux."
They followed the concentration of dark magic to a section of loose floorboards. After putting on protective dragon-hide gloves, Godric pried them up. A wave of darkness washed over them. Lying on a bed of rotting velvet was a heavy, black-stoned ring. It radiated a powerful allure, practically begging to be worn. Helga, however, saw the curse woven into it.
"Unstoppable, progressive putrefaction," she murmured, drawing the venom-laced dagger Salazar had given her.
"That doesn't sound good."
"Would you care to do the honours?" she asked, offering him the dagger.
"Gladly. Time I got on par with you two."
He plunged the blade into the ring. Miles away, in the Room of Requirement, another shimmering dot on the magical map vanished. The two Horcruxes they had targeted that month were gone. All that remained was one last fragment, and the main soul. It was time, Salazar thought, to focus their efforts on Pettigrew.