Luna felt increasingly alone. Her way of thinking was not well-received by her Ravenclaw housemates; they simply considered her too strange. To Luna, they were the odd ones, unable to see a world that existed beyond the rigid pages of their textbooks. She was often excluded, her half-finished homework frequently "misplaced," which had led to more than one undeserved punishment. That was, until she decided to fight back.
Having Ginny as a friend had given Luna a peculiar sort of courage. So had the friendship of Harry and Neville. They didn't just defend her; they showed her a respect that few others ever had. Still, the indifference of most of her housemates meant Luna never felt entirely comfortable in the Ravenclaw common room. Her one source of solace, strangely enough, was the Grey Lady. The ghost had never told Luna her name, but their quiet conversations had helped her endure the loneliness. If being friends with the famously silent ghost made her even stranger in the eyes of others, Luna didn't particularly care.
January brought the return of classes and a winter cold that seemed amplified by the Dementors' chilling presence. Luna couldn't wait for the creatures to be gone. The soulless feeling they produced reminded her of the dreadful afternoon her mother had died, the memory of a magical experiment gone tragically wrong.
"Earth to Luna," Colin Creevey's voice broke through her reverie.
"Oh, pardon me," Luna said, blinking. "The Wrackspurts must have been buzzing in my ears."
"Right, let's finish this project," Ginny said with a practical sigh. "Sensory Enchantments. What do you think of this definition I found? 'Sensory enchantments are those whose purpose is to enhance the perception of the senses, making the information received finer, more precise, and laden with nuance.'"
"It sounds clever, but I don't really get it," Colin admitted.
"It just means they are spells that help us see better, hear better, and so on," Luna explained simply. "That definition will make a good title for our essay. We can include it, and then in the main body, describe the different spells for each sense."
"I like it," Ginny agreed. "Luna, you're the best writer. Will you handle putting it all together?"
"Of course."
They spent the next few hours in the quiet of the library, moving from book to book, gathering notes. They had a month to complete the assignment, but all three had agreed to get it done early.
"It's dinnertime," Colin announced, stretching with a small yawn.
"You two go on ahead," Luna said. "I'll stay a bit longer."
"Luna, you can't skip meals just because your housemates are being unpleasant," Ginny said firmly. "Come and sit with us at the Gryffindor table."
"Yeah, no one will bother you there," Colin added.
"That prat Percy might say something," Ginny mused, "but we can just ignore him."
They reached the Great Hall without attracting much attention and sat down with Harry, Neville, Ron, and Hermione.
"I hate Dementors," Harry said, his expression tense. "The Ministry claims they're under control, but they're not. They shouldn't be anywhere near a school."
"You did the same thing as Professor Lupin on the train," Ron said admiringly.
"The Patronus Charm," Hermione murmured. "I still don't know how you both managed it."
"We practised," Harry said with a shrug. "I found out Neville was trying to learn it too, so we worked on it together."
"Could you teach us?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"I can try," Harry replied after a moment's thought. "No guarantees, though."
"I want to learn too, mate," Ron chimed in.
While their conversation continued, Luna turned to Neville and Ginny. She had noticed a profound change in the boy; the shyness was gone, replaced by a quiet confidence that seemed as if it had been there all along.
"How were your holidays?" Luna asked them both.
"Good," Ginny said. "I even got to fly my new broom for a bit. My parents weren't thrilled about such an expensive gift, but that's their problem."
"Especially after they accepted all that prize money from the Prophet," Neville remarked.
"I know," Ginny said, her voice dropping. "A family with our resources shouldn't be spending money like that. Things got a bit out of hand."
"Everything will get better," Luna said in her soft, mysterious voice.
It was past midnight when Godric and Salazar, shrouded by the Invisibility Cloak, arrived at the Room of Requirement. Helga was waiting for them, a glass of wine in her hand, the magical map of soul fragments spread on the table before them. Only two marks remained.
"Ron is practically inseparable from the rat," Salazar reported with a grimace. "Hermione's cat, however, despises him. Its Kneazle blood has clearly told it that Peter is not what he seems."
"Hermione?" Helga questioned.
"A Muggle-born girl, brilliant but insecure," Godric summed up.
"If we could trigger the cat's abilities in a controlled way, we could use it to expose Pettigrew," Salazar mused. "Then no one could point a finger at us."
"Just at Kingsley and me," Helga pointed out.
"It's our only option. Neither Godric nor I can be directly involved."
"I can handle myself. You don't have to worry," Helga assured him.
"I don't like it when we act separately," Godric said. "Our strength has always been our ability to work as a team. Separated, we are more vulnerable."
"And yet, the Ministry will not accept the testimony of two thirteen-year-old boys," Helga countered. "It could even backfire. I'm sorry, but it has to be this way."
"For my part, I've begun to test Lupin," Salazar reported. "Sirius confirmed they were friends. If I can get him to see the rat..."
"You can play the frightened boy and run to Kingsley," Godric finished the thought. "Then I can be 'clumsy' and knock into Ron, letting the rat escape right in front of him."
"Just remember that Kingsley was a Ravenclaw," Helga warned. "He's sharp."
"I'm a good actor," Salazar retorted.
"You could never fool me, Salazar," she said with a soft smile.
"That's because I never wanted to," he replied.
"If you two are quite finished," Godric said dryly, "I can ask the room to provide a more private setting."
Helga just shook her head, amused. "If you're going ahead with this plan, you'll have to protect your friend."
"Ronald Weasley will be kept safe," Salazar guaranteed. "The biggest problem will be the Dementors."
"Or Ron trying to be a hero," Godric muttered. The other two looked at him in surprise. "He's a good person, but he's desperate for his own fame, to get out from his brothers' shadows."
"He could be a professional chess player with his talent," Salazar commented. "Perhaps I'll suggest it to him."
"There's a magical chess tournament this summer," Helga mentioned. "My father is one of the organisers. Applicants must be fourteen."
"Ron turns fourteen in March," Salazar said thoughtfully. "He'd make the deadline."
"Then I'll tell him," Godric decided. "It's time he pursued what he's truly good at, instead of what his family expects."
"Salazar," Helga said, changing the subject. "Won't it be problematic for Sirius if the fact he's an Animagus comes to light?"
"It's a lesser evil," Salazar replied. "Besides, in the middle of a war, who in their right mind would register a skill that could be turned against them? At most, they'll fine him. Denying a Lord of an Ancient House a trial is a far greater crime."
"Especially if the decision came from the court's ruling triumvirate, and not the full Wizengamot," Helga murmured. "The fine would come from their own pockets, not the Ministry's."
"Godric, who is the current triumvirate?" Salazar asked.
"Dumbledore, Fudge, and Amelia Bones. Dumbledore has Fudge in his pocket, mostly, though my grandmother says he's started listening to Lucius Malfoy more."
"The previous triumvirate was Dumbledore, Crouch, and Bagnold," Helga added. "Bagnold feared the power of the Blacks, and Crouch had a pathological hatred for anything he considered 'dark'."
"His son helped torture my parents into insanity," Godric said, his voice turning to ice. "So I don't feel too sorry for his fall from grace."
"Fudge is a puppet," Salazar mused. "What about Bones?"
"Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Godric answered. "My grandmother says she's fair and incorruptible. It takes a unanimous vote from the triumvirate to imprison someone without a trial. She could force one."
"Then we just need to make certain facts public before Pettigrew's capture," Salazar whispered, a plan forming in his mind. "It will make the rat nervous, and show certain people a way to undermine Dumbledore's power."
"Salazar," Helga said cautiously. "With Voldemort still out there, is getting Dumbledore out of the way a good idea?"
"It's a risk," he conceded. "But this won't be a direct attack. It will be a rumour, an anonymous story."
"The Quibbler," Helga said, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Most people think it's a joke. But we all know that there are three types of people who always tell the truth: children, drunkards, and madmen. They accept anonymous submissions."
"Will they publish it?" Salazar hesitated.
"They publish far madder things than this," she assured him. "A good conspiracy theory will triple their circulation. The question is, who writes the article? My handwriting could be traced."
"I will," Godric offered. "Of the three of us, I am the least directly involved."
---
With the beginning of February, the castle was abuzz with students seeking a date for the upcoming Valentine's trip to Hogsmeade. The dates didn't coincide perfectly, but that was of little importance compared to the social necessity of arriving with a partner. Salazar and Godric found the whole spectacle childish and superficial; Helga, on the other hand, was merely amused.
"Many people enjoy doing something special on a specific day," she said, watching a gaggle of giggling girls walk past.
"And do you expect something of the sort?" Salazar asked with a small smile. He had always believed that every day was important, not just one designated by a calendar.
"I'm well past that stage," she laughed. "Besides, from what I recall of my student days, many of those romantic dates end in arguments about ex-partners."
"It's a phase they must go through," Godric observed pragmatically. "And one we must be wary of. The names Longbottom and Potter carry weight. To the old families, you and I are very desirable catches."
"The usual games," Salazar murmured with a hint of annoyance.
"And not just the old families," Helga warned. "In a world like ours, alliances and marriage contracts are still currency. The Middle Ages may be over, but the games of the powerful are not. The Ministry is a testament to that."
"You either play the game well, or you are a pawn," Godric summarised. "I have little patience for such things."
"The four of us once constituted an important balance," Salazar mused.
"We will recover it," Godric said with grim determination. "And save this world from its greatest imbalance."
"Voldemort is the most immediate threat, but he is not the only one," Salazar stated.
"We know," Helga admitted. "Well, I must leave you. Kingsley and I have to make our rounds. Apparently, Black might take advantage of the holiday to attack," she added with a healthy dose of sarcasm.
On the eve of Valentine's Day, precisely at midnight, a wave of palpable magic washed through the castle. It was a warm, positive energy, signalling that all four of its ancient masters were finally awake and under the same roof. At that exact moment, a second-year girl, whose thirteenth birthday had been the day before, woke with a start. Then, she smiled. She finally understood why, despite the attitudes of her classmates, she had always felt so at home within these walls. She was Rowena Ravenclaw, and she had been reborn as Luna Lovegood.
She rose from her bed and, pulling on her dressing gown, gazed out the window at the dark, placid lake. She reflected on how the values of her House—intelligence and wisdom—had been twisted into a snobbish intolerance for different ideas. It was something she would have to fix. But first, she had to find the others.
She felt a familiar, silent presence in the room. She had grown used to it; her greatest confidant in this life had been the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower, Helena, her own daughter. Rowena held no grudge. Helena was more important than any object, a truth Rowena had failed to realise in time.
"Thank you," Rowena said, turning to the shimmering form of the Grey Lady with a warm, knowing smile.
"I had hoped it was you," Helena replied, her voice a whisper of relief. "There were certain traits..."
"Would you bring me up to date?" Rowena asked.
"I do not know everything," Helena confessed, the ancient guilt still clinging to her. "Only that the one who calls himself Voldemort defiled your diadem because of my foolishness. I have told Lord Gryffindor and Lord Slytherin. They are third-years now."
"And Helga?" Rowena asked, pushing aside the pain of the diadem.
"She was the first to return. She is an Auror now."
"The one who saved me from those fifth-years," Rowena deduced. "And the others... Harry and Neville, I assume. I think it is time I got some rest."
The next morning, Rowena entered the Great Hall with her usual dreamy air—an intellectual detachment that both now and in the past, others had mistaken for strangeness. She bypassed the Ravenclaw table and sat down opposite Salazar and Godric at the Gryffindor table.
"It's a fine day today," she greeted them with a knowing smile.
"I'm glad to see you," Salazar replied, his own eyes filled with recognition.
"Is the lunatic with us again?" Ron asked, shovelling bacon into his mouth. Hermione shot him an exasperated look. "My sister's over there," he added, pointing further down the table.
"I know," Rowena replied serenely. "But I am with my friends."
"What friends?" Ron scoffed.
"Ron!" Hermione chided.
"Us," Godric said simply, gesturing between Salazar and himself.
Draco nodded at Theo's signal during Potions. It was time. Theo took the opportunity to approach Potter at the rare ingredients cupboard, their brief exchange of words hidden by the bustle of the class.
"How did it go?" Draco asked as he added a slivered rat spleen to his cauldron.
"Seven o'clock. A secret study room next to the Restricted Section in the library," Theo replied quietly.
Draco spent the rest of the day in a state of quiet uncertainty. At seven, he met Theo in the library, having shaken off Pansy Parkinson with an excuse about a pending assignment. He watched Theo activate the entrance to the hidden room. It was a medieval-style office, lit by a fireplace and torches, with a heavy, crudely carved table at its centre. Potter was already there, sitting behind the table, his expression calm and unreadable.
"Take a seat," Salazar said, gesturing to the chairs opposite him. "Nott informed me you had a matter of some substance to discuss. Perhaps I can be of some help."
"What do you get by helping us, Potter?" Draco asked, his voice sharp.
"You are the ones who sought me out," Salazar replied with a faint, knowing smile. "But to answer your question, I get nothing. I will ask for nothing in return." They were students of his House. It was his duty to protect them. "Well?"
Draco took a deep breath. "I don't want to be a puppet. I hear my father speak of the Dark Lord's return, of serving him. I hear him speak with relish about the punishments handed down to those who failed him." He lowered his voice. "I've thought about the diary you mentioned on the train. My father used it for his own ends. He says the Dark Lord will return, but my mother fears he will punish our family for the diary's destruction."
"He will return," Salazar confirmed. "He tried two years ago. And yes, I destroyed the diary myself. From your perspective, is that a positive or a negative?"
"Positive, if it was truly a threat to everyone," Draco admitted. "Negative, for my family. If the Dark Lord entrusted that object to my father and it is now gone... he may seek retribution on us all. I know he is not above punishing his followers through their children."
"You fear for your life and your future," Salazar observed. "Understandable. What of your mother?"
"I don't want to be a weapon used against my family," Draco said, his voice cracking slightly. "And I want to protect my mother. But our only other option seems to be Dumbledore, and I don't believe trading one master for another is a solution." He looked Harry in the eye. "So I am left with you. What is to stop you from running to Dumbledore with everything I've said?"
"In the time we've been watching," Theo interjected, "you have subtly criticised the Headmaster's methods. You protected the Hippogriff, but you also questioned Hagrid's appointment by speaking to Diggory. You disapprove of the Dementors, and you expressed frustration that the Aurors were forbidden from intervening in school disputes, which gave bullies free rein. You are no great admirer of the Headmaster."
"The Harry Potter of previous years was not so discerning," Draco concluded. "You are either a very good actor, or you are only just now waking up to reality."
"Alright," Salazar conceded. "Nott, your case."
"I will not follow the Dark Lord," Theo said, his voice hard. "And my father will try to force me. I want an escape route."
Salazar held his gaze. "You wish to be free? There is a way," he declared calmly. "In ancient times, wizards were considered of legal age at thirteen."
"Those laws no longer apply, Potter."
"Don't they?" Salazar shrugged. "The Ministry may have changed the age to seventeen to better control the populace, but the goblins of Gringotts still adhere to the old traditions. If an heir is the last of their line, they gain control of their vaults at thirteen. If their parents are alive, they are entitled to a tenth of their family fortune, and their parents cannot legally oppose it unless the heir has been formally disinherited. Of course," he added, "so many have forgotten these old ways that one must specifically request the service."
"And how do you know this, Potter?" Theo asked suspiciously.
"I am kind to all beings that weave the web of magic," Salazar replied enigmatically.
"Is that your solution?"
"It is the first step. The second is establishing yourselves. Obviously, the Trace is a problem. You could live as Muggles for four years, but that is not an option for you. Another would be to seek refuge with a trusted relative, but you have none." He looked at Draco. "You will have to wait until you can legally distance yourselves, after your OWLs. But as for your mother, you might suggest she separate from your father. She is a Black by birth. That name carries far more weight than Malfoy. In the end, it will be her decision."
"I understand, Potter," Draco said, a new resolve in his eyes.
"Thank you for your time," Theo added.
The meeting was over. Salazar had not given them salvation, but he had given them something far more valuable: tools, knowledge, and a path to save themselves.