The Year 991
It was a tranquil, star-dusted night. The moon, a luminous orb in the sky, cast long shadows of four young figures who gazed in awe at what was, by far, the grandest work of magic ever conceived. An impregnable fortress, it would serve as their bastion against any invasion, whilst simultaneously laying the foundations for what they hoped would be a prosperous and immortal legacy—their monumental contribution to the world.
It was for this very reason they had chosen this particular, secluded spot. No one, they believed, would ever approach them through the dense forest or across the dark, mysterious lake; those who dared to try would surely fail. This was to be their school, a sanctuary where they would teach children to master their magic, to channel it, to wield it properly. This was their profound intention, their grandest ambition.
'Do you truly believe that creature was necessary?' one of them finally spoke, his voice laced with concern.
'She won't harm any students,' the second man assured him, a note of conviction in his tone. 'Her orders are precise: to engage only that which poses a direct threat to the castle.'
'It's rather unsettling that only you are immune to its charms,' one of the women remarked, her gaze fixed on the castle with a mixture of admiration and unease. 'You know I trust your judgement implicitly.'
Only one of them remained silent then. He was the one who had famously enchanted the castle's stairs to shift their positions at will and who had devised an infallible system to detect their future students. Suddenly, his eyes rolled back, turning stark white, and he crumpled to the ground.
Hours later, in the castle's newly established infirmary, the three friends kept a vigil. None of them had ever imagined that one of their own would be its first occupant, yet here they were. They watched over their friend, who was slowly regaining consciousness. A profound worry settled over them. They knew their companion possessed a unique gift, a peculiar ability to foresee. Rarely had this peculiarity manifested in such a dramatic fashion, and whatever he had witnessed must have been profoundly serious, even traumatic. They waited in a hushed silence, keen to grant him the space to speak when he was ready.
'Hogwarts will face grave danger. Not this year, not in ten years, not even this century,' he finally uttered, his voice weak. 'I have glimpsed a calendar, one that shows our work enduring for a thousand years, perhaps even more. The darkness, it will coalesce, becoming the very core of this place, with seven anchors encircling a monstrous giant, a creature with a reptilian face.'
'There is no creature known to us that fits that description,' one of the men declared, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. He was tense, as he always was when a threat loomed, ever ready to confront any foe to protect the innocent and defenseless.
'It's a metaphor,' the other man interjected, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. 'The monster with seven anchors and the face of a serpent. The question is, what does it represent?'
'We simply must do something,' the woman insisted, her voice cutting through the tense silence that had fallen after her companion's words. 'Magic would not have sent me such a profound vision if it did not require our intervention.'
'You cannot possibly travel that far back in time,' the other woman countered, her face, usually so affable and noble, now etched with concern. 'Journeying to the past is fraught with peril; the paradoxes it could create would shatter the very fabric of the universe. And travelling to the future... we have no idea what we might encounter, nor even if such a feat has ever been attempted.'
'There is something we can do. But I warn you, you will not like it. Only one form of magic would permit us to be present at that time. It isn't truly Dark, but it skirts perilously close. It is dangerous magic. We would have to bind our very souls to the castle itself, allowing it to release them only when it senses the threat looming over it. We cannot anticipate its arrival.'
'And once our souls are freed, what then?' the woman inquired, pushing herself up to sit on the edge of the infirmary stretcher.
'They will wander until they find the ideal vessel in which to reincarnate. It should take no more than forty years to locate the perfect match.'
'And should they fail to find someone of our direct lineage, they will seek out a compatible individual, one with the requisite ability or aptitude, after that time has passed,' the other man concluded, clearly understanding the grim implications of his friend's proposal. 'You're right, I don't like this plan one bit. I'm not precisely known for my patience.'
The Year 1942
The death of that student sent shockwaves through the school. Rumours of closure circulated amongst the staff, the professors utterly distraught as they failed to apprehend a culprit. The castle itself, with the souls of its founders now intrinsically fused within its very stones, felt the darkness fester and grow within its ancient walls. This malevolence reached its horrifying climax two nights after the girl's demise, marked by the unjust expulsion of an innocent who saw only the good in creatures, and the ominous appearance of the first of the 'anchors.' It was at that precise moment that the souls were finally released, beginning their long, arduous search for a suitable vessel. The right body, where their inherent potential would awaken, and their rebirth would be complete.