A flurry of snow and a biting wind whipped across the Hogwarts grounds in early December. Godric, Salazar, and Helga had gathered in their usual spot. They couldn't do this as often as they liked, as it would raise suspicions that could change Helga's fate—a risk they couldn't afford. So, they made the most of every moment to draw up their plans.
The map they had sketched of the soul fragments lay at the centre of the room, which they had arranged like a proper courtroom—a court-martial, really, considering the gravity of their mission. Their immediate priority was to tackle the most dangerous problem; the rest would follow. If they couldn't save them one by one, nothing would go well.
"We've destroyed three Horcruxes in a relatively short amount of time, which is a good start," Godric began, summing up their progress. "However, there's still a lot to do. It's a step forward just knowing what's left. We have three more to go, plus the main soul fragment. If we can destroy them before Voldemort sticks his nose out, we'll have won a great battle. All that will be left is to finish him off for good."
"We'll have to wait for him to make his move," Salazar said, his eyes fixed analytically on the map. "Given his activity in recent years, I don't think it'll be long before he tries something. He came for the Philosopher's Stone at the castle, though I suspect it was another prize he truly hoped to get. His attempt must have transferred somehow; if he was strong enough to feed off a person's life force..."
"It's possible he still has energy from that, and if one of his followers helps him, things could get complicated. Very bad, in fact," Helga added grimly.
"Extremely bad." Salazar thoughtfully looked back at the map. They had three accessible Horcruxes in London, and they just needed to travel to the different locations. They had been expanding their knowledge of these places, but one of the Horcruxes was out of the question until they could secure Sirius's freedom, which they couldn't delay for much longer either. The other two were a different story. "I think we should go for the one in Gringotts first, then focus on the one in Little Hangleton. I can handle Gringotts."
"How? You can't even go to Hogsmeade," Godric objected.
"But I can argue that I need money and that I don't trust getting it through a messenger. I'll tell Professor McGonagall."
"It won't work, Salazar," Godric countered flatly. "They've put you in a bubble. It won't be easy to persuade them."
"Not Dumbledore, but McGonagall is another matter. Especially if I take advantage of the Minister's visit to make the request."
"Then I'll offer to escort you," Helga chimed in with a smile. "It's a plan that could work. Next point: Little Hangleton. I'll be the one to go. I think the ideal time is during Christmas."
"You can't leave the castle then," Salazar said, a hint of concern in his voice. "I don't trust you to face one of these alone."
"I can accompany her, as long as it's not on Christmas Day," Godric offered. "In fact, the morning after the feast, my grandmother has a meeting at the Wizengamot, and Uncle Algie always leaves me some space and barely asks questions."
"And what about the Trace?" Helga pointed out. "At Gringotts, it won't be a big problem; it's a protected building where magic can't be recorded."
"I've been looking into that," Godric said, a triumphant smile on his face. "The Trace is linked to a wizard's magical biological maturity. Once your magical potential—whether fully developed or not—detects that your body has reached the age of majority, the Trace breaks. This is especially true with a spell as weak as the one they've put in place with these current rules. Curiously, those who are homeschooled don't have it, nor do those who entered after the age of eleven, like exchange students."
"Interesting. So it's acquired through one of the castle's ancient traditions—crossing the lake," Salazar said, his brow furrowed in thought. He wasn't pleased with this at all. It seemed less like a form of security and more like a method of control, one that could land a person in serious legal trouble if there was a major incident. "We'll have to do something about that. Modify the barrier that allows this to happen with our students, because I assume they don't know about it." The reason for the trackers was to control criminals, he mused. He didn't even want to imagine how long this had been going on. "You have a plan, don't you, Godric?"
"An Ageing Potion. A concoction that makes us adults, according to the current rules, for about twenty-four hours."
"Lucky I don't have to take it," Helga commented with a grin. "How long would it take you to brew?"
"Around six hours," Godric replied.
"It's ten o'clock at night," Salazar noted. "It's Saturday. If you brew it now, we can take it at six o'clock on Sunday morning. We'll be back to our normal age on Monday and without the Trace."
"It's the right time," Helga acknowledged. "You'll just need an alibi."
"That's easy. We go to bed late and get up early to study," Salazar proposed with a shrug.
"I'll brew the potion. In the meantime, agree to keep an eye on it—we'll take turns every two hours. I want to sleep too."
And so they did. They prepared the ingredients and began brewing the potion, taking turns every two hours to continue where the last one had left off. They finished it in five hours, with the sixth hour set aside for it to cool down before they could ingest it.
"Right then, the concoction is ready," Helga announced, waking them both up. "It's your time to be adults for a day."
The potion worked. Both Godric and Salazar grew to an appearance of about seventeen to twenty years old. They felt that famous Trace disappear from their bodies. The unfortunate thing was that they would have to remain hidden for the next twenty-four hours.
---
A few days after taking advantage of their newfound "maturity," Salazar was being escorted to the Ministry of Magic by Helga, a fact that had visibly annoyed Dumbledore. Their suspicion was confirmed when they spotted Hagrid lurking nearby. Salazar didn't even want to imagine what Dumbledore had said to the half-giant to get him there. It was likely something about providing extra security from a distance, but whatever the excuse, it certainly wasn't discreet.
"Do you think anyone else from that Order the 'dog' mentioned is around here?" Salazar whispered to Helga.
"It's possible. It's clear from what the dog said that Hagrid was a member. We'll have to be vigilant."
They walked calmly down Diagon Alley in silence. Salazar played the part of a teenager who was both uncomfortable being escorted and, at the same time, frightened by the threats to his person. It was the most sensible approach. Showing too much confidence with an Auror, no matter how young she appeared, could be dangerous for them in the future—especially if they were being watched. He was a little paranoid about it, and in fact, so was Helga.
It didn't take them long to reach Gringotts Bank, where they would be safest, far from any of Dumbledore's support men.
"Good day. I would like an audience with Bagdod. It's a matter of some substance."
"I'll inform him at once, Mr. Potter and Miss..."
"Tonks."
The goblin left them alone for a few moments, after ushering them into a brilliantly ornate waiting room. The decoration spoke volumes about the bank's economic power. The engravings reflected different moments in magical history—the tensions between wizards and goblins and how these had ended up influencing the economy. Salazar considered that wizards had been foolish to relegate the goblins solely to matters of currency. After all, from this position, the goblins had the power to collapse the entire magical economy. While he didn't think anything was going to happen right now—the political climate wasn't that tense yet—the thought was a sobering one.
The wait was long, but normal. Sometimes, the goblins were busy; other times, they sought to measure the patience of their magical clients. Patience was something that both Salazar and Helga had in abundance. They didn't speak much during those moments of waiting, simply watching and waiting.
Finally, their time came. They were escorted to the office of Salazar's account manager who, as it turned out, had recently been appointed director. With this new information, Salazar understood the procedure better, and it made their movements much easier.
"I congratulate you on your appointment, Bagdod."
"I appreciate it, Mr. Potter," the goblin said with a slight smile. "I don't imagine you're here just to offer your congratulations." He then looked with interest at Helga.
"She is trustworthy," Salazar stated. "Though to the Ministry and the school, she is nothing more than my escort."
"I understand. Now tell me, 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. A Horcrux, by Voldemort."
"That is a serious matter. By what authority do you make such an accusation?"
Salazar and Helga exchanged a long, silent look, a non-verbal conversation passing between them. That detail didn't go unnoticed by the goblin, nor did the fact that she was a Ministry official, for even in her Muggle clothes, there were certain indicators that marked her as a Ministry Auror.
"We found one at Hogwarts," Helga finally spoke. "Harry had already destroyed one the year before. As Muggles say, 'there are no two without three,' so we did some investigating."
"Why not communicate this to the Ministry?"
"They could use it as an argument against all of you," Helga argued. Her true reason was the secrecy of their mission and their identities, but her statement wasn't a lie. "All of us who grew up in this world know how important it is, for some, to control all spheres of power."
"We consider this to be a matter that concerns only this institution," Salazar added, speaking calmly. He had caught on to Helga's angle. "After all, this bank is your territory."
"Yes, it is," the goblin admitted, clearly weighing their words. "Wait here while I check your information. I will leave a couple of guards with you."
They both nodded silently. They were well aware that goblins had very little tolerance for the jokes and problems that humans could bring them. They also knew that once the Horcrux was found and destroyed, they would be free of that particular danger. If they had gone to the Ministry, first Helga would have had to give too many explanations; then the Minister and his entourage would have accused the goblins of conspiring with a dark wizard to overthrow the current government; and finally, everything would have completely spiralled out of control. No, what they had done was better, they were both certain of it.
After half an hour, the goblin returned.
"Your warning was correct. An ancient and valuable object has indeed been corrupted in such a way," Bagdod announced. "I suppose you would like it to be delivered to you."
"Our greatest desire is to destroy it," Salazar said.
"Very well." With a gesture, he led them in, carrying the object locked inside a protective box. "I hope you know how to do it."
The object that emerged before them threw them both off-guard. They recognised it immediately, and both felt a pang of pain and anger at the sight of it. It was an object that belonged to one of them—to Helga, in this case. It was the cup she had used to create so many magical mixtures in the past. Now, it was completely corrupted. There was no way to destroy the Horcrux without destroying the cup itself.
How had he dared to sully a wonderful legacy in such a way? Salazar's fist clenched tightly around the silver dagger marked with basilisk venom.
The goblin was expectant and amazed at their reactions, though he didn't know why. He simply assumed that they had identified the valuable object and knew its history.
"Let me do it," Helga said, her voice strained. "After all, I was Hufflepuff."
Salazar turned to Helga, meeting her gaze before drawing the dagger and handing it to her, blade-first. He understood why she wanted to do it and what it had cost her to make that decision.
It was all over as soon as she plunged the dagger into the cup. The metal instantly burned away, rendered useless and charred. The soul fragment passed away, as they would say. As for the goblin, he hadn't seen anything strange in it; in fact, he found it poetic that a student of the Hufflepuff House was the one to destroy that particular Horcrux.
After that, they all went their separate ways, leaving to do the shopping that had been their pretext for the entire operation.
While all of this was happening, back at the castle, Godric was spending the afternoon with Ron and his pet rat, Scabbers. If he didn't know the rat's true identity, he might have felt sorry to see it so emaciated and with balding patches all over its fur.
The first part of the afternoon had been dedicated to studying. Godric had managed to convince Ron that if he wanted more attention from his parents, he had to stand out and exceed their expectations. He had talked Ron into taking his studies more seriously, so that he could improve little by little. At least now Ron wasn't leaving his work until the last minute, which was a significant step forward in itself.
The rest of the afternoon was more pleasant. They spent it playing chess and talking about different topics: Quidditch, Sirius Black, and plans for Christmas.
"Why don't you take her to a magical vet to get her looked at?" Godric asked, giving the rat a pitiful look.
"They're too expensive, and the tonic seems to be helping her," Ron replied. "If it weren't for that blasted cat chasing her all the time, she'd already be on the mend. I think it's a stress problem."
"Even so, a thorough check-up wouldn't hurt," Godric said. He knew that a good magizoologist would be able to differentiate between a magical creature and a non-magical one—but, more importantly, between a creature and a human pretending to be one. "I can help you with the cost."
"No, Neville. I thank you, but I can't accept it. I can't keep taking other people's money and charity."
"I see," Godric said, just before ordering a new chess move.
Just at that moment, Salazar entered the common room.
"Harry!" Ron exclaimed, who was facing the door. "How did it go? Did the Aurors give you a hard time?"
"Not too much," Salazar said. "But at least I've got all the shopping done. And besides, I thought I saw Hagrid. I think Dumbledore wanted me to feel supported." He exchanged a fleeting glance with Godric, who nodded, indicating he had received the message. "So all's well, really."
"I'm glad," Ron said.
"I hope you didn't forget me," Godric said playfully.
"I didn't, Neville," Salazar replied. In public, they couldn't forget to address each other by the names they were known by at the time.
---
The castle was practically deserted during the winter break. The small number of people crossing the grounds towards the carriages was a testament to that. It seemed everyone was in a hurry to get home for Christmas. Godric had returned to his family, and Helga had taken her days off, leaving her Auror companion at the castle to cover for them. It was clear that the two weeks of Christmas vacation had begun.
Salazar was left alone in the Gryffindor common room, with only the Weasleys and Hermione Granger for company. It wasn't a bad situation; in fact, it seemed like it would be an entertaining holiday, if it weren't for the continuous arguments between Ron and Hermione about the latter's cat and the former's rat. Their bickering made him want to unmask the rat—Peter Pettigrew—once and for all before Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Auror, had a chance. But that was unfeasible for now. For the time being, they could only watch him, so Salazar had to restrain the urge to strangle the rat when he took refuge in Ron's hands during one of Crookshanks' attacks. Salazar knew why Hermione's cat reacted that way; his lineage as a Kneazle gave him a gift for detecting something wrong.
"Please don't argue. Today is not a day for bickering, but for enjoyment," Salazar told them. "We've got gifts, haven't we? Shall we open them?"
"I've already opened mine. By the way, Harry, I love the encyclo—"
"Yes, yes. You're happy with a pile of books. Now get that beast out of the room so Scabbers can rest," Ron said in an unpleasant tone, reaching for one of his presents.
"You're an idiot, Ronald," Hermione retorted before storming out of the room.
"And on top of that, he insults me."
"You earned that one, my friend." Salazar had already unwrapped all his presents, except for one. It was a fine package that had been left below all the others. He unwrapped it carefully, revealing its contents to be a top-of-the-line broomstick—a Firebolt. A piece of paper fluttered out from within and fell to the floor, which Salazar quickly Vanished. The paper had a dog's footprint on it. He noticed the broom vibrate, and when he released it, it rose slightly, as if waiting for him to mount it.
"Wow, Harry. That's the best broom on the market! Will you let me have a go?" Ron asked excitedly.
"I'm not sure we should," Salazar replied. If he was going to pretend to be a more sensible person, it was better to start showing it now. He knew there was nothing wrong with the broom; it was in perfect condition. But at the same time, he knew there was a supposed madman behind him, ready to kill him. A broom could be an excellent weapon, a brilliant means of doing so. "There was no note with it."
"So what? It's a wonderful gift."
"One that anyone could have sent."
"Someone who appreciates you very much, of course."
Salazar held Ron's gaze. Ron wasn't wrong in what he was saying. Sirius Black was his godfather, and this kind of gift was common within that type of relationship. But they didn't know each other well enough to say there was a relationship of appreciation. Having been separated for years due to the circumstances meant there had been no continuity. He couldn't remember what it had been like before Sirius went to prison, so he had to feign complete ignorance.
"I can't imagine who it could be."
"Lupin likes you."
"If Lupin had that much money, he'd renew his wardrobe."
"Well, Professor McGonagall gave you the Nimbus."
"The money for that was taken from my vault."
"Are you serious?"
"Absolutely."
"The Gryffindor team, then?"
"Ron, a broom like that can cost a fortune, about five hundred Galleons, at a minimum."
"I know! Dumbledore!"
"Dumbledore can't afford to show that kind of favouritism toward a student."
"That's precisely why! You're his favourite."
Salazar shook his head, a gesture Ron interpreted as a rejection of his theory, but which was actually a sign of deep thought. Being seen as the Headmaster's favourite was going to work against him at some point. Salazar knew Dumbledore wanted to use him, but for what? Making everyone see him as his favourite seemed to intentionally deter any support from Dumbledore's detractors and restrict his potential relationships. Salazar had to keep an eye on this and consult with Godric and Helga. Their opinion was important. It was a pity that Rowena wasn't with them; she could bring a different perspective to the situation. Though, that girl from Ravenclaw, Luna Lovegood, who was bullied by her classmates, had some rather peculiar and distinct ideas that were worth considering.
"I have to talk to Professor McGonagall," Salazar said, grabbing the broom again and leaving the room. He knew exactly what to do next.
He was grateful that the castle was practically empty, which saved him from the whispers. He knew a lot would be said once the existence of that broom became public knowledge. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if the rest of the Weasleys already knew—Ron was a good person, but his tongue was a bit loose. He knocked on Professor McGonagall's office door. He preferred to turn to her rather than the Headmaster.
"Come in."
"Professor McGonagall, I have a problem," he said, entering. He walked broom in hand to the teacher's desk as she looked at him sternly. It was her usual expression, and he assumed that by saying there was a problem, he had put her on high alert. "I just received this." He placed the broom on the table. "There was no note with the wrapping. It's the best broom on the market, and well, I don't think anyone would give something like this away anonymously. I may be a little paranoid, but... what if Sirius Black has something to do with it?"
"Any caution is a small price to pay, Mr. Potter. You did very well. Professor Flitwick and I will examine the broom. We will keep you posted."
"Thank you, Professor."
After leaving the broom with the teacher, Salazar decided to go to the kitchens and ask for some food. He knew they were busy with the Christmas feast, but he hoped they could spare some for him. He planned to bring some food to Sirius Black so he could celebrate the day properly. He took a generous package and used a secret passageway that led directly to the grounds. This allowed him to avoid running into any other students or, worse, a teacher who might be concerned about him eating alone. It was a one-way passageway; you could exit onto the grounds but not enter from them.
He walked across the snowy grounds to the Whomping Willow. With a simple incantation, he immobilised the branches of the tree so they wouldn't hit him and entered the passage. In his time, that passage was hidden under a rock formation. It was one of the castle's evacuation routes. The fact that it was now something else showed that it had been discovered and used for other purposes. It didn't take long for him to arrive at the Shrieking Shack. Dilapidated and run-down as always.
"I see you've made some improvements. Very clever."
"I am. You told me not to arouse suspicion."
"And yet you've given me a wonderful Christmas present that I've obviously had to ask to have thoroughly checked."
"There's nothing wrong with the broom."
"I know. But it's very odd to receive a package without knowing who it's from. Nobody just gives things away like that."
"I understand."
"However, I do like it." Salazar placed the package with food on the table. "I would stay to share it with you, but I think my absence would be too noticeable."
"Go and enjoy the banquet." Sirius said. "By the way, when do you plan to catch the rat?"
"All in good time. It's not something we can rush." He glanced at Sirius before leaving. "Remember to be careful. If you get caught, we won't be able to help you in any way, and I don't want to get caught either. You're my passport to leaving the Dursleys without causing a huge commotion."
---
Christmas had passed, and the students were dispersed, each attending to their own needs. Godric was glad for this, as it made it much easier to reunite with Helga. A few hours ago, his grandmother had left for her meeting at the Ministry, and Uncle Algie was lost in the house's greenhouses. It wasn't difficult for Godric to leave the house and go to Diagon Alley. He used the Floo network for that, after all, it wasn't so unusual for him to go out and buy parchment for his holiday homework. He had conveniently "forgotten" some of his supplies. This gave him a perfect excuse if he was questioned. He met Helga on the side of the bank leading to Knockturn Alley.
"You're a little late," Helga said. Godric recognised her by her voice; he still hadn't gotten used to the gift his friend had in this life. At the moment, she looked like a girl around his age, maybe two years older.
"For a moment, I thought you'd take on my grandmother's appearance," he joked.
"I could have. That would spawn rumours about my gift of ubiquity, perhaps even leading people to call me a goddess."
"Better not. Shall we go?"
"Of course."
They arrived at their destination by Apparating to a dusty path far from a small town. The town had a similar appearance to those you see on television that have black legends or rumours of being cursed. Of course, a place where the landowners had been murdered and the crime hadn't been solved would naturally create that kind of atmosphere. They advanced along the path, both aware of all the information Helga herself had gathered about the area. The land had once belonged to the Gaunts, a family that lost their manor house due to their own extravagance. Inbreeding and airs of grandeur had destroyed that branch of Salazar's brother's family.
They arrived at the spot where the old cabin in which that family had ended up living was located. It was a one-room house, half-collapsed and covered by weeds over time. But there was something about it that made it stand out as a dangerous place, once you focused your attention on it.
"I suppose it has spells on it so you walk by and don't notice it," Helga observed, looking cautiously at the spot where they had stopped.
"Even so, I don't think anyone would enter a place like that," Godric replied.
"You'd be surprised, Godric. Muggle teenagers are capable of a lot of foolishness."
"Well, let's make sure this place doesn't become a tomb for curious people."
With their wands held high, they stepped into the hut, both feeling the chill of dark magic that is rooted in one place or imbued into an object. The place was a trap, and they had just activated it. The dark magic was tempting them to abandon all caution. Fortunately, they were stronger than that magic and were able to resist and give each other encouragement.
"I'm glad Salazar didn't want me to come alone."
"No one should face just one of these. Or any dangerous situation, for that matter."
"I'm afraid we'll have to face Voldemort between the four of us, once Rowena appears."
"Well, let's hope it doesn't take long, Helga. It would be a real disaster if it happened."
"If the plan worked with us, it worked with her, too. According to my calculations, she should be a year or two younger than you and Salazar."
"Let's look for the Horcrux."
They let the magic of the place guide them to where it was most concentrated. It was in an area of the floor where the floorboards were somewhat loose. This didn't seem to be from deterioration, but done intentionally. That must have been the hiding place. Godric proceeded to remove the boards after putting on his protective gloves. Even though the boards didn't seem to be bewitched, it was better to be safe. A wave of darkness seemed to come from under the boards. Once removed, on a velvet bed, there was a ring. A ring that invited you to take it and put it on. Helga could identify the curse it contained, and it was anything but pleasant.
"Unstoppable, progressive putrefaction," she murmured as she drew the dagger that Salazar had provided her for the task.
"That's not good."
"Would you like to do the honours?" she offered him the dagger.
"Okay, so I can get on par with you."
Kilometres away, in the dark Room of Requirement, a meeting place for the three friends, another point disappeared from the map. One had disappeared at the beginning of the month, and now another was gone. This was proof that another soul fragment had been destroyed. The two they had planned to destroy that month were gone. All that was left was a Horcrux and the main soul. Salazar looked at the map with satisfaction. It was time to focus their efforts on Pettigrew, to free Sirius and gain access to the location where the remaining fragment was.