Warm sunlight spilled generously into an office at Hogwarts, a thousand years ago, its light fell across old wood and parchment in a way that felt, curiously, unchanged by the intervening centuries.
Out on the grounds below, the laughter of young witches and wizards mingled with the crisp birdsong drifting over from the Forbidden Forest, weaving both sounds together into a cheerful tranquil melody that carried up through the open windows.
Godric Gryffindor sat with one broad hand curled around the rim of his teacup, gazing out through the window into the distance, seeming to savour this particular quiet moment to its fullest extent.
The other three people present in the office, however, each carried their own private thoughts beneath the surface calm.
Slytherin glanced now and again at Gryffindor's contented, relaxed posture, his lowered eyes were tinged with visible hesitation.
He knew, in fact, exactly what Rowena and Helga had actually gone off together to do. Careful as the two women had genuinely been in concealing it, the secret they were trying so carefully to hide had, in the end, not escaped his notice.
He also understood perfectly well why Rowena had chosen to keep the matter hidden at all.
If Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor were ever to be openly together, and to have a child recognised as such, the noble old families that so thoroughly dominated the wider wizarding world would surely erupt into uproar over the matter.
That would, without question, subject the still-newborn Hogwarts School to a severe political trial, one it might not easily survive. Rowena's own choice, by comparison, was unmistakably the wiser one for the school's sake.
And yet—though her choice would bring lasting scorn and shame down upon herself personally, the wider wizarding world would, precisely because of that sacrifice, feel considerably more at ease about Hogwarts's standing and legitimacy.
Only, Slytherin's eyebrow lifted again slightly, his eyes were settling on the utterly gullible, unsuspecting Godric across the room.
Of everyone touched by this arrangement, Rowena's choice was least fair to Godric.
"Do you know what secret Lady Ravenclaw and Lady Hufflepuff are keeping, Bryan?"
Dumbledore asked, plainly intrigued by the whole unfolding conversation.
Bryan noticed that Dumbledore had specifically chosen the word "keeping" in his question—clearly, the old man had already picked up on some thread himself.
That came as no genuine surprise to Bryan. Whatever the man's own command of magic might be, when it came to life experience and the reading of people, Dumbledore remained, without question, the most seasoned man in the room.
Bryan stayed quiet for a few full breaths, weighing whether to answer, then said softly, "Helena Ravenclaw."
Dumbledore's own surprise showed faintly across his face.
"Lady Ravenclaw's own child—will she be born during this very journey Lady Ravenclaw and Lady Hufflepuff are currently on together, then?"
"Actually, the child's true father is Gryffindor. But given the delicate political climate of the wizarding world at the time, and Hogwarts's own precarious, still-fragile standing within it, Lady Ravenclaw made the decision to conceal the truth, and invented a Muggle father for the child instead, to protect the school—"
Bryan let out something close to a wistful sigh at the telling.
The answer was, on first hearing, genuinely unexpected and yet, in hindsight, made perfect sense once properly considered.
Dumbledore gave a slight, considering nod, revealing no particularly great astonishment at finally hearing the answer to this age-old, much-debated historical riddle.
In fact, what concerned him rather more, in that moment, was the sheer, unhesitating certainty in Bryan's own tone as he spoke of it. It only confirmed, once again, the growing suspicion he'd been quietly harbouring throughout tonight's entire, extraordinary experience.
This strange, unprecedented journey they now found themselves sharing—Bryan, he suspected with increasing certainty, had lived through some version of it before. More than once, quite possibly.
"I hear,"
Slytherin said, swirling his own teacup gently in one hand, the tea within was red as fresh blood—rippling faintly at its surface with the motion, "that you've taken on two new students recently, Godric?"
The relaxed, lazy contentment that had been sitting on Gryffindor's face vanished at once at the question. He eyed Slytherin sidelong now, his expression was shifting into that of a fighter bracing himself to meet a challenge.
"That's correct. Remarkably gifted children, both of them. Are you planning to try poaching them away for your own House, Salazar?"
"You mustn't continue doing this, Godric. I mean it seriously."
Salazar Slytherin lifted his own head at that, his face was touched now with something faintly grim.
"Oh, Salazar—"
Godric shook his head slowly, tossing back a sweat-damp lock of hair that had fallen loose across his eyes.
"When, exactly, will you finally let go of those stale, tired old notions of yours?"
Godric set his teacup down firmly and rose from his stool. Under the watchful eyes of the other three men present, he paced steadily before the tall casement window, working through his own rising temper.
"The entire, founding point of establishing Hogwarts together, all those years ago, was to break free of the old, restrictive ways of the established magical families—to give magic itself a better chance to be passed on to those who deserved it, rather than simply those born to the right name. Wasn't it, Salazar?"
"I don't deny any of that, Godric."
Slytherin said calmly, without heat.
"Well then, you shouldn't keep fixating so relentlessly on those particular children's blood status, above everything else about them. If a proper magical education is only ever going to be open to purely pure-blooded descendants after all, then there was no point in the four of us opening Hogwarts at all in the first place because those children could simply be taught privately by their own fathers within their own family homes!"
Gryffindor said, his temper was steadily rising now.
"You ought to have the patience to hear me out first, Godric—"
Salazar Slytherin's own expression remained perfectly composed throughout, unmoved by the rising heat.
"What I genuinely mean to say is: you should stop your habit of snatching children away from the Church's grasp. That pattern of behaviour is, whether you intend it or not, nothing less than making Hogwarts a new and formidable enemy for itself, at just the wrong moment in our history."
...
There was a silence of a few full, considering seconds. Gryffindor scratched absently at his own head, working through the accusation.
"Oh, is that specifically what's been worrying you all this time? I'm not quite as foolish as you think, Salazar. I've concealed my identity carefully, every single time I've acted."
Salazar looked sideways at Godric in response, in precisely the manner one might look at a fool.
"Oh, come now, Salazar—was I simply supposed to stand by and watch, doing nothing, while those helpless children were put to death by the Church for something they never chose?"
Gryffindor said as a fresh note of guilt was beginning to creep into his own voice despite his earlier defensiveness.
"When Rowena and I were searching that island together—she mentioned to me that we ought to find some way for Hogwarts to identify children whose magic had newly awakened, before the Church could ever find them first and do them harm.
But these past several years, we've all been thoroughly consumed with the ongoing work of magical education itself, and with the equally pressing matter of stopping Herpo from returning to this world."
'Stopping Herpo… from returning to this world?'
A sharp flicker of alarm appeared in Dumbledore's deep blue eyes at that particular phrase.
He turned his head immediately to look at Bryan, and found there only a calm, entirely composed face giving nothing away.
Dumbledore's own lips parted, ready to press the point but in the end, he said nothing further.
"Speaking of Rowena—"
Slytherin's eyelids lifted sharply at that, a keen, focused light was beginning to flash in his pale green eyes.
"Do the two of you intend to go on like this forever?"
Gryffindor, standing at the window, froze on the spot at the direct question. He had not expected Salazar to puncture the delicate matter so bluntly, without any warning at all.
Gryffindor's expression went completely still. Slowly, he turned away from the room, silently gazing back out at the bright, sunlit world beyond the window instead of meeting anyone's eyes.
Deep sorrow lay etched across that broad rough face.
"You are more cowardly than I ever imagined you could be, Gryffindor—"
Salazar said flatly.
"That very House you founded yourself, the standard by which you personally choose your students—wasn't it built entirely on fearless courage, Godric? Above all else?"
In his memories, Bryan had encountered Godric Gryffindor twice before tonight.
The founder of Gryffindor House, in both of those prior experiences, had left a genuinely deep, lasting impression on him through his relentless, forward-charging spirit and boundless confidence—
Much, in fact, as the wizards a full thousand years later would go on to imagine and depict Godric Gryffindor within their minds.
And so, when this same gigantic, formidable man now showed a face so completely full of sorrow and evident helplessness before him, both Dumbledore and Bryan were caught off guard by the transformation.
"I respect Rowena's choice, Salazar—"
Godric said, his voice had gone hoarse with emotions. He remained facing toward the window throughout, so Salazar couldn't properly make out his full expression from where he sat.
But these words made Salazar's blood run cold with shock!
Salazar hesitated for a moment, then narrowed his eyes at his old friend as thoughts began spinning rapidly through his mind. "You—you already know something. About Rowena. Something, don't you, Godric?"
"Everything you know about Rowena—"
Godric turned his face back around slowly, his smile was still touched with sorrow.
"—I know it all too, Salazar."
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