The cozy confines of the Gryffindor cottage felt alien to Salazar Slytherin. Accustomed to the grandeur of Slytherin Manor—its cavernous halls and looming ceilings adorned with dark stone—this modest dwelling was a world apart. The manor's shadowy walls were heavy with tapestries and portraits of long-dead ancestors, their stern gazes as cold as the treasures displayed beneath them. Gold-gilded artifacts, encrusted with gemstones, and macabre relics from far-off lands told the tale of his father Sigmund's obsessive acquisitions. But here, in this unassuming home, there was nothing grandiose. Nothing foreboding. It was different in every conceivable way.
The cottage was small, humbly constructed, and clearly built with practicality in mind. Salazar found it almost laughable to think it could fit entirely within the foyer of Slytherin Manor. Its stone walls bore signs of age, cracks creeping along their surface, while shelves lined with neatly arranged pottery, plates, and simple hand-drawn portraits added a lived-in charm. The kitchen, though clean, seemed sparingly used—an indication, Salazar surmised, of Captain Gareth Gryffindor's demanding duties.
A modest dining table with four well-worn chairs sat near the hearth. The wood showed years of use, its edges scuffed and chipped by time. In the living room, two large chairs flanked a handmade coffee table that bore the marks of amateur craftsmanship. The centerpiece of the space was the hearth itself, its crackling fire providing a warm glow that chased away the winter chill. Yet for Salazar, even that warmth felt distant, unable to thaw the restlessness within him.
Hunched forward in one of the living room chairs, a mug of warm milk clasped loosely in his hands, Salazar stared into the flames. The fire popped and hissed, its unpredictable dance doing little to soothe his troubled thoughts. He questioned again why he had agreed to come here. When Godric had invited him to visit his home in Dark's Hollow, Salazar had thought the idea absurd. But the alternative—returning to the dreary solitude of Slytherin Manor—was unthinkable. The manor, with its echoing halls and lifeless air, held only reminders of his father's disinterest and the weight of expectations he had never asked for.
Now that he was here, however, Salazar couldn't shake a faint, gnawing envy. He had watched Gareth Gryffindor embrace his nephew without hesitation, holding him close in a way that radiated unconditional love. The sight had stirred something in Salazar—a yearning he rarely allowed himself to feel. He gripped his mug tighter, his chest tightening at the thought. What would it be like, he wondered, to be held like that? To feel a father's warmth, free from the burdens of status, power, and expectation?
But Salazar knew better. Such feelings were a luxury he couldn't afford. His father would never offer him that kind of solace. Sigmund was a man of unyielding ambition, incapable of vulnerability or affection. To the man, Salazar was not a son but an heir—a tool to shape into the perfect image of the Slytherin legacy.
Salazar's emerald eyes flickered toward the fire, his chest heaving as a quiet sigh escaped him. For all his sharp wit and cleverness, for all the walls he had built around himself, there was a hollow ache in his heart. It was a wish too far, he thought bitterly, to long for something as simple as love.
****
Godric's old bedroom looked exactly as he had left it—a space steeped in rustic simplicity. The warm, earthy tones of wood contrasted against the cold, cracked stone walls. His furniture, sturdy and practical, was made of hand-carved wood reinforced with metal bindings and bolts. A dresser and bed dominated the modest room, the latter creaking slightly under his weight as he sat hunched on the edge, his shoulders bearing an invisible weight. The walls were decorated with rounded shields, each painted with the emblems of various armies—trophies Gareth had collected from former soldiers turned bandits.
Gareth sat beside him on the bed, his fingers interlaced and resting on his lap, deep in thought. Godric had told him everything—the Clans, the Congregation, the Calishans, his duel with Volg, and most of all, Raine. The story was fantastical, the kind of tale Gareth might have scoffed at if not for the truths he had come to accept about the magical world. Yet despite the incredibility of it all, one thing was clear: the pain in his nephew's eyes was as real and raw as it could be.
"So," Gareth began with a bittersweet smile, breaking the silence. "You fell in love. A girl you had hoped to wed." He chuckled softly. "My boy, all grown up. I couldn't be any prouder."
Godric didn't respond, his crimson eyes fixed on the floor, his body motionless.
"I'm sorry, lad," Gareth said. "Truly, I am. Still… it sounds like quite the adventure. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought sending you off to school would lead to life-or-death battles for the love of your life." He chuckled again, though this time it was more restrained, almost hollow. "Just goes to show what I know."
Godric remained silent.
Gareth let out a heavy sigh, his expression softening. "I wish I could tell you it gets easier," he said. "That the pain you're feeling now—the sorrow, the heartbreak—will just fade away. I wish I could take it all from you, but I can't." He looked at Godric. "This is part of growing up. Part of becoming a man. Right now, the world feels dark and cruel, doesn't it? It's tempting to lose your faith in it, in yourself, and everyone around you. And I wouldn't blame you if you did."
Gareth placed a firm, reassuring hand on Godric's shoulder. "But you're not just any man, Godric. You're a Gryffindor. And I know you, lad. Your flames can weather even the darkest storms. You might feel like they've been snuffed out, but I promise you—they're still there. Waiting."
Godric's lip quivered, and he turned his face away, but Gareth saw the tears welling in his nephew's eyes.
"This pain, it's going to shape you," Gareth said. "You may not see it now, but someday, you'll look back and realize that even in the midst of all this… you grew stronger. And when the time comes, when you need to stand again, you'll find that flame burning brighter than ever."
"I don't…" Godric's words caught in his throat. "I don't know if I can." He drew a shaky breath. "Every night, I close my eyes and pray to the Gods—beg them to show me mercy and just… claim me," he whispered. "I've thought about using the Memory Charm on myself. Just to forget. To take away all of it—the pain, the hate, the emptiness."
His fists clenched tightly. "But I couldn't do it. Because forgetting her would mean forgetting everything we went through. Everything we were. And I can't… I don't want to forget her."
Gareth remained silent, his heart breaking for his nephew as tears fell freely from Godric's face, landing with faint splashes on the wooden floor. The boy's shoulders shook under the weight of his grief.
"I don't know what to do, Uncle Gareth," Godric admitted. "For the first time in my life, I feel… completely lost. I don't know where to go, what to fight for. I'm sorry, I feel so… pathetic."
"Godric, lad…" Gareth's voice was steady. "You're not pathetic. Not in the slightest. You're human. And being human means feeling this pain—grieving when we've lost something so dear to us."
Gareth's grip tightened briefly before he released it. "It's okay to feel lost. It's okay to feel weak. No one comes out of something like this unscathed. You're allowed to break down, to cry, to not have all the answers."
The man's gaze softened, his hand sliding down to clasp the boy's arm firmly before pulling him into a strong embrace. "Do whatever you need to do to heal, Godric. Cry, scream, rage at the world if you must. But promise me one thing." He drew back slightly, just enough to look his nephew in the eye. "Don't ever think you're alone in this. You're not. Not here. Not ever."
Godric leaned into his uncle's embrace, his body trembling. "How I feel—this... this pain inside me—I wish I couldn't feel anything, Uncle Gareth." His fists clenched tightly against his uncle's chest. "I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing," he ground out through gritted teeth.
"I know, lad." Gareth's hold on him tightened, his hand moving to the back of Godric's head in a gesture of comfort. "I know."
****
The sound of the bedroom door shutting drew Salazar's attention, his sharp emerald eyes flickering toward Gareth as the older man stepped into the room. The heavy oaken door latched with a soft click, sealing away the emotional storm within. Salazar hadn't noticed how dark it had grown outside until now, the shadows of the evening stretching long across the cottage. The only light came from the flickering flames in the hearth, casting a warm glow over Gareth as he moved to the armchair beside him. With a tired shrug, the man lowered himself into the seat, the weight of the world visibly pressing on his shoulders.
Salazar studied him closely, intrigued by the figure Godric had spoken of so often and so highly. Gareth was every bit the warrior his reputation suggested—broad-shouldered, his muscular frame unmistakable even beneath his simple shirt. His rough-shaven face bore the marks of years spent in service. His auburn hair tinged with streaks of grey that seemed more like badges of honor than signs of age. Yet, despite his strength, there was a softness in his eyes, a quiet sadness that seemed to mirror Godric's pain.
"You must be Godric's friend," Gareth said as his gaze settled on Salazar. "Salazar Slytherin, right? He's mentioned you often in his letters. It's good to finally meet you."
"Has he now?" Salazar replied, offering a polite smile, though holding back his usual smirk out of respect. "The honor is mine, Captain Gryffindor. Godric speaks of you as if you were a living legend."
Gareth chuckled, though the sound lacked its usual mirth. "Living legend, huh? That boy's always had a talent for embellishment. I'm just a man trying to do right by those under my care." His gaze shifted to the flames, the flickering light reflecting in his weary eyes. "Though right now, I wonder if I've done enough."
Salazar's expression softened. "How is he?" he asked quietly.
"Asleep," Gareth replied. "At least for now. I pray the dreams that come to him are kinder than the waking world. He needs the rest, more than anything."
Gareth leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly together as he continued, "I've seen that boy hurt before. Scraped knees, a broken bone here and there, even a bloodied nose after a scrap with the town boys. Pain's never been a stranger to him." He paused, his jaw tightening as he stared into the fire. "But this… I've never seen him like this. Not in all my years. He's destroyed, Salazar. Hollowed out. And it twists me up inside because I can't fix it. I can't shield him from this."
Salazar looked at Gareth for a long moment, his expression uncharacteristically solemn. "That may be true," he said softly, "but you're here. That's more than most can say."
A gentle silence fell between them, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Gareth leaned back in his chair, his rugged hands resting on the armrests, his eyes distant as he began to speak.
"Godric was just a baby when I took him in," he said. "His father—my brother—was born a wizard, while I…" He paused, a faint, wistful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I was just a mundane. Our lives took us in entirely different directions. Not because of hate or malice, but because we lived in two different worlds."
He shrugged lightly, as though to dispel the weight of that distance. "The Guard was my life. The sword, my craft. But when that boy came into my care, I made a vow. I swore to myself that I'd do everything in my power to ensure he'd want for nothing. That he'd have a life he could be proud of."
He chuckled softly, the sound carrying both warmth and melancholy. "And Godric, well… he grew into a fine lad. Brave, courageous, strong as an ox, and just as stubborn. A little hardheaded, sure, but he gets that from me." Gareth's gaze shifted to Salazar, the corner of his lips quirking up. "I'm guessing you've seen that side of him?"
Salazar let out a faint laugh, raising his mug. "That would be an understatement, sir." He took a sip, grimacing slightly as the milk had grown cold. "In all the time I've known him, Godric has never hesitated to charge headfirst into anything he sees as unjust. It's infuriating and admirable all at once." His emerald eyes softened, a nostalgic glimmer sparking within them. "It's how he met her. Raine, I mean."
Gareth tilted his head, his expression shifting to one of gentle curiosity. "She must be remarkable," he said quietly. "For Godric to love her so deeply, so fiercely… I must admit, not even I've experienced a love like that."
Salazar sighed, his gaze flickering toward the fire. "By Scáthach, she was. In every sense of the word. I'll admit, I grew envious at times." His words softened. "I've never seen two people so deeply in love. Not in all my years. Not even my own parents." His tone darkened slightly as he added, "Not that my father ever understood the meaning of the word."
Gareth raised an eyebrow but chose not to press further. Instead, his fingers drummed lightly against the armrest. "Even now, I find myself sitting here, wondering what kind of heartless bastards could condone such cruelty," he said. "As Captain of the Guard, I've sworn to uphold the law, to believe in its sanctity. But laws are meant to protect the innocent, not justify their suffering. Even I know the difference between what's legal and what's right."
Salazar nodded, his emerald eyes darkening with a shadow of his own thoughts. "I've often asked myself the same question," he admitted. "But in the end, what are we but insignificant cogs in a vast, intricate machine? The ones who hold the levers of power, those who steer this machine—whether toward fortune or ruin—they're the ones truly accountable."
Gareth fell silent, his gaze fixed on the fire, the weight of Salazar's words settling over him like a heavy cloak. After a moment, Salazar continued.
"But someday," he said, "someone will take a stand. Someone will rise and say, 'Enough.' And when that day comes, they'll be more than just a cog. They'll be the wrench that stops the machine entirely."
Gareth's oaken eyes flicked toward Salazar, and for the first time that evening, a faint glimmer of hope appeared amidst the grief and weariness. "I haven't a clue of what you just said, but let's hope that when that day comes," he said quietly, "it's someone with the strength, the wisdom, and the courage to see it through."
Salazar's lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk, though his gaze remained serious. "Let's hope."
"Well," Gareth said as he rose from the armchair. "I'm certain you must be hungry. Forgive me for my lack of hospitality—I hadn't been expecting Godric, let alone guests. I'll head over to the tavern and bring back some supper."
"Please, there's no need," Salazar replied, standing as well. "It's rather late, after all."
"I insist," Gareth said firmly, gesturing for Salazar to sit back down. "It's the least I can do. Just keep an eye on Godric for me while I'm out." He strode to the door, grabbing his coat and scarf from the hook. Before stepping out, he paused, looking over his shoulder. "And thank you, Salazar. Thank you for being his friend. The lad's fortunate to have someone like you in his life."
Salazar blinked, slightly taken aback, but managed a small nod. Gareth gave him a faint smile before opening the door, the frigid winter wind seeping into the room for a brief moment before he shut it behind him.
Salazar sank back into the armchair, placing the now-cool mug of milk on the table before him. He leaned back, his gaze fixed on the crackling fire, though his thoughts were far from the present. His mind drifted to everything that had transpired—the choices they'd made, the sacrifices, the injustices they'd endured.
He thought of Godric's pain, the hollow anguish etched into his friend's every movement. And then his thoughts turned darker, toward the system and the people who had hurt him. Those faceless figures perched on pedestals of power, insulated by their influence, cackling with satisfaction at their own untouchability.
Salazar's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding. His emerald eyes burned with a quiet fury as his fingers curled into fists. Someday, somehow, they would answer for their transgressions. Each and every one of them.
****
The days passed in Dark's Hollow, and Salazar found himself growing unexpectedly fond of the quaint little town nestled in the moors. The townsfolk possessed a warmth and familiarity that felt entirely alien to him. They greeted one another with smiles and cheer, their conversations brimming with shared history and camaraderie. It seemed everyone knew everyone's name, their lives intertwined through generations of shared heritage. Salazar couldn't help but find amusement in the way half the town seemed to be related, with families intermarrying and connections forming an intricate web.
Only a handful of the locals had ever left in search of broader horizons, and those who did often carried stories back that further bonded the community. The rest were either lifelong residents or settlers who had found solace in the town's simplicity. Gareth, Godric's uncle, was one such settler, having carved out a life here after his years of service in the Guard.
For Salazar, this warmth was foreign—something he'd never experienced growing up. Slytherin Manor, a sprawling estate on the outskirts of a dense forest, was as cold and imposing as its reputation. The nearest town, steeped in cautionary tales about his family, rarely offered anything resembling welcome. During his infrequent visits, the villagers avoided him—not out of hatred, but out of fear deeply rooted in the shadows of his family's dark history.
Salazar walked the cobbled streets of Dark's Hollow, his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. His emerald scarf trailed lightly in the breeze, the deep green standing out against the muted tones of the moorland. Some of the townsfolk cast curious glances his way, his attire noticeably out of place in their rustic world. But Salazar paid no mind to their stares. He wasn't one to conform for the sake of appearances. Let them wonder, he thought. It wasn't as though he planned to linger in their simple lives forever. Yet, despite his outward indifference, he couldn't deny the faint stirrings of envy as he observed the easy warmth these people shared—a stark contrast to the isolation of his own upbringing.
"Salazar!" a voice called, breaking his thoughts. He turned toward the sound and saw a young woman approaching, her blonde hair neatly braided and cascading down past her waist. She carried a baby in her arms, her steps light as she walked along the stone wall that acted as a fence. Godric had mentioned her before—the girl next door whose father also served in the Town Guard. He had described her as the most beautiful girl in town, and now, seeing her in person, Salazar couldn't argue with the sentiment.
"Wendy," Salazar greeted, offering a polite smile. "Looking as radiant as ever, I see."
"Oh, such a charmer," Wendy replied with a laugh, cradling the child closer. "So, how's life in the Hollow been treating you?"
"It's… different," Salazar admitted. "But not unpleasant. I can see why Godric holds it in such high regard. I might even consider returning someday." His emerald eyes drifted to the child in her arms. "And how has motherhood been treating you?"
"Tiring," Wendy chuckled. "But fulfilling. A part of me always knew I'd settle down here. Never had the heart for grand adventures."
Salazar's lips curved into a wry smirk. "I heard the lucky gentleman serves in the Guard."
Wendy laughed softly. "Oh, he does. Under my father, no less. You can imagine how awkward suppers can get in my house."
Salazar's smile lingered, though his gaze turned contemplative. Wendy noticed and quickly changed the subject. "Captain Gareth mentioned you're from Ireland. Is that true?" Her blue eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"Quite so," Salazar said. "Far north, where the trees stand tall and the hills sing." He paused, his smirk returning. "Though between you and me, it's rather dreary this time of year."
"It's winter, Salazar. It's dreary everywhere," Wendy teased, but her smile soon faded as her expression grew solemn. "I heard… about Godric. What happened. It's so terribly unfair."
Salazar's smile slipped away, replaced by a shadow of sadness. "It is," he said softly. "But life, it seems, has little regard for fairness."
"I've known Godric since he was a boy," Wendy began. "We grew up together, you see. He's always been a fine young man, and I can tell you, there were plenty of girls in this town with their eyes on him." She chuckled, though there was a hint of sadness in her tone. "But he never had eyes for them. While the other boys were courting or dreaming of settling down, Godric was out there swinging his sword, chasing his ideals."
Salazar tilted his head, a faint smirk on his lips. "And yet, I can't help but wonder—did you ever have your eyes on him?"
Wendy laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, heavens no! I love Godric, yes, but as a brother. And I know he felt the same way about me."
Salazar raised a playful eyebrow. "Given that I have a certain friend with a rather unconventional sibling relationship, I'd argue that the idea isn't entirely farfetched."
Wendy rolled her eyes, her smile returning. "Not all of us live for drama, Salazar," she teased. "Anyway, after he left for Excalibur, we kept in touch. He sent letters every so often, telling me about his adventures and his friends." Her gaze dropped, her smile faltering. "When he told me he'd found love, I was thrilled for him. Truly. I couldn't wait to meet her. To see him happy. And then…"
Salazar nodded solemnly. "It's been a long and arduous journey for him, for all of us," he said. "I had hoped that returning home might lift some of the weight that burdens him, but… I underestimated how deeply the sorrow has cut into him. It's not something that can be mended so easily."
Wendy held the child closer, her expression pained. "I just wish there was something I could do for him. Something anyone could do."
"Sometimes, all we can do is be there," Salazar said quietly. "Even if we can't take the pain away."
Wendy's gaze fell to the child in her arms. "He's lucky to have someone like you by his side. I hope you know that."
"I most certainly do." Salazar looked away for a moment, the weight of her words settling over him. "Still, I'll do what I can for him," he said finally. "That much, I promise."
"If you're looking for him, I saw him heading toward the church," Wendy said, adjusting the baby in her arms. "There's a path behind it that winds through the graveyard and leads up a hill overlooking the town. Look for a large tree—it's hard to miss. That's where he usually goes when he needs to be alone."
Salazar gave a small nod, his emerald eyes thoughtful. "Thank you, Wendy. I appreciate it."
She smiled gently, a mixture of warmth and concern. "Take care of him, Salazar. He needs someone like you right now."
He returned the smile, though his was tinged with seriousness. "Be well."
With that, he turned and began making his way toward the church, his boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted path as he disappeared into the heart of the quiet town.
****
Salazar emerged from the trees, following the narrow path up the hill. The hike was brief, but the view at the top made the effort worthwhile. Dark's Hollow sprawled below, a quaint town blanketed in pristine snow. The tightly clustered buildings lined the stone pathways, their chimneys trailing gentle plumes of smoke into the crisp air. Some carried the promise of warmth, others the aroma of hearty meals simmering in iron pots. The townsfolk moved through the winding streets; their footsteps muffled by the snow as they went about their lives.
Under the large tree at the hill's crest sat Godric. His gaze was fixed on the town below, distant and unfocused. The snowflake locket lay open in his hand, its chain wrapped tightly around his wrist. The looping photograph within played like a bittersweet refrain. Salazar could see the weight of his grief, heavy and unrelenting. The wound remained raw, festering in silence.
Salazar shook his head softly and approached the tree. Standing over Godric, he broke the stillness with a question. "Room for one more?"
Godric didn't respond, his silence louder than words.
Undeterred, Salazar shrugged and settled down beside him. "I must admit, your town is everything you claimed it to be," he said, attempting to lighten the mood. "I've been to many places, but I've never encountered friendlier faces." He glanced at Godric, hoping for a reaction. "Wendy said I'd find you here."
Godric's fingers tightened around the locket, his crimson eyes flickering briefly before returning to the view. Salazar exhaled softly, leaning back against the tree. The quiet between them stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable—it was simply heavy, like the snow-laden branches above them.
"I won't pretend to know the depth of the pain you're feeling right now, my dear friend," Salazar began. "But I can say this—it's a pain I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy." He shrugged lightly, the weight of his own thoughts evident. "And I won't insult you by telling you to look for the bright side. Right now, even I can't see a silver lining in all of this."
His gaze shifted toward Godric. "But there's one thing I do know: I understand what it's like to suffer in silence. To carry a burden that feels unbearable. To feel like there's no one in the world who truly understands. No friends. No family. Not even a kind soul to offer a hand when it's needed most."
Godric remained still, the rhythmic puffs of his breath forming faint clouds in the winter air, his silence as heavy as the snow around them.
"That day at the train station," Salazar continued, "the day we first met… I was intrigued. You, with your sword and that fire in your eyes—it was impossible to ignore." A small smile tugged at his lips. "I'll admit, at first, I thought nothing more than that I'd found someone interesting. I was content with being your acquaintance."
He paused, the smile fading. "But then, things changed. I never imagined it would grow into something far deeper than that. If someone had told me back then that I'd follow anyone into battle purely out of loyalty, I would have laughed in their face. Called them a fool." His emerald eyes flickered with sincerity as he turned to Godric. "And yet, here we are."
Salazar drew a deep breath, his expression tightening. "I'm sorry, Godric. Sorry that things turned out this way. Sorry that you're hurting like this. And I wish—" He stopped, his words catching in his throat.
Godric's gaze fixed on the horizon as he spoke. "I dreamed of her last night, Salazar," he began, his words pulling Salazar's attention sharply toward him. "We had a home—a small cottage nestled in the glades. She was with child, glowing with that beauty only she had." His lips curved into a bitter smile. "The years went by, and I held a little girl in my arms. She looked just like her, Salazar—ears, tail, and all. The most precious, adorable thing you could ever imagine." His voice cracked as he gritted his teeth. "We named her Alura. We were happy. So happy. And then… I woke up."
Salazar's emerald eyes softened. "Godric…" he said.
"It's the same every night," Godric continued. "For a fleeting moment, I have it all. Happiness. Joy. Everything I've ever wanted. Everything we ever dreamed of. And then… it's ripped away. I wake up, and all I'm left with is this hollow, aching void." His hands clenched tightly around the locket. "That, and a hatred so deep I can't even begin to comprehend it. A hatred for everything—this world, its laws, the people who tore her from me."
He paused, his breath shuddering as he struggled to keep his composure. "And now, here I am. Sitting beneath this tree, staring out at this town, and all I feel is emptiness. Alone, Salazar. That's all I am now. Alone."
Salazar turned his gaze away, his throat tightening as he struggled to find the right words. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint rustle of snow-laden branches above. Finally, he clenched his fists, his emerald eyes hardening with determination.
"Get up," Salazar ordered abruptly.
Godric's head snapped up, his crimson eyes wide with confusion. "What?"
"I said, get up." Salazar's tone left no room for argument.
Reluctantly, Godric rose to his feet. The two stood facing each other, the winter wind biting at their skin.
Salazar extended his hand. "Hold out your hand."
Godric hesitated but obeyed, his brow furrowing. "What are you—"
"Do you trust me?" Salazar asked, his piercing gaze locking onto Godric's.
Godric swallowed hard but nodded. "Of course, I trust you."
Without another word, Salazar drew his wand, aiming it directly at Godric's palm. "Diffindo."
"Bloody hell!" Godric cried out as the spell sliced his palm, blood pooling instantly. He clutched his hand, glaring at Salazar. "What was that for?!"
Ignoring him, Salazar turned his wand on himself, repeating the spell and cutting his own palm. Blood seeped from the wound, staining the snow beneath them. Before Godric could protest further, Salazar grabbed his hand, pressing their palms together. Their fingers interlocked, blood mingling as it dripped between them.
"Salazar, what are you doing?" Godric demanded.
Salazar met his gaze with unflinching intensity. "This, Godric, is called a Parabatai bond," he said. "It's a sacred magic—a blood oath shared between two people whose bond is unshakable, unbreakable. It binds their lives, their fates, their very souls together."
Godric's confusion deepened. "Why… why would you do this?"
"Because you're not alone," Salazar said fiercely. "And I'll prove it."
The blood between their hands began to glow, a golden light spreading outward and enveloping them. Godric's breath hitched as words formed in his mind, ancient and unfamiliar yet somehow deeply familiar.
"You are bound to me," Salazar recited, his voice echoing with the magic around them. "As I am bound to you, in this life and the next."
The words spilled from Godric's lips without conscious thought. "Your blood is my blood."
"And your pain is my pain," Salazar continued.
The light intensified, the air humming with power as their hands trembled from the force. Both boys gritted their teeth.
"Your life… is my life," Godric said.
"And where you die, will I die, and there will I be buried," Salazar finished. "State your name."
Godric's crimson eyes locked with Salazar's. "Godric Gryffindor."
Salazar smirked faintly. "Salazar Slytherin."
A burst of light erupted from their joined hands, scattering snow from the branches above. When it faded, both boys pulled their hands apart, staring in awe at their unblemished palms. From their mingled blood, a golden locket began to form, its surface engraved with intricate runes. It hung suspended in the air for a moment before chains of silver sprouted, wrapping around Salazar's wrist like a bracelet.
Godric's words were hushed, tinged with disbelief. "Salazar… what just happened?"
"It means we're more than friends now, Godric." He placed a firm hand on Godric's shoulder, his expression resolute. "We're brothers. And no matter what happens, I will never leave your side."
The weight of the moment settled like the snowfall around them, the air charged with a lingering hum from the powerful magic they had just invoked. Salazar lowered his hand; the glowing locket now secure on the chain that wrapped around his wrist like a testament to the bond they had forged. His emerald eyes met Godric's wide, questioning gaze, but there was no mischief in them—only sincerity.
"Salazar…" Godric trembled, not from fear but from the overwhelming surge of emotion. "I… I don't understand."
"Understand this, Godric," Salazar said firmly, "I refuse to stand by and watch you drown in despair. You've given everything for others, for Raine, for us. It's time someone gave something back." He tightened his grip on Godric's shoulder.
Godric stared at Salazar before looking down at his hand, now unmarred, the faint warmth of the spell still tingling in his palm. He couldn't find the words to respond, but the knot in his chest began to loosen, if only slightly.
"You're not alone," Salazar continued. "Not now, not ever. Whatever battles you face, whatever burdens you carry, they're mine too." He smirked faintly, his characteristic bravado returning. "And besides, I couldn't let you have all the glory of being noble and self-sacrificing, could I? That would ruin my reputation."
Godric let out a weak chuckle, the sound breaking through the tension like the first rays of sunlight after a storm. He shook his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "You really are something, Salazar," he muttered. "I don't know whether to thank you or call you insane."
"Both are acceptable," Salazar quipped, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Godric felt a flicker of warmth within him—an ember reigniting amidst the cold. He straightened, drawing a deep breath as he placed a hand over his heart, feeling the rhythm steady for the first time in days.
"Thank you," Godric said earnestly. "I mean it. Thank you."
Salazar gave a small nod, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. "Come on," he said, clapping Godric on the back. "Let's get back to town before we freeze to death out here. You've got a life to live, and I'll be damned if I let you waste it brooding under a tree."
Godric chuckled again, the sound stronger this time, as the two began their descent back to Dark's Hollow. The snow crunched beneath their boots, but the weight of sorrow felt lighter now, shared between two unbreakable souls. Brothers, bound by blood and an oath that neither time nor the darkest of fates could sever.