Years passed.
Four young witches and wizards wandered Britain, each chasing a different dream.
Helga Hufflepuff travelled from village to village, both magical and Muggle.
She worked in inns, bakeries, and taverns wherever she went, learning local recipes, brewing techniques, and customs. Whenever she earned enough money to continue her journey, she kept only what was necessary for the road ahead.
The rest she spent feeding hungry children.
Whether they possessed magic or not never mattered to her.
A hungry child was simply a hungry child.
Rowena Ravenclaw rarely ventured into Muggle settlements.
Instead, she sought magical communities hidden throughout Britain.
She learned from wandering scholars, elderly witches, forgotten libraries, and isolated families willing to share their knowledge.
Whenever she solved a problem or discovered a better method, she freely shared it in return.
Knowledge, she believed, grew only when it was passed on.
Godric Gryffindor wandered wherever adventure called.
He challenged renowned swordsmen wherever he found them.
Against Muggles, he relied solely upon his sword.
Against witches and wizards, his wand danced as swiftly as his blade.
Victory mattered less to him than finding an opponent capable of teaching him something new.
Salazar Slytherin's road proved far darker.
The massacre of the village did not bring him peace.
Nor did it ease his grief.
Instead...
It burdened him with something he had never carried before.
Blood.
As he travelled across Britain, stories of attacks upon magical families inevitably reached his ears.
Whenever he encountered villagers hunting a witch...
Whenever he found a lone wizard cornered by armed men...
Whenever another child was condemned simply for possessing magic...
He intervened.
His justice was swift.
His mercy...
Almost nonexistent.
He would heal the wounded.
Bury the dead.
Then disappear before anyone could learn his name.
Years passed in this manner.
Until one spring afternoon.
Godric Gryffindor was riding toward the next village when something immediately felt wrong.
Silence.
There was no laughter of children.
No merchants selling their wares.
Only the faint scent of smoke...
And blood.
His horse grew restless as they approached.
Godric placed a reassuring hand upon its neck before guiding it toward the village square.
The scene before him made him instinctively reach for his sword.
Nearly the entire village had gathered.
At the center stood a lone young wizard, perhaps no older than Godric himself.
His robes were torn.
Blood stained one sleeve.
Forty armed swordsmen surrounded him from every direction.
At the wizard's feet...
Lay the body of a child.
The boy couldn't have been older than thirteen.
One small hand still clutched a broken wand.
Godric's jaw tightened.
Before he could properly understand the situation, several terrified villagers noticed his arrival.
"You!"
"You're a swordsman!"
"Help us!"
"That monster has already slaughtered six of our men!"
Godric looked from the frightened villagers...
To the dead child...
Then back toward the lone wizard.
His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.
Who was he supposed to protect?
His own kind the lone wizard standing against impossible odds?
or these Muggles?
The answer came before he could decide.
One of the swordsmen lunged while another distracted the wizard from the front.
Steel flashed.
The blade buried itself deep into the wizard's back.
The crowd erupted into cheers.
Another swordsman immediately thrust toward the wizard's throat.
Godric moved.
His horse hadn't even stopped before he leapt from the saddle.
Steel crashed against steel.
The incoming sword skidded harmlessly away.
For a heartbeat...
Everyone froze.
Including the wounded wizard.
The surrounding soldiers stared in disbelief.
"What are you doing?"
"Have you gone mad?"
Godric ignored them.
He merely adjusted his stance.
"Forty against one."
He glanced toward the dead child.
"...And you call yourselves warriors?"
The first swordsman charged.
Then another.
Soon all forty attacked at once.
Godric met them head-on.
His blade moved like flowing water.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the wounded wizard regain his footing.
For a brief moment, he thought they would fight together.
Instead—
A jet of light shot toward him.
Godric twisted instinctively.
The curse grazed his shoulder before striking the ground behind him, sending dirt and stone flying.
Before he could react another curse followed immediately.
Godric barely ducked beneath it as two swordsmen rushed him from opposite sides.
He parried one strike and kicked the second attacker backward.
The wizard showed no sign of stopping.
To him, every swordsman was an enemy.
For several frantic moments, Godric found himself fighting on two fronts.
The swordsmen.
And the wounded wizard.
His situation rapidly became untenable.
Another spell streaked toward his back.
There was no room left to dodge.
Godric released his sword with one hand.
His wand slid into his palm.
"Protego!"
A translucent shield erupted around him.
Steel rebounded harmlessly.
The incoming curse shattered against the barrier.
Silence fell across the battlefield.
The swordsmen stared.
The villagers gasped.
Even the wounded wizard froze.
"...A wizard?"
For the first time since Godric had arrived, the young man's hostility wavered.
Godric lowered the shield just enough to meet his eyes.
"I was beginning to wonder when you'd stop trying to kill me."
For the briefest instant...
The corner of the wounded wizard's mouth twitched.
Then another wave of swordsmen charged.
Without exchanging another word, the two moved instinctively.
Back to back.
Sword and wand.
Steel and magic.
This time...
They fought together.
Slowly...
The circle collapsed.
Until none remained standing.
Godric finally lowered his sword.
For the first time since arriving, he allowed himself a single breath.
Then...
He felt magic gathering behind him.
He turned.
The young wizard had raised his wand.
Its tip pointed directly toward the terrified villagers.
The same villagers now cowered running towards their homes.
Godric's expression hardened.
"STOP!!!"
Godric's shout echoed across the ruined square.
The spell left Wizard's wand anyway.
Godric thrust his own wand forward.
"Protego!"
A shimmering barrier sprang into existence between the villagers and the raging curse. The spell crashed against it, sending ripples racing across its surface before dissipating into the air.
Wizard turned sharply, his expression twisting into disbelief.
"Why are you stopping me?"
"I won't let you kill innocent people."
A bitter laugh escaped Salazar's lips.
"Innocent?"
His voice rose with every word.
"Innocent, you say?"
He pointed toward the small body lying in the dirt.
"Do you see that child?"
Then his hand shifted toward the tree overlooking the village.
"And do you see the man hanging there?"
Godric followed his finger.
Suspended from a thick branch by a rough rope hung a middle-aged man, his robes torn and stained with dried blood.
"That was his father."
Wizard's voice had become hoarse.
"They were travellers."
"They were doing nothing more than passing through."
"They were hunted..."
"...because they were wizards."
His grip tightened around his wand until his knuckles turned white.
"And these people watched."
"Some cheered."
"Some handed the swordsmen their ropes."
"Others simply stood by and did nothing."
His eyes met Godric's.
"Tell me..."
"Which of them is innocent?"
Another spell burst from Wizard's wand, stronger than the last.
Godric raised another barrier.
The curse slammed into it with enough force to drive him back half a step.
"We've already killed the men responsible," Godric replied through gritted teeth.
"No."
Wizard shook his head.
"You killed the swordsmen."
"They..." he said, sweeping his wand toward the villagers, "...created them."
"They fear us."
"They hate us."
"They teach their children to hate us."
His voice cracked for the first time.
"When you drew your wand..."
"What did you see in their eyes?"
Godric fell silent.
He replayed the moment in his mind.
When he had first ridden into the village, they had looked upon him with hope.
Relief.
Even admiration.
Then he had drawn his wand.
Everything had changed.
Hope had become terror.
Admiration had become disgust.
Fear.
Hatred.
Before he could answer—
Wizard staggered.
His wand slipped from his fingers.
The blood soaking through his robes had spread considerably during the battle, and the repeated use of powerful magic had drained what little strength he had left.
He swayed once.
Then collapsed onto the bloodstained earth without another word.
Godric let out a long, weary sigh.
He knelt beside the unconscious wizard and quickly uncorked a healing potion from his travelling pouch, carefully pouring it between Salazar's lips before binding the worst of his wounds with strips torn from his own cloak.
Only when he was certain the young wizard would survive did he rise to his feet.
With some effort, he lifted Salazar onto his horse.
Before mounting behind him, Godric cast one final glance toward the villagers.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Their eyes remained fixed upon the wand at his side.
The fear in those eyes was unmistakable.
Godric turned away without another word.
Then, with the unconscious Salazar draped across his horse, he rode toward the horizon.
Neither of them knew it yet.
But that ride marked the beginning of a friendship that would one day change the magical world forever.
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