But Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade

Harry stood there, his eyes closed and his breath regular. He was waiting for the sword to stab into his chest, but the blow never came. Or maybe it's already come and I haven't even noticed it. Maybe my death has been so abrupt that I wasn't even aware of it, he thought.

He opened his eyes tentatively, without knowing what he was going to see. Maybe some clouds and a line of angels welcoming him into Heaven. He felt a bit surprised when the landscape that lay in front of him was the same one that he had seen before closing his eyes.

He looked around himself and saw that Hermione was standing right next to him. If she was there did it mean that she was dead as well, or that he was still alive?

"Hermione?" he called her hesitantly, stretching an arm towards her.

She turned her head towards him and looked at him quizzically, as if she didn't understand why he was calling her. "What?" she whispered.

"What?" asked Harry scandalized. "I'm dead," he snapped a bit heatedly. How could she be so uncaring about the fact that he had been pierced like a pincushion?

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're not dead, Harry," she replied annoyed, stretching an arm towards him and touching his shoulder to make him see that he was still alive. Then she looked away from him another time, returning her attention to what she was looking at before Harry disturbed her.

"What happened then?" he asked, without understanding. He was sure that he had been about to die.

"Harry! Can you please postpone all your questions? I'm trying to follow what's happening," she whispered, her eyes still looking intently away from Harry.

Harry followed her glance, and saw what had captured her attention. Far away from them, in the direction of the mountains, stood a couple of men. Harry's first impression was that they were dancing, since their movements were graceful and harmonized. But then he saw the blades of the swords shining in the hot summer sun, and he understood. They were fighting.

"Who are they?" asked Harry, without hoping for an answer, his eyes fixed on the figures that were fencing elegantly, completely forgetting all the questions about the fact that he had managed to survive the stab of a sword.

"Fight pretty well, don't we?" Was the question that answered his words, a question spoken by a soft voice at his back.

Harry and Hermione didn't even have to turn round to understand who was the owner of that voice, but his question was too strange to be ignored.

"We?" asked Harry, frowning.

The old man nodded, but Harry and Hermione couldn't see him, since he was standing right behind them. "We," he murmured.

Harry felt a wave of irritation invading him, if that man wanted to go on talking in riddles, he wasn't very well disposed to listen to him. And what does he think? That we are stupid? He had made us fall in a very theatrical way, for what? We are in the exact same place where we stood before, Godric's Hollow cemetery.

"You really think this is the cemetery where you stood before?" asked the man. And Harry knew that he had to pay attention to what he thought, because even his thoughts weren't safe with that man around.

"No," answered Hermione, surprisingly. "No, we are not in the same place as before."

Harry looked at her taken aback. Her eyes were following the fight that was going on in front of them attentively. Harry wondered if she had understood the question at all.

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" he asked a bit rudely. "Of course we are standing in the same place as before. Look around yourself."

Hermione looked at Harry and shook her head a little. "No, Harry, you look around yourself," she murmured, gesturing towards the glen.

Harry rolled his eyes and then started to scan the valley with a sceptical expression. It looked exactly like the place that had disappeared from under their feet a moment before. There was the valley covered with shining grass, the mountains in the distance and the hill of the cemetery where the gravestones stuck out of the ground like--. The gravestones! Harry thought that his eyes were failing him. He was sure that the hill and part of the glen were covered with tombstones, ancient and new, simple and decorated, white and coloured; but now he couldn't see any of them. He looked around him and discovered that his parents' tombs were missing as well.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, looking at the old man with frustration.

"The question, young boy," answered the man, without keeping his eyes away from the fighters, "is when are we."

Harry frowned. This was getting ridiculous, what kind of question was that?

"Okay," answered Harry, trying to talk calmly despite the fact that he was anything but calm. "Okay, when are we, then?"

"In the past," answered Hermione, turning to look at the old man and waiting for his confirmation.

"Very well, milady," answered the man with a bow. "Exactly one thousand and fifty-six years in the past." Then he brought a wrinkled finger to his lips and said, "Now listen, we are coming." And he nodded towards the men that were fighting.

Harry and Hermione turned towards them. The men were getting closer, and finally Harry had a clearer view of their appearance and their clothes. They were similar and at the same time, in someway different. They looked like the sun and moon, the day and the night, the light and the darkness, for one seemed handsome and strong while the other had a nasty and sneaky face.

And the closer they got, the more Harry had the sensation that he had already seen them. The first fighter had a square face, blue eyes and a golden-brown complexion. His big jaw was covered by a three-day-old beard and he had a thick moustache under his large nose. His sandy cascade of loose curls framed his face like the mane of a lion, and Harry gasped softly and turned towards the old man that stood next to him, since his resemblance with that younger man was astonishing.

When Harry's eyes slipped back to the fighters, he cast a look at the other man. He had a pointy face, that reminded vaguely of a monkey. He had a fine and tidy beard, which ended pointedly on his chin, and a small moustache as well. His face was white, with a light shade of green, and his eyes were like two pieces of coal, and Harry had the sensation that they were also cold and cruel, when he passed close to him. He had shoulder-length hair, black and shiny like the feathers of a crow, which half-hid his thin face and his small nose when he ducked or backed away, avoiding the sword of his opponent.

Harry frowned, lowering his eyes. He was sure that his face reminded him of someone else, someone that he had seen years before, but the memory was so short-lived that he couldn't remember anything but a man with similar features.

He looked back at the two men, they had come so close to them that Harry's heart jumped in his chest every time he heard the sharp noise of metal against metal that their swords made. Their movements were quick and agile, and reached Harry's ears together with their savage cries. Harry couldn't help noticing how well they fought.

Then, Harry lowered his eyes to their outfit and stared. He has been so concentrated on their faces that he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed that before, he couldn't believe that he hadn't focused on the brilliant colours of their clothes, but now that he had a closer look at them his heart started to race with excitement.

The man with sandy hair was wearing a pair of red tights, which bandaged his muscular legs like a second skin, and they were inserted into a pair of elegant brown boots. His torso was covered with a roomy shirt, blocked right above his hips by a thick, brown belt. The large sleeves reached half of his forearm, and their golden colour stood out against his tanned skin. On his torso and his back, the shirt was crimson, with golden seams that kept the various materials together. Against the bloody background of the shirt there was a complicated embroidery that represented a roaring lion, with his front paws threateningly stretched out in front of him. Harry gulped, how many times had he seen that lion? Every single day of his life since he entered Hogwarts.

He looked at the other man. He seemed to wear more expensive and refined clothes than the first one, even if Harry couldn't have been sure, since he didn't know a lot about tenth century clothing. He wore a pair of dark green tights as well, and they ended in a pair of boots, but his footwear was shiny and covered with an elaborate design made up of winding lines. He had a shirt that went from his shoulders down to his knees, and he wore a silver belt around his waist. The shirt was roomy just like the one the other man wore, but that one was just one colour: green, and it had embroidery as well, but this one represented a snake with his mouth open and his pointed fangs ready to snap. Around his shoulders, a long cloak was held by silvery strings and it fluttered around his ankles every step he took. He wore a ring which, Harry was sure, was familiar to him.

The man dressed in red warded off an attack from the other fighter and twisted his wrist so that his opponent's sword turned towards the ground. The other man raised his eyes and looked at him with hatred while he was, all of a sudden, unarmed. His sword flew several feet away, spinning as it did so, and hammered into the ground right in front of Harry's feet.

Harry looked at it, it was shiny and beautifully emblazoned with writings and drawings, the handle was covered in emeralds and silver. He stretched a hand towards it, he wanted to run his fingers over that weapon. He looked astonished as his fingers passed through the metal as if it didn't exist at all.

Harry raised his eyes towards Hermione and the old man, his expression surprised and confused; he was sure that they would have looked back at him and explained what was going on, but they still seemed very interested in the scene taking place in front of them.

Harry stood up again and followed their glances. The man with sandy hair was standing with his arm stretched out in front of him, his sharpened blade leaning against the other man's neck, and he was looking at him with resolute and cold attention. The other man had his face half hidden by a curtain of black hair, so Harry could se very little of him, but he was sure that his eyes were locked on his opponent's face.

The man in red was sweating copiously from the fight, his hair was stuck to his forehead, with lots of locks placed behind his ears. His shirt was darker on his chest and between his shoulder blades, soaked with his own sweat.

"Go and get your sword, Salazar," said the man who was still armed, and Harry's heart skipped a beat. Salazar, he repeated in his mind incredulously, Salazar Slytherin. Now he knew where he had seen his face, it was sculpted on the statue that towered in the Chamber of Secrets, but in there he looked much older than he was now. Harry looked from one man to the other, if that man was Slytherin the other one could be none but...

"You think I can't fight you without a sword, Godric?" hissed Slytherin.

Godric. Godric Gryffindor.

Gryffindor stepped forward, causing him to take a step back and stagger over a bump in the ground. Harry noticed that Gryffindor was trying to make Slytherin come closer to his sword.

"I don't want to use magic to fight you, Salazar," thundered Gryffindor. "I want to feel my sword going right through your heart and I want to know when you take your last breath. Now take your sword!"

Slytherin smirked, he stretched an arm towards the sword that lay at Harry's feet and said, "Accio!"

The weapon flew into his hands and he pushed away Gryffindor's sword with his own. "I'll tell you one thing, Godric," murmured Slytherin with a smirk. "You will never be able to kill me."

Gryffindor took a step to his right as Slytherin went to his left, they started to walk in circles, looking intently at each other, their swords ready to clash.

"You're too self-confident, Salazar," answered Gryffindor.

Slytherin threw himself towards him and Gryffindor skilfully parried his shot. Their faces were only inches apart, and their muscles tensed with the effort of fighting and talking at the same time. "I know you, Godric," hissed Salazar with a sneer.

Gryffindor pushed against him and sent him backwards. "What do you mean?" he snapped, panting.

Slytherin sniggered. "You don't want to kill me," he hissed.

Gryffindor's feature became firmer, his jaw set and his muscles tensed. "You robbed me of the most precious thing I've ever had, you think--"

"You robbed me of her!" roared Slytherin, he sunk his sword in front of him and Gryffindor had to jump backwards to avoid it, then it was his turn to strike. Slytherin ducked and stepped back, while Gryffindor's sword cut the air.

"She was mine," hissed Slytherin as he caught his breath.

"She didn't love you, Salazar," yelled Gryffindor. "When you took her, it was by force."

Slytherin's eyes turned cold and empty like a couple of tunnels from which there was no exit, Gryffindor had obviously hit the nail on the head. Slytherin laughed in a way that caused Harry and Hermione's hair to stand up. "What are you complaining about, then?" he asked mockingly. "Where she is now she can't be touched anymore."

Gryffindor screamed savagely and threw himself towards him, trying to pierce Slytherin's stomach, but Slytherin was faster and warded off his shot. "You killed her," spat Gryffindor.

"If she couldn't be mine, nobody would have her," hissed Slytherin back. He took a step forward and sent Gryffindor's back crashing against a tree trunk, trapping him between the tree and his own sword.

They stood there for what seemed like ages to Harry. Slytherin was trying to reach for Gryffindor's neck with his blade, while Gryffindor was busy trying to repel him. Every now and then a groan of tiredness escaped from one of the two men's lips.

Harry couldn't take his eyes away from them, he couldn't believe he was standing there, and that in front of him Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor were fighting a fascinating duel with their swords. And what were talking about? A woman? Were they fighting for a woman?

"W-what are they talking about?" Hermione's words gave voice to his thoughts and reached Harry's ears as if she was talking in a trance, her voice was soft and emotionless. Harry turned to look at her, and saw that she hadn't taken her eyes away from the fighters.

For a moment Harry thought that the old man wasn't going to answer, because of the long hushed time that followed her question, the silence was so thick that it seemed almost as if nobody would ever speak again. But Harry was wrong.

"About the love of my life," said the man, and both Harry and Hermione were surprised enough to hear the despair in his voice to turn and have a look at him. He stood there, his blue eyes fixed on Gryffindor and Slytherin, and his face let out a note of melancholy.

When they heard another yell, they turned again. Gryffindor had managed to free himself from Slytherin and now he was leaning against the trunk, trying to catch his breath, while Slytherin was doing the same just a few feet away. They both seemed too tired to keep on fencing, but Harry had the terrible sensation that neither of them would stop until just one was still standing.

Gryffindor narrowed his eyes, as he pushed the trunk with his hands and stepped in front. He jumped on Slytherin so suddenly that Harry thought he was going to stab him right in his heart, but Slytherin had very good reflexes and he managed to jump back and ward off his opponent's shot. Gryffindor let out a frustrated cry and raised his sword with all his might, hitting Slytherin's left arm and cutting his shirt and his skin.

Slytherin's shirt dyed with crimson while his sleeve slid down his arm and fell onto the ground like a feather. He raised his eyes towards Gryffindor, who stood right in front of him, breathing quickly and sweating abundantly.

Gryffindor narrowed his eyes. "I followed you from Hogwarts to this place in the middle of nowhere, do you seriously think that I will let you go alive?" he asked coldly, gesturing around himself theatrically.

"It's not in your nature to be a murderer, Godric," hissed Slytherin, raising his sword and preparing to strike again.

"I thought it was not in your nature either, Salazar," replied Gryffindor sourly. "Evidently, we don't know each other as well as we supposed."

Slytherin growled and cast Gryffindor a disdainful look. He put both his hands on the handle of the sword and tightened his grip until his already pale fingers turned even whiter. He took a step left and sneered. "What are you waiting for, Godric?" he hissed. "I'm here."

Gryffindor snorted. "As you wish, Salazar," he said, bowing his head mockingly. He threw himself towards Slytherin, a wild cry left his lips and all his muscles tensed up in the effort of hurling. His sword met Slytherin's with a loud clang, and Harry saw the muscles on Slytherin's bare arm swelling up as he successfully tried to block Gryffindor's advance.

Slytherin brought his face closer to Gryffindor's and whispered into his ear, "Are you afraid, Godric? Is it fear that I see in your eyes?"

Gryffindor gritted his teeth and growled, pushing the blade towards Slytherin. "It's your death that you see in my eyes, Salazar," he barked.

Slytherin slid backwards on the grass, his left leg trembling, he collapsed onto one knee as Gryffindor pushed him on the ground, and his sword slid on Slytherin's blade. Gryffindor kept on pushing him, and Slytherin kept on sliding backwards, dying his tights with grass and earth. Eventually, Gryffindor managed to push him completely onto the ground: Slytherin's right leg collapsed as well, and he banged his back on the soil. Gryffindor raised his sword over his head and lowered it with vigour, screaming with the effort. The blades met once more, right in front of Slytherin's face, small sparks spread from the place where they touched and Harry thought that those swords couldn't have had ordinary blades.

"You can't kill me, Godric," panted Slytherin, pushing on his sword.

"I can and I will, Salazar," replied Gryffindor.

Slytherin narrowed his eyes, he lifted his right leg and kicked Gryffindor in his ribs with his strengthened boots, cutting off his breathing and sending him to the ground. Harry saw Gryffindor coughing and bringing his hands to his stomach, he curled up like a cat and Harry knew that Slytherin must have broken some of his ribs.

Slytherin stood up, he brought a hand to his injured arm and looked at his fingers, covered with blood. His eyed turned, if possible, even darker and colder than before, and his jaw set with fury. He stood up and looked at Gryffindor, who was now crawling towards his sword, he brought his hand to the silvery laces that held his cloak and untied them. The cloak fell gracefully to his feet, and Harry could see that there was another silvery snake embroidered on his back.

Slytherin closed his eyes and raised the sword next to his ear. For a moment he stood still, as if he was trying to decide what he had to do. Finally, he raised his eyelids and yelled, throwing himself towards Gryffindor.

Suddenly, the world went quiet around Harry and Hermione. The wind stopped blowing, the birds stopped singing, the Earth itself seemed to be holding its breath. Harry looked at Slytherin and he had the strange impression that his movements had slowed down, as if he was looking at a slow motion scene.

Harry could see Slytherin's arms tensing up as he collected his strength, then his sharp blade was brought down towards Gryffindor's stomach, and in a moment half of the sword had disappeared into Gryffindor's body.

Harry felt, rather than saw, Hermione's arms sliding around his neck, and he sensed her hot tears running down his neck as she cried. But he didn't know when she turned to hug him nor why she was crying. At that moment he didn't feel like crying at all, he wanted to scream, he wanted to run towards Slytherin and curse him, he wanted to pick up Gryffindor's sword and stab Slytherin's heart. If he had one at all, thought Harry.

Harry started to caress Hermione's hair, he placed a hand on her back and hugged her tightly. He couldn't believe that they were really witnessing the murder of Godric Gryffindor at the hands of Salazar Slytherin. Hermione said that in 'Hogwarts: A History' there was nothing about the private lives of the founders, and he didn't know any other volume that talked about them, he wondered if anybody at all knew anything about what they were seeing at that very moment.

Hermione's arms slid on Harry's shoulders as she turned again to look at Gryffindor and Slytherin. Harry heard her sniffle and saw that she was wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, she couldn't stand that vision, it was heartbreaking, and the more Harry concentrated on her tears, the more he felt his throat burning and becoming heavy as he tried to hold back the tears that were starting to form in his eyes, trying to keep his vision clear.

Slytherin still had his hands on the handle of his sword. He was kneeling next to the dying body of Gryffindor, his head bent in front, his forehead was leaning against his hands. Harry couldn't see his expression at that moment, but he was sure that he wasn't rejoicing as he should have done having just defeated his opponent.

Slytherin stood up. He looked at Gryffindor with a serious expression and then, seizing the sword with both hands, he pulled it out of Gryffindor's body, creating a river of blood. Gryffindor moaned in pain and moved his legs as if he was trying to find a more comfortable position for his back, his hands went automatically to the wound opened in his stomach, he pushed on it, trying hopelessly to block the torrent of blood which was soaking his clothes and the ground below. His breath was stiff and hoarse, as if something was blocking his windpipe.

Slytherin stood there. His eyes were fixed on Gryffindor's body as he closed his eyes and his breath faded away. If Harry hadn't witnessed the whole scene, he would have thought that he was grieving for the other founder's death, but he knew that it couldn't have been like that. And if he was, he was faking it. Slytherin turned and reached for his cloak, he picked it up from the ground, and then he brought two white fingers to his lips and whistled.

Harry and Hermione heard the noise of the hooves first, and then they saw two horses, running out of the forest like wild animals. One was completely black, with an elaborated saddle and precious reins of silver and green velvet; while the other was brown, with all its four legs white, it didn't have a saddle, but it had reins. Slytherin freed the second animal from its few harnesses and threw them away. Then he clapped his hands on the rear end of the horse, the animal reared and threw itself in a crazy run towards the mountains.

Slytherin, Harry and Hermione followed the animal with their eyes, until it disappeared between the trees. Harry and Hermione had the sensation that what Slytherin had just done was to free Gryffindor's horse, and their suspicion was strengthened by the fact that Gryffindor had slowly and painfully managed to turn his head and look at the animal as well.

Slytherin walked towards the other horse, his horse, and placed his cloak on the saddle, then he let the sword slide into a sheath tied up to the saddle, even as Gryffindor's blood still dripped from the blade. He slid his hand over the back of the animal, and enlaced his fingers in the mane. He hurled himself forwards and prepared to mount the horse, but he stopped with his left leg in midair.

Harry frowned without understanding. Why was he stopping? Why didn't he ride away? He realized what was going on only when he heard suffocate coughs coming from Gryffindor. The founder was still alive, and he was trying to talk.

As Harry and Hermione neared the lying figure of the founder, he was still holding his stomach with his hands, and he was opening and closing his lips like a fish out of water, hoarse meaningless sounds left his mouth.

Slytherin put his leg back on the ground and stood, giving his back to Gryffindor and leaning his hands on the saddle. "Why do you want to suffer this pain, Godric?" he asked in a tone which was almost totally exempt from its usual cruelty.

Gryffindor coughed blood. It dripped from his lips to his chin and his shirt, dyeing his already crimson clothes. He took a pained and stiff breath and then Harry and Hermione couldn't believe their ears when they heard him laughing.

It was a difficult laughter, as if he was trying to do it with what little force that remained in him, and in someway the sound of that pained laugh was upsetting and shocking.

"I curse you," he murmured stiffly and softly. His breath was heavy and slow, as if every gulp of air he took hurt him. "Did you hear me, Salazar?" he asked, raising his voice. "I curse you."

Slytherin turned towards him. His eyes filled with anger and - was Harry just imaging it or that was fear? He walked slowly towards Gryffindor, his fists closed at his side, his thin face contracted in a disdainful grimace.

Gryffindor raised his eyes on him and sneered, showing his teeth and his white gums. "Are you afraid, Salazar?"

"I should kill you right now, Godric. It would avoid a lot of trouble for me and a lot of pain for you," hissed Slytherin.

Gryffindor snorted with laughter and his body passed through a fit of spasm. He coughed blood again and for a moment the air was cut off from his lungs. Slytherin narrowed his eyes, evidently trying to decide if Gryffindor's discourse was worth his attention.

"I curse you, Salazar," repeated Gryffindor with difficulty. He took another long gulp of air and arched his back in pain, causing the blood to flow even more copiously from his wound down to the ground.

Slytherin arched an eyebrow with contempt and turned on his heels to go back to his horse, evidently reassured that Gryffindor wasn't able to go on with his invective against him.

"If," continued Gryffindor, panting and breaking off his discourse over and over again. "If you or one of your descendents," he growled laboriously, "you or one of your descendents ever kill someone in this place-" He took a gulp of air and continued, "-you'll be cursed."

Slytherin stood there, his face unreadable. His eyes were coldly looking intently at the dying man's face. Harry couldn't help feeling that Slytherin was scared, but he was trying to do his best to hide it.

Gryffindor gripped spasmodically his clothes while his body shook. He looked at Slytherin and tried to sneer, but he chocked and had to cough instead. "If you kill someone in this place, where my blood has been shed," he continued a little bit more steadily than before, "you'll be cursed: your victims will come back and-" Another fit of cough interrupted his thread. "-and they'll be more powerful than you or your descendents. They'll get their revenge on you."

Slytherin raised his pointed chin and narrowed his eyes. He stepped towards Gryffindor and kneeled next to him; his mouth was only inches away from Gryffindor's ear. "You see, Godric," he hissed venomously. "Your curse is useless, I don't have the will to kill anybody else, and I don't have any heir, nor do I have the will to have one; so there won't be any descendents on whom your malediction will be effective." He stood up and pulled out his wand from a pocket. It was a shiny little wooden stick, with an engraved snake on the handle. He pointed it towards Gryffindor, ready to bring his pain to an end.

"Avad--"

Gryffindor laughed even louder than before, cutting off the end of the Unforgivable Curse which had almost left Slytherin's lips. "Is there a more ill-fated man than the one that doesn't know that he already has an heir?" he asked mockingly, his breath slow and softer than before. His life was coming to an end.

Slytherin raised his eyebrows, as the words spoken by Gryffindor sunk into his brain and they started to gain a sense. "What are you talking about, Godric?" he hissed.

Gryffindor locked his eyes with Slytherin, his look deadly serious. "How long have you been away from Hogwarts, Salazar? How long since you last lay with Helga?" questioned Gryffindor stiffly.

Slytherin's eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped slightly as if he was trying to get a grip on his emotions, but he couldn't. "What are trying to say, you son of a dog," replied Slytherin, gritting his teeth. "Don't use riddles with me."

"You can't picture it?" asked Gryffindor, while his face contorted in a sneer. "The great prince of snakes can't imagine what I'm talking about? You've a son in whose veins runs your poison and Helga's sweet nectar."

Slytherin stretched his wand out in front of him, his hand shaking. "You lie!" he yelled at Gryffindor.

Gryffindor coughed again. "Why should I lie to you?" he asked softly. "And above all, do you really think I would formulate an ineffective curse?"

Slytherin staggered a little. He lowered his wand and stepped back. He turned towards his horse and jumped on the saddle. He twisted his head to cast a last glance at Gryffindor, opened his mouth but no sound left his lips. He made the horse turn and hit its stomach with his heels. The animal reared and jumped forward, starting to run at a breakneck speed towards north. Towards Hogwarts.

Harry and Hermione followed his figure with their eyes until he disappeared. They couldn't believe their eyes every moment more, this was the most extraordinary thing that had ever happened to them. And all the things that they had witnessed! There were thousands of thoughts that were going through their brains at that moment, and they couldn't wait to give vent to all their conjectures. But someone else thought that this wasn't the time.

Both Harry and Hermione felt a hand on their shoulders, and, just like earlier that morning, the old man stood between them. "Time to go," he murmured softly.

Harry and Hermione glanced for one last time at the dying body of Gryffindor while his lips formed the word 'Rowena' and all his limbs went rigid; then they prepared to fall another time to come back to the present. But it didn't happen. Harry, Hermione and the old man stood still, as time moved on. The sun disappeared behind the hills, and the stars appeared in the sky, then the sun rose again at the opposite side of the valley, and it disappeared again; and so on for at least five times.

Finally time slowed down and eventually stopped. It was night now and the stars were shining brightly in the sky. The moon was full and it lit the whole glen as if it was day. Hermione looked at her feet and let out a small cry, she turned and covered her mouth and nose with both her hands, her eyes wide with shock and disgust.

Harry looked down as well and stared. Gryffindor's body still lay on the ground, but by now it was only a putrid corpse. His skin was green and swelled up, his eyes had already gone, eaten by some wild animal, and his neck cavity was covered with worms and insects. Harry felt the urge to throw up, but he restrained himself, helped by the fact that he couldn't smell the horrible stench that was surely coming from the cadaver.

He turned towards the old man, his face a little green. "W-what did you bring us here for?" he asked nauseated.

The old man brought a finger to his lips and hushed him. "She's coming," he answered simply.

Harry frowned without understanding. Who was coming? Then he heard it, the faint 'pop' of Apparition, and a moment later a woman was standing right in front of him. And Harry couldn't help staring at her. She was beautiful.

She had long blonde hair, picked up in a complicated hairdo of curls, plaits and pearls; her eyes were the colour of chocolate while her soft skin was like the rose that opened out in spring. On her forehead there was a band of yellow silk, with a single drop-shaped pearl that was hanging in the middle of it. She was wearing a long silk dress, the colour of the sun and coal, with a generous neckline on the front; her shoulders were bare, and one of them was covered with a bruise, while the skirt of her outfit reached her feet and let out only a pair of small yellow shoes.

Harry stepped towards her, and he felt, rather than saw, Hermione turning towards her as well, attracted by the noise of her Apparition. In the bright light of the moon rays Harry could see the woman's eyes, they were shiny and red from crying.

The woman held a little cruet in her hands, on it there was engraved the plump figure of the badger that Harry had seen on the cup in Winky's memory, and that he was used to seeing every single day at school on the robes of his schoolmates that belonged to the house of Professor Sprout. Harry didn't have any doubt that he was looking at Helga Hufflepuff.

With a loud crash the cruet that Hufflepuff had in her hands fell on the ground and broke into several pieces, letting out a pinkish liquid. She brought her hands to her mouth while her eyes filled with tears. She sobbed loudly and fell on her knees next to Gryffindor's body. For what seemed like ages she went on crying with such despair, that Harry had the sensation that every living thing in the valley had stopped to listen to her, since no other sounds were audible. Her shoulders were shaking with agony, her face was hidden in her hands and the precious pearls that decorated her hair were falling onto the ground.

Slowly, she seemed to calm down, her sobs faded gradually away and her tears stopped falling. She lowered her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. Then she ran her eyes over the corpse of Gryffindor, she stretched out a hand, but didn't touch him, and Harry was glad about that.

"Godric," she murmured, sobbing softly. "Godric, how could you?"

Harry looked at Hermione, who looked back at him with the same confused expression that he was wearing on his face. What was she talking about? It was Slytherin that had killed Gryffindor, not vice versa. How could have Gryffindor done what?

Hufflepuff twisted her hands in her lap. "How could you, Godric?" she repeated louder, rage and despair in her voice. "He killed your son and took away mine," she murmured. "He killed your son and took away mine!"

Hermione brought her hands to her mouth. Hufflepuff was talking about Slytherin, and from what they had heard before, her son was Slytherin's son too.

"Why did you tell him, Godric?" she continued, "what demon took control of your mind to make you break the vow that I asked of you?" She lowered her eyes to the ground. "And how could you, Salazar?" she whispered. "First the fair Rowena, then Godric the brave, and finally their son; one suffocated in her sleep, the other stabbed with your sword and the last one you closed him in your secret chamber with the monster you have created." She ripped some of the grass with her fingers and let it fall on in front of her. "And you broke my heart, you robbed me of our son. Bringing him away from me and from Hogwarts, what kind of future can you give him?"

Hufflepuff raised her eyes to Gryffindor's face again, and hot salty tears fell down to wet her cheeks. "And he lied, Godric," she whispered. "He said that you were still alive, but you aren't, and I brought this useless strengthening potion with me, and you won't even need it." She gestured towards the spot where the cruet had crashed and the pink liquid had dropped, letting out a snort of frustration and anger. "The grass drank it for you," she snapped.

Hermione lowered her eyes towards the place that Hufflepuff indicated, and stared. The grass was higher and - could it be? - greener than the stems that grew in other places, the pinkish potion had been completely absorbed by the ground and in its place a bunch of little pink flowers were coming up. Hermione bit her bottom lip, she had a strange feeling of déjà-vu, but she couldn't concentrate enough to understand why.

When Hufflepuff sighed, Hermione raised her eyes back to her. The founder was wiping her tears away with the back of her hands, just like she had done minutes before, Hufflepuff sniffled and leaned her face on her hand. "Salazar told me about the curse," she murmured. "A little nasty malediction, isn't it? And I would love to be able to enjoy the fate you have given to Salazar's heirs, if it wasn't for the fact that, with your words, you cursed my son as well." She sighed, unable to get angrier towards the corpse of Gryffindor. She placed her hands in the pleats of her dress and took out a little tome with a blue cover and yellowish pages of parchment.

"I wrote everything down," she murmured, flipping through the pages of the volume; she snorted. "I wanted you to read it, but you won't be able. I wrote it for the future generations whose fate will be enlaced with this curse."

She stood up, smoothing her dress, and glanced around herself, passing through Harry and Hermione with her brown eyes. "He walked away without even giving you a dignified burial," she said. "I'll do what I can."

She pulled out her wand, a shiny black stick with her initials engraved on its handle, and waved it in front of her. "Reparo! Tergeo!"

The cuts on Gryffindor's shirt repaired magically, while the dried blood on his corpse was cleaned away and left his bluish and swelled figure in all its dreadful reality.

Hufflepuff's eyes travelled around herself, and Harry and Hermione imagined that she was trying to find a place to bury him. Eventually, she let out a sigh and pointed her wand towards the ground between them two and the corpse. The ground split as if a soundless earthquake had opened it in two, leaving quite a big hole.

She waved her wand again and the cadaver raised from the ground and levitated towards the opening. Hufflepuff tried to lay him down as carefully as she could, she walked towards the tomb and looked down at the dark bottom, without being able to see Gryffindor. Harry and Hermione leaned out as well. Gryffindor's body was almost impossible to discern in the darkness.

The last time that Hufflepuff waved her wand the tomb filled with earth, creating a little artificial mountain right where the body of Gryffindor was. Above it all there was a gravestone, white like snow, with black and shining letters on it.

Harry and Hermione bent their heads for reading it. It said, 'In this hollow lies Godric Gryffindor. Brave and loyal. He loved and was loved a lot.'

"The sun and rain won't disturb your rest, my dear friend, because on your tomb will grow an oak, which with its branches will protect your tomb from the world," murmured Hufflepuff, then she took a deep breath, as if she was trying to regain her strength to keep on talking. "And I'll pronounce an enchantment as well, even if I know that the curse of a dying wizard is a hundred times more powerful than an ordinary one. Only once every hundred years will your malediction be effective, and their victims will have only a chance to get their revenge on Salazar's heirs."

She bit her bottom lip, her eyes filled with tears, as if she had just pronounced something that went against her will. "I'm sorry, Godric," she murmured softly. "I'm sorry, but they are my heirs as well."

Harry's eyes opened wide in the darkness. Helga Hufflepuff had just put a limit on Gryffindor's curse, then why he couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for her?

Hufflepuff picked up Gryffindor's sword, until that moment Harry thought that she had forgotten about it. She looked as if she was about to open the tomb again and place it on the corpse. But she didn't, and Harry remembered himself pulling out that very same sword from the Sorting Hat in his second year at Hogwarts.

"I'll bring your sword back to Hogwarts," said Hufflepuff. "Together with Rowena's feather, it'll be the tangible memoir of your greatness." She tightened the handle of the sword in her hand, while with the other she held the bloody blade. She cast a last glance at the tomb and with another subtle 'pop' she Disapparated.

Harry and Hermione didn't even notice the presence of the old man between them this time, and they were only vaguely aware of the fact that the world was falling around them, like a coloured cascade of lights, everything blurred together and disappeared from their view, and only when their feet were firmly back on the ground, they understood that they were back. The glen was lightened by the cold sun of that same August morning that they had left behind at the beginning of their journey, the valley was now a cemetery again, and the oak was standing right next to them.

Harry looked at the unreadable gravestone under the oak and felt his heart racing in his chest. He was standing on Gryffindor's grave. He was actually standing on one of the four Hogwarts' founders' tomb. He couldn't believe it. Gryffindor's tomb, he thought shocked.

"Gryffindor himself, young boy," said the old man, his lips curled up in a benevolent smile.

Harry's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe that he hadn't realized it before. It was so clear, so easy to understand that he felt terribly stupid for not having comprehended it earlier. He was Gryffindor.

"Godric Gryffindor," murmured Hermione amazed.

"Milady," answered Gryffindor, bowing. "Your beauty reminds me of my Rowena, her hair was dark like the night and her eyes were like sapphire, but your cleverness is similar to hers."

Hermione flushed. She had never received a better compliment, she had just been compared to one of the four founders of Hogwarts.

"Y-you are Gryffindor," stammered Harry shocked. "How can you be Gryffindor if you're much older than he was when he died?"

Gryffindor's face darkened. "And you were expecting me to remain forever young, when my soul was consumed by the curse?"

Hermione frowned slightly. "W-what do you mean?"

Gryffindor shook his head. "My words were those of a dying man, whose mind had left his body before his life did."

Harry looked at him, his eyebrows joined together on his forehead. "What are you talking about?" he asked, without being able to hide his anger at all. "Slytherin killed you, you had every right to curse him."

Gryffindor looked away, his weary eyes seemed ready to shed a thousands tears. "Yes, indeed I had every reason in this world to curse Salazar, but I didn't remember, or didn't want to remember, that I was also cursing Helga. She had every right to pronounce that anti-incantation, and I wish her spell was more powerful than the one I enunciated."

Harry lowered his eyes, Gryffindor was right, wasn't he? His words had damaged someone that had nothing to do with what had happened. What was Hufflepuff's fault? She had done nothing except love the most despicable wizard of all time. Harry wondered how could she have had a son with someone like Slytherin.

"Why were you two fighting?" asked Hermione. Harry looked at her, she was flushing, as if she already knew the answer and found it awkward.

Gryffindor leaned against the oak trunk, and for a moment Harry feared that he would pass through it, but he didn't. His wrinkled hand firmly seized a branch and his eyes looked north, towards Hogwarts.

"For a woman," answered Gryffindor. "For the fair Rowena."

"What happened?" asked Hermione, her voice hoarse.

Gryffindor took a long breath. "This story, milady, does not concern you in any way," he answered gently. "I showed you this and only this because this is what involves you directly."

"Involves us in what way?" asked Harry, looking at him seriously.

"Young boy," started Gryffindor forcefully. "I would have thought that you should have understood everything by now, shouldn't you?"

"Everything about the curse?" asked Harry, crossing his arms on his chest. "Because there's very little that I've understood about it."

"You mean you've not understood what it's about?" asked Gryffindor almost scandalized.

Harry flushed. He wasn't stupid. "I understand what it's all about," he snapped a bit more rudely that he had intended to talk to Gryffindor. "What I don't understand is how this should concern us."

Gryffindor smiled softly. "Curses are tricky, young boy," he murmured. "Look at me, I can't even rest peacefully with my Rowena for eternity."

"Why not?" asked Hermione, who seemed extremely interested in the love-stories that linked the founders. Harry couldn't help smiling a little. Girls...

"There are no handbooks on how curses work, every malediction is different from the others; you discover the details little by little, and you are never sure if you know everything or not. Anyway," he murmured, "after more than a thousand years, I've a pretty good idea about the course of this wicked spell I've created."

Harry and Hermione looked at him expectantly, as if they were sure that he would go on explaining something more about the curse, but Gryffindor stood still, silent and motionless like an ancient statue.

Harry cleared his throat. "And?" he asked excited.

Gryffindor glanced at him as if he had forgotten for a spare second that they were there, he smiled softly and asked, "You want to know how it works, don't you?"

"Well, yes," answered Hermione shyly. "That would help us understand quite a lot of things."

"Very well," murmured Gryffindor. "I was waiting for this question." He leaned his back against the tree and looked at them with a serious expression. "As you heard from my own lips, there's a curse that hangs on the heads of Salazar Slytherin's heirs, their victims, the ones that they have killed in this place, in the town that has been built here and that has been named after me, will return from the afterlife to carry out their revenge on their murderer. They'll have, though, only one chance to destroy their killer."

Harry and Hermione nodded knowingly. That part was pretty clear, because the dialogues that they had overheard were very detailed and easy to follow.

Gryffindor nodded as well. "And seventeen years ago, Salazar's heir killed a witch and wizard right in this town." He glanced at Harry. "Your parents."

Harry stepped back. "How do you know that--"

Gryffindor waved a hand in front of him. "I've wandered between this place and the afterlife for more than a thousand years, don't you think that I should know something like that? Especially when it concerns my curse so closely?"

Harry gulped. How could he have been so stupid? Naturally Gryffindor knew about his parents, naturally he was there when they were murdered. He felt a wave of excitement and sickness at the thought that the person that stood right in front of him could have witnessed his parents' murder.

"I didn't watch while Salazar's heir killed your parents, young boy," replied Gryffindor, reading Harry's thoughts and causing him to flush. "I do not enjoy those kind of shows. Anyway, I knew when they arrived here that they held the sparkle of magic inside them, and I knew that they were hunted by the heir, because his presence had become suddenly stronger and more threatening than it was before their arrival." He sighed deeply, then he continued. "And I believe that their guardian knew perfectly well about the curse so--"

"Their guardian?" broke in Harry quite rudely, gaining a disapproving scowl from Hermione.

Gryffindor nodded. "There was an old man that came to visit you and your parents every now and then, he was wise and brave and I think he knew something more than all the other people."

"You mean Dumbledore," suggested Hermione politely.

"He found Hufflepuff's diary," said Harry. "He knew something, he had supposed that this place held some mysterious and ancient magic." Harry frowned. What was he saying? That Dumbledore already knew about the curse. This means-- does this mean that he knew what was going to happen if my parents were killed? Did he sacrifice my parents?

"Sacrificed your parents, young boy?" asked Gryffindor surprised, and causing Hermione to stare at Harry in amazement, as if she had understood that when the founder started a sentence out of nowhere, it was an answer to Harry's thoughts. "How can you come up with such a conclusion? That man just wanted to be sure that Salazar's heir would be destroyed in one way or another, he tried to save your parents, but if he couldn't he would have the certainty that they would come back and carry out their revenge."

Harry lowered his eyes, while Gryffindor's words sunk in his brain. "But he hid them here on purpose, he could have hid them in another place, maybe somewhere safer."

"One place was as good as another, young boy," answered Gryffindor softly. "I know how tenacious one born from Salazar's birth can be, he would have found them anywhere."

Harry nodded. Dumbledore just wanted to make my parents' death worth something. They will come back from the afterlife and they--.

"Wait a minute!" yelled Harry. "You said that the victims will come back from the afterlife, you mean that my parents are going to come back?" He felt his heart racing in his chest. "You mean that I'll be able to see them again?"

Gryffindor looked at him as if he pitied him, while Hermione looked away. Harry had the feeling that she'd already understood something that evaded his mind, for a moment he hated her because of her intelligence.

"They've already come back," said Gryffindor. "Haven't you noticed their presence in the last few days?"

Harry looked from Gryffindor to Hermione, who was smiling encouragingly, though still stubbornly looking away. What was he talking about? "You mean that I should have seen them?" he asked anxiously. "I didn't see them at all!"

Gryffindor brought a finger to his mouth and gestured him to be silent. "Listen," he said.

Harry frowned. Listen? Listen to what? He couldn't hear anything at all. He closed his eyes to refine his hearing. There was a quiet hush, that seemed to encourage him to be even more silent, but in reality, it was just the wind; far away a bird was singing on a tree, and Hermione was breathing quickly with excitement. Nothing noteworthy.

He was going to open his eyes again when he heard it. A whisper more than a voice, as if it wasn't real, as if it was just in his head. Someone was calling him name. Harry...

Harry opened his eyes wide and felt his breath being taken away. What was that? Every day someone called his name, but it was never like that. He felt like he knew that voice, as if it was a mixture of happiness and sadness from his past. "What--who?" he asked to nobody in particular.

"Very good," answered Gryffindor seriously. "And that's exactly where this conversation should be more useful to you two. The victims of Salazar's heir have already come back, and they are-" Gryffindor looked from Hermione to Harry with his piercing blue eyes. "-in you."

Harry blinked. "What?" he asked trying to understand. That would have explained a lot, especially all those dreams and the fact that his eyes were darker than before, almost brown, like his father's. And that would have explained Hermione's appearance, every day more similar to his mother, and her dreams about them.

"Why?" asked Hermione shyly, and Harry couldn't help noticing a note of sadness in her voice. "Why us?"

Gryffindor sighed. "I've thought about that, and I think that my conclusion is very close to the truth. First of all, why did they come back now? Well, that's easy," he asked and answered to himself. "It's because Salazar's heir seemed dead until just a few months ago, so there was no need for them to come back, but now that he's a threat again they are here. And then, why you two? I think that they waited for a situation very similar to the one in which they lived, and for similar souls as well. I recognized their souls in you immediately the very first time I saw you in the village."

"You mean that I held my father's soul, while Hermione has my mother's one in her?" asked Harry slowly. "And can we speak to them?"

Gryffindor took a long and deep breath. "I think so. Have you tried to use a mirror? That would be helpful if you want to communicate with them," he answered.

"And when exactly did their souls enter us?" asked Hermione.

"The very first moment in which you placed your feet in Godric's Hollow; usually when a soul leaves a body, or in this case enters a body, there's wind. Maybe you can remember if there was wind at some point, the first time you entered this village," murmured Gryffindor.

Hermione nodded. Yes, there was wind, she remembered that the wind started the moment they read the sign of Godric's Hollow, and she remembered that Ron hadn't felt it. So it wasn't ordinary wind, and now the most unimportant details came back to her mind.

"And when are they going to leave our bodies?" asked Hermione softly, hoping that Harry didn't find it a terribly heartless question. She didn't want James and Lily to go away, but she could certainly do with having her body back.

"When everything is over," answered Gryffindor simply. "When they have gotten their revenge."

"When they've killed Voldemort," muttered Harry darkly. "But they can't kill him completely until all the Horcruxes are destroyed."

"Then, be prepared to share your bodies with them for a long time," murmured Gryffindor.

"What?" asked Hermione, her eyes wide. "How long can they stay within us?"

"Forever, I guess," answered Harry slowly. He wasn't sure if he was unhappy with that. Having his father's soul in his body was not an ordinary thing, but he didn't want him to go away. "Anyway, where are they?"

"The souls?" asked Gryffindor. "In your heart, in the most hidden part of your brain and deep within your insides. Everywhere in your body, and they are ready to take control of it as soon as they think that the time is ripe, or as soon as you'll let them take control." He smiled. "Now that you know what's going on inside you, you'll find it easier to push their will aside, or even to let them gain power over you."

"Let them gain power over us?" asked Hermione afraid. She seemed scared to lose control over her own body.

Gryffindor nodded. "They are more powerful than you two," he explained. "They were older than you are now, and their powers have grown a lot, thanks to the curse, if you find yourself face to face with Salazar's heir, it would be wise for you to give up your will to them."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but she seemed to think against it and closed it again.

"Okay," murmured Harry quietly. Hermione looked at him without understanding.

"Okay--what?" she asked softly.

Harry shrugged. "Okay," he repeated. "I understand."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "And?"

Harry shook his head in response. He glanced at Gryffindor and murmured, "Is there something else we should know?"

Gryffindor narrowed his eyes, as if he was trying to remember if there was something else that was worth telling them. "I don't think--"

"Wait!" broke in Hermione. "Wait! How can we - how can Lily and James - defeat Voldemort?" she asked hastily. "How will they be able to destroy him?"

Gryffindor raised his eyebrows. "I don't know," he answered quietly.

Hermione's jaw dropped, while her arms dropped at her sides. "You don't know?" she repeated in disbelief. She looked at him and her eyes widened. "We-we are the first, aren't we?"

"Milady, they are the first, not you," answered Gryffindor.

"The first--what?" asked Harry without understanding.

"The first to fulfil the curse," answered Hermione, without taking away her eyes from Gryffindor. "This is the first time that one of Salazar's heirs has been doomed with your curse, isn't it?"

Gryffindor nodded.

"Then, why did you tell us that you've had time to understand how the curse works? You've never witnessed how it works," snapped Harry almost accusatorily.

Gryffindor looked at him with icy eyes. "I don't know how I know these things," he answered coldly. "I'm simply aware of something new about this spell every moment that passes." His eyes clouded a little as he glanced away from Harry. "But if at the beginning I knew that I had to stay on this Earth for eternity, waiting for the curse to take place and controlling Salazar's heirs without being able to see my fair Rowena anymore, I..." His words faded away, like a wind that slowly stops blowing, like the last breath of a dying person, the sorrow in his voice was almost tangible, and it reached for Hermione and Harry's hearts like a knife.

"You?" asked Harry in a whisper, urging him to finish the sentence.

Gryffindor closed his eyes. "I would have never pronounced that curse," he sighed. "Never. An eternity away from the one you love isn't worth your revenge."

Harry lowered his eyes, for a moment he felt the urge to slap himself hard on his cheek because he was happy. He was glad that Godric Gryffindor hadn't known about the fact that he would have forever been separated from Rowena Ravenclaw, so he was able to pronounce the curse, and gave his parents the chance to defeat Voldemort.

Hermione cleared her throat softly. "Maybe when James and Lily have defeated Voldemort, the curse will be broken and you'll be free," she said tentatively. "We don't know of any other heir of Salazar Slytherin."

Gryffindor looked at her with a glimpse of hope in his eyes. "Maybe," he sighed. "I think we'll have to wait to find out."

Hermione nodded sadly. Wait. What an annoying word. I have to wait to know everything. I have to wait to understand how everything will turn out. I've never felt more unprepared and unable to wait.

Gryffindor looked at her and nodded, as if he knew what was going on in her head. Then he smiled sadly. "I think that now you know enough," he murmured. "Maybe we'll meet again." And he disappeared without a sound.

Harry and Hermione stood there, their eyes fixed on the place where Gryffindor was standing a moment before. Definitely they had received too much information in a very little time, and only now that they were staring at the grass were they silently questioning themselves about the reality of what had just happened. Now that they were standing there alone, it all looked like a distant dream.

Harry felt Hermione's cold hand brushing his own. He turned to look at her and saw that she was on the verge of tears. He placed a hand on her cheek and tried to smile reassuringly.

"Hermione," he whispered.

She took a step back and looked in his eyes while her own filled with shiny tears. "Harry, don't you understand?" she asked, sobbing.

He furred his brow and narrowed his eyes, without understanding. "What?"

"The curse," she answered.

"Hermione, I know it's hard, but we will go through it together, because I love you and--"

"No," she cut him off. "No, Harry. It's exactly that. What we feel for each other." She took a deep breath, and once again wet tears wet her cheeks. "It's all the curse's fault. We don't love each other, it's your parents' that love each other and since they are trapped in our bodies they made us believe that we are in love, but we are not."

Harry stood there. His eyes wide, his mouth dry. Hermione's words were sinking slowly into his brain: an unwanted statement that made him feel like a Lost Boy. He closed his eyes and let the wind caress his face, he took a deep breath while a desperate question formed in his mind, Don't I love you, Hermione?