Friendship

943

Helga tried to block out the voices, but it was impossible. The two men were a floor down and a few rooms away, but they were yelling so loudly that she could hear them clearly.

"...REFUSE TO STAY HERE WITH THE BRATS OF MUDBLOODS!"

There was a pause; Godric's answer, when it came, was a controlled roar.

"THEN YOU CAN GET OUT, CAN'T YOU? YOU CAN GET OUT!"

A door slammed below her.

Then nothing.

954

The air was thick with apprehension. Godric consulted his list, though she knew he didn't need to.

"Slytherin, William."

The nervous, dark-haired boy resembled their friend, but not enough to cause pain. Helga breathed a sigh of relief.

995

It was hard to look at her friend now, to see him weak and shrunken, but she did, and kept all of the pity and horror out of her face. She knew that was the one thing Godric would not be able to bear. Across his bed, Rowena did the same.

He managed a weak grin, a pale and sad reminder of other smiles, ones given in his youth. He struggled up a bit.

"Women. Always crying and getting emotional. It's embarrassing."

Helga tried to smile back.

The door opened and she turned.

"I'm sorry, you..." 'must have the wrong room' stuck in her throat. Salazar. He looked at the scene before him. She half expected him to turn and flee, to pull out his wand and kill them all...

He crossed the room, a half-smile on his face. Helga was standing beside Rowena without really knowing how she got there. Salazar took her vacated chair.

He also took Godric's hand.

"I'm sorry, you know." His voice was the same as always. He barely seemed to have aged since he left.

"I know. I knew before you did, I think."

Salazar smiled. He stayed for two hours, and when Godric slipped away, he stood and left. Helga rose - Rowena was asleep - and bent over the bed. Godric was gone. She bit back her tears and turned to the door - but Salazar had vanished.

997

Helga rubbed her temples, willing herself not to cry. Rowena shifted in the bedclothes.

"It's alright. I know I haven't got long."

Helga forced her face into a smile.

"You always were a pessimist."

Rowena smiled. It looked odd on her illness-worn face.

"Helga, if... if Helena comes, and I am already... dead... will you tell her that it's... alright? That I understand?"

Now her eyes were leaking, but that was alright: this was Rowena, not Godric. You had to be strong for her, too, but it was a different kind of strong. You were allowed to cry.

The door creaked, and Helga looked up.

His hair was still black, his face unwrinkled, though he would be in his late seventies now. Helga thought briefly of youth potions, but discarded the notion. That had never been Salazar's style.

He took the other chair, the one intended for Helena, if she had come, propping his elbows on his knees. Helga knew she ought to be angry, or frightened, but she wasn't.

Rowena just smiled.

Salazar woke her when he stood and left the room in the middle of the night. It only took one glance at Rowena to confirm what she already knew.

This time, she didn't try to follow him.

1005

Helga leaned back in her armchair.

"Are you sure I can't get you anything?"

She glanced at her eleven-year-old granddaughter, amused.

"Did your mother put you up to this? No, don't answer that. I would quite like some tea, actually."

Rhiannon smiled and darted from the room. She was the youngest of five, and it couldn't be easy. Helga had been the youngest: she knew. Ah, well...

"Hello, Helga."

She smiled.

"I wondered when I'd see you again."

"I'm here now."

"I don't suppose you'd hold my hand, the way you held Godric's? It helped him, I think."

He did. "You don't need any help. I came anyway."

The expression eased off her face.

"I think I'll take a nap - I won't wake up, will I?"

He just raised his eyebrows.

"How do you stay so God damned young, Salazar?"

Rhiannon set the tray down on the hall table to open the door. She froze when she saw the scene inside. Her grandmother was still in her favorite armchair, and she wasn't moving. Wasn't breathing.

There was a man in the room, just opening the other door.

"Hey, you!"

He turned his head, smiled, darted out the door. She didn't blame him for her grandmother's death; Grandmama Helga had told her about him. But she had to know...

She ran after him.

There was no one in the Great Hall or the Entrance Hall: the few people who stayed here over the summer were elsewhere.

He led her down, past the lake, into the forest. Rhiannon hesitated for a moment, then plunged into the trees after him.

He stayed the same distance ahead of her until they reached an opening in the trees. Then he was gone, with no sign to tell which way.

There was a rock in the center of the clearing. A tombstone.

Salazar Slytherin

Died by his own hand.

918 - 943

Requiescat in pace.