You can thank the Founders FST (Draco Dormiens Nunquam Tittilandus )by nami86 in the community graphs-by-me on LJ for this. I had her casting choices in mind when I wrote this: that is, Richard Madden is Gryffindor, and Michael Fassbender is Slytherin.

"I've been wondering when you'd drop by."

The figure at the massive oak table did not even raise his head from his work, nor look over his shoulder as a bear of a man strode past impeccable bookshelves to a mountain of scrolls, unearthing the chair beneath them and seating himself, uninvited.

The smile on the great man's lips had the grace to pretend to be abashed. "You could wait. I knew you would."

"As if I don't have anything better to do than humor your flights of fancy. I'm not known for my patience."

"For your curiosity, however..."

The man at the desk still did not turn, but but his smirk was palpable. "I heard you have already visited essentially everyone but me – Iceland is a rather long ways away."

Now the other was earnestly abashed, and his already normally ruddy cheeks burned somewhat brighter. "I admit, I set my sights rather high – "

"I'd say."

" – but I thought if I could get the Hanged Man, anything would be possible."

"Indeed. Master of, what, eighteen runes? Nothing quite to shake a stick at, though I imagine the lady of the house would have been a nice consolation prize. What a pity." Long fingers set the quill aside, and very gently, he lifted the sheet of parchment up to his lips to blow softly on the still-wet ink. "Though I'm not sure about some of your other choices – what possessed you to believe the Geat would be of any use? He is a brute."

"He managed to slay the progeny of Cain, if you recall."

"Very well, a skilled brute, but he is rather lacking in what we shall call 'thaumaturgic finesse'." The absolute slightest of glances over his shoulder, dark eyes glinting sardonically. "And we shall not even speak of your visit to the swineherd."

Pushing his hair from his forehead, the great man sniffed at a decanter and, satisfied, poured himself a healthy portion of wine, swirling it in the goblet before raising it to his mouth. "Ah, Pryderi's got a good heart."

"And not a drop of magical talent. He's as like to ensorcel a problem as he is not to have one to ensorcel."

"True enough, at that. When I found him, he seemed sore on the subject of magic, without my even bringing it up. Red in the face, he was – I told him I'd get back to him when he found his pigs again, though I can't say I'm so keen on it anymore. Brave man, but – "

"Dumb as a sack of hammers." The man at the desk glanced at the stack of books by his elbow, canting his head as he skimmed the spines with his index finger.

"Aye, but there are worse things."

"I fail to see." Having not found the title he wanted in the stack closest him, the man at the desk half rose from his chair, reaching awkwardly for a thin volume perched on a shelf to his right. Satisfied, he resituated himself and flicked through the tome, muttering passages under his breath as he turned the pages.

Another gulp of wine burned his throat, so good he winced. "Bloodlust, methinks."

This was met with a derisive snort. "You should have known better. No fury like a woman scorned, and no woman scorned as she. If it's frighteningly clever you're after, I hear tell of a bird in the glen with a significantly smaller chip on her shoulder."

The great man eyed the bottom of his empty goblet with interest, turning his head for a better look at the dregs. "Yes, yes. My reach exceeded my grasp yet again – "

"But certainly not for the last time. What did Emrys say?"

This gave the great man some pause. His forehead creased in a frown, and he set the goblet beside the decanter, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "It was as ever. Cryptic. He...laughed. He told me he would see the like of me again, when he was younger, but that he was not quite old enough as yet." He shook his great copper head. "I understand the verbiage he utilises, yet...when he reaches the end of his sentence, I often feel it was I who misspoke, despite speaking first."

The book snapped shut, and again the man at the desk stretched to return it to its home. "And now you are stuck with me." There was a mordant iciness to the words that stung.

"It's not as bad as that." The crease between the great man's brow deepened, his tone an attempt at mollifying. "I came to you last, my old friend, because I knew you would be with me regardless of who else I had or had not spoken to."

Finally, his friend turned in his seat, black eyes tired but friendly above an aquiline nose. Salazar rested his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers. "What is it you want, Godric?"

Teeth were bared in a grin, haughty, ambitious. "I had an idea I'd like your help with."

"I shall fetch my lyre."