Began as spiritual successor, but is now more or less sequel to Hunt. Thinking maybe this fic will be two of three? We shall see.


"Think of it, Salazar. Think of what we could do. The future we could create."

"How very storybook."

"I'm serious."

"And I."

Salazar had indeed fetched his lyre, and it sat in his lap while he pulled at the strings, an absent-minded punctuation to his sentences. Every so often, when Godric said something particularly bombastically well-intentioned, he would strike up a jaunty accompaniment with a wry smirk on his face.

Long fingers strummed a chord, and he scowled, fiddling a bit with the tuning. "It's quite a good idea in theory, as most ideas are. I'm sure with effort and, more importantly, skill, it can be accomplished. It's just..." He paused, plucked at a high note. "Blindingly optimistic."

"I feel I can do it, if I have you by my side." Godric hated that lyre. He knew his best friend as well as anyone could, but whenever that damnable instrument entered the conversation, he was never sure how thick the ice was beneath his feet – every note felt like agitation.

Salazar bared a wolfish grin. "It would certainly help," he agreed. "Though you know you don't have to flatter me. All it took was walking through the door."

And so it was. Unfailingly, he had been at his friend's back in what he felt was just barely shy of a hare-brained scheme, pushing and supporting and taking the reigns, when necessary. Rowena Ravenclaw had been his idea, as Godric took no end of pleasure in reminding him every time he mentioned giving up finding her.

That had been a long road leading up to an even longer one, and well worth it – as soon as either man set eye on her, they felt charged by the sheer aura of intellect she fairly radiated. Where before they had merely wanted her, now they needed her.

Godric was visibly taken with her from the start. He had launched into his spiel with trepidation when he had learned how recently she had been widowed, but as soon as she began to press him with questions – sharp, insightful questions to which he admittedly had no answer, nor had even thought of – his ruddy face became even redder with excitement.

She was immediately a part of the team, unabashedly treating them as though they had all known each other since childhood: insight took the place of experience as she made comments and jokes that should have come off as snide or ribald, but merely felt as comfortable as when she placed a hand over one of theirs, or rested her head on a nearby shoulder. It was quite without shame when she offhandedly mentioned that she had put a very particular combination of herbs in their tea that first week, though never once did she apologize, nor tell them what it was.

She had insisted that they may use her home as their own until everything was said and done. Though he never made mention of such, Salazar believed it was because she was unused to being so alone.

And yet there was still an emptiness, a void in the house, felt by all. Rowena pointed out that they three could not possibly think to do this without even further help, and was quick to supply a solution in the form of her own bosom companion. Feeling quite apart of the planning and brainstorming that the other two excitedly launched into whenever their eyes met, Salazar volunteered to appeal to her himself.

Helga Hufflepuff, too, had been an easy acquisition, though with hindsight, Salazar resented the gleam in Rowena's eye when she told him where her friend could be found. A meaningful look does not a warning make. Nonetheless, he negotiated with Helga, and she with him, until finally they came to the conclusion that they were really only negotiating nothing. The night spent in her manse had not been his most restful, in recent memory.

She had been a sly one, she had. Her reputation was all saccharine, and Salazar could easily see where it had come from: everything about her was like honey. And like honey, she had a way of masking all of her other qualities with that almost overbearing sweetness. He made sure to keep his eye on her, not without an undercurrent of admiration.

Their journey back to Scotland was infuriatingly long. He maintained all throughout that it was unnecessary to stop quite so often; no, they did not need to find an inn to stay at, there is perfectly good kindling everywhere; just how many maidservants does it take to get a woman atop a horse? She had retorted that if he like, he may certainly leave her behind, as she knew the way on her own quite well. They had several arguments over the matter, but Helga had scarcely even raised her voice, leaving the man feeling quite the fool for getting so angry. In the end, the silent agreement was to simply ride through the night.

By the time they returned to the Ravenclaw lands, Salazar dismounted and, ignoring everything else, made a beeline for his chambers and screamed into a cushion that was never seen again – he returned to stall and brush the horse feeling rather lighter, a smile on his lips and a hum in his throat.

The first day after the return was a calm one, without incident, as chambers were settled into and the travel-weary could finally get their much-deserved rest in realbeds. Godric had checked in on his friend, and found him lying face first in the center of the bed, arms askew and legs dangling above the floor. Tenderly, he flicked his wand and righted the other man, the covers hovering softly into place – he closed the door behind him with a gentle click, a ghost of a smile on his face.

And then they had met for supper.

There are no words for the air in the room that night.

Godric's excitement was palpable, and his leg fairly shook the table with his fidgeting; and Rowena hardly even touched the food on her plate, ignoring it in favor of the stack of scrolls at her elbow, from which she read and would occasionally scribble the odd note. When they brought the other two up to speed, they took it in turns to dominate the conversation, and indeed often found their words overlapping, finishing the other's sentences with an unidentifiable glimmer in their eyes.

Helga had curtseyed prettily before the ruddy man, and held her hand for him to kiss – Salazar felt a twinge of smug satisfaction when Rowena had stopped that with a sharp, "Helga," and that same laugh she used with her daughter. The blonde grinned, and settled for a genial bow before probing Rowena with many of the same questions the other woman had asked.

As for Salazar, he felt slightly breathless. He knew himself, and regarded his abilities realistically: there were things he was good at, just as there were things he was not. He knew Godric, and his abilities just the same: for everything he himself was not keen on, his best friend tackled with mighty aplomb. For only having met Lady Ravenclaw a mere month ago, he felt his assessment of her was accurate as well: where he and Godric would approach a matter with a perhaps dash of aggression, she could cut it down with cool ruthlessness. And Helga...as little as he knew of her, he was impressed, and that was enough for him.

All these in consideration, he found himself smiling.

Without even having to dignify petty assignations of duty, their roles easily fell into place. All it took was one or another opening their mouths, a bit of discussion, and each had their weight to bear, and happily.

This could actually work. With time – for they had resources aplenty, between the four of them – the school could be the best thing the world had ever seen.

Would ever see.