Weeks passed. The dark forest that stretched its arms around Hogwarts was fully in leaf now, with tiny bluebells poking up in the shade. Day after day, weak sunshine jockeyed for position with driving rain – but slowly, it seemed as though the sunshine was winning.

Edmund had been looking for Robert, too, but the time was never right. Robert was swept up in the tide of Slytherins: eating with them, traipsing to mass with them, sleeping with the other Slytherin men in their corner of the dormitories. He did not talk with his fellow apprentices, but he seemed unable to escape them nonetheless. It was as if Slytherin's men had sensed Robert's betrayal, his willingness to work with one of Gryffindor's men, and had simply closed ranks around Robert, forming a wall Edmund could not hope to penetrate. He had spent the last eight years avoiding even a glance at the witches of Slytherin - now, he felt as though he had a hard time looking anywhere else.

His best hope, he had thought, was to catch Robert in the scriptorium. Depending on who was presiding over the room, if he could just sit next to him, he might be able to maybe exchange a few quiet words. There, they could arrange a time to meet again, could compare what they had found so far, could plot further. But day after day passed in the scriptorium, and there was no sign of Robert. Of course, Edmund remembered, around a week after the hunt. He doesn't speak any Latin. Did he say if he could even write? Distracted, his quill had gone directly through his vellum and an ugly blot of ink spread across the page, spoiling a neat page on the metamorphosis of objects to animals. He sighed, and pulled out his wand.

He saw Robert with Helena a few days later, and understood why he was not in the scriptorium. Edmund felt like he should have remembered, but his own private lessons in Latin, in the written word, felt like forever ago. Godric had been a patient teacher, attentive, surprisingly gentle after all the tales he had heard of the man's glory in battle. Perhaps he had needed something else to draw his attention after he had taken up arms in the chapel and his duel with Slytherin. But whatever Godric's reasons, he had spent long hours with Edmund until Edmund had been able to speak Latin as well as any priest, to read both silently and aloud, and to copy and write in an immaculate hand. He was not sure he had quite appreciated it at the time, but looking back, he was grateful – it had been a perfect introduction to the life he would have at Hogwarts. Long afternoons of copying the same treatises until his wrist cramped and his neck ached, long evenings of instruction on casting the same spell over and over again until it was second nature: these things came as naturally as breathing now. There were nights when he closed his eyes and the blank page would still swim before it, demanding to be filled with endless inkstrokes. It kept him busy.

He sat in the scriptorium now, looking at the page of text a quick spell had just rescued from an unsightly inkblot spoiling the whole thing. He should be sharpening his quill, continuing to write – but instead, he looked at his own writing, at line after line of text he had written. On a whim, he screwed his eyes. tight and opened them. He let them focus and refocus, looked away and looked back. He was trying to find a way to look at the letters anew, to see with fresh eyes and forget the trick of their meaning. He wanted to see the written page as Robert must be seeing it while he was sitting with Helena. He had not realized that anyone would teach the letters other than the four founders themselves – but he supposed that, however convenient it would be for their plans, it was unlikely Salazar would break the habit of years and deign to appear in the scriptorium.

Edmund had to admit that whenever he did manage to connect with Robert, he would have nothing to report on Salazar. Perhaps one of Slytherin's own apprentices would have better luck in tracking him down, but while Edmund half expected to see him lurking in every deep shadow or around each new twist of the corridor, he had seen neither hide nor hair of Salazar since the sorting feast. But when the next morning came, Edmund realised that he didn't need to see Salazar to know that the man had been hard at work. He had slept well: he had not heard any sounds of straining wood, of stone scraping on stone. Yet something about the castle was definitely changed.

After the exhausted trek across the castle to lauds mass, Edmund was surprised to find a low chatter of voices coming from the chapel. There was a buzzing, an energy entirely unsuited to so early on a cold, wet Thursday. One elderly witch even stuck his head outside the door, stepped into the corridor, and stepped back in in wonder.

"Is something wrong?" Alfric asked. His bony hand gripped Edmund's arm a little tighter.

"I don't know," Edmund said. Slowly, picking his way through a crowd as confused, as tired, as abuzz with curiosity as himself, he lead Alfric through the church doors – and gasped.

"Magic has been done here," Alfric said simply – and he was right. The chapel had been somewhat cramped before, packed from wall to wall with Hogwarts' faithful at mass every day. But suddenly it stretched out, vast, easily twice the size it had been before. Quite how this could be was beyond Edmund's understanding: the courtyard outside did not seem any smaller, and none of the adjacent rooms had disappeared. "I'm right, aren't I?" Alfric asked.

"You are," Edmund said, awestruck. The room was overwhelming: suddenly huge, filled with movement, incredulous chatter, and endless new details to puzzle over. "How did you know?"

Alfric chuckled. "These old eyes aren't up for much, but even I can hear the echo's changed. What did Salazar do to this place?"

Edmund just shrugged. Of course this would be Salazar's handiwork: but right at this moment, he could barely even think of that as he took in its majesty. Any attempt at mass was forgotten in this moment: the witches of Hogwarts were wandering the sudden vast expanse, talking in small groups of twos or threes or perhaps simply staring, silent. Even the priest seemed reluctant to give any kind of call to worship: he simply stood at the lecturn, eyes wide, his mouth occasionally opening and closing but no sound coming out. Around the congregants, the growing light of dawn filtered in through windows of coloured glass, each easily twice Edmund's height, high on the walls where no windows had been before. Each window illustrated a moment in the life of the saints. Saint Merlin, Saint Mungo, Saint Brigid, Saint Gobnait: all the paragons and martyrs of witchcraft moved across the windows, lifting wands, casting spells and reenacting their martyrdom in vibrant colours glowing under the dawn of the enchanted sky. Alfric stood next to Edmund, gripping his arm tight, as Edmund did his best to describe the room, the changes, the sheer scale and majesty to him.

"I can… I think I can see the light," Alfric said, nodding. Wide, empty eyes looked towards the windows, trying as hard as they could to take in their splendour. "And perhaps the colour, but it's so hard to tell – everything shifts, changes…"

"You and I both know I'm hardly Slytherin's firmest friend," said a voice behind them: and Carwyn was there, having slipped his way into the conversation. "But I have to admit – the old snake has outdone himself this time."

"It's beautiful," Alfric proclaimed. "Even the little that I can see…"

Edmund nodded, saying nothing. His eyes had been following the details carved into the stone around the top of a pillar. Vines had been carved into the rock, the stems bearing flowers and fruit – and intertwined with the stem, he could see a single, solitary snake. He thought of the story Robert had told him about Salazar and the coiled serpent up his sleeve, and he felt sick. The chapel around him might be beautiful, but it felt like a beauty he couldn't trust. "It's beautiful," he said at last, "but what's this for?" He felt as though his eyes were looking over the room and its beauties again, searching each flagstone and each newly set pane of glass with suspicion.

Carwyn looked at him askance. "What's it for? Well, with how we've been growing, we've long needed a new chapel-"

"No," said Edmund, shaking his head, "why now? Is this some kind of apology? Has he done something?"

"Edmund," said Alfric, sighing. "Please, on today of all days…"

Carwyn shrugged. "Maybe it is an apology," he said, "but wherever you are leading us, Edmund, I don't know if I can follow. I think that if he is atoning for some sin, it is doubtless the time he took up arms in this chapel years ago, not some imagined new travesty. Now he can ease his conscience with the fact that he gave us this magnificent chapel, and continue to do whatever strange magics occupy his time."

"But…" Edmund sighed, knowing there was no point continuing. Robert would understand, would agree – he cast a wild eye through the crowd for him.

"Look," said Carwyn, "I'm glad I found you here, Edmund. I came to find you for more than admiring the architecture."

Edmund sighed and paused in his search. Carwyn had never asked a favour of him before, and he was not sure if the prospect should fill him with excitement or apprehension. "Oh?" He said, turning back and trying to get a measure of the request that was coming.

"I've been here too long," Carwyn continued. "My feet are beginning to itch for the road: I've made promises that I'll be back in England with my father by the height of summer, so I'll need to be leaving soon. But I still have work to do here. But…" Carwyn hesitated for a moment, and Edmund's stomach began to sink. "Look," Carwyn said, "I'll cut right to it. The Baron and all his men need wands. I know they're far from your favourite people, and believe me I do not relish this job either, but it is a job that needs doing. I'll be taking them to the grove for the wandmaking ceremony this afternoon, along with a few others, but it's more work than I'd be able to take on by myself. I've never had to cut for so many before." Edmund moved to speak, to object, but Carwyn held up a hand. "Please, consider it," he said. "You're a bright lad, and I could do with a trustworthy pair of hands at my side. Besides," he said, laying a hand on Edmund's shoulder, "I believe you owe me for my loan of Hornbeam at the hunt?"

He fixed Edmund with a wide smile, a grin so ingratiating that for a moment Edmund forgot what had happened after that generous loan: Carwyn bounding after the quarry, leaving Edmund alone and barely in control of his horse. Edmund took a deep breath, trying to find the words that would encompass that moment. Why, if Robert hadn't found him…

And just then he saw Robert: unhappily locked, as ever, behind a wall of other Slytherins – and Edmund realised. "I do owe you," he said. "Of course I'll be there, Carwyn."

Carwyn raised an eyebrow. "I have to admit, I thought you'd be harder to convince," he said. "I thought for sure that your hatred for our Norman invaders would be far stronger than my attempt to ask nicely. I was going to get the old man in on it, try to appeal to your better nature… I had all sorts of things planned." He clapped Edmund on the back. "I'll have to save it for the next favour."

Edmund smiled. "Well, I'm doing it for you, not for the Baron and his men," he said. "Gryffindor's men stick together. That's what you told me, isn't it?" He cast a look over Carwyn's shoulder at Robert again, trying frantically to catch his eye. Robert would need a wand as much as anyone else – and perhaps as they went to the wandwood cutting, he would finally get the chance to discuss Slytherin's latest changes to Hogwarts with a sympathetic audience.

Hogwarts clung to the shore of the black lake, but around Hogwarts, around the lake – almost, it seemed, to the edge of the world – the dark forest stretched. It was a cool day: the morning dew still lay heavy in the grass, and the leaves of the trees all around barely shook as Carwyn lead his party over the drawbridge onto the trail.

"I think we have them all," Carwyn said. He was wearing a heavy grey travelling cloak and craning his neck to count each of the pilgrims they were escorting. There were maybe a dozen of them. Most of them were the Normans, the Baron standing tall in the center talking loudly with his men. It made Edmund realise how many of the people the Baron had brought were servants, men with no magic here simply to attend to him. Edmund saw Robert hovering unhappily towards the edges of the Norman grouping, and crossed his fingers – surely in the long journey into the woods, he would have the chance to talk to him.

"It looks like everyone," Edmund panted. Back in the courtyard, he had volunteered to carry the bags that Carwyn had packed with tools for the ceremonial wand cutting in the grove. Carwyn had made them look so light, so easy, but Edmund was already out of breath after a few scant minutes. Nothing that a flick of his wand wouldn't normally solve, but Carwyn had been strict – no magic on this trip. It was part of the ceremony, the mystery. His wand was waiting safely with Alfric back at the castle. He could not help but cast a glance at Robert, wishing he had some of his skills and could cast a spell to lift the bags without need for a wand.

"Anyone else can damn well make their own wand," Carwyn said. "This alone is still plenty of work for me." He sighed. "Thank you for coming out," he said. "I really do appreciate it. Perhaps after this, we can discuss…" Carwyn trailed off, and Edmund looked around to see that Baron Malet was approaching. His stomach did an uneasy flip as the man came closer, trailed by two huge Normans.

"Ollivander?" The Baron said. Carwyn gave a small, formal bow. "We had best be headed into the forest to this ceremony of yours." Edmund saw the man raise an eyebrow, but looked away, not wanting to catch his eye. "My men are growing restless," the Baron continued. "I have read the omens, and today is to be the last good hunting weather we will have for some time," he said. "If I must lose that chance, I would rather we be done with this as quickly as we can."

"Of course, my Lord," said Carwyn, and there was a falseness in his voice that Edmund did not know if he had heard before. "If you are sure all of your men are here, we can make our way into the woods. You may not have the thrill of the chase, but I promise you – you will sight a fine quarry, and it will be very much worth your while."

The Baron walked back to his men without another word, seemingly satisfied. Edmund was pleased to hear Carwyn mutter a string of curse words under his breath.

"I hate him," Edmund began, in hushed tones. "How can you stay so calm, when he treats you like that? After all, you're…"

Carwyn held a hand up to stop him. "Edmund, please," he said. He gave him a slightly strained smile. "When you are in this line of work, you will have to hold court with the mighty," he said, "and you will quickly learn that the mighty are not always the easiest to work with." He sighed. "Luckily for me, the mighty are also able to pay extremely well."

Edmund frowned. "Pay?" He said. "I don't understand, is Baron Malet offering you silver to-"

"No," Carwyn said, laughing. "No, don't worry, the Ollivanders still don't charge for the work they do at Hogwarts. But there's more than one way a wealthy man can pay, and when I am down in London, I am sure that saying I have the son of Lord Guilame Malet as a client will be invaluable to help open more doors at court." He sighed. "It's an unpleasant business, but I promise you, it will be more than worth my while in the end to endure one day of this treatment." Edmund tried to interject, but before he could say anything else, Carwyn raised his voice to a clear clarion call, addressing the crowd milling behind them.

"My Lords," he said, and all other talk stilled. "My lords, it is time." He spoke in Latin, and Edmund thought of Robert, wondering if his learning would have got to the point where he could comprehend this. He didn't see him in the crowd – but no matter, he would have plenty of time to find him on the walk into the dark forest. "In your time at Hogwarts," Carwyn continued, "you will have seen all manner of magic done. Perhaps there are things you do not understand, or spells that you wish you were able to do. Our magic is directed, is improved, is perhaps perfected by use of a wand." Edmund wished he could see Robert's face in the crowd – he was sure his eyes would be rolling. "You may," Carwyn said, "have felt left out of the chance to train in magic here, to study it and understand it without the use of a wand. Well, my name is Carwyn Ollivander, and my family has been creating artisan wands since before the time of Christ."

Carwyn left a pause for impressed whispers. Edmund, who just about remembered this speech from when Carwyn had taken him to get his own wand, some weeks after he had arrived at Hogwarts, remembered the awe he had felt. But it seemed that the Normans were less interested. They were not chattering again, true, but the Baron was staring ahead with cold grey eyes, unmoved, and the rest of his men seemed to be mirroring his attitude.

"Hogwarts has stood for some two score years," Carwyn said, unphased by the lack of reaction to his pronouncements, "but the ritual we will take part in today has roots far older than that. I will not simply give you a wand: we must give something to the magic that surrounds us, must make some small sacrifice, and with patience, care and craft, we will be able to gather everything we need from the forest to make you a wand that is truly unique to you." He looked around the crowd before him. "I promise you," he said, "you will see marvels and wonders today. Follow me, and stick to the path: there are things in these woods I would not wish to encounter unarmed."

Edmund wondered uneasily what those things could be. But it was too late to ask Carwyn – the crowd had already begun to move, and it seemed that Carwyn had fallen ahead. There was no way that Edmund would be able to catch up, not with the heavy bags he was carrying. Not that he would want to, either. Falling behind was the entire reason he had come here: at the back of the trail of witches through the woods, he and Robert would be able to talk entirely undisturbed.

As he lagged further back, and witch after witch passed him, Edmund looked for Robert with increasing franticness. Surely, he could not have simply disappeared? He knew that he might be unenthusiastic about owning a wand – perhaps Carwyn's bold claims about the superiority of wanded magic had simply proved to much for the boy, and he had slipped back into Hogwarts? In their conversation on the hunt, he had seemed to have little regard for the castle. But just as Edmund fell to the very end of the procession, the heavy bags swinging and jostling each other, he heard a familiar voice from behind him.

"Edmund?" He turned, and Robert was there. Both smiled. "Thank God," said Robert. "I thought I'd never get the chance to talk with you."

"I could never find the time in the castle," Edmund replied, breathing heavily. He was beginning to regret volunteering to carry both of Carwyn's bags – surely a packmule would be better suited for this task than he would. "I volunteered to help Carwyn out with the wand ceremony because I knew you'd be here, and perhaps we'd have time to-"

"Of course," Robert added, nodding and cutting across him. "This Carwyn certainly has a lot of thoughts about his wands, doesn't he?" He said, one eyebrow raised.

"I was wondering what you thought!" Edmund said, laughing, and for a moment he lost control of the heavy bag he was carrying. It swung just a little more than normal, brusing against his shin, and he winced.

It was not a bad hit, and he barely thought he'd reacted, but Robert was there in a moment. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course," Edmund said, resenting how out of breath he sounded. "Carwyn just gave me these bags, and…" he shrugged, and the bags swung against him again, and he wished he hadn't.

Robert looked at them. "Can't you lighten them by magic?"

Edmund shrugged. "We're not to take our wands into the grove – it's part of the ceremony." He had expected a long answer from Robert, some mockering of Carwyn's insistence on the magic of the wand, but instead the boy just smiled and placed a hand on each of the bags of tools. Instantly, they were lighter – it felt as though they were floating on the air in front of him. "Thank you," he said. He hadn't quite realised how heavy the bags were until he was not bearing the weight of them: now he realised he could hardly tell if he'd have made it deep enough into the wood for the ceremony without Robert's help.

"Of course," said Robert. "I hope I'm not spoiling this ceremony by lending you a hand?"

"Hardly," said Edmund. He grinned. "I might not understand your magic, but it's good to see you, Robert."

There was a moment's pause. "It's good to see you too," Robert said. For just a moment he had seemed distracted. Edmund had a horrible sinking feeling that he was trying to avoid his eye, but it wasn't just that – the boy had been looking over his shoulder entirely, right past him and into the bushes at the side of the trail. Like he was looking for something. "I have to confess," Robert continued, "I've wanted to talk to you for weeks, but I've seen nothing of Salazar."

"Me neither," Edmund said, "not since the night you came." He supposed he should feel disappointment, but he didn't; it was good to be outside the castle, to be talking with Robert as if no time had passed since they last met. "But then there was the chapel this morning, at least…"

For a moment, Robert looked at him blankly. "The chapel?" He asked, and then, a moment later, realised. "Of course, the chapel this morning!" He hesitated, again looking away from Edmund to the side of the road. "That was him?"

"Salazar's the one who does almost all the magic to build the castle," Edmund said. "Ever since he first started becoming reclusive, you sometimes won't see him for weeks or months, but he's still there somewhere, changing and building and rebuilding the castle by magic."

"But Salazar never comes to mass," Robert said, frowning. "So what would he care about the church?"

"I wondered that too," Edmund said, "But it must be him," he said, and he told Robert about the snake carved into the leaves that he'd seen atop the pillar. "The snake at the sorting feast, the carving… it has to mean something, doesn't it?"

"Did it…" Robert frowned, "did it look like an adder?"

"The carving? I suppose so," Edmund said. "I didn't get a close look. Why?"

"Just something I've been wondering about," Robert said. "I'll explain later, I just haven't…" and he stopped directly in the path, starting to wave his arms.

Edmund stared, wondering what he was doing – but a moment later, a shape stirred in the undergrowth, and suddenly a girl burst forth from the bushes.

She was wearing a long hooded cloak and an excess of silver jewellery. No, he realised, not just a girl emerging from the bushes – Helena, daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw. One of the most influential young witches in all of Hogwarts had just erupted from the forest next to them.

Robert seemed significantly less surprised than Edmund. In fact, Robert and Helena were grinning at each other. "I was beginning to think you hadn't managed to leave the castle," Robert said to her. Edmund shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. It felt as though he were not there – neither of them seemed to have any attention to spare him.

"I said I would be by the twisted stump," she replied. Her hands kept clasping to each other, her fingers tapping against her rings, then separating again.

"I've already passed about five twisted stumps," Robert said. "Maybe that wasn't the most useful description to give in the forest." The two of them continued to chatter, and Edmund looked from one of them to the other, and several things quickly became clear to him. Whatever the two of them might be learning in that small classroom off of the scriptorium, it was clear that Latin was only a part of it.

It was not a topic that Edmund had taken much interest in up until now, but fraternisation between young men and women was on the whole rather discouraged at Hogwarts – and that was even when one of their mothers was not the most powerful witch in the land. Marriage was not forbidden, per se – they were not so much a monastery as that – but it was not common. Helga was long widowed before the school had been founded, but none of the other founders had taken a spouse – Helena's parentage was a mystery that would, perhaps have become a scandal within the community, had anyone dared openly speculate on it. Few who were married lived in the community, and on the whole the life of prayer, study and quiet devotion at Hogwarts seemed to leave little space for courtship or romance.

"I'm sorry," Edmund said, interrupting, "but we can't wait anymore. Carwyn will be looking for us if we fall too far behind." He began to set off down the path, and after a moment, they both followed him. He sighed. Surely Robert was not simply using the one time they were able to talk about Slytherin to plot his… he struggled to find the right word… his liason with someone he already saw nearly every day?

Perhaps Robert sensed some of his mood, because he turned to him. "I'm sorry, Edmund," he said. "When you said that the forest was a good meeting place for us… Well, I'd already planned to meet Helena here." He had a strange energy about him: in Helena's presence, he was nothing like he had been on the hunt. "But I feel like this is for the best," he said. "Don't you, Helena?" What did he mean? Edmund thought, beginning to feel resentful. Surely he could appreciate that this business was far more serious than whatever tryst he was trying to arrange with the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw?

Helena looked Edmund up and down. Despite her youth, there was something in the directness of her gaze that reminded Edmund powerfully of her mother and left him feeling uncomfortably like a stag meeting eyes with its hunter. "It's Edmund, isn't it?" she said. "Godric's boy?" Edmund could not decide how he felt about that description, so, unsure of what to say, he nodded. "Robert's told me all about you," she said, as though that should be introduction enough. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She tilted her head, looking at the bags of tools he was carrying. "You said you're working with Carwyn? I didn't realise he took apprentices."

Edmund began to sputter that he was not an apprentice, just helping out for the day, but Robert cut across him. "You see?" He said to Helena, leaving Edmund in the dark again. "It couldn't have worked out more perfectly."

Edmund sighed. Carwyn and the rest of the company were hopelessly far ahead, and he felt he could only be half sure they were following on the correct trail at this point. The woods were looming around them, tall and dark, and he had not entirely forgotten Carwyn's mention of dangerous creatures waiting off the path. He really did not have the patience for any of this. "Robert, what's happening?" He said, and the moment it had left his mouth, he hoped that his tone was not too harsh.

Robert, at least, did not seem to take his outburst badly. "I apologise," he said. "We've both been… well, we've been planning for today for so long that I fear we've rather left you out of all of the excitement – especially since your presence makes this all that much easier." Edmund privately reflected that if Robert was trying to apologise for being mysterious, he was doing a particularly bad job of it. "Helena can help us with Salazar, and with finding what he's doing. And we can help her with what she wants, too."

Edmund thought. He had no doubt that having someone with Helena's connections would be an enormous boon to their efforts to uncover what Slytherin was doing – as long as she could be trusted. True, Robert seemed to have every faith in her, and he would normally trust in Robert's judgement – but there was a distinct possibility that Robert's reason was compromised right now. It was only Godric who had fallen out with Salazar – Rowena and he still surely kept council. But while this closeness might help Helena have information the two of them desparately wanted, why would Helena trust two excitable young apprentices over her mother's close friend?

He sighed, and turned to her. "What is it I'm supposed to do for you, Helena?" He had an unpleasant premonition that whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it.

Helena smiled, her fingers twisting around her rings again. "You're going to steal me a wand," she said.