You haven't seen her in weeks.

But she's the one person you can't forget.


"You were always the quiet one," says Godric, sounding unusually not antagonistic, "but this is overdoing it. You've been shut in here for weeks. What the hell is going on?"

The library's shelves loom over Salazar, but they seem less intimidating now, or perhaps he's learned not to notice it. After all, she liked books like they were her other lover, and it's too painful to recall.

"Don't tell me that you're still hung up on her," Godric says, correctly guessing the root of Salazar's silence. "She left three weeks ago and she's not coming back. She came to do what she'd promised."

"Why are you here?" asks Salazar, growing more irritated. "We're not friends."

"Aw, you hurt my feelings." Godric feigns anguish, but after a moment of stony silence, he sobers. "Fine. I'll leave you alone to wallow in your feelings, because that's healthy, not maturely expressing your feelings to a comrade."


He hadn't meant to walk in on her. She had her back to him, her naked backside leaving nothing to the imagination. Her long, raven-colored hair hung to her mid-back and she was toying with the strands, admiring her reflection in the mirror. It whisked through the air as she spun around, glaring at him and holding a dress to her bare chest.

"Get out!"

He couldn't describe the feelings he felt at that moment, but it certainly wasn't unpleasant.


"You can trust me, you know."

Salazar barely refrained from rolling his eyes as Godric slid onto the barstool next to him, gazing at him with sympathy. He had a glass of champagne in his hand and he was dressed smartly. Salazar envied his ability to appear at ease.

"You're still thinking about her, aren't you?" Godric said, once again aptly probing into his thoughts. "Look, there's a pretty witch over there. The one in a navy blue robe. She keeps looking at you. I think —"

"Don't," says Salazar harshly, and Godric falls silent, casting a concerned look at his friend.


She giggled, her raven hair fanned out around her shoulders. "I should've known better than to fall into bed with you."

"A very wise decision," he purrs, before he nips at her collarbone and she gasps, shivering at his touch. Her skin is warm and soft, and her fingers, when they dig into his back, are callused from the pages of many forgotten books.


"You look terrible."

It's been two years, and Salazar has forgotten all about her until he saw her in Hogsmeade yesterday, and he has another bout of despair.

"You look like you haven't slept in a while."

Only one night, but one night is enough. The memories paint the skin under his eyes gray and black.


Her face is cold, unfeeling. "It was a one-time occurrence," she says. "I will never make that mistake again. I will never be so weak."

And Salazar has lost his composure, for once, because he is not as strong as her. "Didn't it mean anything to you?"

"No." Her expression doesn't waver. "It meant nothing."

"I love you," he tries desperately, pathetically, because no woman has ever caught his eye or set his heart aflame as she did. He does not love her, and she knows it.

"You will find others," she says stoically, "to warm your bed. My journey awaits me. I cannot delay it for someone I have no future with or I will never love."


Rowena Ravenclaw. Her. Rowena.

Salazar will never forget her.

But she has forgotten him.


601 words

1000 - 824. Restriction: Only Founders Era characters