Disclaimer: Everything here (besides the few things you don't know) belongs to JK Rowling, creator of the worlds of Harry Potter.

A/N: My most sincere apologies for posting this chapter this late on Tuesday. I am afraid that circumstances did not allow me to upload it earlier - my hand is… somewhat damaged and in pain, so it was hard for me to type. Forgive me?

Either way, shorter chapter than usual, but I think that there's a limit to the amount of angst one can consume in one chapter - don't you? Things will lighten up before the end of this story, I promise you all, but this chapter and the next are not going to be very happy ones. Sorry. I hope you will enjoy them all the same…

Tell me what you think!

Chapter 27 – Falling Apart

"The question of what Salazar Slytherin did after his departure from the Castle of Hogwarts is still mostly unanswered. We know that he had left the region of Scotland as quickly as he possibly could and fled south. Where he ended up after all those years, is uncertain. Some say that he settled in a small village north-west of London. Some say he traveled into London itself and hid himself among the society of that town. Others went as far as to suggest that he had taken refuge in a monastery, but most modern researchers rule out that theory as preposterous.

"All we know for certain, through the records kept in the school's registry, is that close to the assumed time of Salazar's demise, the other three Founders left the school at the same time, not returning for two days - long enough time to visit their dying friend.

"What actually came to pass is unknown, but we may assume that they have reconciled their differences…"

-Hogwarts, A history; Author unknown

Helga was restless. After reading the letter Salazar had sent Rowena, she wordlessly left the hall, knowing that the others would go to ponder the meaning of it alone soon after. She did not know what to think, her mind and heart were in such turmoil, that she could not think clearly, could not form thoughts in her head. She wanted to laugh bitterly at the cruel twist of fate. She wanted to cry and let out all the pain she felt.

Salazar was dying. Her wonderful Salazar, for whom she still held love, was dying. It was unthinkable, inconceivable. She could stand having him away, she could stand the separation, but for the life of her she could not stand to think him dead. Gone for ever.

What was he thinking? In the name of all that he held sacred, what was Salazar thinking when he had left? Maybe he did not mean to leave for ever. Maybe he only wanted to let the distance soften the hearts of them all. Maybe he needed some time to himself. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

She barely resisted the urge to punch a wall as hard as she could. The frustration she felt at seeing those words - ink on parchment - started building within her, looking for a way out.

I would like to see Helga and Godric one last time…

She did not say anything to the agitated Rowena, but she wanted to see him one last time as well. She could not let twenty years of companionship, not to speak of a decade of love, disappear as though they had never existed. She wanted to say farewell, if nothing else, or perhaps offer her forgiveness to the stricken man. She was a compassionate woman. She could not let someone's suffering bypass her without responding to it, trying to make everything better.

But then… he had left them. He had done so many bad things. He had initiated the attacks on the Muggle-born students and he had fanned the flames of prejudice and hate. He had left without a word of remorse, without an admittance of regret. He had very nearly destroyed the work of two decades in a blink of an eye. Did he deserve clemency? Did he deserve to be given the chance to cleanse his soul before dying? Did he deserve having Godric and herself visit his deathbed? Did he deserve being seen as a human being?

Entering her quarters, she found Rhian helping Albin with his runes, Heddwyn telling a story to Arianrohd and Dewydd, and her youngest girl, Eydis, fast asleep by the fireplace. Ilar was nowhere to be found, possibly in the village, helping his father with this or that. It was not that she minded him leaving Rhian and Heddwyn in charge of their little brothers and sisters, but the fact that he was not there at that specific moment irked her. She needed support. She needed someone to help her make up her mind. She knew Ilar would not be biased, even though he had known all about the relationship once shared between his wife and Salazar. He was a good man. But where was he when she needed help?

Smiling at her children despite her inner turmoil, she crossed the main chamber and into the bedchamber. Once there, with the door safely shut behind her, she began pacing back and forth, trying to reason with herself. The only problem was that she did not know with what side she should reason. She did not know what she wanted to do.

With a sigh of despair, she allowed herself to fall on the bed. Lying with her back on the covers, she stared at the ceiling, remembering, calling back memories of years past. She did not shy away from the bad recollections. She brought them up from the recesses of her memory, putting them on an imaginary scale in her mind. On the other side she piled all her good memories, of times shared alone with Salazar, of times scolding him as he grinned boyishly at her, of times she nagged him to eat because he had forgotten to do so in his spur of creativity… there were so many memories to sift through and choose, so many years together.

The scale tipped.

She made up her mind.

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"I'm coming with you," Helga said firmly as she entered Rowena and Godric's bedchamber mere hours after the letter had arrived, her face set. Rowena, who had been busily packing a small bag with necessities as Helga knew she would be, stopped and looked up at her, one eyebrow quirked up in question.

"I want to say goodbye," she explained softly, not needing Rowena to voice the question evident in her eyes. "Tell him that I do not hate him. Rowena, I could not live with myself if he were to die thinking I hate him. He still means so much to me. I could not bear it."

One side of Rowena's mouth rose in a sad sort of smile. She did not say anything. She did not need to. Sitting on the bed, feeling strangely relieved that Rowena did not question her reason, Helga looked around her. She half-expected seeing Godric standing by the door, scowling at his wife and her decision. He was not there, however, and her curiosity won over.

"Where is he?"

"Hmm?" Rowena mumbled distractedly, seemingly finding it hard to decide whether she would need her heavy cloak or not.

"Godric. Where is he?"

"Oh," she said, returning the cloak to the heavy, carved wooden chest by the east wall. She turned to face Helga and shook her head. "I don't know. After you went away he strode off without another word. I didn't even get the chance to look at his face, so I cannot even guess as to what is going on in his head. I haven't seen him since."

"Did he… give any indication that he would be coming?"

Rowena made a face that showed her helplessness and uncertainty. "As I said, I didn't see his face. He's a closed book to me when I can't even see what his eyes are saying. The chances are equal either way. He was hurt badly by Salazar's departure. It had been worse for him than it had been for you, even. I can't even begin to fathom how much pain he felt at what Salazar had said back then. I don't know, Helga. I really can't tell."

"Well, then. I'll go packing then, shall I?"

"Do that. I will meet you in an hour's time by the front doors. I will just have a quick word with the others, tell them where we are going and how long they will need to be without us. Then I need to hunt down Ceri and Ryan and tell them they are on their own for a little while - I don't know how Godric is at the moment. I will ask them to help Ilar with the little ones, if you want. They're always happy spending time with Eydis, Dewydd and Arianrohd - not to mention Albin, Heddwyn and Rhian. They will have the time of their lives."

Nodding her thanks, Helga went back to her quarters. Again finding Ilar to be absent, she shortly told Rhian that she was in charge until their father's return, and instructed her to tell him that she had gone to bid farewell to an old friend. She also said that if they needed help, then they should immediately go to Ryan and Ceri, who were older than them all. That done, she packed a few things she deemed essential for the trip and soon was ready to go, physically, if not mentally.

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"Ready?" Rowena asked her with a sad smile, echoing the question that still lingered in Helga's mind.

Was she ready? She was far from certain concerning that. But looking at her friend, and remembering what she had felt upon reading the letter, she knew she was not about to back out of it. She may not be ready, but she would go through with it.

"Yes," she said firmly, assuring herself.

"Are we leaving now?"

Both women turned in alarm at the voice which came from behind them. Helga could barely stop the small smile that tried to appear on her lips. She should have known. Behind them, leaning on the doorframe of the Great Hall, was Godric, a bag slung over his shoulder, his sword buckled to his waist and his clothes simple and fit to travel. His face was calm, but she knew all too well that he had spent the past few hours agonizing over his decision just as she had. She was glad to see that he had made the right choice.

"What?" he asked, answering the surprised expression on his wife's face. "Did you think I would let my best friend since childhood die like that without saying farewell?"

Rowena did not say anything. Instead, she closed the distance between them and kissed him soundly, making Helga turn around with a flushed face. It had been a very long time since the two had shown affection to each other publicly. She was no longer accustomed to it.

"You've grown up," she heard Rowena softly tell Godric.

"I had to learn the hard way," he replied, just as softly. "My damned pride cost me too much already. I'm not about to let it stop me now."

"Good," Helga said, interrupting the couple's private moment. "Then I suggest we get moving. We have a friend to visit. We would not want to be late."

This comment, though it was supposed to be flippant, sobered their mood immediately. Reading between the lines of Salazar's letter, his time was extremely short. For the first time since that letter had arrived, Helga's mind focused on the fact that it may already be too late, and that by the time they would arrive London, all they would find would be a freshly dug grave. Salazar was never one to overestimate the severity of a situation. If he said that he had little time, then it was true.

Swallowing the lump that had risen up her throat, she determinedly shook the tears that were imminent in coming, and, not waiting for her friends, walked through the double doors and into the afternoon air which suddenly felt bitterly cold.

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Apparating once they had left the perimeter of the Apparition Shield, the three friends found themselves outside a farm in a foreign landscape.

"Where are we?" Godric asked Rowena, who was the one to direct their shift through the long distance.

"Outside Sir Cedric's home, north-west of London," she replied. "He and his family have been running this farm for years now. Mother told me about it at one time, saying that he was a very hospitable man and that he knows everything there is to know about the London magic society. If anyone can tell us where we can find Salazar, he is the man."

"It's been years since last we've heard from him," Godric said. "His grandchildren should be old enough for school in a short while, no?"

"Possibly, but we're not looking for more students at the moment, Godric. Let us go in."

Helga, who had remained quiet all the while, followed her two friends into the clean, wide court in front of the farmhouse.

Sir Cedric was just as loud and boisterous as she had remembered him to be from the days of the confrontation with the Council. Albeit older and much slower due to certain problems that come with advancing age, the man did not lose his charm, nor did he lose his tendency to tell embarrassing stories at the most unfortunate of times. At seeing them standing on his doorstep, he immediately invited them to spend the night and then borrow horses from him in the morning and he would direct them to where they would find their missing friend.

Though anxious of the wasted time, all three were aware that it was much too late to start the journey to London, which would take several more hours. Reluctantly, they accepted Sir Cedric's invitation, and spent the night with him and his family.

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Early morning found the three riding on their way to the house of Salazar Slytherin. Helga sat drooped in her saddle, silently thanking Sir Cedric for letting her borrow the very docile dappled mare she was riding. She did not think she could handle the feisty stallion Godric had been given, or even the spirited, long-legged mare Rowena was riding. She had had a horrible night, restless and sleepless, and she could only barely keep her eyes open.

Whenever she had closed her eyes that night, she saw Salazar's face, pained, lined, old. She could see him suffering. She could see him dying. Those visions did not let her sleep. They did not allow her a moment's rest, and now they haunted her waking hours as well. As they neared London she could see his form in every tree stump they bypassed, in every bush and every cloud. She thought she was becoming insane, that she was losing her grip on the sane, normal world.

It was a quiet journey. None of them felt like saying anything. Helga knew they all had the same fear in mind. They all dreaded finding that grave instead of their friend. They dreaded being too late.

Even the weather seemed to portray their bleak frame of mind. It was autumn, and the falling leaves, the cast sky and the light drizzle that started falling sometimes during midmorning did nothing to lift their dampened spirits. The wind whistled, the sound of its passing reminiscent of a cry of a banshee, telling of a man's death. Even nature wept for their lost friend.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Rowena reined in her horse, closely followed by Godric and Helga.

"This must be it," she said weakly, barely heard above the howl of the wind. "We have followed Sir Cedric's directions. This has to be it."

Standing there on a small rise of the ground, the three friends stayed motionless for a long time, none of them daring to be the first to lead their horse down to the house that was right before them, on the very outskirts of magic London.

Helga tried to make her mare move, but found her hands not responding. Her body conspired against her. She did not know what stopped her. Was it fear? Perhaps. But fear of what? Now that she was being honest with herself, only a short ride away from his house, she could not be sure anymore if it was the fear of finding him dead. She was afraid of something entirely different. She was afraid of rejection.

What if the letter was sent to Rowena with no intention of really wishing to see Helga again? What if he had only meant it figuratively and would turn his back on her when he would catch glimpse of her face? She knew she had hurt him badly, but he had hurt her even more. And who was to say who was right after all this while? She certainly could not.

Still standing there, she helplessly looked at the house, knowing, defeated, that she could not make that final step. Not by herself.

Without a warning, startling both women, Godric shook his reins, and sent his steed flying down the rise. Looking Helga's way, Rowena shrugged with a soft smile and followed.

Helga was left alone on the rise. She was still frozen in place, not sure of whether she should follow them or remain there until they returned. As it turned out, it was not her choice to make.

The mare, being the submissive, docile animal she was, followed the leader of her pack, not needing Helga to touch the reins even once. Eyes wide, Helga found herself riding beside Rowena and Godric, and finally arriving at journey's end.

As they neared the gate of the low thatched stone cottage that was their destination, she felt her heart hammering loudly in her chest. She had not felt so since the first day Salazar had kissed her - when she was just an innocent young girl. The cottage was deceptively beautiful, effectively hiding the tragedy she was sure would soon occur within its walls. She kept her tears in check, but she knew that the dam she created would not hold for long.

The carefully carved stones fitted together almost seamlessly, the trademark of a wealthy wizarding home. The smooth wall was clean and had no blemishes of weather, but from the heavy cover of ivy hanging from it, she knew it must be much older than it appeared to be. Not exactly the place she expected to find Salazar Slytherin in.

Dismounting the horses, they tethered them to the fence surrounding the cottage. The small gate opened at Rowena's light touch, not a squeak marking their passage into the well-kept garden surrounding the small house. A bee buzzed past as they walked down the carefully weeded cobblestone trail leading to the front door, making its way to the meticulous vegetable patch to one side, where magically kept tomatoes and cucumbers grew out of season.

There were flowerbeds surrounding the walls, and in the open windows, lace curtains stirred in the light breeze. It felt too feminine to Helga. Men rarely bothered with such things.

The hammering of Helga's heart intensified as Rowena walked determinedly up the single step before the door and firmly knocked on the weathered wood.

Time stopped.

Then hurried footsteps were heard, and she could hear a latch being moved.

Expecting to see Salazar, though considering he was dying, she realized later what a foolish thought that had been, she was morbidly shocked to see a rather young woman in the opening.

The woman had short, curly blond hair, gathered in a head kerchief. The curls that escaped the kerchief bounced prettily to either side of a heart-shaped, freckled face, in which a pair of eyes was a warm brown. She was wearing a simple gown of fine, brown cloth, covered by a big apron, stained with various substances. She was small and dainty, and appeared to be of a rather sunny disposition normally, but now her eyes were red-rimmed and there were dark patches under her eyes. She was exhausted.

Maybe she is a neighbour coming to assist an ill man…

"How may I help you?" she asked quietly, her voice cracked with fatigue.

Maybe she is a woman whom Salazar had hired to help him in his illness…

"Is this the house of Salazar Slytherin?" Rowena asked confidently.

Maybe she is the landlady of this house and he is only a lodger here…

"It is," the woman said with a slight nod of her fair head. "I am Maeve Slytherin. His wife."

No.

Until that very moment Helga had still believed that he had remained unattached, that his heart, though broken, was still hers. Her heart broke. He really had given her up. She ignored the nagging voice telling her that she had given him up earlier.

"I see," Rowena said, not giving sign to the surprise that she must have felt at hearing that. Helga knew that there was no way Rowena could have known because of the way her friend's half-clenched fingers straightened and then curled again. Rowena was uncomfortable.

"Did you know he got married, Wena?" Godric asked, not masking his surprise.

"No. I never received word of him until that last letter," Rowena replied and returned her attention to the waiting Maeve. "I'm sorry. We did not know that Salazar was married, it caught us a little by surprise."

"We only married two years ago," Maeve said, pain marking her eyes. "I never thought it would end so quickly."

"Don't say that!" Helga found herself crying out, and then cursing herself for drawing the woman's attention.

The brown eyes focused on her, taking in her countenance and figure. Maeve surveyed them all, her eyes widening at the quality of their traveling clothes, at their proud horses, standing by her garden gate, at Godric's sword. "Who are you all?" she asked in a very small, awed voice. "How do you know my Salazar?"

"I am Rowena Ravenclaw," Rowena introduced herself, sending only a quick warning glance in Helga's direction. "These are Godric Gryffindor and Helga Hufflepuff. We are old friends of Salazar."

"How can you be old friends of his, if he had never mentioned you?" the younger woman demanded fiercely, suddenly suspicious. "He always maintained he had no connections! You lie!"

The three friends exchanged glances. Both Godric and Helga nodded at Rowena to explain. She sighed, her fingers going up to her temple in that painful manner she had acquired years before. Helga had tried to stop her from doing it, but it had become a habit, the only sign even showing her family and friends that she was exhausted or distressed.

"We had a falling out," finally Rowena let out, allowing her hand to drop back down. "Three years ago. He left our home in anger and hadn't been in touch ever since then. Until last week, that is, when we received this letter from him." She pulled the crumpled parchment from her waist pouch and handed it to Maeve. "Examine it if you will. It is his handwriting."

Maeve only briefly glanced at it. "I cannot read. I thought Salazar could not either. I see he had been keeping many secrets from me." Then her face dropped and she sighed resignedly. "Come in, please. I will tell him he has guests."

She moved aside, enabling them to enter the house. The brightly lit entryway with its two windows flung open was cheerfully decorated with handmade quilts and stitch work. On a tall pedestal to one side was a squat glass vase with red, pink and yellow flowers and across the hall from it was a nicely painted portrait. It was not a masterpiece, certainly not the equal of many of the portraits gracing Hogwarts' walls, but the figure in it was easily recognized as Salazar. An older, more tired Salazar, but him all the same.

Helga stopped by the portrait, transfixed to it. She could not help but feel that he had aged considerably in the three years they had not seen him, and she dreaded to think what would bring along such a drastic change. Then Rowena called to her and she continued walking hastily, not wishing to be caught staring at him, especially not when his wife was there.

From the entry Maeve led them through a spacious kitchen equipped with multiple pots and pans and a big fireplace, everything pristine and polished. Salazar's wife was an orderly one who liked her house to be meticulously clean and tidy. There were flowers there as well, in several vases.

Through an open doorway to one side, they walked into a pleasant sitting area with a lit fire in the elaborate fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls. There, Maeve gestured them to take seats, which they did. Rowena sat by Godric, who had almost absent-mindedly grasped her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. Helga almost wished someone was there to do the same with her. Guiltily, she caught herself thinking of Salazar and not of Ilar, which was preposterous, of course. They were both married to other people, and she was happy with Ilar. He gave her all his love and he was there for her after Salazar had told her he did not love her. She had six children with him, each one sweet and intelligent, loving and well-behaved. She could not have asked for a more perfect life.

But she did. She wished she still had Salazar.

It did not take Maeve long to return from the back of the house where she had disappeared to minutes before. She walked more slowly now, a very small girl's clutching her skirts as she approached. "If you would wait a while longer," she said in a soft voice, "I would like to allow him some time to compose himself. He dislikes being seen as he is at the moment."

They all nodded in confirmation and then silence spread in the room. Maeve stood to the side, her hands clenching and unclenching as she watched the three uncertainly. She did know what these strangers wanted and Helga could see that she was upset by Salazar's obvious deceit of the past three years. Bitterly, she thought that this young woman was not the only one the scoundrel had deceived.

Finally, in an attempt to penetrate the oppressive quietness of the room, Godric made an effort to begin some sort of a conversation. "And who is this stunning young lady?" he asked kindly, smiling at the little face that peeked from behind Maeve's skirts. The little girl, with her shiny black plaited and tied with red ribbons, giggled at him and hid her face in the fine brown cloth.

"Her name is Alastriona," Maeve answered, her tired face splitting into a smile that changed her whole demeanor, showing the pretty woman that she was. "Our daughter. She is two winters old and very smart for her age, Salazar says. She's the joy of my life." Her smile faded. "I wished to have a big family… to give him strapping young sons. But…" she sniffed.

"I know what you mean," Helga hurriedly said, for though still slightly jealous, she felt for the woman, knowing what it was like to lose Salazar. "I have six of my own, and they are making my life delightful."

"Six?" Maeve sounded incredulous. "And you still look like you do? It is a marvel!"

Helga did not know if to take it as an insult or a compliment, so she gave the other woman a weak smile instead of answering.

"Why don't you sit down, Mistress Maeve?" Rowena asked politely. "I feel rather embarrassed to be sitting comfortably like this when you are standing."

Maeve, who appeared to have been raised on a different set of standards, looked quite surprised at Rowena's suggestion. She hesitated for a while and then, firmly grasping Alastriona's little hand, she timidly sat at the edge of a chair, her daughter on her lap. For a while longer they all sat in quiet.

Then, her face changing from mild apprehension to desperate need, Maeve turned to them all and said in a pleading voice "Please, is his past so hideous as to make it unbearable for me to know it? I… I beg you! Please tell me - is my husband hiding evil deeds from me that he had never told me a thing?"

Startled by the passionate plea, the three friends exchanged glances. This time, Rowena pointedly looked at Helga, as though telling her that this was her duty. Knowing she was right, Helga sighed and got up, kneeling by the distressed woman, taking those young hands in hers.

"Salazar Slytherin is, was and always will be a good man, Mistress Maeve," she said softly, looking straight into those brown eyes. "He had made mistakes in his past, but then, we all do, and none of his mistakes condemn him. I cannot be sure, but knowing Salazar as well as I do, I believe that he had told you nothing of his past because it had pained him so much. He regretted some of the things he had done, regretted words that were said in the heat of an argument and deeds done under the influence of anger. Do not be afraid of him because of those secrets. He did not hide them to hurt you, but to protect you, your daughter, and himself."

Maeve's eyes brimmed with tears that she shook irritably. "You're her, aren't you?" she asked in a sad voice. "You're the one he had left behind. And those children you were speaking of - they're his, aren't they?"

Helga felt a pang of pain at this, but masked it as well as she could. She shook her head. "Whatever had been between Salazar and myself had died long ago. I am married to a good man and the children are all my children through him. You have nothing to fear from me."

Maeve shook her head as well, sadly and slowly. "You may have married and found new love, but he never had. I know it all too well. Come," she abruptly changed her tone of speech and got up after releasing her hands from Helga's grip and picking up Alastriona. "I think we have given him time enough."

She walked briskly away, expecting them to follow her. Helga walked at the back of the group, shaking violently at the words the woman whom Salazar had married just pronounced. She could feel the tears that she had been fighting all day coming up, and she knew that she would not be able to push them down again. They were about to see Salazar again, and he was dying.

As per usual, thanks very much to all those who reviewed and let me know what they thought of the previous chapter! I am so happy to read each and every one of your reviews! Thank you!

Next chapter: Tuesday, as usual. But if you're really craving my work, then you can go and read my Marauders fic, newly rewritten (author alerts haven't been issued because I only replaced the first chapter and not started it again as a new story…) - yes, I know, self-publicity is in poor taste, but still… ;)

Hope you enjoyed this chapter and not run away because these few chapters are a little depressing!

Hugs and kisses,

-Star of the North