Salazar met the three others at a tavern, one late night.
He had been riding. He tied up the horse and entered.
At the time, he hadn't known that his life would change forever.
But it was better to not know the future.
Seers are mad, and will always be.
Predicting your death doesn't help you.
Godric was swooning over the women as always, his eye on the black-haired woman that was Rowena.
Helga was sweeping the floor – she had previously been a maidservant.
Rowena had come over to him; now that he thought of it, they had been good friends, as children.
But it wasn't proper for the aristocrat's son to frequent the seamstress's daughter, even a very educated one.
"Salazar," she nodded.
He bent down and pressed his lips to her hand. "Rowena, all the pleasure is mine."
"It is in execution, Salazar."
He stares at her blankly before he understands.
"Come," Rowena's dark eyes bore into his. She motioned for him to follow her, in front of where Godric was. "Godric, this is my childhood companion, Salazar Slytherin. Salazar, this is my acquaintance, Godric Gryffindor. He will help us put my plan in execution."
"And where is Helga?" asked Godric, nodding curtly at Salazar. He seemed like a most restless fellow.
"She will be off in some time, presumably prior midnight," replied Rowena.
"Ah." Godric turned to Salazar. "Would you care for a pint of mead?"
Salazar nodded. "Of course," he said quietly.
This evening, he sensed, will prove most enlightening and productive.
And he is right.