Authors' Note:

Yellow! How are you all?

This chapter took us ages (lack of inspiration is the only thing to blame this time, unfortunately) but we're finally here to deliver! Most of it was written for ages, but that last part was giving us trouble, and coming back to it several weeks later didn't help until it did.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The universe and characters of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling.

Betas: thepumat. You rule.

Chapter 8

Every house-elf at Hogwarts is called Digby.

The dawn was still a couple hours away when Godric woke up. With his eyes still shut, he stretched his arms above his head, rolled his shoulders and turned to his side, releasing a sigh of comfort. For the first time in who knew how long, he wasn't feeling weary upon waking. He frowned just a little. Slowly, the memories of the previous days filtered through his sleep-addled brain and he sat up with a start.

"Hely!"

A rustle to his right brought his attention to his partner. Sal was half standing up, face contorted in pain and his eyes fixed to Godric's. When he saw him looking his way, Sal gave him a wobbly smile, intended to reassure.

"Good afternoon," Sal murmured. He made the rest of his way to Godric's bed and dropped next to him. Salazar laced their fingers together and squeezed them.

"You're okay," Godric croaked.

"I'm fine. How are you feeling?"

A smile stretched Godric's lips and Sal's face darkened, distress tightening the corners of his eyes. His hand stilled on his knuckles and he moved it to the red-head's neck. He looked up at Godric's storm-clouded features, his breath puffing against his cheek and slotted their mouth together in a chaste kiss. Godric went perfectly still before sighing against his lips and leaned forward in a careful manner, mindful of his movements. Sal grinned in the kiss and tightened his grip on Ric's nape before breaking off abruptly, tilting his head to the side to rest his forehead against his friend's temple.

"Mh." Sal exhaled and closed his eyes. "I'm not putting up with your pretence right now. Try again to see how I like it." Godric's shoulders loosened and he sagged against his pillows, bringing Sal with him.

"Honestly, I feel like my head was split in half with Excalibur's rock."

Salazar's shoulders shook with laughter and he threaded his fingers through Godric's dirty, tangled locks. "That's better. What else?"

"I don't know, so many things happened at once. You were injured and Helga wasn't here." Godric took a deep, shaky breath. "There was a foolish old man who did nothing to help. And when you finally get the help you need and I think there'll be no more surprises, Helena and Baron come back from the dead. There are still too many unanswered questions and I hate not knowing."

The end of his tirade left his heartbeat erratic.

"There, you have it." He patted Godric's cheek, amused, and smiled when Godric rolled them around to press his ear to his chest.

Minutes went by in the quiet room.

"You know I'm going to scold you for your lack of self-care, right?"

"I know," Godric immediately replied in a soft muttering.

"Good." Sal's hand gently brushed away the knots in his fiery hair. He closed his eyes to enjoy this moment of peace, knowing the world kept on spinning outside this tiny room they called a 'hospital'. His breath slowed down and he let himself relax against Sal's warm—alive—body.

He must have dozed off for a while, because the next time he opened his eyes, there was company and Sal was speaking in hushed tones with the healer. When he saw him awake, Sal turned to him and gently punched his shoulder.

"Did you forget to mention you were actually injured?"

Godric looked at Sal with an offended look. "I wasn't injured—"

"You were," informed the matron with a frown. "You had a stab wound on your side, and you're very lucky it didn't get infected while you were playing hide-and-seek."

"I was fine. Sal was the one who needed medical attention."

The Healer—Lady Pomfrey?—lifted an unimpressed eyebrow and it reminded him so much of Rowena, he had to look away. A snap of footsteps later and they were alone once again. Sal came back towards the bed and lifted his hand, knocking two knuckles against his temple before pressing his thumb on the reddened underside of one eye.

He flinched and his fingers twitched by his side at the gesture.

"Let me see," whispered his friend and he let himself lean against his palm.

Sal closed his eyes and pushed gently into his damaged mind.

Slowly and somewhat reluctantly—but always relenting, in the end—Godric opened his mind to Sal. It was hard to focus only on one information at a time, as Godric didn't want to overwhelm Salazar with all that was wrong inside his head. Sal's prodding was patient, not pushing too hard for details Godric wasn't quite ready to share just yet.

Eventually, he settled on showing images of the recent events, starting when they had to use the time-travelling device. The moment Sal sustained his injury, then arriving at the castle in a different time period. His panic when people he didn't know claimed they wanted to help and not knowing whether to trust them. Finally accepting their help was the correct decision, but what had truly worn his barriers down was seeing Helena and Baron again. As though they hadn't died a few weeks earlier, and it didn't break Rowena's heart and mind only a few days ago. A storm battered at his thoughts with high waves of guilt, anger and helplessness. A sharp-edged what about Helga? A tug at him yanked Sal forward and they witnessed the meagre remains of his shield, his thoughts overlapping one another in an endless splatter where they should have been contained, strictly organised and locked away.

Painstakingly, Sal started to pick them up, gathering the lot with a careful touch and leaving them in stacks for him to sort out. Then, thread by thread, Sal began restructuring the shielding around his mind. The process was long and arduous but carry on they did. Godric was better with this kind of magic than Sal, but he was competent enough to build solid foundations on which he himself could spell complex runes for strength, stability and permanence.

In the meantime, they would need to rest and recuperate from this ordeal. And rest, they would.

.

.

Whenever Hermione found a depiction of the founders in one of the books she borrowed from the library, it widely differed from the two men she had seen in the hospital wing. More annoying still, none of the portraits seemed to agree with one another; one portrait showed Salazar Slytherin bald, while another described him with glowing blond hair. A portrait of Godric Gryffindor showed him with a scar on a cheek and another with a bushy beard. Obviously, none of those were correct, unless the two men were using some sort of disguise. Then again, it wouldn't explain why none of the pictures were the same.

She had skimmed half her pile when she felt close to giving up. The Gryffindors were sparsely scattered around the Common Room, giving her space to breathe among her many piles of books. Every ten minutes or so, someone came peeking close but a piercing glare made sure to scare them off.

Hermione carelessly pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and scribbled something on a piece of paper with a few question marks. She stared at it for a few seconds, went back to an old tome of Great Wizards Through The Ages—whose author was so very clearly sexist—and scratched out her notes with deep exasperation.

Then, from the corner of her eye after what seemed like an hour at least, she noticed a dishevelled Harry entering, eyes glued to his Map. She opened her mouth to warn him but before she could speak, he stumbled over a stack she had already skimmed. He cried out and landed on the ground flat on his face. He still clung to the Map like his life depended on it. Hermione set down her quill and leaned over to snatch the item from his hands.

"You earned the right to do without it for the next three hours," she deadpanned.

Harry widened his eyes at her before letting his forehead meet the ground once more, grumbling.

"What was so interesting that you couldn't bother to look where you were going?"

Harry's ears blushed a little and he turned his head to glare at her. She raised an eyebrow and Harry mumbled, rolling over on his back while hiding behind his arms.

She studied it for a few seconds and let out a joyous laugh.

A dot named "Draco Malfoy" was moving away from the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room at a quick pace, no doubt eager to remain unseen by any prying eyes.

"Obsessed much?" Hermione stated, and Harry attempted to snatch the Map from her gripping hands. She folded it up quickly and placed it inside one of the books, standing up in a swift movement with the tome clutched against her chest. She tutted at him. "I said three hours, at least."

Harry groaned and sagged against the sofa in defeat. "You're not even going to do anything with it," he grumbled.

"It's for your own good, trust me." She stepped closer and sat down opposite him. "If you need something to do to clear your mind, you could always take this pile of books back to the library."

Hermione motionned to the stack she had already deemed useless to her research and then went back to reading the volume she was holding, carefully tucking the Map between the pages at the end.

She had no idea how much longer she had been focused on reading, but the next time she lifted her head—and massaged a crick from her neck—her discarded pile was still there and Ron had joined Harry onto the sofa. They were both asleep, as if merely watching her read was boring them immensely even though neither of them had been asked to help with the task.

.

.

A crack echoed and the two men tensed, a dagger appearing in the blonde one's hand—a very thin and small blade he pulled out from his red-headed friend's braid—staring intently towards the door. (He had always been the one who liked putting it there; Ric only indulged him because he thought one never had too many weapons on oneself.)

Before them stood a creature with bat-like ears and papery skin holding a beautiful wooden tray heavy with bowls and plates of every size.

Godric sat up without taking his eyes off the house-elf and said, "I thought I made it abundantly clear that I didn't want to see any of you again."

"It was clear, sirs. We apologise, sirs. Digby wanted not to annoy you," said the house-elf, seeming unfazed but his voice was tight. "Mister Dumbledore asked Digby to deliver a message, sirs."

"Get on with it, then," snapped Godric with a harsh gesture of his hand that the unfocused gaze unconsciously followed.

"Mister Dumbledore is wanting you to stay in the hospital for as long as you need to recover from your injuries, sirs."

With that said, the house-elf deposited the tray onto a side table next to the bed the two men shared.

"Is that all?" Sal inquired with a raised eyebrow.

The creature nodded its round head before being dismissed with a wave. It disappeared in the same way it had appeared, leaving the two men alone together. They shared a glance, without even taking a look at their food, and seemed to share the same thought.

"As I suspected," Godric sighed, "this really won't do."

Sal curled his mouth before raising a hand to Godric's neck. His friend's shoulders rounded automatically. He pushed gently against him to make him turn his back and started undoing his thick braid, admiring the different copper shades of his tresses.

Once his hair was loose, he ran his fingers into the waves to smooth them and started braiding all over again, inserting back the dagger as he wove the strands.

"There, all done." Sal placed a light kiss on his shoulder. Godric turned his head and pressed his ringed fingers against Sal's cheek, tracing the small smile on his lips. "It seems we have a few points to make clear."

Sal tilted his head, a wicked glint glowing in his eyes. In unison, they carefully hopped off the narrow bed and slowly made their way to the hospital wing's exit.

They made it to the Great Hall in no time at all due to their substantial knowledge of the secret passages. They even managed to discover a new one, but Sal insisted they investigate later. Still, Sal was as curious as Godric on the matter, even though he certainly would deny it to his grave.

"Playing grown-up, now?" Godric chuckled.

Sal stared at him blankly. "Do I have to remind you you're not a kid anymore?"

"Now you sound just like Helga. Pretty fair imitation, I might even say." Godric smiled, showing his teeth in the process. "And you loved that kid!"

"Not a kid. A beautiful, young and fierce man with a strangely strong obsession for jewellery."

The man put his arms around Sal's neck, still grinning like a fool. He looked delighted, despite the dark circles under his eyes. Sal pushed against his torso until he was released.

"Later," he murmured. "Let's focus on our objective for now."

They both turned to the double doors of the Great Hall and pushed them open in a loud creak, effectively interrupting whatever nonsense the so-called Headmaster was spouting. Under the curious gaze of the students, the two men confidently strode through the Hall towards the podium. All around, the sudden quiet of the students was replaced by a low hubbub of hushed voices, accompanied by distrustful glances from the reds. At the table of the greens, Sal could see satisfied smirks marring most of their faces, some of them clapping each other on the back while others were passing coins from hand to hand.

Movement drew his eyes to the yellow students next, with kids saluting and waving at them with huge grins, obviously happy to see them there for a reason unknown to Sal and Ric both. None seemed surprised to see them strolling there during their dinner. Those wearing blue on the fourth table were all frowning. Many were lost in thought, it seemed, and all had their heads down.

When the men passed a girl with long, platinum blonde hair, they heard her mutter, "You shouldn't be here," loud enough for them to understand.

Evidently, all students had different opinions on their being there, without even knowing who they were exactly. Some seemed to have an idea, if that previous comment was anything to go by. Nevertheless, Sal found himself warming up to the yellows the most, while Godric found fellow trouble makers in the greens.

Looking ahead, the teachers were trying to hide their own opinions from showing on their faces, but experience told them everything they needed to know: the staff were still cautious around them. It was to be expected, given they were the intruders in this scenario, the odd ones out. However, while true, they also were home in this castle. They had defended it, protected it and its inhabitants and had poured themselves into its very foundations. They knew every nook and cranny of its grounds and nobody could make them feel self-conscious about their presence here. And that was exactly why they were here in the first place: to lay down some ground rules.

Finally, they made it to the podium where Dumbledore was still standing, open-mouthed, more in surprise than anger he noted.

Sal climbed the few stairs and turned around in a pompous motion which managed to draw a small smile out of Godric. Silence fell into the Great Hall, anticipation building at great speed and he intertwined his hands behind his back to compose himself.

Godric didn't bother with the imperious show and sat down directly on the top stair, fixing a point on the wall, looking unconcerned.

Sal raised his chin. "My name is Salazar Slytherin." He glanced sideways at Godric who waved a hand at him. He drew a breath and smiled. "And I would sincerely like to apologise for the commotion I caused upon arrival. I understand that you were greatly disturbed in your studies by all this and it would not sit right with me to further be the cause of your troubles."

He heard several groans coming from the table of the blues.

"Therefore, my friend and I wanted to inform you that we intend to dwell here for some time."

Someone behind him let a cup hit the floor. Godric's stare hardened so much he could have drilled a hole in the wall with his eyes.

A hand shot in the hair and he looked towards the blonde girl from before. "Yes?"

"When are you going back?"

He nodded and said, "It is as unknown to you as it is to us, I'm afraid."

She lowered her hand, looking displeased.

Another hand, more hesitant this time, made itself known above the heads of the students. It was a very young boy with freckles sitting at the end of the reds' table.

"Is it true that you time-travelled?"

A few stunned gazes turned his way and he reddened.

Someone from the head of the greens' table spat a foul word and all of a sudden everyone started talking at the same time.

A woman's voice behind him called for silence but went unheard. Someone even started throwing things around and met their match two tables down.

It was finally when Godric rose from his perch that heads turned back to them and the shouting died down.

"Let it be known that it was unintentional," he grunted. "We have no purpose here other than being left to our own devices. We shall stay until we are able to return to our proper time. That is all." And on that note, he helped Sal down before heading towards the first table he came across to sit and started eating.

They were immediately accosted by students from all tables, asking various questions. One particularly funny one came from a red girl with wild hair. She asked, "How come you don't look like any of the portraits I saw in the books?" Sal erupted in laughter while Godric choked on a piece of sausage he had been in the process of casually chewing.

"History books aren't always accurate, young lady," Godric answered her once he had managed to swallow properly. "More often than not, historians choose to record only what suits them best."

The girl didn't look convinced and seemed about to press the issue, so Sal took the reins of the conversation. He wanted to be left to eat in peace as soon as possible. "We never had our portraits made and people must have found Godric's terrible drawings." He received a harsh elbow in the ribs for his comment, but seeing the embarrassed flush creep along his partner's neck was definitely worth the pain it caused.

All questions asked were innocent in nature, and the duo was able to fill their bellies while answering each of them to the best of their ability, until one question hit a little too close to home and the jolly atmosphere became more sombre. It was asked by one of the youngest students from the yellow table.

"And what about the other two founders? Are they coming here too?"

Sal's contented grin dropped and Godric's mask immediately snapped back in place. "No, they're not. And I don't know where you got this whole idea, but you will cease calling us 'founders'. This sanctuary is older than even I know." He said this in a hard tone that left no room for further questions. He stood, bid goodnight to the children and professors alike in a clipped voice, and made his way back towards the doors of the Hall. Sal excused himself before following him out.

.

.

Helga cast a spell to ferret out every single map in Sal's study, which also happened to be Godric's with how much time he used to spend here. Her expression turned sour and she scowled. One of the maps, stuck behind a trunk, was shaking wildly to free itself from the force of her spell. Charles ran to fetch it before it tore up and added it with difficulty to the pile forming in his grasp.

She opened a few drawers and stared at the perfectly stacked scrolls and books on Godric's desk before waving them away to make space. Half of it ended up flipped open on the floor but with a complex motion of her wand, the awful mess gave way to acceptable chaos. She let her hand fall back heavily on the wood, a hard expression on her face, and closed her eyes.

The crinkling sound of maps being gently laid down in front of her only served to aggravate her pounding headache. She frowned and only opened her eyes when a cup of water was placed on the desk.

"Don't forget to stay hydrated, commander. Taking a break might also be a good idea at this point. You're tired and it would be in no one's interest if you faint while trying to find solutions all by yourself. Please, rest for the night and your research will be all the more effective tomorrow. Trust me."

Helga huffed and took out a bundle of letters from inside her robes. She threw them on the desk and they scattered, two of them tumbling down and ending up on the wooden floor. "Do you see that? That's the reason why I'm not allowed to sleep! Reports from the South, the West and now even from the coast about uprisings and villages burnt to the ground. Creatures we've never seen in these parts lurking around every corner. Nocturnal animals attacking innocents in broad daylight. And don't get me started on the rampage the infected are causing in our home towns."

She was left panting by her ranting. Charles stared pointedly at the glass of water and she took a sip to soothe his worries. He stepped around the desk and gently grabbed one of the yellowed letters.

He frowned, his eyes skimming over the words until they landed on the odd signature at the bottom of the page. "This one is not a report from daily encounters and disturbances."

Helga nodded. "It isn't."

She sighed and moved around the desk to stand in front of the window, her hands clasped behind her back. Charles' frown deepened the more he read.

"Lady Rowena left you instructions for the device." He hummed and after a time, she saw him open his mouth slightly through the window's reflection. Helga closed her eyes at his silence. "My Lord Godric had it on his person when he left, didn't he?"

She didn't answer, but it wasn't necessary. He never was the best warrior, but he was a quick thinker and it didn't take him much time to come to the same conclusion as her. He inhaled sharply.

Helga turned to face him and opened her tired brown eyes. Slowly, she reached inside her collar and tugged on a thin leather chain, retrieving a small, dull hourglass. Her smile was deprecating, not reaching her eyes. "I don't know where they are, Charles."

Charles took another look at the letter in his hand and set it gently on the desk. He turned his back and called to the painting of the countryside that took most of the wall. After a few seconds, a man took a peek into the frame.

"Sir?"

"Find me Dagon this instant and bring him here. There are matters of import he needs to hear."

Helga curled her lips at this name and turned around when she didn't hear a response.

"Ah… my apologies, sirs. To my knowledge, mister Dagon hasn't returned yet," the man said, fiddling with his straw hat.

Hearing this, Charles took a step back, grabbed his coat and put it on hastily.

"I'm taking my men down to the patrolling area. If he's not there, we'll extend the search party as far as need be."

Helga watched him go with a sour expression and mumbled, "Who knows if finding him would be preferable to his disappearance."