Godric spent a night at Slytherin Manor and left the next morning. While in many ways he preferred the comforts of his friend's home, most of what he enjoyed was really the avoidance of responsibility. A member of Lord Denson's—no, his—soldiering party had been sent to the King. He was certain a summons was coming for him, commanding his presence before the King sooner than these trials. He would have to receive it in his own house.

Despite this new direct authority, his kind simply did not seek audience with the King. Even if he had spells to protect him from any harm, it would cause outrage. Not even Sadrabald seemed to communicate directly with the King; Salazar had implied his father spoke through a close confidante. The mistrust ran deep, even if Godric thought that mistrust came from superstition and not evidence.

When, really, had wizards been a threat to Muggles? And if they had, when had they been a greater threat than other Muggles had been to each other?

Speaking—arguing—of this last night, Salazar let his feelings run freely.

"It is jealousy, Godric. We have a power they do not. Muggle nobility, kings especially, know how fragile their power is. They need to tie it to their own religion, convince their subjects to fear them. Then they see our magic, and with it they see the real power we hold. The real feats we can perform."

"Perhaps they are jealous, Salazar, but we do not really know what is in their hearts. We cannot assume that they all fear us. We have a King now who wishes to work with us. To trust us," Godric said.

"To use us, if we are not careful."

"Then why participate, if you are concerned about the King's bad faith?" Godric asked.

"Because I can use him, too. Wizarding nobility should have a place in the Court. We should not have to live on the outskirts."

"If you really believed that, why not just take the Court? You certainly have the ability, the funds to raise an army, even," Godric said, knowing he was baiting his friend.

"What army would follow a wizard?"

"The one I led. They had no issue with me."

"That is because you succeeded. If you had failed, they would not have just blamed you, they would have blamed all of us. They are just waiting for a reason to make us the enemy. You may be oblivious to it, but this is what they whisper to each other, to themselves," Salazar said.

"If that is what you believe."

"It is what I know. I have peered into their minds. They do not trust us."

"Then we must do the hard work of building that trust. Maintaining it."

Godric knew he did not change Salazar's mind. In all likelihood, he never would. Perhaps, one day, his friend would live to see some evidence of the contrary. He hoped this King would begin to create that evidence.

The journey back to Gryffindor Manor was not terribly long or eventful, with much of it spent sailing in Godric's enchanted ship, which knew the way home. From the harbor it was half a day's ride. As expected, the Lord and Lady Gryffindor had a small feast prepared and peppered him with questions about the expedition. Godric held back no details.

"The magic you saw greatly concerns me, much more than the dragon," said Lord Gryffindor. "This is what happens when wizarding folk become too isolated."

Godric had heard this speech of his fathers' many times before.

"Yes, despite our proclivities for living on the outskirts, we must find ways towards togetherness," Lady Gryffindor said, putting a hand on her husband's, hoping to head off a much longer, more meandering version of what she stated. "Tell us, what will you say to the King about all of this?"

As expected, a letter had arrived summoning Godric to the King early to give an account of what happened. He figured he would stay in Diagon Alley after to await the trials.

"I am not sure yet. Surely he must know of the vile magic the Vikings allowed. He must also know that we did not perform such treachery," Godric said.

"But you will tell him you used magic freely, openly?" his mother asked. While Godric could play upon emotions like his father, his mother possessed more cunning. Godric knew that what she really asked was something more subtle.

"I believe I must. It was, after all, Lord Denson's orders not to use magic, not the King's. If our King is holding trials for a Court Wizard, he should not be angry."

"Such consistency is not how men's minds or hearts work, Godric. You should know that by now," Lady Gryffindor said.

"That is a risk I am willing to take."

The very next day, it was a risk he took. Strolling through the Muggle streets of Lundenburg, Godric found himself rather quickly at the Court. A rather large building in both width and height given the time, though not quite as tall as a tower, made from heavy stones that gave it an imposing quality. Guarded out front by ten soldiers in full uniform, it was unmistakeable.

Godric approached, his crimson and gold garb glowing even beneath the full sky of clouds. He presented the letter from the King, Royal Seal and all, and was ushered directly in. The entrance hall had high ceilings and good light through stained glass, the images of past royalty and Muggle religion adorning them. He was led through this hall, through a large door and emerged, after a brief announcement, into a smaller chamber where he was surprised how close he stood to the King.

He bowed low. While he was still bent, the King spoke.

"You may be surprised, Master Gryffindor, how much of a King's life is spent waiting."

"My deepest apolo—"

"It is why the throne is made to be so comfortable," the King said, and smiled.

He looked not too much older than Godric, perhaps ten years at most. Godric was surprised that the King, with no gray in his hair or beard, was younger than his father. His smile looked genuine, with more curiosity and humor than cunning and secrecy.

"I understand Lord Denson did not return with you. A pity. How did he die?"

"A dragon, my liege," Godric said.

The King took a solemn expression, then, perhaps trying to hide surprise.

"I have heard rumors about this from the men. I hoped it was not true. What happened to this dragon?"

"I killed it, with the assistance of the three wizards in our ranks. We fought with our wands," Godric said. No point in hiding that they used magic, that was what he came here to admit.

The King nodded slowly, processing. He seemed cautious—no, careful.

"That was after I killed a wizard the Vikings sent to ambush the camp."

This provoked a tilt of the head.

"It seems unlike them. The Vikings are even more superstitious people than we are. I cannot imagine they would tolerate such a member amongst them."

"I did not think so, either, and it was the threat of revealing this information to his men that made the Viking lord surrender."

"An interesting gambit. I am sure Lord Denson would have simply slaughtered them all after they signed their surrender, if he waited that long. Most concerning is that the Vikings do not return here. They have not sent a raiding party for some time, and I hoped this would encourage them not to for a long time yet. Let them know we have built our strength. It seems to me you have shown them our might. Very well, you may go."

With another bow, Godric left, wondering if he knew the King would see him again in less than two weeks' time. As he exited, he passed a well-dressed man with a short, gray beard and dark, harsh eyes. He paid Godric no attention, bursting through the door, unannounced.

Godric made straight for Diagon Alley.

Rowena was taking payment from a local witch for some Mallowsweet and Lacewing flies when Godric came in. She had not expected him here, assumed he would be away at his family's manor until the trials. It was a pleasant surprise.

"Anything I can help you with today, Godric?" she asked after bidding the witch goodbye.

"Do you have a potion that will put me to sleep for a fortnight?"

"Feeling a bit nervous, are we?" One side of Rowena's mouth curled up in a smile. It was rare that Godric, usually so boisterous and cocky, seemed anything but.

"To tell the truth, yes. Not for the challenges but for what they mean."

"I understand. I do have a potion that will calm you, if you would like."

"No, thank you. Just a moment to talk, if you have it," Godric said.

Rowena nodded, walked to the fireplace, and turned two simple wooden chairs into plush armchairs. She flicked her wand at the door and it locked shut.

"Take a seat."

They sat, Godric shifting a bit to get himself comfortable, Rowena seemingly knowing just how to place herself down right the first time, as if she calculated it in advance.

"I've just gone to see the King," he said.

"What have you learned about him?"

"He seems like a good man. Curious, even-tempered."

"And this has gotten you nervous?" Rowena asked.

"No, it was after. Before, too, perhaps. The air of the place… I can't quite describe it. Something seems off."

"Do you think these trials are a kind of trap?" Rowena asked.

"It's not that, either. I believe the King truly does want someone like us as counsel, though for what, exactly, I do not know. Perhaps it is the rest of the court that does not want this. I fear something terrible will happen because of these trials."

"Did you have a premonition about this?"

"Like a dream of the future? I am no Seer," Godric said.

"Just a gut instinct, then?"

"I believe so."

"Still, it should be trusted, even if there is not anything we can do about it now," Rowena said.

Godric nodded, shifted again in his chair, and looked into the small flames dancing nearby. He seemed far away from Rowena, somewhere deep in his intuition. It was a place Rowena trusted in herself and in others, she knew not to disturb this peace. After a few more moments Godric looked back at her.

"We must see these trials through, and whatever comes after. There is something important for us at the end of it, though I cannot see what it is. I should go now and leave you to your business. Thank you, as always Rowena, for being a friend to me," Godric said, his voice softer, quieter than normal.

He rose and made for the door, and Rowena unlocked it.

"It is my intention to stay in Diagon Alley until the trials. I will see you again soon."

He gave a nod goodbye, which Rowena returned. She sat a while longer; it was a quiet morning and she wanted to take in all of what Godric had said.

Word spread quickly through the magical street hidden away in Lundenburg, and the entirety of the next day Rowena was fielding questions—avoiding questions—about the trials. Every customer coming in for some good, or under the pretense of some good, like Ida Barrow who was just in yesterday for dittany and couldn't possibly need more already, asked the same set of questions. Then later the questions came from the parents of the young witches and wizards whom they dropped off for lessons—now actual lessons, as some of them really were learning to read and had even asked about spells they could now discover in the tomes they stared at. All the magical folk wanted to know the same things:

"Rowena, what are these trials anyway?"

"Why do you care to help the Muggle King?"

"How do I sign up?"

"What does the inside of the Court look like?"

"Since when have we had a King?"

And all the variations thereof. To which Rowena had no good replies, except for "How do I sign up?", to which she very certainly said that registration was closed.

Of course, no one liked these replies. Some tried to argue with her, assuming she must know, but Rowena would not lie to them, would rather let them leave with their disappointment and extra dittany.

She needed time to think about all this, but all what, exactly? How could she prepare for something that she knew no details of? She thought of writing to Lord Slytherin, asking for more information, but she was sure he would not be inclined to give any. No, if anything, he would try to give help to his son, but Rowena thought, at least from Godric's impressions of the man, that he would not even do that.

So the next few days were spent as most of Rowena's days were spent: in study, giving lessons, selling magical goods, writing to Helga, taking her meager meals, trying to understand her strange dreams. Godric came back a few times, spoke with her briefly, made a few purchases, but gave no indications about his own concern or preparation for the trials ahead. Had not seen the King again, nor heard word from him. Then, with one week left, a week until the autumn equinox, Godric told Rowena to expect Salazar Slytherin in her shop late that night. He would meet them there, as well, and said no more.

Rowena knew now that her shop must be the safest place in Diagon Alley for secrets. Whether that was due to her charms or her own discretion or both, it felt like an honor to be trusted so thoroughly by Godric.

The evening stretched on, even reading did not make the time pass quickly. Rowena found she could not focus well enough on her books, that her mind drifted, though not to the trials but to her drawings. The impossible shapes of her dream library, vast and complex, yet logical, yet again irreconcilable with itself. And the drawings themselves she thought were hideous scrawling, unreadable even to herself most of the time. Even when she tried to make it simpler, somehow nothing seemed to fit.

A knock at the door—a pounding, really—that gave Rowena a start. Heart fluttering still as she rose, she caught her breath as she made her way to the door and opened it. On the ledge stood a man in black robes with emerald green trim under a larger cloak, hood raised, gleaming eyes visible in the shadow there, a shadow grown wider by his dark black hair and goatee. His hands were clasped together at his front. He gave a slight bow, no more than a nod of the head, really, which surprised Rowena, who was not expecting such courtesy, though she did not know why not.

"Miss Ravenclaw, I presume?" the man asked.

"You must be Lord Slytherin," Rowena said, "Come in."

"I am not yet Lord of the house. You may call me Salazar," he said, entering with long steps, standing nearly a head taller than Rowena.

"Please, sit, Salazar," the name felt strange in her mouth, uttering it for the first time, as if something serpentine were trying to speak through her.

He looked around the shop as he moved towards the chairs by the fire, three set out already in anticipation. Choosing the one closest to the door, he sat down firmly, as if the act of sitting itself was like a heavy door to thrust open.

Rowena had many preconceptions of Salazar Slytherin from Godric, from rumors, from the nature of his house's trade. He seemed to live up to many of them in this moment: a calm impatience, resolute politeness, forceful existence. She could tell immediately why his house had a reputation; she had no doubt that one day Salazar would carry that reputation to greater heights.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you," Rowena said, trying to break the silence, even if in the pleasure was just as much, or more, surprise.

"Yes, well, we do not often have reason to come to Diagon Alley, as so much magical trade comes through our estate already," he replied.

Was it not also a pleasure to meet her?

"Godric should be here shortly."

"Good, good."

The two waited in silence for a few moments, Rowena not quite ready to sit, hoping that Godric would knock and move this conversation along for her, socializing not being a strong suit, especially not with strangers, even less with someone whose interest she could not be sure at all aligned with hers. Fortunately, the silence was broken for her.

"Quite a lot of books, Miss Ravenclaw."

"Rowena is fine," she said, still clutching the back of the chair.

"Rowena," he said slowly, as if he wasn't sure he would pronounce it right, "how did you come across this collection?"

"I built the collection, actually," she said, a small huff in her voice, "It was only very partially inherited from my late parents, the former owners of the shop. Most of the wizards and witches around here know to bring me any books they come across. Many have sold me their entire collections. Better that than fuel to warm their cauldrons."

"A far better use," Salazar said. Was he being sarcastic? He gazed intently at the shelves.

"Anything that catches your eye?"

"No, no, just browsing."

Silence again, Rowena unmoving in it, trying not to disturb it, perhaps it would be a safe vessel to get them through the long moments until Godric arrived. Salazar eyed the shelf steadily, row after row. Then, abruptly, he stood with the same force in which he had sat and took two steps toward the books. He reached out quickly, then stopped just before touching it, as if it might be some cursed object.

"This book," he said, still not quite touching it, "is it what I think it is?"

"I am quite sure all of these books are exactly what you think they are."

"But… how…? Never mind. No, I must know. Where did you acquire this?" When he asked he turned to look directly into Rowena's eyes, and she felt a slight tingle at the edge of her mind.

"One I inherited. Unless you can call upon the dead, I am afraid we will not know its ultimate source."

"Its ultimate source is Hector the Horrible of Greece from ages ago. I'll purchase this. I'm willing to offer ten galleons." He would gladly go up to fifty.

Rowena, who would have sold it for half a small wheel of cheese, was astounded.

"The book is yours, Salazar." Ten galleons! A small fortune. She could practically—

"Thank you. I believe this will be quite insightful to my studies," he said, handing her over ten heavy gold coins.

"I am not so sure. Not to sound like I have cheated you, but I read that book some time ago. What was decipherable seemed no more than the ravings of a mad man. Most of it has to do with experiments on chicken eggs, which, personally, I prefer simply to eat."

"Well, perhaps I am something of a mad man myself, and I will have more luck understanding the twisted mind of my brethren," Salazar said, a smirk coming across his lips.

A knock at the door. Rowena rushed over, opened it. Godric, as expected, though he looked worried. He peered around her and saw Salazar, seemed slightly more at ease.

"Come in, come in," Rowena said, perhaps too eagerly. They all sat at the chairs around the fire. "So, what is this all about, Godric? Is there something we should know about the trials?"

"No, it does not have to do with the trials themselves, though I fear the situation is as dire," he said. He looked pale, a pallid white against the crimson of his garb.

"Speak, friend. It isn't about your marriage to Gwendolyn Avery, is it?" Salazar asked.

"No, no. Though I have much to say to you about that another time. This is about the King's Court. I have been… watching it. I do not think we will be as welcome as we might hope."

"I did not think we would be at all welcome, in truth," Salazar said.

"And why is that? The King himself wants to bring us into the fold, should that not warrant some warmth from him?" Rowena asked.

Before Godric could reply, Salazar spoke again, "It is very much like the Muggles to say they are extending an olive branch when really it is a knife to the back that they intend to give us."

"When has that happened to you, Salazar? Your house does not much entertain contact with Muggles," Rowena said.

"Three generations back, Muggles killed nearly an entire branch of our family. They tried a similar ploy to what this King is doing now, holding a banquet under the guise of making peace. What they wanted, really, even more than opening trade and getting their unworthy hands on magical creatures, was to get rid of us entirely. They were—"

"That's enough, Salazar. You've made your point," Godric said, "Your suspicions aren't unreasonable and in this case justified. Though it is not the King we must worry about. He has, as we might expect, several very influential advisors. Four, to be exact. Three of them seem to be little more than yes-men, thrilled most of all to be so close to power. The fourth, a man called Hamish, has a strong will of his own. He is highly against these trials, outspoken even now about bringing on a Court witch or wizard. The King also seems to take him quite seriously, though he remains adamant to have these trials continue."

"So we will be undermined the moment any of us are present on the Court," Salazar said, his voice rising with his anger.

"I am afraid that is probable," Godric said.

"Then we must come up with a scheme of our own," Rowena said to the surprise of both the others. "Though I do think Helga should be here as well. Godric, why did you not invite her?"

"I did, Rowena, and she wrote back that she could not make it for a few more days. I do agree with you that we must have our own plan, one we should all have a say in."

"I, too, believe that is wise. The hour is late, I will bid you goodnight. Rowena," Salazar said, standing, looking directly at her for the second time, "my sincere gratitude for offering your home to our conspiring."

"It is always open to those of our kind who need it. Enjoy the book, Salazar, and do let me know if it makes any sense to you," Rowena said as she could not suppress a smirk. Maybe Salazar was as crazy as Hector the Horrible.

"Goodnight, Rowena," Godric said, still clearly unnerved. "I will see you in a few days, when Helga arrives."

"Until then," she said, placing her hand for a moment on his arm. Then he, too, left.

Alone, suddenly cold, Rowena sat closer to the fire, watching the flames, wondering if it were better to avoid these trials altogether. Knowing it was too late to do anything but continue towards them, whatever may come.

Helga Hufflepuff intended to woo her husband to bed, though he hardly took convincing. Their attitude toward love making was devastatingly playful, and often initiated more from teasing than romantic talk.

So it was initiated this night, with Hugbert on her about the trials. They sat cozied up on the sofa, the house quiet but for the distant sounds birds at dusk—and the playful bickering of the couple in the secret language couples develop when they spend all together too much time with each other. Soon enough they were dancing their way to the bedroom, eager to start a family.

When they had finished and were laying tangled in each other, Hugbert began twiddling his finger into Helga's palm, which she knew instantly meant he was working up the courage to ask her something. She held his finger still.

"What is it?" Helga asked between still-heavy breaths.

"Well… what I said before about there being two witches on the Court if you're chosen. That part seems fine, but if there's danger in the trials themselves, which surely there ought to be some—"

"I will be fine. So will the baby, if there even is a baby in the next week."

"You're right, you're right. And I can't think of anyone better to protect our child."

"Merlin knows you can't," Helga said, squeezing his finger an ounce. Hugbert laughed.

"No, I can't even tell a turnip from a mandrake. I ought to stick to what I know best."

"Plucking feathers? Bothering the neighbors? Keeping me warm at night?"

"Trusting you, Helga."

She smiled and curled into him, trying to feel in the depths of her warmth if there was some strange potion brewing.

The next morning, Helga awoke and forgot for a moment what had happened the night before, still shaking off potent dreams already fading away. She went to the kitchen to find a little food, and instead she found an owl waiting for her on the table. The brown-feathered bird seemed quite comfortable, and it had evidently helped itself to a snack when it arrived some time in the night, having pushed a window open and let itself in. Helga swept her wand and the owl's mess—droppings, nut shells, lost feathers—all vanished. Still not yet fully awake, Helga approached the owl, eyeing the letter on its leg.

"You did well not to disturb us," she said to the owl, untying the letter. In the pit of her stomach she knew already what it was about, the seal of Godric Gryffindor was unmistakeable. "Alright then, let's get on with it," Helga mumbled to herself, peeved at this distraction from her breakfast. Kripka appeared and wordlessly began to fry some eggs as she began to read:

My Dear Helga,

We are meeting at Rowena's tomorrow night. Your presence is highly desired. Let me know if your attendance is possible.

Godric

With a heavy yawn, Helga walked herself to her desk and wrote out a reply as brief as the original. She would need time, she suspected the trials would last more than an afternoon, and she would have to pack. That meant no travel by hippogriff, instead she would have to take the long way with cart and horse, a few days' journey. Best start packing, she could be on the road in a few hours. Helga rolled up the letter, tied it back onto the owl, and sat down to eat some eggs and toast, hoping her morning weariness would soon fade away. Hugbert joined her shortly, he often had even lazier mornings than she.

"I got a letter from Godric," Helga said when he finally came in for breakfast. Hugbert perked up at this.

"Oh?"

"He and the others are meeting tonight."

"Good for them."

"I should be there."

"We'll have you off soon enough."

"I would like to leave this morning."

"I'll pack up after breakfast then," Hugbert said between bites.

"You pack up? I need to pack up."

"I suppose we both do."

"Why are you coming along, Hugbert?"

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

"I hadn't considered you would."

"I will. Of course I will. Biggest thing to happen in the Wizarding community in a few hundred years, think I'd miss it? Let you have all the fun playing palace politics without me when you're chosen? Don't think so."

Helga smiled at that, grateful to have the company for the trip. They ate and packed. Hugbert brought the cart around, enchanted to drive itself, though they took a donkey, too, for good measure. Then they were off, two days on the road. Having made the trip on ground many times before, Helga knew what to expect, but she still thought of flying. She couldn't leave Hugbert to travel all alone, though. So the two chatted, sat in silence, chatted more, sat in silence more. Hugbert kept wanting to ask if Helga felt anything different inside her yet, but figured she would say something if so moved. Best not to push on such sensitive matters.

The first night they stopped off and pulled out their tent. It was larger on the inside, big enough for a small kitchen, sitting area, and bedroom. The enchantment for this had taken Helga a long time to figure out and get just right, and in the end took help from Hugbert as well. When Godric had seen it and asked for one, she roped both him and Hugbert into helping do it again. Then she swore she would never make another. The one she cooked in now, though, was more than worth all the trouble; she couldn't imagine having to squeeze in tight next to Hugbert under an unenchanted piece of fabric.

The next morning was early rising and quick packing in hopes of getting to Diagon Alley by sundown. The road was again quiet except for the couple's occasional chatter and the chirping of birds. Helga would stop the cart now and then to pick some herb or flower that Hugbert was sure was already growing in their garden, but not knowing the names couldn't argue the point. The only issue Hugbert pressed back on Helga about was the strange light she claimed to see.

"Helga, I don't know what you're talking about. I just see green. Bushes—"

"They're shrubs, Hugbert."

"Alright, shrubs that are green, trees, those are trees, aren't they? Other shrubs. No blue light."

"It's not really just a blue, its got some silvery quality to it, really I just thought it was blue because I had only seen it in the water before," Helga said.

"I do believe that you see it."

That would have to be enough for Helga, for now.

Arriving in Diagon Alley some hours later, they stopped off first at The Leaky Cauldron for a room, thinking it best not to impose them both on Rowena. With their belongings stowed, they made straight for The Talon.

Rowena, Salazar, and Godric all sat waiting, the store otherwise empty. It was the first time Helga could recall Rowena not quizzing her for entry.

"Helga, Hugbert," Rowena said with the door just open.

"Hugbert?" Salazar asked. "I thought we were just going to be the four of us."

"Hugbert is my husband, he thought to come along. It did not occur to us that this was some sort of secret meeting."

"I do not meant to be unpleasant about it—" Salazar began.

"And I do not intend to impose," Hugbert said. "If it's best I'm not here, I'll go without any offense."

"That kindness would be most appreciated," Godric said, and with his words the tension eased a little, though he could tell Helga was at the very least annoyed. "Helga, please come in quickly. We must catch you up."

Hugbert kissed his wife on the cheek and slipped off into the night, entirely capable of keeping himself entertained, and hoping in some way to be tangentially helpful in the process.

Helga sat in a chair, her cloak still on to help her heat back up from the night chill. Salazar stood and gave a slight bow.

"Salazar Slytherin. It is a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Hufflepuff."

"You as well," she said, giving a nod as he sat once more. "Godric, so nice to see you again." She reached over and gave his forearm a light squeeze.

"Shall we?" Rowena asked. The group all nodded in their ways, Salazar with sharpness, Godric with a practiced ease, and Helga with cheery bounces and a low hum. "Helga, to get you up to speed, it seems Godric has determined some unsavory element of the King's Court may be working against us in general and whomever the King chooses to represent Wizarding kind in particular. We don't know the details of any plan aside from a general unease about us and a consistent push to not have anyone represent us on the Court. This is coming mainly from one individual, a man named Hamish. Godric, is that all still correct?"

"It is, though I believe I know a little more about what he is planning."

As Godric relayed the details, Salazar wondered again if going through with the trials was really a good idea. It seemed unwise that his father would support such a thing at all; the man knew well the stark mistrust Muggles had for them. Now those suspicions were confirmed at the highest level of the Court, where a close aide sought to undermine the tentative peace.

"In short," Godric said, "he wants the other advisors to have a show of no-confidence after the trials. Convince the King not to have any of us represent Wizarding folk."

"And what if we all refuse?" Salazar said. "Head off this betrayal before it can happen."

"What good would that do for any of us?" Helga asked. "We'd never have the opportunity to even try to make relations better with the Muggles."

"They have made it plain for centuries that they do not want anything to do with our power. What good is it to have relations with them? If we can protect ourselves, we will be fine. That's enough for me."

"There is plenty of reason to strengthen our bonds with Muggles," Rowena said, "not the least of which is that we cannot be sure we will always be able to defend ourselves. Most of our kind can perform little but the most basic charms. We are losing touch with this power, we have been for a long time. Magic isn't what it used to be."

"Rowena would know," Godric said, "she has been teaching many more of the children than we have, Salazar." At this Rowena squirmed, having realized how little she had been teaching them until recently. "Besides, the King seemed entirely fine with the magic I used to fight Vikings for him."

"Yes, so as long as we're servants to him, we are allowed to feel safe," Salazar said.

"He is a King," Helga said, "in his mind, all are house-elves before him."

They sat in silence for a moment before Rowena spoke again.

"We must decide between us whether we can make use of this position and the sway it will hold with the King. That we will all, in a way, be on the Court. We will all keep an eye on this Hamish and ensure that during or after the trials he does not undermine our new relationship."

"Let's put it to a vote," Godric said.

"All in favor of performing these trials and keeping the others informed if chosen?"

Godric, Helga, and Rowena raised their hands. Salazar looked away, scoffing.

"It is not our way to bind others to our will, neither through coercion nor a vote. I will still perform these trials with you, if I am chosen I will not turn my back on you. But I will not do this because I am bound."

"For whatever reason you will join us, Salazar, we welcome you," Godric said. "Now, we only have a few more days until the trials. I intend to learn anything more I can about Hamish and whomever is sympathetic to him. I will share what I find. Rowena, may we meet here the next few nights?"

"Certainly. Nothing much goes on here in the evenings, anyway."

With that they bid each other goodnight, Salazar still somewhat sour from the affair, but as he walked with Godric to The Leaky Cauldron his mood lifted.

"We don't have to trust them to work with them, you know," Godric said as the cool night air whipped by them in gusts. "It's enough that we accept the olive branch, for now. Would you really want to let this Hamish fellow scheme freely?"

"Of course not. We should be keeping an eye on him, a very close one at that. We should have been paying more careful attention before. My father has been too watchful of our trade and not enough on these Muggle affairs. I cannot blame him for not wanting to, but this seems rather a late effort."

"Nonetheless it is an effort. One we must honor your father by pursuing with earnest. Goodnight, Salazar, I will see you tomorrow evening at Rowena's."

"Goodnight, my friend," Salazar said, his voice relaxed once more.

In the solitude of his room, he took out his locket, stared at it, wondered at the ways he may best death, no concern nor excitement crossing his mind about the trials and what may come of them.

The next few days were a blur of activity and rest for Salazar. Long mornings spent studying, followed by some talk of spying with Godric. Afternoons meditating, evenings planning with the others. Though much was said, not much else was decided. They could not really be sure what to do, what they needed to do, until one of them was on the court. Little more information came about Hamish and his plotting, too. Godric learned of his ties to others on the Court, understood better his influence, but found no obvious cracks in the man's political armor. Only time would tell what those may be, or even what the man truly desired in his personal war against magical folk.

At last, the day of the trials arrived. The four witches and wizards assembled outside the stone palace, the Court. Godric in his crimson robes, Helga in muted yellow and brown, Rowena in midnight blue almost as dark as her hair, and Salazar in emerald and black. Salazar thought for a moment that they needn't perform the trials at all, between the four of them, they were likely more powerful than all the King's men. Though he knew Helga would never go for it, and Godric had seemed to defer to her quite often the last few nights—more than he'd expected Godric to defer to anyone. Rowena was still something of a mystery to him. Clearly she was knowledgable and capable, but she seemed less interested in power than one might hope for someone who so desperately wanted great change. To Salazar, extraordinary power was the only path to change.

They were let in by sixteen members of the guard. The King was foolish if he thought they could protect him if any of the magical folk decided they had had enough of him. Salazar flicked his eyes between them all, noticing the way they moved to the tiniest gesture, the same way he would watch Godric during a duel.

At the door to the throne room they stopped briefly. Through the wall they could hear the muffled cry of an announcement, the presentation of Masters Salazar and Godric, Misses Hufflepuff and Miss Ravenclaw. At the sound of his name Salazar burst the door open, stepping through in long strides, not waiting for nor looking at the astonished guard he left in his wake. The others followed swiftly, heads held high as they had planned, trying their bests to give off an air of regality and power befitting the station that Merlin once held. A station any one of them could assume.

Salazar gave a brief, short bow that was little more than a nod. Godric, too, gave a more shallow bow than he had the last time he saw the King. Helga and Rowena curtsied with a modest dip. They would come as close to equals to the King as they dared—part of their plan: not to act defiant, but to act with strength. Salazar would have preferred not to bow at all, but he knew the consequences for that action would be severe. He could jeopardize everything. He knew his father would not have gone along with this plan if it could not benefit their house in some way.

"Welcome, mighty witches and wizards. I have been looking forward to your arrivals for some time," King Edgar spoke with ease and authority, as if there were no other way he ever spoke, no other way to ever speak. He was flanked across both his sides by a seated assembly of ten, evenly split on the left and right. Closest to him on the right was Hamish, a man Salazar could pick out based on Godric's many descriptions of him. On his left was a man that caught Salazar's attention, though he did not know quite why at first. He seemed sharp of mind, with clear eyes. Not a threat to them out of malice, but something else… "Ages ago, a wizard sat as council to a King of England. Some say that time marked the beginning of modernity, of new ways. Some say that it was merely a relict of the old ways, the last lingerings of history ready to be put to rest. I say it was deep wisdom to have humanity's other half as a resource to call upon. These last decades we have been trampled again and again by Vikings, and the nation is growing weak. We must show our strength, our determination, lest we lose all we have."

Ah, so we are a resource, a secret weapon, thought Salazar. That made sense, at least, even if it was not a particularly attractive way to think about this "other half of humanity". The greater half of humanity, perhaps.

"The trials will last the next three days. Members of my council have assisted me in devising them, and they will test your abilities in different ways. The task will be explained before it begins, there will be little need to prepare. The trials will start one hour after sunrise tomorrow morning. At the end of the third trial, I will make my decision. If any of you have words for me, speak now."

"It is an honor," Salazar said, surprising the others greatly, "to have the opportunity to represent our kind as Merlin did."

The King nodded, then spoke, "Well put. If there is nothing else, I will see you tomorrow."

None of the others spoke, and the four were led out. They walked together back to Diagon Alley, none saying a word until they were in the safety of Rowena's shop. It seemed there was much to discuss, but little to say.

Around the fire once again, their silhouettes on four chairs a staple of the room for many evenings, they tried to guess what the challenge may be. Trials for wizards and witches, but devised by Muggles. Strange, maybe impossible.

"Your father gave you no indication what they may be?" Godric asked, not for the first time.

"None. You know I would share that information with you, Godric."

"But would you share it also with Helga and myself?" Rowena asked.

"Under these circumstances, yes, I would. If we are to maintain some collusion after these trials are over, we must all be on the same footing now. Else we would never trust each other as we ought to," Salazar caught Rowena's eye as he said this, and she could not help but notice some prying at her mind, though she easily kept it at bay. "I also do not believe my father helped come up with any of the trials."

"Though surely he would be capable of doing so. Why wouldn't he?" Rowena pressed on Salazar again.

"For one, I do not think he was asked to. He would have mentioned that to me, as well. It was merely his idea to test us all. I do not believe he cared much for the method. What he does care for is our family trade, expanding the kinds and numbers of magical artifacts that pass through our house." Salazar wondered if he said too much, but in the interest of building trust it seemed appropriate. He would just not say any more. "He intends to focus on that, for the time being."

"So this is why he would want you on the court?" Helga asked this time, and Rowena blushed, though Salazar did not change his affect.

"Any of us being on the court could only help the Slytherin House." Measured response, good. No more details about why, not at this time, he thought.

"If Lord Slytherin cannot give us any hint as to the nature of the trials, then it seems we have no other way to guess what they may be. I believe our best course of preparation will simply be a good night's sleep," Rowena said, standing, encouraging the others to leave.

"Wisdom beyond measure, Rowena," Godric said. "Good night my friends."

Helga and Salazar rose as well and said their good-nights to Rowena, then the two and Godric quickly made their way down the street to the inn and into their own beds.

Salazar lay awake in his for a time, stuck between wakefulness and sleep, in a sort of meditative trance. He should have caught the King's eye, or one of his court member's, and pulled the information from their mind. Prepared himself. Prepared the others, too. It was true what he said, he decided. If he had known anything, he would have shared it. At this time, building alliances were more important than keeping secrets.