Home
"With how fast he is urging that horse on, you would think he has somewhere better to be," the Fat Friar commented.
Godric laughed, and Harry ignored the two of them.
He'd become rather good at doing so.
On the road north, the teasing from the two men had been perpetual, but instead of reacting to the goading, Harry had chosen not to, knowing it would only make them more incessant.
"I should not have mentioned that we would be there tomorrow evening if we set a good pace," Godric continued. "Is there somewhere you'd rather be, Harry?"
"Anywhere away from you gits," Harry muttered.
"Did he say something?"
"I think he did, but I can't be sure," Godric sighed. "I thought he would at least have the courage to speak it loudly enough for us to hear it."
Harry merely shook his head in response and continued on his way, slightly ahead of the other two, ensuring he kept his wits about him.
Although they'd been fortunate to avoid further conflict on the return journey, they'd seen several armies marching through throughout the country; Danes, Saxons, Britons, and even others that neither Godric nor the Friar could identify.
Still, they'd been left alone, much to Harry's relief.
As grateful as he was to have been shown the world he found himself in, it made for a sobering experience.
It was almost as though everyone was vying for power, and the land was split into factions.
Of course, there were those who wanted no part of such conflict, but given how fractured the country was, they inevitably found themselves in an area claimed by one of the several kings who considered themselves the absolute power in Britain.
Harry quickly learned that none were.
Not one king was powerful enough to so easily unite the lands, even if they thought themselves to be.
As Godric had explained to him along the way, there were too many men with too big egos vying for power.
Harry had no such aspirations, but he was acutely aware that he would one day, sooner than he'd like, find himself embroiled in the conflict, one way or the other.
The Lady in the Lake had not been clear on what he would do, other than that he'd have to stop Myrddin.
It was frustrating, but also somewhat liberating that he seemed to have something of a semblance of choice in what the future held for him.
Still, it was not something he was thinking much of as he continued urging Tempest onwards.
Harry's thoughts were only occupied with his impending return to Hogwarts, away from the war, back in the castle he considered his home, and to the evenings he spent by the lake that was partly responsible for him being here in the first place.
"Do you ever get used to riding a horse for so long?" the Friar asked aloud.
"You do," Godric chuckled. "It takes a while to develop the arse needed for it."
Harry snorted amusedly, shooting the large, wincing Friar a grin.
He'd had little do with the ghost of the man throughout his years in the castle, and despite the teasing he'd endured since meeting him, Harry liked him well enough.
He was undoubtedly kind, giving, and was quite the Healer, despite having no formal training in the art.
Under Helga and Rowena, he would likely thrive, and it felt just right restoring another part of the school Harry remembered with such fondness.
"Perhaps we should stop for the night," Godric suggested. "Thanks to Harry here, we've made considerable progress today, and yes, we will still make it to Hogsmeade by tomorrow evening," he added when Harry look sharply towards him. "We wouldn't keep you away from your waiting lady longer than necessary."
"One of these days, I'm going to shove my blade somewhere you don't want it being shoved."
"Well, how very rude," Godric gasped.
"Indeed," the Friar agreed with a smirk, "but I cannot deny I am in need of the rest."
"I bet having such a sore posterior makes it harder to kneel when you pray," Godric quipped.
"It does," the Friar grumbled, "and despite my pleas, the lord offers no relief."
Godric laughed heartily as he dismounted his horse, and Harry followed suit, stretching his arms above his head to alleviate the stiffness plaguing him.
"Are you excited to be so close to home?" Godric asked.
Harry nodded.
"It's been amazing travelling across the country, but yes, I'm ready to be back on familiar ground."
Godric smiled.
"As am I, but there is still much more of the country to see. Perhaps next year we can do it again, and we may even convince Salazar to come along."
"I think I'd like that."
"Good, but you will have to convince him. He will never agree to any suggestion I make of travelling."
"Why not?"
"Salazar seems to think I attract nothing but trouble."
"After what we've been through since leaving the castle, can you blame him?"
Godric nodded thoughtfully.
"You might just have a point, lad," he chuckled. "Come, let us hunt for some dinner. "I don't think our companion will be much good to us for a while."
Harry turned to see the Friar leaning against a tree, hobbling gingerly as he tied his horse up.
"Why haven't you offered him some of the salve you gave me when I first started riding?"
"It keeps slipping my mind," Godric said with a shrug, winking as he gestured for Harry to follow him.
He fought the urge to laugh as the Friar winced once more.
"Serves you right for all the jokes," he snorted to himself, offering the clergyman a wave as he fetched his bow and followed Godric into the waiting forest.
(Break)
It filled him with pride to see that Arthur's army had almost doubled with one simple act of valour from the king, and as the ranks of men began to file out of Garth's keep, leaving behind just enough men to garrison the castle, Myrddin nodded approvingly, though he frowned at the sight of the former king.
Although Garth had conceded his throne, he had changed little when it came to giving orders, and he'd even had the temerity to slyly approach Arthur to all but demand he marries his daughter, Gwendoline.
Fortunately, Myrddin had gotten wind of the man's actions and had intervened in time to prevent Arthur from doing something quite foolish.
There was no need for him to marry the girl.
No, Arthur may have become fond of her, but Gwendoline was no queen in the making.
The fancy would pass soon enough, and Arthur would shift his focus where it was needed.
The other kings who had accepted the invite Myrddin had sent for them to visit Camelot would be arriving in the next moon or so, and he hoped that Arthur might find himself a suitable bride, bringing another kingdom into the fold.
Nonetheless, Myrddin would continue to watch Garth closely.
He was the kind of man whose gratitude could turn to jealously rather suddenly, and such men were not to be trusted entirely.
Myrddin wished the same could be said for the brash, newly knighted Sir Gawain.
The man was quite uncouth but having taken the opportunity to peer into his mind on more than one occasion, Myrddin was left in no doubt that he was honest, at the very least.
He couldn't blame the man for his new position.
Gawain had taken the opportunity presented to him, and he, Arthur, and Lancelot had become rather inseparable since, along with Gaheris, Gawain's slightly younger and humbler brother.
Arthur had not gone as far to knight the young squire, but Myrddin expected he would in the future.
Gaheris was quiet, observant, for the most part, but the man was indeed quite warrior and a natural leader.
"It is odd to think that these men look to me to lead them," Arthur spoke.
"This is but a drop in a pail you will one day command, Arthur," Myrddin replied. "Your army will be great, and you will stand at the very front of it when you claim your rightful lands."
Arthur nodded and rested his hand on the pommel of Excalibur.
It truly was an exquisite sword.
"Are you certain it is safe enough for us to travel? I expect the Danes a thirsty for our blood."
Myrddin nodded certainly.
"It is safe, my king," he assured the young man.
Every report he'd received from his newly acquired spies had spoken of the ignorance of the Danes of what had happened here, and by the time they did learn of it, they would be safely back within the walls of Camelot.
"Then let us return home," Arthur declared.
"A fine idea," Myrddin agreed. "How is your leg?"
"As though I was never wounded."
Myrddin had personally healed the young king.
It had been a rather troubling wound, but with a little magic, he'd managed to fix the damage so that the young man was as good as new.
"Good. Now, let us take our leave."
Arthur urged his horse forward, and Myrddin followed to the front of the column of departing men, smiling at the banners bearing the dragon that all across the country would fall under in the years to come.
(Break)
It had only been a couple of weeks since they'd celebrated Harry's birthday with him in Godric's Hollow, but it felt as though it was longer. Salazar had been busy preparing for the inevitable return of the students, and in his free time, he'd been pondering his meeting with Castor, and his own observations he'd made of Harry over the past months.
It was something of a relief that Harry seemed to be much his own person, and exhibited few of the traits of the descendant who'd made him and orphan.
Harry was courageous, righteous, and despite all he'd endured throughout his few short years of life, had an undeniable sense of mischief about him.
More than all of this, however, he was compassionate and possessed an innate ability to deeply care for others.
Tom Riddle lacked such humanity.
Whether that had always been so, Salazar could not be certain, but Harry was far from being the monster who'd attempted to kill him as a babe.
It gave Salazar hope that Castor was indeed correct in his assessment of how the errant soul piece would affect the young man in the coming years.
Undoubtedly, Harry had inherited something of Tom Riddle within himself, and perhaps a little more would become prevalent as his life was continually shaped by his experiences, but Salazar believed that it would not be detrimental to the man Harry was becoming.
"I can hear the horses," Helga announced, nodding towards the gate in the distance.
Only a moment later, three figures past through them with the familiar figure of Godric leading Harry and a larger man at the rear.
"It seems they have picked up another wayfarer," Rowena commented.
"He's a bloody clergyman," Salazar observed, a deep frown marring his features.
"He cannot be a muggle," Rowena pointed out. "He would not be able to enter the grounds if he was."
"He's dressed as a clergyman," Salazar pointed out. "Why would a wizard dress like a man of the cloth?"
Neither Helga nor Rowena answered, both choosing to envelope Harry in a tight embrace as the boy dismounted his horse.
Salazar rolled his eyes but smiled discreetly as the scene before him unfolded.
"Do you have any more injuries?
"Have you been eating well?"
"You must have a wash and change your clothes."
Harry eventually managed to fend the women off with a string of platitudes and looked towards Salazar with a pleading look.
"I am sure Harry has every intention of taking care of himself now that he is back," Salazar chuckled, "and yes, I am certain he will be happy to tell us of how he and Godric managed to meet our holy friend here. I do, however, think he still needs to breathe."
Rowena quirked an eyebrow at him but took a step back, allowing Harry some space to unload his horse.
"But I also believe there is somewhere else he'd rather be," Salazar added, not missing the glance the boy shot towards the lake. "Go on, take some fresh clothes. I will take your horse to the stables."
Harry offered him a brilliant smile in response, and all but sprinted towards the lake in the distance after he'd taken some essentials from his pack.
"Should we be encouraging this?" Helga asked.
"I do not believe we should be discouraging it," Salazar answered. "Now, how is it that you have returned with a clergyman, Godric?" he asked curiously.
Godric responded with a mischievous grin, and Salazar suspected he was about to be treated to a tale that would once more leaving him to question Godric's suitability as a companion for their young charge.
(Break)
It was with a sense of anticipation that she'd visited the lake each night since the stag had appeared a little over a week ago. Morgana knew it would take a while for Harry to arrive at Hogwarts, but she didn't know how far away he'd been when he sent the messenger.
A part of her had believed, for one fleeting moment, that he had arrived in Hogsmeade before reaching out to her, but as the next day came and went, and then several more after, she realised he wasn't as close as she'd hoped.
Still, knowing he was getting closer with each passing day certainly helped.
"Get hold of yourself," she huffed irritably, realising that she'd once again fallen into the trap of waiting for him to come.
It was late in the evening, and Harry was likely sitting by a fire somewhere in the countryside or readying himself for bed.
Nonetheless, that didn't stop Morgana from heading towards the lake as she continued to chastise herself for acting like a damned maiden in stories she'd heard as a child.
She'd always promised herself she'd never become one of those simpering, lovelorn women, and yet, here she was.
Morgana wasn't pining for Harry, but she certainly missed his presence.
She wouldn't deny that, but she would not give herself or any other the satisfaction of admitting just how much.
It was a sudden splashing in the distance that caused her to pause her steps suddenly, and she listened for any further disturbance with bated breath.
When a few moments passed and she heard nothing else, Morgana exhaled and felt the familiar pang of disappointment at the realisation she would be waiting at least another day for Harry.
Before she could turn away, however, she heard another splash, and Morgana hurried forward, closing the distance between herself and where she could see the lake in only a matter of seconds.
She stilled as she broke the treeline and spotted the figure not so far away, though he remained too far out of reach for her liking.
Harry was back.
Morgana remained rooted to the spot as she watched him washing his hair with a bar of soap, and she suddenly felt as though she was intruding on a private moment as he hummed an unfamiliar tune.
Still, she stayed where she was, not wanting to look away, just in case her mind was playing tricks on her.
Morgana shook her head at how almost needy she felt, but before she could ponder it deeply, she found herself being scrutinised and she fidgeted under Harry's gaze.
Once more, she chastised herself for feeling such a way, and she still remained rooted to the spot as Harry left the water and dried himself off.
"Miss me?" he asked.
Morgana narrowed her eyes at him.
"You wish."
He chuckled as he made his way towards her.
He looked strong.
When they'd first met, he looked quite underfed and paler than he should be.
He'd grown in those first weeks that they'd met, but the difference between him now and then were worlds apart.
Harry looked healthy, and not as those he'd lived through so much recent trauma, except for the new scar he sported on his chest.
Morgana found herself transfixed on the puckered flesh and fought the urge to reach out and run her finger along the length of it.
"It's not as bad as it looks."
"You'd say that if one of your limbs was hanging off."
"Probably," Harry agreed with a. grin.
Morgana tutted at him and plucked up the courage to feel the damaged flesh.
Harry shuddered at her touch.
"It's sensitive," he defended as she quirked an eyebrow at him. "The water is colder than I remember."
"Summer is almost over."
"Not for a couple of weeks yet," Harry pointed out.
"And how do you plan on spending the rest of it?"
"I haven't decided yet," Harry sighed thoughtfully. "Maybe I'd like to spend some time with you."
"What if I'm busy?"
"Are you?"
Morgana shrugged.
"I'm sure I can find things to keep me occupied."
"Is that why you ran here?"
"I didn't run!"
"Must've been a deer then."
Morgana opened her mouth to offer another rebuttal, but it died on her tongue as she remembered the stag she'd seen standing in almost this very spot.
"Your message. What was that?"
"Just a spell I learned. It helps ward off wraiths and other unpleasant things."
"I've never felt magic like that," Morgana mused aloud.
"I can teach you how to do it."
Morgana shook her head.
"I wouldn't ever be able to do it."
"Of course you can," Harry chuckled.
"No, Harry, I won't," Morgana sighed. "I knew the moment I felt it that I'd never manage it. It's magic that does not belong to my kind."
"Your kind?"
"My magic is more attuned to darker practices. What you did was a much purer form of magic that my own cannot comprehend. It may sound complicated, but it isn't."
Harry merely nodded in response.
"Does that mean I wouldn't be able to use the magic that you do?"
Morgana frowned at the question.
"Maybe," she murmured. "Our very magic in its natural form is more compatible with certain types of disciplines. You are very good at Charms and even Transformative magic. I've seen you use curses, and you have a strong mind. You are doing well with using Runes too, so your own magic is well-rounded. It's quite unusual to find someone who is able to use so many things as well as you do."
"Salazar says I'm a natural with dark magic," Harry murmured almost uncomfortably.
"He does?"
Harry nodded as he drew his wand.
"It's almost as though there are two sides of me," he whispered. "Sometimes, the other side of me is there, almost urging me to use the darker magic. It's hard to explain."
Morgana frowned.
"What is in your wand?" she asked curiously.
"A phoenix feather."
Morgana hummed.
"What is your connection to it?"
Harry swallowed deeply and appeared almost uncomfortable by the question, though Morgana did not miss how his gaze shifted to the scar on his right arm.
"A phoenix did that?"
Phoenixes, for the most part, were peaceful creatures, but extraordinarily powerful, even in the magical world.
"No, the phoenix healed it."
Morgana's frown deepened.
"What caused it for a phoenix to feel the need to heal it? You must have a deep connection with the bird for it to sacrifice its tears for you."
Harry released a deep breath before summoning a small box from his discarded robes.
Enlarging it, he removed something wrapped in a silk cloth and handed it to Morgana.
She accepted it carefully and shuddered at the residual magic that invaded her senses.
Closing her eyes, she saw a large pair of yellow eyes staring back at her, and she dropped the fang in shock.
"A basilisk?" she whispered.
Harry merely nodded and Morgana stared at him in a state of disbelief.
"It bit you and the phoenix healed the wound," she mused aloud. "DO you understand how incredible that is, Harry?"
"I do."
It was an astounding revelation.
"That other side of you, was that there before the snake bit you?"
He seemed to ponder the question for a moment before nodding.
"Yes."
He did not elaborate but Morgana deduced that he was struggling internally with what had happened to him.
"What do you feel when you touch it?" she asked.
"Like it is a part of me."
"But you do not want it to be."
Harry looked at her in confusion.
"I don't?"
"You speak of having another side to you. Harry, that is you, but for some reason, you haven't accepted it. The basilisk that bit you is as much a part of you as the phoenix is. You must accept that, and for that to happen, you have to understand the nature of each creature. You've accepted the phoenix easily enough. Why?"
Harry was taken aback by the question.
"I-I don't know."
"Because phoenixes are creatures of fire, of immortality. They represent all the better parts of what makes you who you are, and the basilisk is different."
"It was a monster."
"No, it wasn't," Morgana chided him lightly. "A basilisk is just another creature with a different nature. Think, Harry. What is the nature of serpents? A basilisk is just another one of them."
"They mostly keep to themselves."
"Yes, but they are also cunning, and they are hunters. Their venom is a weapon, but it is also a powerful ingredient for healing and regeneration. They shed their skins to be reborn as something bigger and more brilliant than it was before. I think you have been focusing on the negative of what happened to you rather than the positive. What happened to the basilisk that bit you?"
"I killed it."
"No, Harry, you conquered it," Morgana corrected. "That is an incredibly powerful bond that you forged by doing so. For reasons only you can understand, you are resisting that bond. You must come to terms with what happened and what negative thoughts you have of it. What happened to you, Harry, is quite an incredible blessing. You just have to see it for yourself. This fang," Morgana continued passionately, "is that other side of you, but it is up to you to accept who you are and what this is."
Harry swallowed before nodding.
"I never thought of it like that."
"No, you just didn't want to think of it that way because of what you deem to be the negative aspects of the creature."
Harry chuckled as he retrieved the fang.
"You know, it bloody hurt when it bit me."
Morgana nodded.
"Did that come from the same one that bit you?"
"It did, and I have some of the venom."
"And the idea is to fuse them with your wand," Morgana said thoughtfully. "Well, for that to work, you must accept that part of you that you are hiding from. Dark magic does not make you a certain kind of way, Harry. With all magicks, it is how you use it."
Harry nodded almost shamefully and Morgana gave his hand an encouraging squeeze.
"It is part of you, both the basilisk and the other side that you are resisting. Accept it and be what your magic has always intended you to be. You will be happier for it. I learned that long ago."
"You did?"
"I did," Morgana sighed. "When I first came to the castle, I hid from who I am and what my magic was telling me. When I chose to embrace it, I became an outcast, but I became what my magic craved. I am better for it and what I have managed to achieve is quite exceptional because I listen to what my magic is telling me. You should never feel shame for that."
Harry released a deep breath.
"I suppose I've always tried to distance myself from it because of what happened to my parents. I don't want to be like the man who killed them."
"And you won't," Morgana assured him. "You're far too noble to murder people needlessly."
"Are you mocking me?"
"Maybe," Morgana teased.
Harry narrowed his eyes at her, though they twinkled with mischief as is gaze flittered towards the lake.
"Don't even think about it," Morgana warned.
"Think about what?"
"You know what!"
He grinned at her, and she felt a warmth spread throughout her chest, the same feeling that always came whenever he smiled.
"I won't do it," he huffed.
"That is a smart decision," Morgana said with a smirk of her own, realising that she still had hold of his hand.
It was just a natural thing for her to do, and Harry didn't seem to mind.
"You're thinking. Your nose always crinkles when you're thinking."
"It does not."
Harry snorted amusedly as he shook his head.
"I've changed my mind."
"Changed your mind?"
He nodded and Morgana shrieked as he picked her up before depositing her in the lake.
As she resurfaced and moved the hair from her face, she heard him chuckling and she shot a glare at him.
Harry sobered immediately and Morgana stalked towards him.
To his credit, he did not flee, and as she reached him, she merely offered him a promising smile.
"You really should not have done that. I will get you back, you just won't know when or what is coming."
For a moment, he looked worried before he offered her another smile.
"Well, I may as well make it worth the suffering," he sighed.
Before she could comprehend what was happening, Morgana found herself plunged into the lake once more, though this time, Harry had jumped in with her in his arms.
She wanted to be annoyed with him for being so dismissive of her threat, but as she surfaced again, she found herself still wrapped in his arms with his face only. Few inches from hers.
Morgana was lost for words for a moment as they simply stared at one another, and she shook her head.
"What is it?" Harry asked, moving her hair away from her face.
Morgana swallowed deeply, unable to look away.
"Nothing," she whispered.
The urge to kiss him became almost overwhelming, and it seemed that Harry was warring with his own mind in a similar way.
It was almost as though they'd reached a pivotal moment in whatever was happening between them, but unable to throw caution to the wind, she rested her head against his chest.
This was enough, for now, but Morgana knew that one day soon, she would have to confront the weakness she had for the boy.
Today, however, was not that day.
For now, she was merely content with him holding her, even if she immediately regretted her decision not to act on such an overwhelming urge for just that little bit more.
(Break)
To those not intimately familiar with the moon, planets, and stars, it would seem as though little was changing within them from one week to the next, but Rowena had become so entangled with them over the years, that even the subtlest of differences did not escape her.
Mars continued to glow ominously brighter still, and though they were not quite on the brink of the inevitable great war to come, its warning only became more prominent.
Still, it was not the state of the night sky that brought her here this evening.
Rowena had long given up hope for the distant red planet to dull once more, but she had not expected to face her own internal war.
"The stars call to you more often," Helga commented as she took a place next to Rowena, her gaze shifting towards the sky.
"Yes, but it is not the stars that trouble me so," Rowena sighed, handing the missive she'd received only mere hours ago to her friend.
Helga frowned and her expression darkened as she read the note.
"So, she dares to return."
"It seems so."
"And what do you intend on doing?"
Rowena released a deep sigh.
"I shall hear what she has to say as her mother, but I will send her away again. She has proven time and again that she cannot be trusted."
"She is much too like her father," Helga murmured.
"She is," Rowena agreed sadly.
She did not hate her daughter.
On the contrary, she loved her dearly, but Helena had always been a troubled girl' easily manipulated by her father and too willing to do whatever she felt necessary to please the man.
Thomas Ravenclaw had proven to be a terrible husband and a worse man, and Helena had very much taken after him.
"Do you think she will return it?"
Rowena shook her head.
"No, and then she will use my enquiry of it as an excuse to start another war of words, as she is wont to do. She will claim that I always cared more about my work than her, and then she will leave again."
"Then I urge you to not entertain her," Helga implored. "I have seen what she does to you, Rowena, and I would not see you suffer for her flaws."
"But she is my daughter," Rowena said with a sad smile. "Despite everything, I cannot let go of the slither of hope I cling to that we may one day reconnect."
"But you do not believe it to be truly possible."
Rowena shook her head.
"Unless Helena changes, then no. The only comfort I take from this letter is that Thomas is not coming this time."
Helga snorted.
"I don't think any amount of pleading would prevent Godric from taking his head, or Salazar feeding him an unpleasant concoction of whatever nasties he has to hand. It is wise for him to not come."
Rowena nodded her agreement.
"It is," she said gravely, remembering the last time she'd met with Thomas.
It had been some years ago now, too many to count, and unbeknownst to Rowena, Godric had followed her to the home she'd once shared with her husband.
She'd perhaps thought that Thomas had important news to share, but the man only wished for the opportunity to assert his dominance over his wayward wife.
Her marriage vows protected him from her magic, but Godric had not been beholden to them.
Perhaps the world would be a better place without Thomas Ravenclaw, but Rowena would not see one of her closest friends stoop so low to murder such a worthless cretin as her husband.
Nonetheless, as much as it was an invasion of her privacy, Rowena was grateful that Godric had taken the initiative to ensure that she was well.
Had he not, Thomas might just have gone too far in the pursuit of his needed indulgence in controlling her.
Rowena would never forget the sight of her pitiful husband pleading on his knees for his life to be spared, nor the fury of Godric, who, for the most part, had always been rather affable if a little boisterous.
It was the first and only time she'd seen her friend in a rage, and despite her faith in herself and magic to stay out of harm's way, Rowena had realised just how dangerous Gryffindor was to have as an enemy.
"I will be there for you," Helga assured her. "She may be your daughter, Rowena, but I will not see her take advantage of you."
"Thank you," Rowena said gratefully, her gaze drifting to the sky once more. "Mars is bright tonight."
Helga nodded.
"It has not escaped even a terrible gazer like me that it grows brighter still."
(Break)
"We never did get the chance to discuss how you know the Friar, Harry," Godric pointed out.
"Oh, I didn't know him well," Harry answered. "Somewhere along the line, he became known as one of the Hufflepuff ghosts."
"I see," Godric murmured, frowning curiously at him.
"Well, it seems that here, it was your intervention that brought him to the castle. So, either a rather significant change has been made or it is somehow your history repeating itself."
"Do you think it is?"
"I am unsure," Godric sighed. "Salazar?"
The Head of Slytherin house shook his head.
"I am unsure and can give no insight until more significant things happen," he answered. "With what Harry is supposed to do, I expect it will leave quite the lasting impression if Myrddin is to become remembered as Harry says. As Rowena pointed out, we are still not entirely sure what happened to bring Harry here in the first place."
Godric nodded his agreement.
"Then we should not speculate," he declared. "Until we become more certain of events yet to come, it would be foolish to assume anything."
"I agree," Salazar said quietly, his gaze shifting towards Harry. "Do you have any thoughts on the matter?"
"I'm not sure. The Friar was a ghost, so I suppose it is possible that he forgot parts of his life, or even how he ended up at Hogwarts, especially if no one ever asked him. A thousand years is a long time."
Salazar hummed.
"That is true, and the study of ghostly beings is quite limited. Those who choose to remain on tend to be rather secretive of their reasons for being still being here. Ah, Elrond, what can we do for you?"
"News," the man declared handing both Godric and Salazar a stack of parchment each before offering them a bow and taking his leave of the room.
"Where does Elrond live?" Harry asked curiously.
It wasn't often the man was seen around the castle, after all. Much of his work was completed at night, and during the morning, he tended to the grounds before taking his rest in the afternoon.
"He has his own quarters in the west of the castle," Godric explained. "Elrond is not such a people person, for the most part. He'd led a very difficult life until he came to Hogwarts. What is it?" he added as Salazar cursed under his breath.
The man said nothing but handed Godric a sheet of parchment showing a sketch of a man with a brief description beneath the image.
Godric released a deep sigh.
"Well, I'd say it is definitely him, but what is he doing here?"
Salazar's nostrils flared in irritation.
"The last we heard was that he had fled to the continent. He's got quite the nerve showing his face back here."
"Who has?" Harry asked curiously.
Godric handed him the piece of parchment he held, and Harry read the what had been written.
Citizens are urged to be careful during these times until he is apprehended. Do not travel alone at night, avoid coastal areas, and do not approach him if he is seen.
The Wizard's Council will work tirelessly to apprehend Strenger.
Harry choked as his gaze shifted to the picture of the man.
"You know him?" Salazar asked.
Harry nodded.
"Do you?"
"Unfortunately, he was a student of ours," Salazar explained. "He always was rather ill-tempered, and he carved quite the unpleasant reputation for himself upon leaving the castle. The last we heard, he'd left Britain some years ago, and we thought we'd seen the last of him. How do you know Strenger?"
"Because he was another ghost here," Harry murmured as he continued to stare at the picture. "He was called The Bloody Baron."