Author: Aedalena
Summary: A collection of short ficlets set in the Nullifier universe, following the lives of the founders before (and after) Harry's arrival.
This chapter: (Nullifier-era) The founders try to make sense of Harry--and his escape.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made by the author of this fanfic.
Note: Knowledge of the Nullifier universe will be helpful, but not necessary, to read this ficlet. Conversely, these short stories provide interesting bits of background for Nullifier.
On updates: Keep an eye on Nullifier over the next few months. I've been writing up a storm on other stories this past year, but Nullifier's been clamoring for attention lately. This short story and a few longer ones in the Nullverse have been gathering dust on my hard drive (and a few on my LJ), so I thought I'd put it up to let all of you know that I'm still around. I may put up a longer Salazar-Godric drama piece up on ffnet later, either in Pieces or as its own separate story.

The Founders: Pieces of Life #3

"This was the place?" Rowena put a hand to the wall, following it to the recession in the wall behind the statue of the old crone as she probed for cracks that could indicate the existence of a passageway.

Godric nodded from halfway down the corridor. "I'm certain of it. You and Salazar were speaking to him, and I stopped right—around—" He frowned, and then took two steps back and a step to the left. "Here. I called after you, and he said something; I could see his mouth moving, but he didn't use a wand. Then he walked into the alcove where the statue is. I thought he was just stepping in there to hide, though it seemed ridiculous at the time."

Salazar joined Rowena's exploration of the wall, brow knit in concentration. He studied the walls directly beside the statue, and then the alcove behind it, walking back and forth along its length, lingering in front of the statue on each pass. His distracted shooing motion cleared Rowena from the immediate area.

"If there is a passage, it's seamlessly integrated into the wall, which is unusual," she said, watching Salazar work. "Most hidden passages consist of little more than an illusion to conceal the door and a trigger spell to reveal and open it--and hide it once more, after a set time."

Godric picked up the sound of approaching footsteps. He looked over his shoulder and saw Helga walking towards them, presumably from the hospital wing, where they had taken the prisoner. Godric half-lifted his hand to his head, wincing in sympathy. The wizard—not much older than their students—had looked utterly resigned when he surrendered, almost weary, as though well-accustomed to finding himself in such a situation.

That hadn't stopped Salazar's blow, but he hadn't dodged Helga's furious swat afterwards, so perhaps he had found within himself a rare modicum of remorse. Or he might simply have been distracted—an encounter with Morass, however abbreviated, could do that to a person. Godric glanced sideways at Salazar, but his current expression revealed only mildly irritated concentration.

He nodded to Helga as she reached them, but Rowena gave no indication of noticing her friend's arrival, still absorbed in the mystery of the passage. "—yet there isn't a single crack here, not one indication that such a doorway even exists, which suggests that if there is magic worked into the stone, it is carving out and then resealing the doorway every time."

"How difficult would it be to do that?" Helga asked, catching her breath.

"Extraordinarily. And it would take even more effort to make it unobtrusive enough that a nullifier couldn't sense it from halfway across Hogwarts, much less two metres away." Rowena sounded impressed and perhaps slightly jealous. "What I would trade for a handful of minutes alone with one of the original builders! Just a small drop of knowledge from that fount..."

"Hm," Godric said, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips as he recalled a similar remark, made years ago. "Like you were willing to trade—"

"The prisoner, what is his condition, Helga?" Rowena interrupted, casting a glare his way that suggested she would gladly have trod upon his foot, had she been close enough.

He arranged his expression into one of innocent confusion. Helga stepped between them, but her huff was more good-natured than exasperated. "He had a mild concussion that needed some attention, but he's sleeping normally now. Even so, I expect he will have a splitting headache when he wakes." She levelled a disapproving stare at Salazar's back. "Really, Salazar, was that necessary?"

"Until we have determined how serious a threat he poses—Ah. I've found it." Salazar jabbed at one small portion of wall behind the statue with his wand, falling silent as he studied it for a minute. "Clever. There are two spells, one on the statue and one on the far wall of the alcove."

"Two?" Rowena's questioning gaze contained a trace of envy, not for the first time, of Salazar's direct access to the Weave. "And they still evaded your notice?"

Salazar ignored the mild jibe, wand tapping against the wall as he mused aloud, "They must merge upon activation of one of the two and together generate enough power to carve out the door; the password would act as the trigger, then." He took a step back, wand falling away. "The spells radiate very little magic separately, which is why they were so difficult to detect. Whoever designed the passage must have done so with guarding against nullifiers in mind." Salazar extended a hand to the statue, fingers splaying across the hag's face. "Beryl. I would suspect if we split the statue open, we would find more than a few crystals imbedded within."

"Of course," Rowena breathed, looking abashed that she hadn't thought of it herself. "It would serve as an amplifier for the first spell, boosting the magic so that it triggers and merges with the spell anchored in the wall, like a spr—"

"Fascinating," Godric said quickly, before she could segue into one of her lengthy lectures on the benefits of using crystals in persistent, object-linked spells. "So, we have a secret passage, triggered by some word the prisoner knows, that leads out of the castle and presumably back in. That still doesn't explain how he got here to begin with. The wards should have prevented his entrance."

"We shall simply have to ask him." Salazar brushed off his hands and stepped back into the corridor. "When will he be ready for interro—"

"Tomorrow morning," Helga said.

Salazar's mouth tightened. "If he is sleeping, then he can be woken."

"Tomorrow," she repeated firmly. "He needs time to recover. Recall that he was, in fact, fleeing from Morass, not to him. It quite possible he's not an enemy at all."

"That will no doubt provide great comfort to the families of the children who perish in the resulting attack upon Hogwarts. It was possible he wasn't an enemy."

"Perhaps..." Godric hesitated, knowing that Salazar would object and not so enthused with the idea himself. "Perhaps we could ask your father to sit in during the interrogation." At Salazar's nonplussed expression, he raised his chin defiantly. "At least we will know if the prisoner is telling the truth. And rumours of our encounter with Morass must have reached Windham by now. He's going to be worried. Better to allay his fears now."

Salazar dismissed the concern with an impatient wave of his hand. "Of far greater import is ascertaining the method and motive of the prisoner's infiltration of Hogwarts, and Veritaserum will serve just as well as true-sight."

Rowena nodded in rare agreement. "I would also like to verify that he is a nullfier. How is that even possible? Could one of the twelve have perished?"

"No, he's too old." Salazar said peevishly, as though this were a deliberate choice on the prisoner's part to frustrate him. "I have never heard of anyone more than midway through his teens inheriting the power. I was thirteen, and that was considered unusually old."

"Perhaps a time-traveller, then?" Godric suggested, only to find himself on the receiving end of some rather sceptical looks from the others. He shrugged. "Most of the future headmasters have appeared in the same manner, completely bypassing the wards. And if he's too old to be a nullifier now, that doesn't mean he can't have been one later."

Rowena's scepticism faded into a musing frown. "He is certainly no headmaster, but it is possible that a student could have stolen a headmaster's time-mirror."

"A simple interrogation could provide the answers to all of these questions and more." Salazar turned to Helga expectantly.

"Tomorrow, Salazar. The prisoner is bound and under guard—he will keep until then. In the meantime, I would suggest we see to updating the wards to prevent his escape."

"Agreed," Rowena said. "The sooner we are finished with that, the better for my peace of mind. We also need to submit a report to the Council. Champion Cailleach will want every last insignificant detail of the confrontation, and Highwater isn't terribly patient either. Godric—"

"I'm not a Lord," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he stepped to press his hand against the wall.

"Wanded, Godric," Rowena said sharply, and he pulled his hand back with a roll of his eyes, drawing his wand and placing its tip against the wall. Unable the argue the point, she moved on. "Salazar—"

He shrugged lightly, going to the opposite wall and pressing his wand to it. "You may recall that I do not answer to the Council either. Not this Council, anyway, and not the other for some time now."

"Helga...?" Rowena said with growing desperation.

"The prisoner may wake and be in need of my care," she demurred, moving her wand into position. "I should be available to help at a moment's notice."

With a frustrated scowl, Rowena manoeuvred her own wand into place. "Why does the task always fall to me?"

"Because Cailleach likes you," Helga teased.

"Perhaps because I don't turn my reports into works of fantastical fiction," she said, casting a sour glare Godric's way. "Lord Ulwer was terrified to go into Pendral Tower for weeks, you know."

The memory was a fond one, particularly the inquiry afterwards, so Godric didn't even try to feign remorse. "Note that I was never again asked to submit a report for any of my activities—which are hardly a concern of the Council's to begin with."

"Fine. I'll do it this time. But," she said, jabbing a finger in a vaguely threatening manner at Helga, "no excuses for you next time." She turned her attention upon the wall, staring at it blankly for a moment before shaking herself. "Helga, could you—"

"Already have it," she replied, holding up a lock of coarse, black hair. "And you would not believe how tempting it was to cut the whole lot of it. That boy is in dire need of—"

"Spare us the maternal instincts," Salazar said, summoning a few strands. "Or at the very least, save them for your students and not for the enemy."

"Possible enemy."

"I still say time-traveller..."

"Focus!" Rowena snapped, summoning several strands for herself and hovering half of them over to Godric, who studied them curiously. "Full block. I don't want him to be able to leave without one of us manually lowering it."

Taking his cue, Godric wandlessly summoned his sword, in dagger form at his waist, and hovered it midair so that he could prick a finger. He directed it to the others, who followed suit one at a time. He called the dagger back to himself when Rowena was finished and sheathed it. At her signal, he closed his cut hand into a fist around the strands of hair it held and murmured the incantation, feeling the heat from the active wards, spreading out from the walls as they glowed a faint blue-white.

He glanced around, saw the unfocussed stare on Salazar's face that meant he was operating in the Weave. Helga had completed the anchoring spell already, and he could see Rowena straining with the most delicate portion of the ritual, stitching together the individual spells into one cohesive whole and feeding it to the wards in one, steady stream.

Salazar let out a breath, and awareness returned to him as he completed his incantation. Rowena jerked slightly at the influx of magic, the furrow in her brow deepening with intensified concentration as she channelled it into the wards. Her chanting rose in pitch as she neared the end of her incantation, and then a blinding pulse of white light emanated from where her wand touched the wall, travelling down the corridor as it spread to the furthest reaches of the wards.

The heat peaked and then slowly began to cool. Godric removed his wand from the wall and opened his fist, now empty of both hair and blood, the tiny cut on his finger sealed. That was one perk of rituals involving willing blood sacrifice, he thought with vague amusement. They liked to ensure that you would be capable of future sacrifice.

Rowena swayed as she lowered her wand, putting a hand against the wall for balance. Helga's lips pursed with concern, and she offered a steadying arm to her. Godric noted the faint trembling in her hands and felt a stir of worry himself; he had never seen Rowena affected so badly by updating the wards. He looked to Salazar.

"The wards resisted," Salazar said, answering his silent question with a perturbed frown, "though the modification was successful."

"Were you able to identify the reason that they...?" Rowena asked, catching her breath.

"No. However, it is possible—"

"Let's save the analysis for later," Helga interrupted, tugging at her friend's elbow. "You need to sit down and have something to eat. Come on, we can stop at the kitchens."

Rowena's mouth opened, likely with the intention of delivering an irritated retort, but it closed promptly, and she let out a heavy sigh instead, slumping her shoulders and looking small and pathetic. "You're right. I do feel rather faint...but I really should start work on the report. Hopefully my headache will not detract too terribly from my ability to focus."

Helga stared at her. "You could at least try to be subtle."

Godric smothered a laugh, and he could see Salazar fighting a smirk. Rowena coughed for effect.

"Idiot," Helga muttered. "The wards wouldn't affect your lungs."

"Dust," Rowena said defensively.

"Oh, fine. I'll help," Helga said, stressing the word. "I will not write the entire thing. And we are going somewhere comfortable, not that frigid spire of yours."

Rowena's triumphant smile was answer enough, and the two walked off, leaving him and Salazar, who cast a calculating glance in the direction of the hospital wing.

"You heard Helga," he warned.

"Helga will be occupied for at least several hours."

Godric was beginning to suspect that the source of Salazar's restlessness had more to do with his unexpected meeting with his former mentor than any deep-seated desire to satisfy his curiosity about the prisoner. And that was something he could help with.

"Let's go," he said, turning in the direction opposite to the hospital wing.

"This is the wrong way," Salazar commented, following him nevertheless.

"We're not going to interrogate the prisoner. We're going to one of the practise rooms. For a duel."

"A duel."

"Yes. They're quite relaxing." He glanced behind to make sure that Salazar was still following, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he was.

"Is that your answer to everything?" Salazar said with a half-hearted sneer.

"Name one thing that a duel can't solve," he retorted.

Salazar was silent for a moment as he thought. "The problem of students sleeping through lessons, or doing sub-par work."

"Nonsense. Challenge them to a duel. I have never encountered a repeat offender. Next?"

"Lycanthropy."

"Hm. That's a bit messier, but you could theoretically challenge every werewolf to a duel to the death. Brutal and impractical, but it would work."

"The Council's restriction on books containing references to dark magic."

"Challenge enough Lords to—"

"Death."

"To death?" he said with mock surprise. "Rather extreme, don't you think? All you need are their votes."

Salazar pressed, seemingly determined to win. "Death."

"Easy. Challenge Death to a—"

"Never mind," Salazar muttered. "I am beginning to sense a pattern."

"Only just beginning?" he asked with barely suppressed laughter. He was utterly unsurprised by the sharp tug to his braid that followed. "There, you see? Wasn't that an excellent stress relief? Imagine how an entire duel could help—"

"Very well," Salazar said, agreeing a bit too readily for his ease of mind. "If I win, your forfeit will be to help me replenish our stocks of Veritaserum. After tomorrow, we will need more."

"Agreed," Godric said cautiously.

"In the morning, before lessons. Early," Salazar said with relish.

He halted and turned the full force of his outraged glare on his cousin. "Early?"

"Early. And you are doubtless aware that Veritaserum takes a full month to brew."

"A month?"

"Hm. I think you may be correct. I already feel much more relaxed, and the duel hasn't even begun." Salazar's smirk was half smile.

He resumed walking, mind racing as he catalogued the most effective techniques that he had used against Salazar during their last duel. "I still haven't decided upon your forfeit, you know."

"I am not worried."

"I could demand that you wear orange for a month. Or that you reprise your impromptu performance during supper last winter," he mused aloud. He had to swallow a laugh at the distasteful look on Salazar's face in response to the latter.

As they walked, he threw out increasingly outrageous suggestions for forfeits, managing to coax grudging laughter out of Salazar twice. By the time the heavy door to the practise room came into view, Salazar's aura of restless tension had eased and reshaped itself into a single-minded determination to defeat him.

Which, Godric tried to convince himself, could surely be considered victory enough even if he lost this duel. Of course, one month of waking early to brew Veritaserum, he thought with a wince, might change his feelings about that, of course.

And if he won, Hogwarts was due some grand entertainment at Salazar's expense. He smiled, unclasping his cloak. Just pity the poor prisoner, come tomorrow morning.