She raised her hand, the sign they'd agreed on for "put the charm back on now." He had still found time to draw up a lesson plan, at least in his head amid the packing. They were working on turning a mouse into a seashell, but they had not gotten very far before, the charm on, she spoke up.

"Are you all right, Professor?"

"No," he said, "I am not."

"You and Professor Gryffindor were arguing again, weren't you? I heard the other students talking."

"Yes," he nodded, "we were."

She opened her mouth, then looked around the room. "You've packed up all your things."

"Yes. I-"

"It's probably good. You don't want the Hendells to infest them."

"I do not," he said-which was actually true. "Lovegood-I am leaving Hogwarts tonight."

"Oh," she said, calmly. "Yes."

"You..." He broke off. She had known. From before-later.

Well, it made no difference. "I would like to say goodbye to my snake before I leave. Come with me?" He stood up from the desk. "You never got a chance to hold it, and once I leave, you will not be able to get back in. I think it would like you, like someone else to hold it."

"Oh. Am I to come with you, when you leave? Where are you going?"

"I am going to find a wife, I hope," he said. "Doing the boring but necessary adult things. You will stay here-you are a child, and you ought to get a good education."

"Oh." Was that a tremble in her voice? He had to have been hearing things.

Once he had turned the false shelf, he whispered the Parseltongue command to the wall. It gave way, and he led her down the spiral.

"Who will cast the translation charm on me? When you're gone?"

"Ask Rowena-er, I'm sorry, that's Ravenclaw to you."

"She won't like you. Not after you run away."

He hesitated-she was probably right. "But that doesn't mean she won't like you."

"But I know you. You're my special teacher."

"Yes, of course."

"So what if she doesn't like me because I was your student mostly?"

"She likes you."

" The Slytherins where I used to live-" she began, but then paused, taking his words in. "She does?"

"Of course."

She smiled-one of those smiles that he knew, and Rowena never would-and they continued walking.

He turned at the bottom of the staircase to see her finish the descent in her strange, almost musical, steps, and keep half-dancing as she followed him to the statue. "Come out, eyes closed," he said once more.

And the snake emerged.

"Does it have a name?" Lovegood asked.

He paused. "Not one you would understand. Come here."

The snake made its way, very slowly, towards his voice-sight was a distinct advantage. He bent to the ground, picking it up, and said softly, "Wait until I speak. I will pass her to you first."

"Here you are," he said, placing it between her hands.

In Parseltongue, there is no word for "end." No snake has known the peace of turning the last page in a book and putting it on its shelf, nor of descending from the air after the Quidditch game is won, nor of bidding school days farewell on a slow trip across a still lake. So Salazar looked at the two of them and whispered, "Basilisk, kill."

The snake writhed.

Neither Salazar nor Luna could have known what it felt like for the snake, suddenly touching the skin of a girl who belonged in the future. Had she lived the months and days and moments she spent in Salazar's time back in her own time instead, she would have come to the instant in 1993 when the same snake, in the same chamber, was slain by Gryffindor's blade.

The snake, not understanding, coiled its tail around her left arm for balance while its head surged. It wrapped its entire body around her arm, but when its head bit down, it did not reach its own tail; instead, it had spiraled enough for its fangs to sink deep into her arm and taste her lifeblood.

Lovegood stiffened at the burst of pain, but did not cry out. Salazar put one arm on her far shoulder. "Hush...hush, little one. I am here."

The snake still hung on. "Get off her. Be patient. She will be yours soon enough."

It reluctantly opened its mouth and swiveled its body; still with its eyes closed, it flopped off of her. Lovegood's teeth began to chatter, and her legs gave way. Salazar eased her onto the floor.

And then, with his other hand, he took out his wand, pointing it at her and whispering. Perhaps it would comfort her to think that he was healing her, when in fact, he was just removing the translation charm. She would die free, not under any spell.

Still her mouth moved, by then struggling in the effort of saying anything coherent. She managed just one splutter, too indistinct for him to tell if she was a betrayed woman, calling out his name, or a lost child, pleading for her mother. Then she lay still.

"There you are. She is yours."

The snake, still unable to see, made its way over to the limp body-and began gnawing on her robes. It stopped, opened its mouth, and hissed as if offended.

Sighing, Salazar knelt beside Lovegood and, with fingers trembling across her cold skin, took off her outer robe-that night, before he left the grounds completely, he would cast it into the lake. He could not bring himself to remove any more.

"Now, start here," he said, dragging the snake to where it happily began eating Lovegood's earring. He'd tell the house-elves to destroy the rest of her clothing, once the basilisk was done, and swear them to secrecy on that point as well. "When you are done, return where you came from. More food will follow.

But take your time," he smiled, walking to the stairs. "You will live a thousand years."